Hector Malot - "Conscience, v3"

Sara Jeannette Duncan - "The Imperialist"

John Lothrop Motley - "The Rise of the Dutch Republic, 1572"

Thomas Malthus - "Importation of Foreign Corn"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: The Fallen Leaves

W >> Wilkie Collins >> The Fallen Leaves




The wild bustle and uproar of the costermongers' night market no longer
rioted round him: the street by daylight was in a state of dreary
repose. Slowly pacing up and down, from one end to another, he waited
with but one hope to sustain him--the hope that she might have taken
refuge with the two women who had been her only friends in the dark
days of her life. Ignorant of the place in which they lived, he had no
choice but to wait for the appearance of one or other of them in the
street. He was quiet and resolved. For the rest of the day, and for the
whole of the night if need be, his mind was made up to keep steadfastly
on the watch.

When he could walk no longer, he obtained rest and refreshment in the
cookshop which he remembered so well; sitting on a stool near the
window, from which he could still command a view of the street. The
gas-lamps were alight, and the long winter's night was beginning to set
in, when he resumed his weary march from end to end of the pavement. As
the darkness became complete, his patience was rewarded at last.
Passing the door of a pawnbroker's shop, he met one of the women face
to face, walking rapidly, with a little parcel under her arm.

She recognized him with a cry of joyful surprise.

"Oh, sir, how glad I am to see you, to be sure! You've come to look
after Sally, haven't you? Yes, yes; she's safe in our poor place--but
in such a dreadful state. Off her head! clean off her head! Talks of
nothing but you. 'I'm in the way of his prospects in life.' Over and
over and over again, she keeps on saying that. Don't be afraid; Jenny's
at home, taking care of her. She wants to go out. Hot and wild, with a
kind of fever on her, she wants to go out. She asked if it rained. 'The
rain may kill me in these ragged clothes,' she says; 'and then I shan't
be in the way of his prospects in life.' We tried to quiet her by
telling her it didn't rain--but it was no use; she was as eager as ever
to go out. 'I may get another blow on the bosom,' she says; 'and,
maybe, it will fall on the right place this time.' No! there's no fear
of the brute who used to beat her--he's in prison. Don't ask to see her
just yet, sir; please don't! I'm afraid you would only make her worse,
if I took you to her now; I wouldn't dare to risk it. You see, we can't
get her to sleep; and we thought of buying something to quiet her at
the chemist's. Yes, sir, it would be better to get a doctor to her. But
I wasn't going to the doctor. If I must tell you, I was obliged to take
the sheets off the bed, to raise a little money--I was going to the
pawnbroker's." She looked at the parcel under her arm, and smiled. "I
may take the sheets back again, now I've met with you; and there's a
good doctor lives close by--I can show you the way to him. Oh how pale
you do look! Are you very much tired? It's only a little way to the
doctor. I've got an arm at your service--but you mightn't like to be
seen waiting with such a person as me."

Mentally and physically, Amelius was completely prostrated. The woman's
melancholy narrative had overwhelmed him: he could neither speak nor
act. He mechanically put his purse in her hand, and went with her to
the house of the nearest medical man.

The doctor was at home, mixing drugs in his little surgery. After one
sharp look at Amelius, he ran into a back parlour, and returned with a
glass of spirits. "Drink this, sir," he said--"unless you want to find
yourself on the floor in a fainting fit. And don't presume again on
your youth and strength to treat your heart as if it was made of
cast-iron." He signed to Amelius to sit down and rest himself, and
turned to the woman to hear what was wanted of him. After a few
questions, he said she might go; promising to follow her in a few
minutes, when the gentleman would be sufficiently recovered to
accompany him.

"Well, sir, are you beginning to feel like yourself again?" He was
mixing a composing draught, while he addressed Amelius in those terms.
"You may trust that poor wretch, who has just left us, to take care of
the sick girl," he went on, in the quaintly familiar manner which
seemed to be habitual with him. "I don't ask how you got into her
company--it's no business of mine. But I am pretty well acquainted with
the people in my neighbourhood; and I can tell you one thing, in case
you're anxious. The woman who brought you here, barring the one
misfortune of her life, is as good a creature as ever breathed; and the
other one who lives with her is the same. When I think of what they're
exposed to--well! I take to my pipe, and compose my mind in that way.
My early days were all passed as a ship's surgeon. I could get them
both respectable employment in Australia, if I only had the money to
fit them out. They'll die in the hospital, like the rest, if something
isn't done for them. In my hopeful moments, I sometimes think of a
subscription. What do you say? Will you put down a few shillings to set
the example?"

"I will do more than that," Amelius answered. "I have reasons for
wishing to befriend both those two poor women; and I will gladly engage
to find the outfit."

The familiar old doctor held out his hand over the counter. "You're a
good fellow, if ever there was one yet!" he burst out. "I can show
references which will satisfy you that I am not a rogue. In the mean
time, let's see what is the matter with this little girl; you can tell
me about her as we go along." He put his bottle of medicine in his
pocket, and his arm in the arm of Amelius--and so led the way out.

When they reached the wretched lodging-house in which the women lived,
he suggested that his companion would do well to wait at the door. "I'm
used to sad sights: it would only distress you to see the place. I
won't keep you long waiting."

He was as good as his word. In little more than ten minutes, he joined
Amelius again in the street.

"Don't alarm yourself," he said. "The case is not so serious as it
looks. The poor child is suffering under a severe shock to the brain
and nervous system, caused by that sudden and violent distress you
hinted at. My medicine will give her the one thing she wants to begin
with--a good night's sleep."

Amelius asked when she would be well enough to see him.

"Ah, my young friend, it's not so easy to say, just yet! I could answer
you to better purpose tomorrow. Won't that do? Must I venture on a rash
opinion? She ought to be composed enough to see you in three or four
days. And, when that time comes, it's my belief you will do more than I
can do to set her right again."

Amelius was relieved, but not quite satisfied yet. He inquired if it
was not possible to remove her from that miserable place.

"Quite impossible--without doing her serious injury. They have got
money to go on with; and I have told you already, she will be well
taken care of. I will look after her myself tomorrow morning. Go home,
and get to bed, and eat a bit of supper first, and make your mind easy.
Come to my house at twelve o'clock, noon, and you will find me ready
with my references, and my report of the patient. Surgeon Pinfold,
Blackacre Buildings; there's the address. Good night."



CHAPTER 10

After Amelius had left him, Rufus remembered his promise to communicate
with Regina by telegraph.

With his strict regard for truth, it was no easy matter to decide on
what message he should send. To inspire Regina, if possible, with his
own unshaken belief in the good faith of Amelius, appeared, on
reflection, to be all that he could honestly do, under present
circumstances. With an anxious and foreboding mind, he despatched his
telegram to Paris in these terms:--"Be patient for a while, and do
justice to A. He deserves it."

Having completed his business at the telegraph-office, Rufus went next
to pay his visit to Mrs. Payson.

The good lady received him with a grave face and a distant manner, in
startling contrast to the customary warmth of her welcome. "I used to
think you were a man in a thousand," she began abruptly; "and I find
you are no better than the rest of them. If you have come to speak to
me about that blackguard young Socialist, understand, if you please,
that I am not so easily imposed upon as Miss Regina. I have done my
duty; I have opened her eyes to the truth, poor thing. Ah, you ought to
be ashamed of yourself."

Rufus kept his temper, with his habitual self-command. "It's possible
you may be right," he said quietly; "but the biggest rascal living has
a claim to an explanation, when a lady puzzles him. Have you any
particular objection, old friend, to tell me what you mean?"

The explanation was not of a nature to set his mind at ease.

Regina had written, by the mail which took Rufus to England, repeating
to Mrs. Payson what had passed at the interview in the Champs Elysees,
and appealing to her sympathy for information and advice. Receiving the
letter that morning, Mrs. Payson, acting on her own generous and
compassionate impulses, had already answered it, and sent it to the
post. Her experience of the unfortunate persons received at the Home
was far from inclining her to believe in the innocence of a runaway
girl, placed under circumstances of temptation. As an act of justice
towards Regina, she enclosed to her the letter in which Amelius had
acknowledged that Sally had passed the night under his roof.

"I believe I am only telling you the shameful truth," Mrs. Payson had
written, "when I add that the girl has been an inmate of Mr.
Goldenheart's cottage ever since. If you can reconcile this disgraceful
state of things, with Mr. Rufus Dingwell's assertion of his friend's
fidelity to his marriage-engagement, I have no right, and no wish, to
make any attempt to alter your opinion. But you have asked for my
advice, and I must not shrink from giving it. I am bound as an honest
woman, to tell you that your uncle's resolution to break off the
engagement represents the course that I should have taken myself, if a
daughter of my own had been placed in your painful and humiliating
position."

There was still ample time to modify this strong expression of opinion
by the day's post. Rufus appealed vainly to Mrs. Payson to reconsider
the conclusion at which she had arrived. A more charitable and
considerate woman, within the limits of her own daily routine, it would
not be possible to find. But the largeness of mind which, having long
and trustworthy experience of a rule, can nevertheless understand that
other minds may have equal experience of the exception to the rule, was
one of the qualities which had not been included in the moral
composition of Mrs. Payson. She held firmly to her own narrowly
conscientious sense of her duty; stimulated by a natural indignation
against Amelius, who had bitterly disappointed her--against Rufus, who
had not scrupled to take up his defence. The two old friends parted in
coldness, for the first time in their lives.

Rufus returned to his hotel, to wait there for news from Amelius.

The day passed--and the one visitor who enlivened his solitude was an
American friend and correspondent, connected with the agency which
managed his affairs in England. The errand of this gentleman was to
give his client the soundest and speediest advice, relating to the
investment of money. Having indicated the safe and solid speculation,
the visitor added a warning word, relating to the plausible and
dangerous investments of the day. "For instance," he said, "there's
that bank started by Farnaby--"

"No need to warn me against Farnaby," Rufus interposed; "I wouldn't
take shares in his bank if he made me a present of them."

The American friend looked surprised. "Surely," he exclaimed, "you
can't have heard the news already! They don't even know it yet on the
Stock Exchange."

Rufus explained that he had only spoken under the influence of personal
prejudice against Mr. Farnaby.

"What's in the wind now?" he asked.

He was confidentially informed that a coming storm was in the wind: in
other words, that a serious discovery had been made at the bank. Some
time since, the directors had advanced a large sum of money to a man in
trade, under Mr. Farnaby's own guarantee. The man had just died; and
examination of his affairs showed that he had only received a few
hundred pounds, on condition of holding his tongue. The bulk of the
money had been traced to Mr. Farnaby himself, and had all been
swallowed up by his newspaper, his patent medicine, and his other
rotten speculations, apart from his own proper business. "You may not
know it," the American friend concluded, "but the fact is, Farnaby rose
from the dregs. His bankruptcy is only a question of time--he will drop
back to the dregs; and, quite possibly, make his appearance to answer a
criminal charge in a court of law. I hear that Melton, whose credit has
held up the bank lately, is off to see his friend in Paris. They say
Farnaby's niece is a handsome girl, and Melton is sweet on her. Awkward
for Melton."

Rufus listened attentively. In signing the order for his investments,
he privately decided to stir no further, for the present, in the matter
of his young friend's marriage-engagement.

For the rest of the day and evening, he still waited for Amelius, and
waited in vain. It was drawing near to midnight, when Toff made his
appearance with a message from his master. Amelius had discovered
Sally, and had returned in such a state of fatigue that he was only fit
to take some refreshment, and to go to his bed. He would be away from
home again, on the next morning; but he hoped to call at the hotel in
the course of the day. Observing Toff's face with grave and steady
scrutiny, Rufus tried to extract some further information from him. But
the old Frenchman stood on his dignity, in a state of immovable
reserve.

"You took me by the shoulder this morning, sir, and spun me round," he
said; "I do not desire to be treated a second time like a teetotum. For
the rest, it is not my habit to intrude myself into my master's
secrets."

"It's not _my_ habit," Rufus coolly rejoined, "to bear malice. I beg to
apologise sincerely, sir, for treating you like a teetotum; and I offer
you my hand."

Toff had got as far as the door. He instantly returned, with the
dignity which a Frenchman can always command in the serious emergencies
of his life. "You appeal to my heart and my honour, sir," he said. "I
bury the events of the morning in oblivion; and I do myself the honour
of taking your hand."

As the door closed on him, Rufus smiled grimly. "You're not in the
habit of intruding yourself into your master's secrets," he repeated.
"If Amelius reads your face as I read it, he'll look over his shoulder
when he goes out tomorrow--and, ten to one, he'll see you behind him in
the distance!"

Late on the next day, Amelius presented himself at the hotel. In
speaking of Sally, he was unusually reserved, merely saying that she
was ill, and under medical care, and then changing the subject. Struck
by the depressed and anxious expression of his face, Rufus asked if he
had heard from Regina. No: a longer time than usual had passed since
Regina had written to him. "I don't understand it," he said sadly. "I
suppose you didn't see anything of her in Paris?"

Rufus had kept his promise not to mention Regina's name in Sally's
presence. But it was impossible for him to look at Amelius, without
plainly answering the question put to him, for the sake of the friend
whom he loved. "I'm afraid there's trouble coming to you, my son, from
that quarter." With those warning words, he described all that had
passed between Regina and himself. "Some unknown enemy of yours has
spoken against you to her uncle," he concluded. "I suppose you have
made enemies, my poor old boy, since you have been in London?"

"I know the man," Amelius answered. "He wanted to marry Regina before I
met with her. His name is Melton."

Rufus started. "I heard only yesterday, he was in Paris with Farnaby.
And that's not the worst of it, Amelius. There's another of them making
mischief--a good friend of mine who has shown a twist in her temper,
that has taken me by surprise after twenty years' experience of her. I
reckon there's a drop of malice in the composition of the best woman
that ever lived--and the men only discover it when another woman steps
in, and stirs it up. Wait a bit!" he went on, when he had related the
result of his visit to Mrs. Payson. "I have telegraphed to Miss Regina
to be patient, and to trust you. Don't you write to defend yourself,
till you hear how you stand in her estimation, after my message.
Tomorrow's post may tell."

Tomorrow's post did tell.

Two letters reached Amelius from Paris. One from Mr. Farnaby, curt and
insolent, breaking off the marriage-engagement. The other, from Regina,
expressed with great severity of language. Her weak nature, like all
weak natures, ran easily into extremes, and, once roused into asserting
itself, took refuge in violence as a shy person takes refuge in
audacity. Only a woman of larger and firmer mind would have written of
her wrongs in a more just and more moderate tone.

Regina began without any preliminary form of address. She had no heart
to upbraid Amelius, and no wish to speak of what she was suffering, to
a man who had but too plainly shown that he had no respect for himself,
and neither love, nor pity even, for her. In justice to herself, she
released him from his promise, and returned his letters and his
presents. Her own letters might be sent in a sealed packet, addressed
to her at her uncle's place of business in London. She would pray that
he might be brought to a sense of the sin that he had committed, and
that he might yet live to be a worthy and a happy man. For the rest,
her decision was irrevocable. His own letter to Mrs. Payson condemned
him--and the testimony of an old and honoured friend of her uncle
proved that his wickedness was no mere act of impulse, but a deliberate
course of infamy and falsehood, continued over many weeks. From the
moment when she made that discovery, he was a stranger to her--and she
now bade him farewell.

"Have you written to her?" Rufus asked, when he had seen the letters.

Amelius reddened with indignation. He was not aware of it himself--but
his look and manner plainly revealed that Regina had lost her last hold
on him. Her letter had inflicted an insult--not a wound: he was
outraged and revolted; the deeper and gentler feelings, the emotions of
a grieved and humiliated lover, had been killed in him by her stern
words of dismissal and farewell.

"Do you think I would allow myself to be treated in that way, without a
word of protest?" he said to Rufus. "I have written, refusing to take
back my promise. 'I declare, on my word of honour, that I have been
faithful to you and to my engagement'--that was how I put it--'and I
scorn the vile construction which your uncle and his friend have placed
upon an act of Christian mercy on my part.' I wrote more tenderly,
before I finished my letter; feeling for her distress, and being
anxious above all things not to add to it. We shall see if she has love
enough left for me to trust my faith and honour, instead of trusting
false appearances. I will give her time."

Rufus considerately abstained from expressing any opinion. He waited
until the morning when a reply might be expected from Paris; and then
he called at the cottage.

Without a word of comment, Amelius put a letter into his friend's hand.
It was his own letter to Regina returned to him. On the back of it,
there was a line in Mr. Farnaby's handwriting:--"If you send any more
letters they will be burnt unopened." In those insolent terms the
wretch wrote with bankruptcy and exposure hanging over his head.

Rufus spoke plainly upon this. "There's an end of it now," he said.
"That girl would never have made the right wife for you, Amelius:
you're well out of it. Forget that you ever knew these people; and let
us talk of something else. How is Sally?"

At that ill-timed inquiry, Amelius showed his temper again. He was in a
state of nervous irritability which made him apt to take offence, where
no offence was intended. "Oh, you needn't be alarmed!" he answered
petulantly; "there's no fear of the poor child coming back to live with
me. She is still under the doctor's care."

Rufus passed over the angry reply without notice, and patted him on the
shoulder. "I spoke of the girl," he said, "because I wanted to help
her; and I can help her, if you will let me. Before long, my son, I
shall be going back to the United States. I wish you would go with me!"

"And desert Sally!" cried Amelius.

"Nothing of the sort! Before we go, I'll see that Sally is provided for
to your satisfaction. Will you think of it, to please me?"

Amelius relented. "Anything, to please you," he said.

Rufus noticed his hat and gloves on the table, and left him without
saying more. "The trouble with Amelius," he thought, as he closed the
cottage gate, "is not over yet."



CHAPTER 11

The day on which worthy old Surgeon Pinfold had predicted that Sally
would be in a fair way of recovery had come and gone; and still the
medical report to Amelius was the same:--"You must be patient, sir; she
is not well enough to see you yet."

Toff, watching his young master anxiously, was alarmed by the steadily
progressive change in him for the worse, which showed itself at this
time. Now sad and silent, and now again bitter and irritable, he had
deteriorated physically as well as morally, until he really looked like
the shadow of his former self. He never exchanged a word with his
faithful old servant, except when he said mechanically, "good morning"
or "good night." Toff could endure it no longer. At the risk of being
roughly misinterpreted, he followed his own kindly impulse, and spoke.
"May I own to you, sir," he said, with perfect gentleness and respect,
"that I am indeed heartily sorry to see you so ill?"

Amelius looked up at him sharply. "You servants always make a fuss
about trifles. I am a little out of sorts; and I want a change--that's
all. Perhaps I may go to America. You won't like that; I shan't
complain if you look out for another situation."

The tears came into the old man's eyes. "Never!" he answered fervently.
"My last service, sir, if you send me away, shall be my dearly loved
service here."

All that was most tender in the nature of Amelius was touched to the
quick. "Forgive me, Toff," he said; "I am lonely and wretched, and more
anxious about Sally than words can tell. There can be no change in my
life, until my mind is easy about that poor little girl. But if it does
end in my going to America, you shall go with me--I wouldn't lose you,
my good friend, for the world."

Toff still remained in the room, as if he had something left to say.
Entirely ignorant of the marriage engagement between Amelius and
Regina, and of the rupture in which it had ended, he vaguely suspected
nevertheless that his master might have fallen into an entanglement
with some lady unknown. The opportunity of putting the question was now
before him. He risked it in a studiously modest form.

"Are you going to America to be married, sir?"

Amelius eyed him with a momentary suspicion. "What has put that in your
head?" he asked.

"I don't know, sir," Toff answered humbly--"unless it was my own vivid
imagination. Would there be anything very wonderful in a gentleman of
your age and appearance conducting some charming person to the altar?"

Amelius was conquered once more; he smiled faintly. "Enough of your
nonsense, Toff! I shall never be married--understand that."

Toff's withered old face brightened slyly. He turned away to withdraw;
hesitated; and suddenly went back to his master.

"Have you any occasion for my services, sir, for an hour or two?" he
asked.

"No. Be back before I go out, myself--be back at three o'clock."

"Thank you, sir. My little boy is below, if you want anything in my
absence."

The little boy dutifully attending Toff to the gate, observed with
grave surprise that his father snapped his fingers gaily at starting,
and hummed the first bars of the Marseillaise. "Something is going to
happen," said Toff's boy, on his way back to the house.


From the Regent's Park to Blackacre Buildings is almost a journey from
one end of London to the other. Assisted for part of the way by an
omnibus, Toff made the journey, and arrived at the residence of Surgeon
Pinfold, with the easy confidence of a man who knew thoroughly well
where he was going, and what he was about. The sagacity of Rufus had
correctly penetrated his intentions; he had privately followed his
master, and had introduced himself to the notice of the surgeon--with a
mixture of motives, in which pure devotion to the interests of Amelius
played the chief part. His experience of the world told him that
Sally's departure was only the beginning of more trouble to come. "What
is the use of me to my master," he had argued, "except to spare him
trouble, in spite of himself?"

Surgeon Pinfold was prescribing for a row of sick people, seated before
him on a bench. "You're not ill, are you?" he said sharply to Toff.
"Very well, then, go into the parlour and wait."