An Outcast | Page 8

and them is all ladies
you see," says the hostess, as we advance timidly into the room, the air
of which is sickly of perfumes. The foot falls upon the softest of carpets;
quaint shadows, from stained-glass windows are flitting and dancing on
the frescoed ceiling; curtains of finest brocade, enveloped in lace, fall
cloud-like down the windows. The borderings are of amber-colored
satin, and heavy cornices, over which eagles in gilt are perched,
surmount the whole. Pictures no artist need be ashamed of decorate the
walls, groups in bronze and Parian, stand on pedestals between the
windows, and there is a regal air about the furniture, which is of the
most elaborate workmanship. But the living figures moving to and fro,
some in uncouth dresses and some scarce dressed at all, and all
reflected in the great mirrors, excite the deepest interest. Truly it is here

that vice has arrayed itself in fascinating splendors, and the young and
the old have met to pay it tribute. The reckless youth meets the man
high in power here. The grave exchange salutations with the gay. Here
the merchant too often meets his clerk, and the father his son. And
before this promiscuous throng women in bright but scanty drapery,
and wan faces, flaunt their charms.
Sitting on a sofa, is the fair young girl we saw at the cemetery. By her
side is a man of venerable presence, endeavoring to engage her in
conversation. Her face is shadowed in a pensive smile;--she listens to
what falls from the lips of her companion, shakes her head negatively,
and watches the movements of a slender, fair-haired young man, who
saunters alone on the opposite side of the room. He has a deep interest
in the fair girl, and at every turn casts a look of hate and scorn at her
companion, who is no less a person than Judge Sleepyhorn, of this
history.
"Hain't no better wine nowhere, than's got in this house," ejaculates the
old hostess, calling our attention to a massive side-board, covered with
cut-glass of various kinds. "A gentleman what's a gentleman may get a
little tipsy, providin' he do it on wine as is kept in this house, and carry
himself square." Madame motions patronizingly with her hand, bows
condescendingly, and says, "Two bottles I think you ordered,
gentlemen--what gentlemen generally call for."
Having bowed assent, and glad to get off so cheaply, Manfredo, a slave
in bright livery, is directed to bring it in.
Mr. Snivel enters, to the great delight of the old hostess and various
friends of the house. "Mr. Snivel is the spirit of this house," resumes
the old hostess, by way of introduction; "a gentleman of distinction in
the law." She turns to Mr. Snivel inquiringly. "You sent that ruffin,
Tom Swiggs, up for me to-day?"
"Lord bless you, yes--gave him two months for contemplation. Get well
starved at fifteen cents a day----"
"Sorry for the fellow," interrupts the old hostess, sympathizingly.

"That's what comes a drinkin' bad liquor. Tom used to be a first-rate
friend of this house--spent heaps of money, and we all liked him so.
Tried hard to make a man of Tom. Couldn't do it." Madame shakes her
head in sadness. "Devil got into him, somehow. Ran down, as young
men will when they gets in the way. I does my part to save them, God
knows." A tear almost steals into Madame's eyes. "When Tom used to
come here, looking so down, I'd give him a few dollars, and get him to
go somewhere else. Had to keep up the dignity of the house, you know.
A man as takes his liquor as Tom does ain't fit company for my house."
Mr. Snivel says: "As good advice, which I am bound to give his mother,
I shall say she'd better give him steady lodgings in jail." He turns and
recognizes his friend, the judge, and advances towards him. As he does
so, Anna rises quickly to her feet, and with a look of contempt,
addressing the judge, says, "Never, never. You deceived me once, you
never shall again. You ask me to separate myself from him. No, never,
never." And as she turns to walk away the judge seizes her by the hand,
and retains her. "You must not go yet," he says.
"She shall go!" exclaims the fair young man, who has been watching
their movements. "Do you know me? I am the George Mulholland you
are plotting to send to the whipping-post,--to accomplish your vile
purposes. No, sir, I am not the man you took me for, as I would show
you were it not for your grey hairs." He releases her from the judge's
grasp, and stands menacing that high old functionary with his finger. "I
care not