Fashion and Famine

by Ann S. Stephens

The child snatched up her basket and gave a hurried glance around, seeking for some means of egress from the wharf; but while she was occupied by the steamer, a crowd had gathered down to the water's edge, and she shrunk from attempting a passage through the mass of carts, carriages and people that blocked up her way to the city.

"Poh! there's nothing to be afeared of!" said the good-natured tar, observing her terrified look; "only take care of your traps, and it's worth while waiting."

By this time the steamer was opposite Governor's Island. She made a bold curve around the Battery, and came up to her berth with a slow and measured beat of the engine, blowing off steam at intervals, like a racer drawing breath after sweeping his course.

The deck of the steamer was alive with passengers, an eager crowd full of cheerfulness and expectation. Most of them were evidently from the higher classes of society; for their rich attire and a certain air of refined indifference was manifest, even in the excitement of an arrival.

Among the rest, Julia saw two persons that fascinated her attention in a most singular degree, drawing it from the whole scene, till she heeded nothing else.

One of these was a woman somewhat above the common size, and of superb proportions, who leaned against the railing of the steamer with a heavy, drooping bend, as if occupied with some deep and painful feeling. One glove was off, and her eager grasp upon the black wood-work seemed to start the blue veins up to the snowy surface of a hand, whose symmetry was visible, even from the shore. Julia could not remove her eyes from the strange and beautiful face of this woman. Deep, but subdued agony was at work in every lineament. There was wildness in her very motion, as she lifted her superb form from the railing, and drew the folds of a cashmere shawl over her bosom, pressing her hand hard upon the rich fabric, as if to relieve some painful feeling that it covered.

The steamer now lay close in her berth. A sort of movable staircase was flung from the side of the wharf, and down this staircase came the passengers, eager to touch the firm earth once more. Among the foremost was the woman who had so riveted the attention of Julia Warren; and, behind her, bearing a silver dressing-case and a small embroidered satchel, came a tall and singular looking man. Though his form was upright enough in itself, he bent forward in his walk; and his arms, long and awkward, seemed like the members of some other body, that had, by mistake, been given up to his ungainly use. His dress was fine in material, but carelessly put on, ill-fitting and badly arranged in all its tints. A hat of fine beaver and foreign make, seemed flung on the back of his head, and settled tightly there by a blow on the crown; his great hands were gloveless; and his boots appeared at least a size too large for the feet they encased.

This man would now and then cast a glance from his small, gray eyes on the superb woman who preceded him; and it was easy to see by his countenance, that he observed, and after his fashion shared the anguish visible in her features. His own face deepened in its expression of awkward sadness with every glance; and he hugged the dressing case to his side with unconscious violence, which threatened to crush the delicate frost-work that enriched it.

With a wild and dry brightness in her large, blue eyes, the lady descended to the wharf, a few paces from the spot occupied by the strawberry girl. As her foot touched the earth, Julia saw that the white hand dropped from its hold on the shawl, and the costly garment half fell from her shoulders, trailing the dirty wharf with its embroidery. In the whole crowd there was no object but this woman to the girl. With a pale cheek and suspended breath she watched every look and motion. There was something almost supernatural in the concentration of her whole being on this one person. An intense desire to address the stranger—to meet the glance of her eyes—to hear her voice, seized upon the child. She sprang forward, obeying this strange impulse, and lifting the soiled drapery of the shawl, held it up grasped in her trembling hands.