It has happened of late that several of my books have been more or less criticised for improbabilities attached either to a character, or some event selected from the rest of the book as too extravagant for belief or for the harmonies of true art. Now, singular enough, in every instance, the events or characters selected for these criticisms have been facts in themselves, or portraits drawn from persons well known to myself and others. If such criticism should fall on the character of Madame De Marke, I may perhaps be permitted to state that this woman has lived within the last fifteen years, and was well known in a certain neighborhood in the city of New York for her wealth, her eccentricity, and her avaricious habits. Her person, her manner of life, and her extreme parsimony, are in no respect overdrawn. The room in which she lived and died is described exactly as she inhabited it in 1849. Of course, the events of the story which runs through this volume are not absolute facts, but the character of the woman, improbable as it may seem, is the vraisemblance of a real individual.

CONTENTS.

Chapter PAGE
I.—A WARD IN BELLEVUE[25]
II.—MARY MARGARET DILLON[31]
III.—THE HOSPITAL NURSE[35]
IV.—MADAME DE MARKE[39]
V.—THE MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE[44]
VI.—THE DIAMOND EAR-RINGS[48]
VII.—THE TWO INFANTS[54]
VIII.—THE VIAL OF WHITE MEDICINE[57]
IX.—EARLY IN THE MORNING[62]
X.—THE VELVET PRAYER-BOOK AND ITS CONTENTS[66]
XI.—JANE KELLY FINDS AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE[73]
XII.—THE CONFERENCE IN MRS. JUDSON’S CHAMBER[78]
XIII.—MRS. JUDSON DISTRIBUTES THE FUNDS[82]
XIV.—THE SAINT AND THE SINNER[91]
XV.—PREPARING FOR THE FUNERAL[98]
XVI.—PARTING WITH THE CHILD[105]
XVII.—WHERE COULD SHE GO?[110]
XVIII.—TURNED OUT-OF-DOORS[118]
XIX.—MEMORIES AND RESOLUTIONS[122]
XX.—ALL ALONE[126]
XXI.—DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND[130]
XXII.—THE ODD EAR-RING[133]
XXIII.—A FRIEND IN NEED[138]
XXIV.—MARY MARGARET DILLON’S SHANTY[142]
XXV.—SEEKING FOR HELP[150]
XXVI.—THE PROFESSED PHILANTHROPIST[155]
XXVII.—A CHARITABLE CROSS-EXAMINATION[161]
XXVIII.—JANE KELLY ON HER TRIAL[167]
XXIX.—SHELTERED AT LAST[171]
XXX.—MADAME DE MARKE AND HER PET[175]
XXXI.—THE YOUNG MAN’S RETURN[179]
XXXII.—SEARCHING FOR HIS WIFE[184]
XXXIII.—TURNING SHADOWS INTO SUNBEAMS[187]
XXXIV.—ELSIE, THE LUNATIC[190]
XXXV.—SHOWING HOW A GOOD WOMAN CAN DIE[193]
XXXVI.—THE OLD MANSION-HOUSE[201]
XXXVII.—THE CLOSED LIBRARY[207]
XXXVIII.—THE FAMILY BREAKFAST[214]
XXXIX.—THE TWO PORTRAITS[218]
XL.—THE BIRD-CAGE[222]
XLI.—NURSES FOR THE CHILDREN OF THE POOR[227]
XLII.—THE ADOPTED SON[234]
XLIII.—SITTING BY THE DOOR[240]
XLIV.—THE ITALIAN VILLA[246]
XLV.—THE STRANGE LADY AND HER CHILD[250]
XLVI.—THE MANIAC AND THE CHILD[255]
XLVII.—THREE HEARTS GO OUT TO LITTLE EDDIE[259]
XLVIII.—THE IMAGE IN THE GLASS[262]
XLIX.—ENEMIES MEETING[266]
L.—A VISITOR TO BREAKFAST[271]
LI.—OUT IN THE STORM[276]
LII.—OUT IN THE STORM[280]
LIII.—COMING HOME FROM CALIFORNIA[283]
LIV.—LOUIS DE MARKE’S CONFESSION[289]
LV.—THE NIGHT OF MISS JUDSON’S WEDDING[293]
LVI.—THE BROTHERS TALK OVER THEIR FATHER’S DEATH[297]
LVII.—THE SECRET MARRIAGE.—LOUIS GOES ON WITH HIS STORY[304]
LVIII.—LOUISA’S LETTERS[307]
LIX.—AT BELLEVUE HOSPITAL[311]
LX.—THE FEMALE MISER IN HER DEN[317]
LXI.—MADAME’S GOLDEN CRUCIFIX[323]
LXII.—BEGGING FOR FOOD[327]
LXIII.—THE IRON-BOUND BOX[332]
LXIV.—THE BROTHERS CONSULT AGAIN[334]
LXV.—THE WASHERWOMAN’S INTRUSION[338]
LXVI.—A DOMESTIC STORM[344]
LXVII.—THE WOUNDED BIRD[349]
LXVIII.—DOUBTS AND FEARS[353]
LXIX.—MADAME DE MARKE’S DEATH-BED[359]
LXX.—LITTLE EDDIE’S GRIEF[365]
LXXI.—QUESTIONS AND CONFESSIONS[371]
LXXII.—ELSIE’S MARRIED LIFE[376]
LXXIII.—ELSIE RETURNS HOME[381]
LXXIV.—ANNOUNCEMENT OF THE WEDDING[386]
LXXV.—THE INTERRUPTED CEREMONY[393]
LXXVI.—RIGHTED AT LAST[397]
LXXVII.—ABOUT THE LITTLE BOY[403]

THE

CURSE OF GOLD.

CHAPTER I.
A WARD IN BELLEVUE.

The sick ward of a hospital, mockingly, it would seem, called Bellevue. The room was long, low in the ceiling, and lighted by a range of windows sunk deep in the wall, which overlooked the East River and an expanse of Long Island that curved along the opposite shore.

A few poverty-stricken women, and some worse than that, because bowed down by shame as well as poverty, had sought this ward as the only place in which their anguish and sorrow could find shelter.

Narrow, pauper cots, furnished with straw beds and covered with coarse, checkered cotton, were ranged down each side, of the room, with just space enough between to allow a sort of foot-path in which the nurses could pass from one bed to another.

Every cot was occupied. Here a young face, so pale and mournful that your heart ached while gazing on it, was turned sadly toward you on the straw pillow, or a feeble hand would make an effort to draw up the coverlet, that you might not mark the flush of shame that stole over her forehead, or discover the cause of that shame which lay nestled in her bosom.