CHAPTER III.
[A LADY OF FASHION PAYS SAMUEL BOYD A VISIT.]
A close and crafty face, masking a soul which knew no mercy and gave none. The grave holds its secrets, and holds them no less securely than Mr. Samuel Boyd, in his outward presentment to his fellow man, believed he held his. Whether the pursuit of pleasure for the delights--be they fair or foul--that pleasure brings, or the pursuit of wealth for the power it confers, was the dominant principle of this man's life, no human being could truthfully say, for no human being was admitted into his confidence. But one thing was certain. By whatever motive he may have been guided he held his way with absolute dependence on his own resources to triumph easily over every obstacle that might present itself. As to the manner in which these triumphs were obtained it mattered little to him whether he merely brushed aside the persons who opposed him, or trampled them into the dust. Their mortification, their sufferings, their destruction, concerned him not and did not trouble him. There are men who, in the contemplated execution of a crime, or in the pursuance of a base desire, listen to the voice of conscience before it is too late. Not so Mr. Samuel Boyd. He was harassed by no troubled dreams, by no weak fears of consequences, by no whisperings of an inconvenient conscience, by no spiritual warnings of Divine punishment for sinful deeds. For him, the entire range of the moral affections and of moral sentiments and conditions was expressed in one word: Self. It was for Self he lived and for Self alone.
Such being the man it was not to be supposed that he was in any way affected by the sentence he had pronounced upon Abel Death, or that he gave a moment's thought to the poor clerk who was trudging home almost broken-hearted at the loss even of the miserable wage he received for duties faithfully performed.
The letter he had taken from the letter box was from a lady who stated that she would call upon him at eight o'clock this evening. He had not long to wait, for by his watch he saw that it wanted but two minutes to eight; and punctually to the hour there came a rat-tat-tat at the street door.
With no indication of haste he went down, and laughed slyly to himself when the knocking was repeated, more impatiently and peremptorily the second time than the first. He drew the door ajar leisurely, still keeping it on the chain.
"Who wants Samuel Boyd?" he inquired.
"Who wants Samuel Boyd?" answered a lady's voice. "Upon my word! To keep a lady waiting in such a dreadful place as this, the entrance to which is so narrow that a carriage can't get into it! Open the door at once, man, and let me in!"
"As quickly as I can, my lady," said Mr. Boyd, fumbling at the chain. "It is Lady Wharton, is it not?"
"Who else should it be, pray?" replied the lady. "And if Lady Wharton had known what kind of thoroughfare this was she would have thought twice before she'd have ventured into it." There was nothing querulous in the voice; it was hearty and bluff, with a cheerful ring in it very pleasant to the ear.