"I do not know. I am quite strange and unknown to all. But you, Mr. Sandow, are acquainted with this man, you must know"--
She dared not complete the sentence, for she felt that every additional word might be an insult, and so indeed Sandow seemed to take it. The milder tone in which he had begun the conversation, disappeared in the wonted cold severity as he returned--
"At all events, I am much surprised to hear how the name and reputation of a great firm can be slandered in certain circles. You are still almost a child, Miss Palm, and it is easy to imagine, but understand nothing of, such things. You cannot know how influential the name of Jenkins and Co. is in the commercial world. But those who allow themselves such freedom in their slander should consider that and beware."
This refutation sounded dry enough, but not convincing. Of the power and influence of the man no one had doubted, only that his influence was injurious. Frida of course had no idea of the nature of the connection between the two houses, but even the mention of the two names together had deeply shocked her.
"You are angry with me for my imprudent expressions about your friend," she said. "I repeated unsuspectingly what I had heard, and Pastor Hagen's remarks only referred to the danger with which such undertakings threaten our emigrants. He has daily in New York before his eyes the proof of how deeply such things affect the weal or woe of thousands. You cannot know that the interests of your banking-house lie certainly far removed from such speculations."
"Now how is it that you are so sure of it?" asked Sandow jestingly, but the jest seemed somewhat forced. The dialogue began to disturb him, yet he made no effort to break it off; there was something in it which charmed and enchained him against his will.
Frida emerged more and more from her reserve. The subject interested her in the highest degree, and her voice trembled with deep emotion as she replied--
"I have once, only once, seen such a picture of misery, but it has made an indelible impression on me. While I was in New York, a number of emigrants came to us, Germans, who some years ago had gone to the Far West, and were now returning. They had, doubtless, listened too readily to the representations of the unscrupulous agents, and had lost everything in those pathless woods. There they had left, sacrificed to the climate, many of their nearest and dearest; there they had left their means, their hopes, their courage--all! The German pastor who had warned them before and whom they had not credited, must now advise them and procure them the means of returning to their native land. It was terrible to see these, once so courageous and strong, now so utterly broken down and despairing, and to hear their lamentations. I shall never forget it!"
As if overpowered by the recollection, she laid her hand upon her eyes. Sandow replied not one word. He had turned away and looked grave and motionless out into the mist. Immovable, as if chained to the spot, he listened to every word which came with ever-increasing passion and excitement from the youthful lips.
"I saw myself, on board the steamer which brought also hundreds of emigrants here, how much anxiety and care such a ship carries, how many hopes and fears. Happiness is seldom the cause which forces them to leave their home. With so many it is the last hope, the last attempt to create a new home for themselves out here. And then to think that all their hopes fail, all their toil and labour is lost, that they must be ruined because one man will enrich himself, because there are men who, on purpose, with the fullest knowledge send their brothers into misery, to make a gain out of their destruction. I should never have believed it possible had I not myself seen it and heard it from those who returned!"