A year rolled round, and Leonard visited his country home, and Mr. Brooks had no occasion to "release" him in that he loved him; and all the family loved him; and there was one of them who more than loved him, Isabella; but so gentle and undemonstrative had she been, that Leonard did not know it; and he regarded all the girls as his sisters, and was kind, and gentle, and cheerful to them all alike. Still, sometimes he thought he "liked" (for he never thought of "love" towards any of them, save in the kindly, friendly sense), Isabella, in particular, the best.
When he returned there was rejoicing in the Brooks' house, and all went on smoothly. These things proceeded till Leonard became of age, and Mr. Brooks at once took him into full partnership, giving him outright an interest sufficient to make him wealthy. Leonard had not forgotten his love of books, and occupied most of his leisure hours at his happy home, reading to the family. Thus he was storing his mind, and fitting himself for greater usefulness.
So fashionable a family as the Brookses, had necessarily been called into society much, and had given many parties themselves, but they gradually lost their interest in those things after Leonard came; and as Mr. Brooks saw the advantage of which his reading and studential habits would be to his daughters, he encouraged their more quiet life. In short, Leonard became indispensable to that household, and lived there as a brother and a son, to whom they all had come to look up, till his twenty-fourth year, when, going a little into society, and meeting various ladies, whom he admired, he began to conceive the thought of marriage; but he found none who, in comparison with the young ladies at home, he thought equal to them, especially to one of them, the gentle Isabella, who was also a very good scholar, and had studied a great deal since Leonard became a member of the family. He dwelt upon the matter very much. Isabella was almost a sister, indeed. He felt a delicacy about revealing his affections; but at last he did, and the tears of Isabella revealed her only too great joy.
They made their story known to Mr. and Mrs. Brooks, who, in their gladness, would have had them marry the very next day. Mr. Brooks said that any delay under the circumstances was absurd; that he did not care for formalities, and wanted to make no show. But Mrs. Brooks's pride took another direction. She wanted time to make a great wedding, and Mr. Brooks yielded. The wedding came, and passed all happily, and Leonard Savage and Isabella Brooks were united for a happy life, to be checkered, however, by great misery to them both. They remained with Mr. Brooks's family for a year, when they moved into a new house which Mr. Brooks had erected meanwhile, and given to Isabella, and time went on; children were born to them, and happy grandparents lived over their lives again in the smiles of their loving grandchildren.
Meanwhile Mr. Brooks changed his business somewhat, and founding a bank, he became president of it, and along with him went Leonard, as chief clerk, his property, now sufficient for his support in style, being invested in various paying stocks. He went more as a companion for old Mr. Brooks, than to fill a position for the sake of its salary; and as Mr. Brooks had a dear friend, who, in his old age had become ruined in Wall Street, it was arranged that he should be cashier so long as he might desire, or might live, and that Mr. Savage should succeed him, if he so desired. But Mr. Savage was Mr. Brooks's confidential clerk in all respects, and was intrusted with everything.
All things went on happily and smoothly for a year and a half, till a certain fatal day arrived. The day before, Mr. Savage, who, in all the long time he had been with Mr. Brooks, never drew out at any time from the concern but a portion of his dues, told Mr. Brooks that he had become embarrassed a little through the decline of a certain stock, which was sure, however, to come up again, and that he wanted a thousand dollars for current expenses; and unwilling to sell any stock he held, and not willing to ask anybody else to loan him, was obliged to ask of him a favor. Mr. Brooks smiled at the matter, gave him the money at once, and in a manner of half reproof, and half joke, said, "Leonard, what made you think I'd lend you money? I won't, never. Take that as a birthday present from me, to reverse the order of things, for to-morrow is my birthday." Leonard took the money, considering it a loan, which he should make up in a week.
The next day was a fatal one to the happiness of that house, and the one to which all I have written here has been pointing. It was noon. Mr. Brooks was out of town, the cashier had gone to his dinner, and so the clerks, and all but an old negro messenger, who had been with the house since its establishment, and he was dozing away in his accustomed seat, when a man entered the bank with a draft for two thousand dollars, and something over (I forget the exact sum); was in haste, or such was Mr. Savage's story; got it cashed by Mr. Savage, who acted as teller in the teller's absence, and cashier too, and made an entry in the books, and slipped the draft, as he declared, into the proper drawer, preparatory to its being duly filed, according to the custom of the bank. That night the entry was found in the books, but no draft to correspond was found. Mr. Savage was confounded; the old cashier said an unkind word to him about carelessness, and the bank closed without the matter being settled.
Next day the cashier brought the thing to Mr. Brooks's notice before Mr. Savage came in; and the old cashier presumed, on his intimacy with Mr. Brooks, to say that the affair "looked bad." The illness of one of Mr. Savage's children delayed him an hour or two beyond the usual time of arriving at the bank, and this added to Mr. Brooks's uneasiness, not knowing the cause. Moreover, there flashed into his mind, what had been forgotten for nearly thirty years, the mournful history of the latter life of a man in the South, whom he once knew, and who, in the midst of happiest surroundings, and after having enjoyed everybody's confidence for a period of over forty years, proved at last a villain.
Mr. Brooks deemed this man's name coming back, as it did,—he knew not how,—to memory, as a sort of providential presentation of light upon the matter in question; and, by the deep degree of his affection for his son-in-law, his suspicions became intense, as he afterwards explained it. By the time Leonard Savage got to the bank, Mr. Brooks was in the mood to believe almost anything of him. He remembered, too, that he was embarrassed the day before, and he had given him a thousand dollars. How did he know but he wanted more thousands? What had he done with his money?
When Mr. Savage arrived, Mr. Brooks, with a frown on his face, invited him into the directors' room, shut the door, and asked him to explain about that draft. Mr. Savage told him the whole simple story, quietly; expressed his great regret at his stupidity; said he knew he must have—in fact, he knew as well as he knew anything—put the draft in such a place; that it was drawn by such a bank in the country (a familiar one, often doing business with them); was all right, etc., and that he and the clerks had hunted high and low, and it was not to be found the day before. Mr. Savage was secretly annoyed at Mr. Brooks's pertinacity in the matter, and he finally said,—