The brother clerks

by Mary Ashley Townsend

Uttering these words, Guly sprang wildly forward. Arthur, finding he could not escape, turned short round and met him face to face.

The brothers grappled; all of Guly's meekness and forbearance was merged in the base insult which had been offered her he loved, and he seemed for the time gifted with almost superhuman strength. The struggle was brief; and Arthur was flung heavily upon the pavement. In an instant Blanche, whom Wilkins had released from the negro's grasp, was weeping on his bosom. With an effort, Arthur managed to pick himself up, and slunk away into the shadows, leaving Blanche with her defenders.

From that night the bonds of sympathy were broken between the brothers; and each trod his chosen path almost unheeded by the other.

"Tell me, Blanche," said Guly, as, rejoining Minny, they proceeded to her grandfather's house, "how this happened. What took you away from the sick-bed to be exposed to the craft of bad men?"

"Oh, I was so anxious and so unhappy," said Blanche, weeping bitterly, "I feared grandpapa would die before any of you came. I left Lilah, the little girl you sent me, Mr. Wilkins, to watch by grandpapa while I ran down the piazza steps to see if you were coming. The moment I reached the last step, that horrid negro threw his arm about me. I struggled and tried to scream, but the other forced a gag in my mouth, and carried me off. I gave myself up to die, but God sent you, dear Guly, to save me, and you, Mr. Wilkins, for the second time. This same bad man has hung about here for a week or more; but I have always tried to elude him, because I believed him wicked, though he pretended to love me and all that."

Guly shuddered as he felt it must have been Blanche of whom Arthur had spoken a few evenings before; but he said nothing, and stood once more in the little room where many times they had been so happy together. The old man's easy chair was empty now, and from an inner room came low faint moans of suffering.

Blanche hurried to the bedside, and stood bending over her grandfather, weeping bitterly. It was evident his hours were numbered, and they all gathered round, silent and tearful, to see the old man die. Blanche stood on one side of the bed, with Minny by her side, and Guly and Wilkins directly opposite. Slowly the breath came through those aged lips, slow and faint. In his effort to get air, the dying man threw out his arms upon the coverlet. His hands met those of Blanche and Guly, as they rested on the bedside. It might have been accident, but the trembling fingers clasped them tightly, and with a last effort folded them together above him. There came a shiver, a faint moan, and the grandsire was dead, with his chilling fingers still folding those two young hands together.

There seemed to be no bounds to Blanche's grief, and it was with the greatest difficulty she could be persuaded to leave for a moment the corpse of her grandfather. When she was at last induced to do so, Wilkins sent for an undertaker and had the body fitly prepared for its last resting-place.