the ruddy beams of an october sun shone through the one window of the little rudely furnished room that leah occupied in the inn. weary from her long, toilsome journey, she still slept. though tired nature for a time resisted the intrusion of the garish sunlight, the chirruping of her little child at length aroused leah to consciousness. the tiny, dimpled hands were tangled in the long black hair that hung about the mother's shoulders in dishevelled grace, and the merry child laughed gleefully as the mother awoke.
"is my bird always ready to sing?" said leah tenderly, as she beheld the innocent, happy child by her side. "may you never know a note of sadness, my love; sing on, while you may." then leah sadly turned her eyes upward to the cracked, stained wall overhead, and faintly murmured, "here i am at last, alone-alone in the queen city, friendless and penniless-alone in the place where i once possessed thousands-alone in my search for the only being who loves me, in this wide world-alone, with nothing to cheer me but my own faithful, resolute heart. when that fails me i shall find rest. poor, beloved emile!"
overcome by weariness, anxiety, and fear, leah covered her face with the coarse brown coverlet of her bed, and wept and sobbed in very bitterness of heart. at length, astonished at the withdrawal of its mother's smile, the child cried; and ceasing to weep, leah clasped the helpless creature to her bosom in a fond, impassioned embrace. "god keep you, blessed one!" she said with deepest pathos. "heaven shield you, my angel, from such sorrow as now fills your mother's heart! but i must be up and doing. weeping will not accomplish the end and object of my coming."
arising resolutely, she hastily performed their simple toilets, and descended the narrow stairway to the breakfast-room.
the plain repast was soon over, the coarse, garrulous inmates of the inn departed, and leah with her child sat alone in the ill-furnished reception-room. she had sent a wiry-looking little negro boy for the proprietor, and was awaiting his appearance. suddenly a thump, thump, thump, sounded along the narrow entry, and a short, red-faced, bald-headed, pompous looking old man, with a wooden leg, stood before her.
"madam," he said, bowing obsequiously, "is it yourself that desired my presence? cricket told me-we call that limber-looking little nigger cricket-that a lady desired to see me in the drawing-room."
"whom have i the honor of addressing?" said leah, with difficulty repressing a smile excited by the grotesque appearance of the man. "i desired to see the proprietor."
"exactly so, madam, and my name is michael moran, the proprietor of the good cheer house these twenty years."
"and have you remained in the queen city during all these dreadful months of shelling?" said leah, whose heart was at once brightened by the hope that she might gather some desired information from him.
"oh, yes, child-beg pardon, madam, but, really, you look like a child. michael moran is not the man to desert the post of duty in times of danger. you see, madam"--and he pointed to the wooden stump--"you see, i had the misfortune to lose a member in the mexican war. that wooden stump speaks yet of michael moran's bravery, and i am the same brave man to-day that i was in 'forty-seven, always ready to serve my country."
"yes," replied leah, "but you are too old to do much for your country now."
"yes; that is to say, i am not able to take up arms, but then i have done valiant service by furnishing a very comfortable, thoroughly respectable wayside home for my country's unfortunate children. you see, madam, the good cheer house is known far and near as the place to find good food and lodging, at very reasonable prices. the soldiers-alas! i know what a soldier's life is," and the old man laid his fat, plump hand on his heart, "the soldiers, i say, find out the house of michael moran, and enjoy the good cheer he dispenses."
the old man, once started, would have continued his remarks ad infinitum, had not leah bravely interrupted him by asking:
"can you tell me, sir, if any of the refugees have yet returned?"
"a good many, madam. you see this infernal old shelling, although it's pretty pesky business, hasn't done much harm, after all. it battered down a few fine houses, and killed some men, but then i don't believe the queen city will never surrender; and by erin i hope it never will. if the soldiers, to a man, possessed the heart of michael moran, they would stand out till--"
"can you tell me anything of the le grande family-judge le grande, i mean?" again interrupted leah bravely.
"the judge? oh, yes; i think they went to france some months ago," replied michael, with an air of profound satisfaction at possessing some slight acquaintance with so distinguished a man as the judge; and patting his knee with his plump hand, he continued, "you see the judge was not particularly a war man, and--"
"do you know anything of the levys?" again cut short the old inn-keeper's volubility.
"the levys? oh, yes; they fled long ago, and are now roving the face of the earth. the bombs well-nigh tore down old levy's house, and i guess that will about kill him, as he is as stingy as a man well can be. if he had stayed by his suffering city, as michael moran has--"
"but mrs. levy was a widow," interrupted leah, seeing that the old man was coining his information as he went, for the purpose of his own exaltation. "her husband has been dead these many years."
determined not to be baffled in this quiet way, michael replied, "well, this was another man, madam," and fearing leah might discredit his fabricated story, he added, "i swear by erin it was another man."
"well, sir, can you tell me anything of the mordecai family-mr. benjamin mordecai?" said leah, with a slightly tremulous voice.
the old man's eye brightened up, and he slapped his fat hand upon his knee with renewed force and rapidity, and replied, with an inquisitive squint in his face, "are you a jew?"
"i am a jewess, sir," she said softly. "i feel an interest in my people. what can you tell me of the mordecais."
"well, child, then listen to me again. i say emphatically madam, now. well, old ben mordecai he was a mighty rich man, had a bank many, many years, and lots and piles of gold. in fact, he was my banker at one time in my life, and to-day he can testify as to whether michael moran was or wasn't a thrifty man and the good cheer house a paying institution. some years ago though, i moved my business to another bank, ahem!" here the old man eyed leah sharply, to see if these hints respecting his pecuniary status did not impress her profoundly. then he continued, "well, i was about stating-well, where was i?" he said, with a puzzled look of regret, as though he had lost, or was about to lose, some cherished remark, so bewildering had been the thought in reference to his money matters, "where was i?"
"you were speaking of mr. mordecai's having left the queen city," kindly suggested leah, seeing the old man's embarrassment.
"oh yes; my head gets a little muddy sometimes," said the inn-keeper apologetically, as he rubbed his rosy hand, this time briskly across the bald, sleek surface of his head. "well, the mordecais went away, and i am told a poor family moved into the old man's house to protect it. but the other week, a shell came whizzing into the city and tore off one corner of his fine house. i tell you, madam, the old man had a fine house, sure. and, madam, old mordecai had a fine guirl once, and a few years ago she ran away and married some fellow, and it well-nigh broke the old man's heart. they ran away, and went somewhere; i think it was to the island of cuby. my banker told me this. you see, madam, my resources are yet such, that my banking business is quite burdensome to me. the good cheer house is a fine paying institution, sure, and--"
"but what of the unfortunate daughter?" inquired leah faintly.
"well, as i was about remarking, they went away to cuby, and some months ago, perhaps a year or so, they caught the scamp out there, and smuggled him to this country, to be punished for a murder he committed some years ago, long before he was married."
leah's heart throbbed wildly in her bosom, and every limb trembled like an aspen; but the old man did not detect her emotion, and continued:
"he will soon be tried here. i hear the friends of the dead man and the mordecais are pushing up the trial. when the trial comes off, i guess the banker's family will come back."
"is the unfortunate man confined in the old city prison here?" inquired leah, with a faltering voice.
"yes, madam. at one time a shell struck the old prison, and some of the inmates came nigh escaping, but they have had it repaired, and now it's pretty full, sure. if a bomb could strike it, and finish all the inmates at once, i guess that would suit them. i don't know why else they keep that jail full of thieves and murderers. i am too busy with my wayside house, giving cheer and comfort to my unfortunate countrymen, to bother much about the jail-birds. yes, michael moran is too busy for that."
"what is my bill, sir?" said leah faintly, oblivious of the wordy michael's harangue, and thinking only of the prison-the dim, dark prison, where her husband was languishing. "i have no money but gold," she continued; "how much do i owe you for my food and lodging?"
"gold!" repeated michael with eager emphasis; and then, as if fearing to betray his characteristic love of the shining ore, he added with an air of indifference, "well, i guess, as you have nothing else, gold will do. you owe me--" and he named a certain sum. "remarkable low price. michael moran hasn't the heart to be hard on a woman; and i know you'll be sorry, to your dyin' day, that you had to quit the good cheer house so soon."
leah made no reply and evinced no regret, as she handed out, from her low supply of money, the amount demanded. hurrying away from the inn, with the child in her arms, she hastened forward toward the dismal jail that, as she well remembered, was many streets away.
on the same bright october morning that opened the eyes of leah in the queen city, emile le grande was pacing to and fro in his prison cell at an early hour. the confinement of so many long, weary months had left its impress on every feature; and pale and emaciated he scarcely resembled his former self. before him, on a tin platter, was the coarse prison breakfast, as yet untasted. restless and miserable, he trod backward and forward within the narrow limits of his cell, now glancing up at the sunlight that streamed through the narrow window so far above his head, then turning his ready ear to catch the sound of every human footstep that trod the corridors, or moved in the adjoining cells of this wretched place.
despair had settled upon him, and death was a coveted visitor. "is it myself," he muttered, as he convulsively ran his fingers through his hair, grown long from neglect, "or is it some other unfortunate wretch? have i a wife and child on a far-off foreign shore, or is this thought a horrid, hideous nightmare, that comes to harrow my brain? o birds of the air, i envy you! o breezes that wander, i envy you! o sunlight, that streams through my window, give me my freedom, my freedom, i pray!"
overpowered by these thoughts, the wretched man, enfeebled in mind as well as body, sank down upon the hard pallet, when the sound of footsteps was again heard along the corridor, coming nearer, nearer, nearer to his cell door. startled, emile heard the bolt draw back once more and the door open, and the jailer stood before him.
"le grande," he said, "there's a woman below says she must see you-a beggar; shall i bring her up?"
"yes, man, in the name of mercy, bring her up. i'd see a dog that would come to me in this lonely place. bring her up, beggar or not, though i have nothing to give her."
the jailer withdrew, and emile's heart beat wildly from the strange announcement that even a beggar wished to see him in his wretchedness now.
again the footsteps resounded in the corridor, coming nearer, nearer, nearer, to the cell.
emile had risen from his pallet, and searching in his pocket said, "i haven't even so much as a fourpence for the poor old soul."
the cell door opened. emile saw the jailer, and a woman with a child. his eye flashed bright, his heart leaped to his throat. the woman's face grew paler, and tottering forward she fell upon the prisoner's bosom, and gasped, "my husband!"
he said, "thank god. my wife! my wife! my child!"
