The Brother Clerks; A Tale of New-Orleans.

CHAPTER XIII.

They went in through the alley-way, and gained their bedroom by the steep back-staircase. Guly, who was fatigued by his day's labor and evening walk, immediately prepared for bed, and sought his pillow eagerly. But Arthur, after rising from their devotion, walked toward one of the windows, and stood for a long time gazing out upon the neighboring wall of brick, as if he found there deep food for reflection. Guly lay looking at him, wondering what he could be thinking of, and even while he wondered his eyes gradually closed, and he fell fast asleep.

As Arthur heard his soft but regular breathing, and felt assured his brother slumbered, he threw off his coat, and seated himself on the bedside, gazing fixedly down upon the innocent and happy brow before him. There was a thoughtful softness upon the watcher's face, that came not often there; and ever and anon he raised his hands, and pressed them tightly upon his eyes, as if to keep back some emotion which would fain force itself thence.

"What can have put these thoughts in my mind to-night?" he murmured, impatiently, rising and walking the floor with bowed head and folded arms. "I could almost believe the wine I drank was drugged with memories of the past, and dark forebodings for the future. What form is this that rises constantly before me, with haggard face and burning eyes, pointing its skinny finger backward, ever backward, like an index turning ever to the days gone by? It haunts me like a ghost; and turn I here or there, 'tis always crouching close before me, pointing that skinny finger backward. Heavens! what does it mean?"

With a sharp shudder, Arthur again sought his brother's side, and sat down upon the bed.

"If I should ever-if I should ever-ever fall so low, I! Oh, impossible! What a horrible picture! Yet, surrounded, as I am, by danger and temptation-the beautiful habiliments in which vice here presents itself-the constant laceration of my haughty pride-would it be, after all, so impossible? Oh, my poor heart, be strong. Still that white figure pointing backward. Can this be the foreshadowing of my own fate? Oh, never, never! the wine I have taken has heated my brain. Guly! Guly! wake up! I cannot bear to be here by myself!"

And, with a moan of anguish, Arthur buried his face in the pillow.

Guly started up quickly, and looked wildly around, like one suddenly aroused from a nightmare; then his eye fell upon the prostrate figure beside him.

"Dear Arthur, tell me what ails you to-night; you seem strangely at variance with yourself. Tell me what troubles you, my brother."

"A ghost in my heart, Guly. I can't tell what brought it there-I feel it, I see it constantly-a pale, haggard figure, pointing with its bony finger backward."

"You have been asleep, and dreaming, Arthur; undress and come by me here, and we will talk of something else."

"No, no, Guly, not asleep, but wide, wide awake-in my heart, in my soul, everywhere!" exclaimed Arthur, flinging his clothes hastily off, and creeping to his brother's side, as if flying from some horrid phantom.

Guly threw an arm about him, and with the other hand stroked the dark locks soothingly back from the excited brow.

"There, Arthur! brother! hush! don't sigh and shudder so, don't; it's all fancy, all mere idle fancy. Do you remember, Arthur, how, on such a night as this, the moon used to shine down upon the tall trees and green lawn at home? And when all those merry friends used to visit us, how their figures would flit in and out so brightly through the long green avenues, and the shadows falling at their sides-do you not remember, Arthur?"

"The shadows falling at their side? Yes, Guly, I remember."

"And how, when on such bright nights we sailed upon the Hudson, the diamond foam broke away from the prow of our little boat, like a peal of jewelled laughter, if such a thing could be? When we get the old home back, Arthur, we will find that old boat out, and have it, too-eh, brother?"

"Dear Guly, yes."

"Everything will be so like its old self, we shall almost think all our troubles and separation one long dream. When that time comes we can have no more of earthly happiness to ask for-our old home and our old joys."

"And our old friends, Guly, gliding through the green avenues, with their shadows under their feet. Our old friends, with their old shadows-"

Arthur was asleep; soothed to slumber by the gentle words and fond tones breathed upon his ear, and he lay quietly, with his face calm, and his cheek upon his hand.

Dreams came to him in the hours of that long night, and he was happy. Time and distance were annihilated, and he was back upon the shores of old Hudson, sporting with its waves, and gliding on its waters. There was the old boat, with the sparkling foam parting from the rushing prow, and the music of the dipping oars was falling gently on his ear.

Again he was on the green lawn, and the moon was looking down upon the tall trees, and the soft green grass which lay before the broad door of the olden home. There were the gayly-robed figures, flitting in and out along the shaded avenues, their shadows falling by them always, and he was in their midst-a child, merry-hearted, but fretted and proud-toyed with by this one, caressed by that, and the favorite of all, commanding but to be obeyed, frowning but to be more attended, angered but to be coaxed to good-nature, first in his parents' hearts, and high in the proffered love of every guest, reigning, like a boy-king, over all he surveyed.

Then his dream for a moment grew clouded, and a tiny form, with snowy robes and gentle blue eyes, rose up before him, and took his place upon his mother's bosom, and he knew he had a brother. The form expanded, and grew in height, and the hair hung in golden ringlets down to shadow the beautiful eyes. And a tiny hand sought his, and tottering steps fell lightly at his side. Still the form grew, till in his dream it seemed to rise above him-not grown above him; but the feet stood upon a silver cloud, which kept rising higher and higher, till the tiny hand he clasped in his was drawn perforce from his grasp, and still standing on the silver cloud, the light form, the golden hair, and blue eyes, passed from his sight; and looking up, he learned to believe it was an angel, not a brother, which had been sent to him. And while he looked yearningly after it, a mother's hand fell upon his shoulder, and her sweet voice trembled as she pointed upward, and bade him follow. Then he showed her his empty hand, from which the tiny hand had been drawn, and stepping quickly backward, he plunged headlong over an unseen precipice, and fell, fell far down, where all was darkness; but finding no bottom, and shuddering with the thought that so he must go dizzily rushing through that blackened space to all eternity! But, looking up, a glorious light broke through the surrounding gloom, and the light form, with the golden hair, was coming down-down with a smile of thrilling happiness, and outstretched arms to save him. It reached him, it clasped him to its warm bosom, and he felt a quick heart throbbing there, and knew again it was his brother, with the sunny curls and radiant smile, who had saved him from that bottomless pit, and mounted, holding him upon his heart, to purer and to brighter realms.

Thus the spirits of his earlier days thronged his fancy, as he slumbered there; but the pale ghost in his heart, pointing with its skinny finger backward, came not to him as he lay there dreaming, with his cheek upon his hand.