Chapter XIV: Counsel and Client

THE Judge was sitting in his favorite seat on the porch, with a cigar in his mouth, when Emily found him. Mrs. Wilson, the girl had informed her, had gone out for the afternoon.

"Hi, pussy," he said laughing, "come to see papa, have you? Fi, child, for shame to paint at your age," tapping her burning cheeks.

"They are not painted with rouge," she answered, her eyes filling with tears. "I've had bad news from home, and I've come to tell you all about it."

Judge Wilson snatched the cigar from his mouth, and was all tenderness and attention.

"All right, pussy. That's what I should expect from my adopted daughter."

"You've heard me speak of my father, sir."

"I rather think I have. As near a saint as any man on earth. We lawyers learn to reason from effect to cause, you know."

Emily then burst into a eulogy of her father's devoted piety, his instructions to his children, his self-denying labors among his people. Then putting a violent restraint on her feelings, which the Judge saw and approved, she gave him an account of the item she had read in the paper, and then drawing her letter from her pocket, read it all through from beginning to end.

He had taken his cigar again, and when she had folded the sheets and returned them to the envelope, he sat gazing abstractedly up in the sky, the smoke wreathing into a cloud and curling up into the still air. It was some minutes—it seemed to the waiting girl, hours—before he spoke. Then catching a glimpse of her wistful eyes fixed so piteously on him, he smiled, reached toward her and patted her hand, then said,—

"Tell me about the periods of unconsciousness, as your mother calls them. How long did they last?"

"The first one lasted several days."

"Was he wholly unconscious?"

"Oh, yes, sir! He lay ill in bed. But after that, he had several turns of being dizzy, or, as he called it, confusion of ideas. He used to put his hand to his head, and said the feeling was that it would fly away."

"Of course, at such times, he attempted no business."

"Yes, sir; sometimes he tried to drive off the bad feelings. But he was rather alarmed, one day, by finding a letter which he had written to a clergyman in this confused state. It had fortunately not been sent from the office. It was very incoherent and wholly aside from what he had wished to say. He thought this a warning to attempt no business while suffering in this manner. Once he felt that he ought to resign his trust, but his health soon became firmer. I don't think he has had any of these dizzy turns of late."

"And so the trial comes off the last of November?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you want to engage the services of a lawyer?"

"Yes, sir. I have more than a thousand dollars of my own."

Another smile and loving tap of his fingers.

"You have no means of knowing whether the Committee will employ counsel?"

"No, sir. Mr. Temple, one of the Board, is a lawyer, and perhaps some other members of the Reference will be."

He nodded expressively. "Hem! Just so; well child, I think I'll undertake the case."

"You, sir? You undertake it? Oh, Judge Wilson!" She couldn't say another word, but she put her arms around his neck and kissed him as a loving daughter would have done.

"Yes, yes, I'll be your adviser. I know Bishop —; he's a good man, square as a brick, with a good man's leaning toward charity. But from what I know of your father, in a Committee of Reference, he would be like a lamb in the midst of wolves. So Mr. Temple is a lawyer, and he thought your father, may be, had borrowed the money and forgotten to pay it. Ha! Ha! Ha!"

"It seems too good to believe that you will advise in the case. May I tell them when I write home?"

"Wait a little. I must put on my thinking cap."

He sat smoking again, but Emily was very patient this time. She began to be very hopeful in regard to the result.

"Well," he began at length, "if you will vouch for the silence of your parents, you may tell them as much as this: You have consulted a legal friend, name me if you wish, and when the right time comes, I will see that he has counsel to help him through."

"May I tell Mrs. Duxbury?"

"Not a syllable. And remember your mother, through you, must keep me advised of everything connected with the case, however minute. There must be no private judgment on your part, whether this or that is of consequence. I must know everything that bears upon it in the least. What paper did you say the statement was in?"

"The Daily —."

"Ah, go and see whether the copy of that paper is in the library."

"Yes, sir; here it is;" pointing with flushed cheeks to the item.

"Do you recollect what you said once about your father's good name?"

"Yes, sir," tearfully.

"Well, child, after this little blast of bad wind, your father's good name will shine brighter than ever, or I'm a false prophet."

She rose to go, saying, "I don't know how to thank you, sir."

"I'll tell you how. Stay and pour out a cup of tea for me, and then sing me a song."

"I'm afraid it will be a very sad one, sir."

"Go home, child!" he said with mock severity. "I don't want a client who demeans herself as though she had lost her case. You've no confidence in me, after all."

Emily laughed aloud. "How shall I show you that I have confidence?" She held up her lips for a kiss, but he waved her away.

"Shall I sing now, sir?"

"Perhaps I should feel better if you sang 'Yankee Doodle.'" This he said in such a tragic tone that she laughed again merrily.

"I thought when I saw that awful piece this morning, that my laughing days were over." She went to the piano and played "Yankee Doodle" in her liveliest manner, singing at the same time, "Five times five are twenty-five and five times six are thirty." When she was through, she heard the Judge whistling an accompaniment with great zeal.

After tea she went home, leaving her letter with the Judge, and devoted the rest of the evening to writing her mother. It was with a full tide of gratitude that she kneeled at a late hour by her bed, to thank her Father in Heaven for the relief that had already come to her overburdened heart. She remembered her kind friend, the Judge, in her petitions, and implored for him the wisdom he might need in the direction of the case.

The next morning, when the bell rang for school to commence, Emily had given three lessons in music, and was ready for her classes in French and German. Her pupils proved their sympathy by flocking around her, taking her hand, and by strict obedience to her instructions, showed her that they meant to give no unnecessary trouble.

Her mother had written that they thought it best for her to remain in U—, for the present, and she resolved to allow no personal trial to render her unfaithful to the duties she had undertaken. Indeed, she had a double motive for keeping busy. The moment she gave herself time to think, she was miserably anxious to be among the loved ones.

For two days she did not see the Judge nor Mrs. Wilson, but on the afternoon of the third, the old lady drove to the school, asked for Emily, and when the young girl ran to the parlor, folded her arms about her in the most motherly manner.

"My dear child," she said tenderly, "the Judge has told me all about it. It's a burning shame, but it's sure to come out right."

"Yes, I feel so safe since it is in your husband's hands."

"I didn't refer to him, dear. Of course he will do all he can. If you belonged to us, he could scarcely love you better. But, my dear Emily, you remember there is One all-powerful who watches over His children, and though the paths through which He leads them sometimes seem strange and rough, yet He knows the way well, and is sure to bring them to the right haven."

"Did you read mother's letter?"

"The Judge read it to me. You ought to be a good child with such parents."

"Indeed I ought."

"Have you heard from Cecilia, lately?"

"Last week I had a letter. You know I read it to you. She is travelling with her brother. She is a warm-hearted girl and loves you dearly.

"As I do her; and I owe her a great deal for introducing me to you and your good husband."

"Well, child, you must come and see us as often as you can. We are older than you and can't get about as quickly."

"Thank you: I always love to be there."

A fortnight passed. Emily had heard twice from home, but nothing new had occurred connected with the trial, except that the Committee of Reference would consist of eight gentlemen, besides the Bishop who gave the casting vote. This fact Emily communicated to Judge Wilson, and also that her father seemed more cheerful than for a long time.

Except by his prayers, which were exceedingly earnest and childlike, in which he gave all his cares into the hands of his Heavenly Father, no one would have known that he was on the eve of a trial for his honor, which he held more precious than his life. He preached every Sunday, and found people uncommonly willing to give, in answer to his call. In a number of cases, he had heard of the Bishop recommending parishes to apply to him to present the cause of missions.

When Emily read this paragraph to Judge Wilson, he nodded his head approvingly.

"Yes, yes," he murmured. "Well, he would hardly do that if he thought the Rector a defaulter."

He referred to this again, and Emily saw him making a note of it. Sometimes she longed to ask him how he intended to give counsel at such a distance, and whether it would be necessary for him to go to Canterbury. But she did not like to intrude upon his confidence, and she felt sure he would not have undertaken it if he had not expected to succeed.

One evening, at the end of the fortnight, the young girl was in her chamber writing to her mother, when a servant knocked at her door, and giving her a card, told her a gentleman was in the parlor waiting to see her.

In great surprise, she read the name, "Frederic Lawrence," and only stopping for a glance in her mirror to see whether she was presentable, she ran quickly down stairs. She gave him her hand cordially, and then glanced around the room.

"Is not Cecilia with you?" was her eager inquiry.

"No; I left her in Baltimore. I had business which called me north again, rather unexpectedly. I did not mention to her that I should come to U—, or she would have loaded me with messages."

"When do you return South? I will try to have a letter ready for you, if you will take the trouble to give it to her."

"My return depends on circumstances." He spoke with some embarrassment, and, to Emily's surprise, went to the door and shut it.

"Miss Washburn," he began, placing a chair by her side and seating himself in it, "if I introduce a subject painful to you, I hope you will believe that I do it only in the way of business, and as a matter of necessity. I refer to the Committee of Reference, appointed by your father's request, to examine into certain accusations against his character."

Every particle of color left the poor girl's face and lips at this sudden mention of the subject by one so much a stranger. She determined, however, not to give way, and presently the blood came surging back to her cheeks, painting them crimson.

"Did you learn about it from Judge Wilson?" she inquired, but finding it impossible to look him in the face.

"Yes," he says, smiling, "that you have retained him, and he has retained me. I have already been to Canterbury. I saw your friends there, all of the family, I mean. I had a long interview with your father. I—in fact I offered myself as his Counsel, but he refused."

"Oh, why?" exclaimed Emily. "How could he?"

"From his firm trust in God as an all-sufficient helper. He had an idea that to have legal counsel would show a mistrust of divine aid. In all my life, I never saw such faith."

"But he knew of Judge Wilson's kind offer?"

"No; your mother heard him say he should refuse legal advice, and she did not tell him."

"I don't know what to say, Mr. Lawrence. I can't help thinking papa has made a mistake, and yet, he is usually very discreet and does not make up his mind hastily—"

"Your mother takes your view, and eagerly accepted my proffer of assistance. She has a clear head, and gave me the whole facts of the case in a manner I never heard equalled. I have set her down as a wonderful lady. I—"

He stopped, rose and walked the floor, then returned to his seat.

"Mr. Lawrence—"

He turned toward her abruptly, pausing for her to go on.

"I want to thank you for your kindness. I can't express myself, but I do feel grateful both to Judge Wilson and to you."

He seized her hand. "May I tell you," he asked, eagerly, "what I want? Will you pardon my abruptness, Miss Emily; I have known you a long time, at least so it seems to me. Will you give me the right to act the part of a son to your father? Will you be my wife?"

For one moment Emily stared at him without speaking. She felt sure her eyes betrayed her astonishment.

Then, as his gaze was fixed searchingly on her face, she answered firmly.

"Certainly not, Mr. Lawrence."

"I know you are not prepared for such a question. Indeed, I did not expect to ask it to-night—I forgot that you could not know how entirely your image has filled my mind since the first evening I had the happiness of seeing you, but certainly you must have suspected my devotion."

"No, sir; so far from it, if I had indulged any thought on the subject, your manner would have led me to suppose that you did not approve your sister's friend."

"Impossible! Why, I postponed my departure from time to time, and was quite angry with Cecilia for urging me to go at all."

"Certainly, sir, such an idea as my influencing you, in any way, never occurred to me. And even if I had, this is not a time, when my beloved father's good name is aspersed, for me to think of—of such a proposition."

He bowed gravely.

"Were I even engaged to be married," she went on, "under similar circumstances I should at once release the gentleman, for I would never consent that another should be disgraced by the publication of such items as I showed to Judge Wilson."

"Nothing of that kind would weigh a feather with me, Miss Emily."

"I have given you my answer, sir."

She rose to show him that the interview was ended, and he at once followed her example. Not a word in addition was said on either side. He stood up, his tall form rising above her, took her hand, gazed for a full minute steadily into her eyes, then with a heavy sigh left her alone.

She waited only till she heard the outer door shut, then flew up the stairs to her own chamber, locked the door, and sat down, trembling, to reflect on, and wonder at, the strange interview.