CHAPTER XXX.

THE CRISIS.

Mr. Lincoln had failed.  At the corners of the streets, groups of men stood together, talking over the matter, and ascribing it, some to his carelessness, some to his extreme good nature in indorsing for any one who asked, and others, the knowing ones, winking slyly as they said “they guessed he knew what he was about,—­they’d known before of such things as failing rich;” but the mouths of these last were stopped when they heard that the household furniture, every thing, was given up for the benefit of his creditors, and was to be sold at auction during the coming week.

In their parlors at home wives and daughters also discussed the matter, always ending by accusing Mrs. Lincoln of unwarrantable extravagance, and wondering how the proud Rose would bear it, and suggesting that “she could work in the factory just as her mother did!”.  It was strange how suddenly Mrs. Lincoln’s most intimate friends discovered that she had once been a poor factory girl, remembering too that they had often noticed an air of vulgarity about her!  Even Mrs. Campbell was astonished that she should have been so deceived, though she pitied the daughters, “who were really refined and lady-like, considering—­” and then she thought of Henry, hoping that Ella would be now willing to give him up.

But with a devotion worthy of a better object, Ella replied, that he was dearer to her than ever.  “I have not loved him for his wealth,” said she, “and I shall not forsake him now” And then she wondered why he staid so long away, as day after day went by, and still he came not.  It was in vain that Mary, who visited the house frequently, told her of many things which might detain him.  Ella saw but one.  He fancied she, too, would desert him, like the cold unfeeling world.  And then she begged so imploringly of her sister to go to him, and ask him to come, that Mary, loth as she was to do so, finally complied.  She found him in his office, and fortunately alone.  He was looking very pale and haggard, the result of last night’s debauch, but Mary did not know of this.  She only saw grief for his misfortune, and her voice and manner were far more cordial than usual as she bade him good afternoon.

“It is kind in you, Miss Howard, to come here,” said he, nervously pressing the hand she offered.  “I knew you would not forsake me, and I’d rather have your sympathy than that of the whole world.”

Wishing to end such conversation, Mary replied, “I came here, Mr. Lincoln, at Ella’s request.  Ever since your father’s failure she has waited anxiously for you—­”

She was prevented from saying more by Henry, who, with a feigned bitterness of manner, exclaimed, “Ella need not feel troubled, for I am too honorable to insist upon her keeping an engagement, which I would to Heaven had never been made.  Tell her she is free to do as she pleases.”