THE BREACH OF TRUST;

OR, THE

Professor and Possessor of Piety.

BY

[Madeline Leslie]

"Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools." "Ye shall know them by their fruits."

BOSTON

D LOTHROP COMPANY

Entered for the Author according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by ANDREW F. GRAVES, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.

CONTENTS. ————

CHAPTER I.

THE PROFESSOR OF RELIGION

CHAPTER II.

THE POSSESSOR OF PIETY

CHAPTER III.

RETROSPECTION

CHAPTER IV.

THE BROTHER AND SISTER

CHAPTER V.

HELEN'S SECRET

CHAPTER VI.

THE PASTOR'S STUDY

CHAPTER VII.

THE FEIGNED AND THE REAL

CHAPTER VIII.

THE SUBSCRIPTION PAPER

CHAPTER IX.

THE PROFESSOR'S DEFEAT

CHAPTER X.

THE REVELATION

CHAPTER XI.

THE GUARDIAN AND HIS WARD

CHAPTER XII.

A NARROW ESCAPE

CHAPTER XIII.

SYBIL'S VISITS

CHAPTER XIV.

THE YOUNG MISSIONARY

CHAPTER XV.

EXPLANATIONS

CHAPTER XVI.

A DISCOVERY

CHAPTER XVII.

THE DELICATE TITBIT

CHAPTER XVIII.

MR. TRACY'S SANCTUM

CHAPTER XIX.

MORRISVILLE

CHAPTER XX.

THE ANONYMOUS GIFT

CHAPTER XXI.

THE FRENCH CHATEAU

CHAPTER XXII.

THE CRASH AT LAST

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE BRIDAL PAIR

CHAPTER XXIV.

MONSON P. TRACY

CHAPTER XXV.

DEATH OF A POSSESSOR

CHAPTER XXVI.

END OF THE MERE PROFESSOR

Breach of Trust. ——————

CHAPTER I.

THE PROFESSOR OF RELIGION.

MONSON P. TRACY was a self-made man, and he had perfect confidence in himself. His own opinions, and his own judgment, were the only laws to which he succumbed. Those who honestly differed from him, he pronounced bigoted, self-willed. And where the difference referred to personal subjects, he called his opponents blind and prejudiced, treating them with a contempt intended to crush them.

Monson P. Tracy was, I am sorry to say, a man of not more than moderate abilities. He was addicted to hobbies, and some of these, to the relief of by-standers, he rode to death. He was a man of unbounded ambition. Believing himself entirely competent to fill any office his country had to offer, he was not backward in presenting his claims, and urging them on the unappreciating public.

Monson P. Tracy professed himself a Christian. He owned a slip in the popular church edifice near him, and might usually be seen in it on the morning of the Lord's day. He said a form of grace at table, and read a form of prayer afterward. By these means he intended to impress those about him with the fervor of his devotion, but in this he cheated few beside himself.

In an old-fashioned book which he seldom opened, there was a maxim: "By their fruits ye shall know them." This touchstone applied by others, rendered a verdict widely different from the one he so lovingly hugged to his own breast. But time will show us which verdict was correct.

If there was one thing which particularly pleased Mr. Tracy, it was to see his name in print. To give the man full justice, he was active, industrious, and energetic. Few men could work more skilfully to attain an end. And all his powers were brought into play to bring about so desirable a result, as seeing his name in capital letters at the head of a column in the newspaper.

Let me take advantage of an auspicious moment of this nature, to introduce him more fully to my readers.

He was sitting in a luxurious arm-chair, by far the most comfortable which the room contained, with the drop-light nicely shaded by a porcelain screen exactly the right distance from his eyes, a pleasant smile on his well-formed mouth, reading from the evening Journal.

His wife, a meek little woman, in a low chair on the other side of the table, had a stocking stretched over her hand, and was gazing rather dismally at a large hole in the toe, when he thus addressed her:

"There is an article here, Mrs. Tracy, which you will be interested to read."

"I seldom read the newspapers," was the indifferent reply. "I haven't time."

"But you will read this. I repeat, that it will interest you."

The tone was decisive, though a smile still curled his lips.

After an anxious search for thread of the right size, Mrs. Tracy realized that her husband had addressed her, and was awaiting a reply. She glanced in his face, and saw a heavy shade about to settle on his brow, so she quickly asked:

"What is it? Anything about you?"

"It is the report of my speech at the Convention. The editor does himself credit, in his way of printing those reports. See!"

He held the paper toward her, swinging the drop-light in her direction, while she read:

"Speech of Monson P. Tracy before the — Convention. Received by a crowded audience, with loud and repeated applause."

The small, hazel eyes of the lady glistened as she read; her ball of cotton fell from her lap unheeded.

"Oh, how nice! How pleasant! How proud I am to be the wife of a man whom every body praises!"

"Yes, Mrs. Tracy, it is pleasant, I acknowledge it. It is agreeable to feel that my efforts for the welfare of my fellow creatures are appreciated. In my pocket you will find a dozen copies of this report. I wish that you would see them folded and directed to the gentlemen whose names are on this list. It will be a pleasant work for you."

"Will it be necessary to direct them this evening, Mr. Tracy? My mending is sadly behind this week."

"An hour, after I have retired, will be sufficient for the business."

He was turning back to the paper with a smile, when thinking it would be a suitable opportunity, she touched on a new theme.

"I shall need a little money for family expenses."

The smile quickly vanished as he asked curtly:

"How much?"

"Ten dollars will do, though I ought to have more. Sarah Barrows has been here to-day with her bill. She says her mother is sick and needs medicine."

"Pshaw! That is only an excuse! She must wait my convenience. Here are ten dollars. Make them go as far as possible. Our expenses were never so heavy."

The next morning as Mrs. Tracy was pouring her husband a cup of coffee she asked:

"Did you notice in the paper the death of Mr. Edmond. I saw it as I was directing the Journals you left last night."

"No," he answered with a start of surprise. His face paled a little, for memories of the past came rushing over him. Without interrupting his breakfast, he exclaimed presently. "So he's gone! I wonder what he's done with all his property!"

A ring at the door-bell prevented an answer, if he expected any, and a boy from the telegram office was admitted by the servant.

"Please, sir, this came two days ago; and, on account of the direction not being distinct it was sent to Miles Tracy Esq., in the country; and now it's come back to us again."

The gentleman seized the narrow slip of paper and read eagerly:

"Father is dying. Wants to see you. Carriage at depot to meet you this evening. "FRANCIS J. EDMOND."

Mr. Tracy turned upon the messenger with an angry scowl. "Your office ought to be fined heavily for such mistakes. Here is a dying man sends for me on business of the last importance; a carriage sent a mile to convoy me to his house; and I not there. It may be a loss to me of—well more than you can imagine."

"Will you please sign your name, sir?" ventured the boy, timidly extending the book.

"No, not I! You may tell your master I am exceedingly displeased."

"Here, boy, I'll sign it," said Mrs. Tracy following the messenger to the door, "only it's a terrible pity there was such a mistake."

"I wish you would pack my carpetbag," remarked the merchant. "I shall start for Maytown in the eleven train."

Mr. Tracy having finished his breakfast, and re-read the telegram, started up, and began to make preparations to go to his store as usual.

"Shall you have time to order the dinner from the stall?" asked his wife anxiously.

"Scarcely. I shall be away, you know. You had better get along with what you have in the house. I can't help wondering what Mr. Edmond wanted to see me for."

CHAPTER II.

THE POSSESSOR OF PIETY.

IN a beautiful country town, near forty miles from the city honored as the residence of Monson P. Tracy, lay the valuable estate of Mr. Roswell Edmond. On a height of land overlooking a great sweep of forest and plain with a church spire here and there giving notice of a home for weary wanderers, a lovely lawn sloping down to the edge of a lake in the foreground with a pretty border of willows and maples making the borders of the estate, stood an English cottage almost embowered in the numerous vines trained over the lattices.

As the traveller approached by the main avenue, which wound around the lawn to the front entrance, he could not fail to be impressed with the evidences of refined taste which met his view on every side.

Ornamental trees of a half century's growth threw a pleasant shade over the avenue, but the whole front was open except an occasional tree or cluster of trees which gave additional beauty to the scene. Here was a purple beech, a magnificent specimen, with its heavy foliage gracefully sweeping the ground. There on the opposite side were a cluster of Norway spruce, and, farther on, some rare varieties of Siberian pine.

On the wide piazza which extended around three sides of the house, rustic chairs, with wide spread arms invited the weary to rest, while the fragrant honeysuckle, the prairie rose, or the climbing wisteria vied with each other in producing charms to the delight of those who lingered near.

The front entrance opened into a spacious hall, extending through the house uninterrupted by stairs.

This was a favorite apartment with the whole family, and many hours every day through all the summer months were passed there.

The walls of the hall were lined with rare paintings carefully selected by Mr. Edmond during his frequent European tours. Nor did he neglect the skill of his own countrymen, as many a gem by an American artist bore ample testimony. The corners of the hall and also niches in the sides were filled with busts and statuary. This apartment being lighted from the roof was finely adapted for the purpose to which it had been applied.

Beside the light from above there was a high, narrow window, each side of the front door, and in the corner, near a splendidly executed bust of Sir Walter Scott stood a table inlaid with pearl, covered with the trifles usually found in connection with a lady's work-basket.

This was the favorite resort of Helen Josephine, only daughter and constant companion of Mr. Edmond.

The oldest child, a son named Francis Joseph, was nearly four years his sister's senior, and was Sophomore in Yale College, having left home for the preparatory school a short time after his mother's decease, which occurred five years earlier.

The dangerous illness of his father had called him from College duties at a time when, worn with over-work, he was poorly fitted to meet the overwhelming blow which awaited him.

He had the privilege, however, of administering to his father's comfort, for three days before his decease. To his care the dying parent committed the weeping Helen, with many tender admonitions.

"She is my darling, Frank, the companion and comfort of my last years. Impulsive, and it may be too resolute, but warm-hearted and loving, do not restrain her unreasonably. Govern her through her affections, and when other motives fail, remind her of my counsels, my prayers in her behalf."

In regard to their property, Mr. Edmond assured his son that every arrangement which prudence could suggest, had been already made. Monson P. Tracy, a man endeared to him by the knowledge of having in a worldly sense created his fortunes, had been appointed executor of his will and guardian to his children as long as they remained minors.

In speaking of this man the day before his death, Mr. Edmond said:

"He is bound to me by ties of gratitude. I believe him to be upright and honorable. And I die assured he will more than fulfil any obligations he may feel toward me by the deep interest he will take in the welfare of my children."

An hour or two later he asked: "Does the Doctor think I shall survive another day? If so I should like to see Mr. Tracy, and you may telegraph for him. But in case I should not live till he comes, I will say, that I have equally divided all I have left between you and your sister. She has also an estate willed her by her grandfather, now in the hands of an aged aunt. But as it will not come to her till the decease of her mother's aunt, I have made no mention of it in my will."

He then gave minute directions concerning his funeral, which he wished to have plain and without ostentation, recommending also that Woodbine Cottage, as his place was called, should be rented for a few years. And that until the completion of Helen's education, she should reside in the family of her guardian, if agreeable to him.

When the evening train arrived, and it was ascertained that Mr. Tracy had not answered the summons, the dying man merely explained to his son the steps necessary to be taken to set up the will, and provided that in case his executor should not accept the trust, their pastor, Mr. Knowles, should be his successor, who should have the privilege of appointing one or more, according to his judgment, to manage the financial responsibilities of his wards.

"Now," he said, when his son had made a memorandum of his father's words, "now I have done with earth, and need not be cumbered with worldly cares. I thank God, who, years ago, by his Spirit drew me to himself, and that now, in the midst of bodily infirmity, I am not harassed by mental anguish. I thank Him for his unspeakable gift—the Lord Jesus Christ, who bore my sins in his own body on the tree. And I am fully persuaded, my Saviour, having bought me with a price, will keep me to the end."

During the evening and night, Helen could not be persuaded to leave her father's couch, even to seek a few hours repose which she so greatly needed. She insisted on sharing her brother's vigils that she might smooth the dying pillow of the being whom she loved best on earth.

When he closed his eyes under the influence of opiates, she, too, slept on his pillow, her hand clasping his as she sat in a chair by his side.

Once, about midnight, the dying man started, as if from a painful dream.

"Is that you, Helen?" he gasped, fixing his dim eyes on her face. "Kiss me, darling! Oh, it is hard to leave you fatherless, motherless!"

His voice expressed the anguish of his soul, as he suddenly realized the desolation which would be his daughter's lot. But presently, after she had soothed him with kisses and words of endearment, his face brightened, and he exclaimed, with renewed strength:

"Get thee behind me, Satan, away with doubts, and gloomy forebodings. I know in whom I have believed; I can rely on His promise for me and for my children."

Then addressing them as they bent over him weeping, he added:

"I dare not ask for your exemption from trials; they are the common lot of humanity, and may be made the instruments by which your heavenly Father will lead you to himself. But I have prayed that your lives may be full of faith, hope, and charity. That the Saviour so precious to me in my dying hours, may be your Saviour, comforting and sustaining you through all your earthly journey, and at last presenting you to his Father as the reward of his sufferings in your behalf."

When the beams from the morning sun shone into his room, he roused from a troubled slumber, and pointing to the bright rays, gasped feebly:

"To-morrow's sun will shine on my body, but my soul will be bathing in the full effulgence of the Sun of righteousness. I shall see him as he is. But I shall not be afraid—no—not afraid! The pierced side and bleeding hands will be my safeguard."

He sank back, and they thought he had ceased to breathe. But he soon revived, and with a stronger voice exclaimed:

"Rock of ages cleft for me, Let me hide myself in thee."

These were his last words.

CHAPTER III.

RETROSPECTION.

TWELVE o'clock the day following this sad event, found Monson P. Tracy seated in the cars, steaming away in the direction of Maytown. He was the only passenger in the first division of the car. And as he for the third time perused the brief telegram, his thoughts naturally turned back to his first acquaintance with the deceased.

To make my story more plain I will take this opportunity to describe some events which occurred about twenty-five years earlier.

Mr. Edmond, who at that time resided in the city, was one morning passing into his counting-house when he heard one of his clerks, threatening a youth with imprisonment if he did not take himself from the premises.

"What has the young man done, that he should be treated so roughly?" inquired the gentleman.

"No good, sir! I can bear testimony to that. I've seen him hanging round for days in company with some jailbirds. I've no doubt he is well acquainted with the police already."

"What have you to say for yourself?" urged Mr. Edmond, after gazing for a moment in the hungry face before him.

"I should like to tell you all about it, sir," stammered the boy, "but not before him. I don't know anything about jailbirds."

"Come with me into my counting-room."

When alone with the gentleman, the youth recited a tale of destitution which touched the heart of the listener. Only a month before, he had publicly professed his faith in Christ and had devoted himself with all his powers of body and mind to the service of his Saviour. Only that very morning he had asked his heavenly Father to give him opportunities to win souls. Was not this meeting with a fatherless boy just launched on the stage of active life a direct answer to his prayer?

He drew from the youth the facts that after the death of his parents an uncle had taken him home, but had treated him with such cruelty that he resolved to run away, and make his own fortune. He had but a dollar, given him by the hired man, who deeply sympathized with him, and with this small sum he had worked his way mostly on foot, nearly a hundred miles to the city. The first night he slept in the wagon of the drover who had brought him the last few miles. The following day he visited the wharves and counting-houses, begging for work, without one morsel of food passing his lips, and at night was thankful to accept a crust from a youth near his own age, and to share his couch on the floor of a cellar.

Three days passed in nearly the same manner, and this was the commencement of the fourth.

Leaving Monson, for it was he, in his office, Mr. Edmond dispatched a lad to a bake-shop near by for a loaf of bread. It was reward enough to watch the hungry boy devour the food. Then the gentleman pushed a sheet of paper before the child, saying:

"Write these words: 'Fear God and keep His commandments, for this is the whole duty of man.'"

The result both surprised and pleased the merchant, who at once set him to work with the promise of befriending him if he would deserve aid.

A few months proved that the youth was both active and industrious, and his benefactor took increasing interest in him. He advised Monson to attend an evening school and apply himself to those branches which would fit him for mercantile life. He provided ample means for the accomplishment of this object. Nor did he, while aiming to advance the temporal interests of his protégé, for one day forget the great object of winning him to the rank of a soldier of Christ. He presented him with a Sunday suit, and introduced him to a class in the Sabbath School, stating that it was his wish that every one in his employ should be a regular attendant on the means of grace.

Monson was not without a good deal of native shrewdness. He soon perceived what he called, "the weak side" of his employer, and was quite willing for policy's sake to feign a love for religion. On the Sabbath, his seat in church on the side wing, and directly in front of his benefactor's slip was never vacant, while his apparently devout hearing of the word, inspired many a prayer in his behalf from his watchful friend.

At the end of seven years, Monson found himself in a position to which he had never aspired. He was head clerk in the great commercial house of Roswell Edmond, with a salary sufficient to support himself in luxury.