Like the schoolboys, the
married husbands--yes, like the slaves--I had to admire her. Then,
unknowing how deeply you were involved, I found offered to me for sale
the paper you had negotiated in Baltimore--paper, Judge Custis,
dishonorably negotiated!"
The money-lender rose and walked to the sad man's bed, and held the
hand, full of these notes, boldly over him.
"It was despair, Milburn!" moaned the Judge.
"And so was my resolution. Said I: 'This lofty gentleman would cheat me,
his neighbor, who have suffered all the contumely of this _good
society_, and on starveling opportunity have slowly recovered
independence. Now he shall take my place in the forest, or I will wear
my hat at the head of his family table.'"
"A dreadful revenge!" whispered Custis, with a shudder. "Such a hat is
worse than a cloven foot. In God's name! whence came that ominous hat?"
Milburn took up the hat and held it before the lamplight, so that its
shadow stood gigantic against the wall.
"Who would think," he said, sarcastically, "that a mere head-covering,
elegant in its day, could make more hostility than an idle head? I will
tell you the silly secret of it. When I came from the obscurity of the
forest, sensitive, and anxious to make my way, and slowly gathered
capital and knowledge, a person in New York directed a letter of inquiry
to me. It told how a certain Milburn, a Puritan or English Commonwealth
man, had risen to great distinction in that province, and had
revolutionized its government and suffered the penalty of high-treason.
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