What is this unerring clairvoyance that prompts devoted hearts in moments of danger, in crises demanding supernatural judgment? It is the very essence of much of our song and story, but the wise men do not grasp its origin; to them it is as elusive and incapable of isolation from its forms of manifestation as that phase of force we call electricity. An old gentleman whom I knew well, a learned man, far above all superstitions, arose from the sofa in his home one afternoon and announced to the startled family that his son was in the water. He noted the time and anxiously awaited news, so firm was his belief that truth must have inspired his vivid dream. That night he learned that the very moment he had announced his fears his son had fallen into the river and was so held under by logs that he narrowly escaped drowning. This was probably the same miraculous power love employs in youth to laugh at locksmiths; it is theinherent wisdom of the passion deeper than our philosophy can delve; it warns at times, and then again it will save without warning, strangely leading us to the post of duty.
It was too early to go to the office—then about 6:45—when Gabrielle Tescheron's coach landed on the New York side of the North River. While coming across the ferry she believed it would be wise to take the opportunity to visit Jim at his apartment in Eighteenth Street, and inform him of the action I had taken in notifying the coroner, and therefore to beware of me, for it was plain that her father had convinced me, although he was unable to restrain and sway me to accept his plan of privacy. Gabrielle had classed me as a dull fellow, not able to see beneath the shallow case of Smith. Little did she imagine that I had laughed at her father and ridiculed his course at my interview with him. She jumped to the conclusion that I had notified the coroner, to make sure of a conviction at any cost, so thoroughly had I been convinced of Jim's guilt by the evidence her father had laid before me, and so high was my sense of honor and duty to the community. This action on my part she assumed would result in the publicity her father dreaded, but eventually would lead to Jim's vindication;she deplored my lack of faith in my companion; she marveled that I, too, should have fallen so easily a prey to the sharpers who were deceiving her hot-headed, obstinate father, whose senses were alert for every word or sign that would smirch, by even so much as a shadow, the man he would overthrow. If it had been possible for Gabrielle Tescheron to understand that I had read her impulsive father's character aright, and that my loyalty to Jim Hosley at the time was as firm as her own, our difficulties would have been greatly simplified. My joke turned its other edge on me and cut me off from her confidence, but not from her good-will, as expressed in the beautiful flowers, in the hope that I might turn from pursuing Jim and become a staunch advocate of his cause, when I realized, as she did and as I surely must, how strong and true he was and how far above the rogues who would smirch him for gain. But it was plain to her that I had been turned against Jim by her father, and had gone far beyond the point her father intended to reach in his attack on Hosley. Jim must be quickly warned not to place any more confidence in me, for I had taken hasty action that would soon involve them all in a criminal investigation, full of unpleasant notoriety even for the innocent. Jim should also be well advisedby an able criminal lawyer to protect him against these rogues and intemperate reasoners.
But these thoughts which came to Gabrielle and seemed to her to be the impelling force that directed her to Eighteenth Street that morning, to my mind now, read in the light of the whole story, were really only the miraculous methods of that clairvoyance, operating under the veil of mystery beyond reason. My shallow joke, I insist, could not have been the cause. With an unshaken faith in Jim and no danger threatening him, I am confident she would have remained at the hotel, taken breakfast with her father and mother, and then, perhaps, have leisurely departed for her office, to tell laughingly of the early morning flight to Jim at some trysting place in the commercial section of the town later in the day. Faith, without real danger, would have meant a contented mind, whether or not, it seems to me, I had notified one coroner or a thousand, for it would have been only part of the general plan to give the widest scope to Jim's detractors, and to take no part in counter-plotting any more than she would ally herself with her father's villainous advisers. The utter absurdity of my joke, I firmly believe, would have appeared plainly to her had the real danger of the fire not been apprehended by her intuitions, far keener than she suspected, and so interpreted to her will as to lead her without fear to the very spot she was most needed in all the world.
As the coach turned into Eighteenth Street, Gabrielle was prepared to meet the emergency, for all at once it came upon her that duty had brought her to the spot. She saw the excitement surrounding the fire and knew why she was there. The coachman, following her order, drew up to the curb, so that she might alight. She dismissed him and then pushed through the crowd, now scattering, to the fire lines, and as she proceeded she saw the building on our corner had been partly destroyed; apparently the flames had done the most damage in the upper stories. Her first question was put to a policeman on guard near the edge of the crowd:
"Officer, please tell me if there were any persons injured at the fire?"
"Yes, ma'am, two men; they were taken to Bellevue, ma'am."
With a simple word of thanks she turned away. If the officers were then in pursuit of her Jim, shewould find him first and shield him with her wit as many a woman had done before under like conditions. The ambulances had gone half an hour before, but she would follow directly to the hospital and first seek out there the man whose terrible fate was foretold by her fears. Why had she not kept the coach to take her to Bellevue? It had been dismissed when she wished to avoid even the possible testimony of a coachman. Quickly she summoned a cab and a few minutes later she was in the hospital ready to shield Jim Hosley from all harm if he were there.
Gabrielle found him unconscious and quickly identified him as her brother, George Marshall.
"I should like to have him placed in a private room," she said to the hospital superintendent. "Please have it next to that of his friend, Mr. Benjamin Hopkins. I want them to have the best care from your physicians and nurses that may be obtained. There is no sacrifice that I would not make to save the lives of these brave men who have suffered so terribly."
Several weeks afterward I learned that my name and that of George Marshall had appeared in the papers for a few days until the hospital doctors announced that we would probably recover. The public accepted that as a finality quite asagreeably as if we had died of our injuries, and so we sank below the horizon again. Our thrilling rescue by the fire department net, with a vague mention of our injuries received while falling against the useless fire escapes, was part of the news of the day; also the fact that I had been thrown from the window and that a search had been made of the ruins, but no trace of Hosley could be found. In a few days, he, too, appeared to be forgotten. My brother had not seen any of his folks up home and none of them had driven over to our place, a distance of ten miles. We boys had been away so long, the two families had rather lost track of each other, I supposed, although it did seem strange to me. I made little mention of Jim in my letters to the old home folks. The bad news, I knew, would leak out in time and my chuckle-headedness would be as much a part of the village gossip as the story of his crime.
A few days after I had regained consciousness I began to discuss with Hygeia the other man who was injured at the fire.
"What sort of a looking man is that fellow, George Marshall, who was hurt?" I asked, thinking he might be Hosley under another name and she not know it.
"He seemed rather slight in build," she answered demurely. "I should say he weighed about one hundred and fifty pounds." Jim had lost weight, but I did not think of that.
"Any of his folks been here? With whom did he live? What flat? Which house?"
"Well, now, I shan't say; really, I shan't say who has been here to see him. Look to yourself."
"Why can't I go in and talk to him? Is he awake?"
"How could you? Why are you so foolish now to worry about him? He doesn't bother his head about you. Haven't you had all you want of that fire, without talking it all over again with that man?"
"I'd like first rate to have a talk with that fellow. Maybe I know him."
"Well, I know you are a great man to talk, but we shan't let you talk him to death."
"Say, can't you tell me what sort of a looking dub he is?"
"A what? Most of the time you seem to speak Welsh."
"How are you so cock-sure his name is George Marshall?"
"How do I? Well! well!"
"Why, look here! Isn't it natural for me toask about him? Didn't we pass through almost the same experience? Why, I am simply bound to know that fellow, that's all there is about it."
"Tut, tut! Certainly you shall know him. But not now, when you are too weak to walk and he is suffering even more pain. Rest easy, now; be as calm as you can and soon you and the other patient may talk it all over together."
"Say, haven't you seen anybody around his room coming to see him?"
"Um! Let me think." And she knitted her brows and shaped that small mouth to a Cupid's bow, whence many an arrow has shot through me. "Why, I can't say." And she smiled teasingly.
"Come, you must have some idea. How far from here is his room?"
"Why, yes; I do remember seeing some one there a few times. It was his little girl."
"Oh, I see, a married man. Egad, I remember a man in the house next door who had a little girl. She was an awfully sweet little thing—dimples in her cheeks; little curls down at the side over her ears—most generally, though, wagging around in front. I've often seen him kiss her so tenderly. She was so pretty! Well, there's nothing like it."
The old joke that a woman can't keep a secret still appears in many variations to illuminate the mind of the waiting man, driven to lithographed hilarity in the barber-shop comics. In real life, when not under the spell of this brilliant six-colored wit, we find ourselves at a disadvantage frequently, because women keep their secrets too well. Hygeia was loyal to Gabrielle, and together they shielded Jim Hosley from his pursuers, and among the latter I was reckoned as one of the most dangerous.
Mr. Tescheron was soon convinced that Hoboken was the place he should tarry. It might appear that a day or two of rest in that place would have satisfied him that he might return to New York, but there was a good reason why he should not take the risk of living in his own home. And this reason strengthened Gabrielle in the belief that I had notified the coroner of the Browning case and really entertained the same viewof Hosley as her father. On the third day after their arrival at the Stuffer House, Mr. Tescheron received this letter from the manager of his company, Mr. King, who wrote from the market:
"A man came to this office this morning with a coroner's subpœna for you to testify in the Browning case. I read it carefully and noted that it was signed by Coroner Flanagan. The man told me he had been up to your house in Ninety-sixth Street. He seemed very anxious to find you, and waited around for some time after I had positively assured him you had gone West on business. Hope what I did was O. K. He also wanted to know if you had spoken to me regarding a fire and the disappearance of a Mr. Hosley. I had no knowledge of the matter and so informed him. Shipments are running heavy to-day on Western orders. As you have gone that way, there may be a reason for this."Yours truly,"J. M. King."
"A man came to this office this morning with a coroner's subpœna for you to testify in the Browning case. I read it carefully and noted that it was signed by Coroner Flanagan. The man told me he had been up to your house in Ninety-sixth Street. He seemed very anxious to find you, and waited around for some time after I had positively assured him you had gone West on business. Hope what I did was O. K. He also wanted to know if you had spoken to me regarding a fire and the disappearance of a Mr. Hosley. I had no knowledge of the matter and so informed him. Shipments are running heavy to-day on Western orders. As you have gone that way, there may be a reason for this.
"Yours truly,
"J. M. King."
This letter stiffened Mr. Tescheron considerably in his purpose to remain in Hoboken. The following from Bridget to Mrs. Tescheron added corroboration, which tended to brace that purposestill more, and it was quite sufficient to keep the family under Mr. Staffer's roof for six weeks:
"A man from the corner was here wid a bit of paper, an' sed he shud see yer. I ast him which corner, and he sed it was Flanigans the sayloon is Finnegans do yer no any Flanigan on our corner the Parrit is lookin well the cakes is dun."Respectably yours,"Bridget."
"A man from the corner was here wid a bit of paper, an' sed he shud see yer. I ast him which corner, and he sed it was Flanigans the sayloon is Finnegans do yer no any Flanigan on our corner the Parrit is lookin well the cakes is dun.
"Respectably yours,
"Bridget."
I am not surprised, realizing Mr. Tescheron's mental condition, that these letters convinced him the place of safety was beyond the borders of New York State.
"It is a very cosy spot here, Marie," said Mr. Tescheron, after he had read the letters to his wife and Gabrielle, who made it a point to be with her mother early every evening. During the day she spent most of her time at the hospital ministering to Jim.
Mr. Tescheron's admiration of the Stuffer House intensified as time wore on and he found he was safe there. His sagacity in the matter encouraged him, and he soon took risks by venturing into the heart of New York dressed in a suit which made him appear like a City Hall Parkhobo, with slouch hat and long ulster, such as market men wear loosely belted like great aprons. Under these coverings he dared to go as far as Fulton Market about three times a week, taking the most circuitous route around the lower edge of New York, via the slow but sure Belt Line horse car along West and South streets. To be sure, he put in most of his time traveling, but the coroner did not catch him, and this fact demonstrated the cleverness of the tactics.
The shabby disguise might have saved him, it seems to me, even if the entire police force of the city had been after him, for normally Mr. Tescheron was one of the tidiest little men. He usually shined like a new hat out of a bandbox. He was patent-leathered, smooth-jowled, rosy, crisp, pretty-nailed, creased, stick-pinned and embossed on the vest. Nothing that a steam laundry and the latest machinery for man-embellishing, from custom tailoring to Staten Island and hair dyeing, could do to obliterate the fish business from his personality had been omitted in compiling thisde luxe, numbered and signed copy of a man. But my investigations lead me to believe that Mr. Tescheron was not exceptional in this respect at the market. Like Napoleon, the wholesale fish dealers all fit circumstances to obstacles. A manwho slips and skids around all day in a wholesale fish market is usually rich and, I find, makes up his average on pulchritude after business hours.
Mr. Tescheron maintained a high record. When he was not in his shop togs you would not recognize him any more than the made-over old family umbrella that has ten times recovered its ribs and boldly fronted the hilarious wind, ever ready to blow it off. It was always surprising to me how he could produce such marvelous synthetic effects from the elemental forms found on the Monday morning's clothes-line.
I don't know how true it is, but a chap down in the market once told me that all the members of the Market Men's Association found it annoying to remove the flies that had been blinded by the glint of their bosoms and had slipped and broken necks on the starchy glaciers of those Alpine precipices of dazzling shirting displayed at the annual dinners of the society. It is only natural that the market flies should want to attend, for they stick closer than a brother to the members of this brotherhood. Mr. Tescheron's sartorial perfection was only an exigency of his business, and if his armor was more striking than that of the ordinary man, I, for one, was ready toforgive him. The fact must remain that the best dressed men of New York are the wholesale fish dealers of Fulton Market—after business hours—when they transform to escape the torments of a perennial fly-time.
Gabrielle did confide in her mother, but her father was none the wiser. He listened to Smith, and concluded that Hosley had skipped, having learned in some way that the authorities were after him. If he should be found and brought back to New York, the coroner might begin his investigations at once and proceed with other witnesses. In that event the name of Tescheron would undoubtedly be dragged into the case, but if the family kept out of the State they could not be made to testify. In Mr. Tescheron's judgment, therefore, it was wise to spend a few weeks well out of the way until they were certain the affair had been forgotten.
"Mother, I think the change may do us good, if we don't take father too seriously," said Gabrielle, "and if you can find enough to occupy yourself until some favorable suggestion changes father's course, and he is seized by a desire to return home, I shall be happy. Aren't you getting tired of the company of these stuffed birds, though? I shall send your parrot over to-morrow and have Bridget come to talk over the housekeeping affairs with you, shall I?"
"No, dear; we shall be happy enough with these silent birds for a while yet. Alas! if it is true that the officials want us—and it must be true, as Bridget and Mr. King have both written—"
"Don't worry about that, mother; you will be just as proud of Mr. Hosley some day as I am. Oh, he is so brave! Think how he rescued his companion, Ben Hopkins, and then fell blinded by the flames. What a terrible fall that was, mother! just twice the height of this building—you really cannot imagine it. Do rogues show such heroism? I tell you, mother, you'll find, one of these brighter days, that James Hosley is a great, big-hearted hero, as far above these petty attacks on his character, so readily believed by father, as the mountains are above the sea. He has nothing to fear. Remember, a cruel fate struck him down at the very moment he might have explained away every circumstance to which father attaches weight, merely by stating the truth. Mother, I have never doubted my hero!"
"Yes, my dear child, you are right. I feel that you are. Forgive me for expressing that shadow of doubt; it is now gone. I am thankful that God led your footsteps to his bedside, where youmight help to rescue him and his companion. I am indeed proud of you, Gabrielle. How greatly I am blessed by you every minute!" And the dear old soul cried, her heart welling with love for her daughter, her confidante and support.
Then Gabrielle knelt at her mother's side and buried her face in her mother's lap, her tears flowing in sympathetic response to this declaration of maternal faith.
It is a good thing I was not there at that time, for at the sight of tears in the faces of those dear women I would have been driven to sheer madness. I believe I would have taken a club to the hard-hearted or stupid Tescheron and murdered him with mince-meat minuteness in the presence of the gossipers lolling around the fireplace in the living-room. At the time of the tearful scene between mother and daughter, a dramatic passage that has its counterpart in many homes invaded by a son-in-law, the cruel Tescheron, the obstacle in the path of true love, was listening to mine host, August Stuffer, three hundred and fifty-two pounds of Hoboken manhood seated in a Windsor chair built of wood and steel to resemble the Williamsburg Bridge about the legs, so stoutly was it trussed, braced and riveted to carry its enormous load. This wheezy spinner of yarns, in a toneof apoplectic huskiness, was telling his guests about the peculiar stuffed cat, which advertised the hotel far and wide from its glass case near the main entrance.
It was my joke that introduced Mr. Tescheron to this cat. Mr. Stuffer's eloquence and the fire's hypnotic rays must have worked the consequent charm at which I have often marveled.
"Jersey Jerry was the name of that cat," said Stuffer, a gentle wheeze playing about his upper rigging, as he spread out into the open sea of truth. "And he was a most unfortunate cat, because he was born blind and had to learn the town by feeling his way. He went everywhere and had more friends than most cats with eyes—strange but true—and principally among cats. He was sociable because he had to work his friends. He knew us around here by our sounds" (it was an easy matter for him to sound the tale-teller), "and he used to rub his whiskers against a stranger's legs till he got to know the man. You'd 'a' thought he'd rub 'em all off, but not so; it seemed to make 'em grow twice as long—biggest whiskers for a cat of his size I ever see. Well, sir, I came down here to the back door one night to lock up, heard him scratching and let him in. He gave me an awful scare, for as he looked uptwo big blazing eyes shone brighter than the lantern I was carrying. From his squeal I knew it was Jerry, so I picked him up and brought him over here to get a good look at him. I could see at once that it was the work of those Stevens students. They had taken an ordinary pair of glass eyes such as are made for stuffed cats, and in the back of each eye had fitted a tiny electric light, such as you've probably seen attached to a button-hole bouquet, only they were smaller, of course. I noticed when his tail went up the lights were turned on and they blazed like he had gone mad, but when his tail went down it cut off the lights like you've seen 'em shut off in a trolley car when the pole falls—same principle, I guess, somehow. It all kind of puzzled me for a time, till I got to thinking about it."
"Nonsense! Where did the electricity come from?" asked a man who doubted.
"Electricity? A cat's full of electricity. Everybody knows that, and those Stevens students simply connected it up to run two lights with a cut-out at the back. Of course, when the cat died the natural electricity gave out, and so I had him connected with the company's wires and the tail fixed to run by works run by the current, to make 'em blaze and shut off and seem just as old Jerryused to. He was a great comfort to me with those eyes, and I think they helped him to see as well as feel, for he didn't rub any more, but flashed his eyes when he was inquisitive and wanted to save steps.
"But it killed him. Modern improvements on a cat brought up to going it blind in Hoboken were too much. A man got the delirium tremblings looking at Jerry one night and kicked him nine mortal blows before he could get his tail up."
"Well," said Mr. Tescheron, "those Stevens students must be wonders. I never supposed there was any good thing came out of Hoboken."
"The town suits me all right," replied Mr. Stuffer. "There's many a good thing passes through here." He winked at Emil.
"There ain't nothing a Stevens student can't do—nothing calling for brains," said Mr. Stuffer. "They get chock full of mathematics up there, so's they can engineer anything from a turbine plant to a pin where it's most needed, or a marriage factory. Anything that calls for brains is right in their line. If I ever get into any kind of trouble at all I'll get a Stevens engineer to rig me up some kind of a derrick to pull me out of it."
At his leisure, Mr. Tescheron now marvels atthe great ability of Stevens men. He feels that he is a competent judge.
It was evident that the Stevens students who crowded the Stuffer House had duly impressed the present proprietor with their ability to overcome every obstacle in life's path with special machinery to fit each case.
"Why, one of those students told me some years ago," continued Mr. Stuffer, "that he once provided plans and specifications to supply a girl with beaus."
None of the company now seemed to doubt, so Mr. Stuffer proceeded to prove his proposition that a technical education at Stevens comprehends the repairing of difficult cases of side-stepped heart.
"Yes, I remember, now, it was the case of little Mary Schwarz," he continued. "And she never knew, doesn't to this day probably, how it all came about that suddenly she had more beaus than she could attend to. They fairly froze her in ice cream—"
Mrs. Tescheron had recovered and was ringing three times for hot water as per the card of instructions tacked near the push-button in her room.
"They are not remarkably prompt here," shemurmured. "I wonder what can be the matter every evening."
Mr. Stuffer, who was supposed to be on duty at the annunciator, in his dual capacity of hall boy and host, heard not its alarm, for he was well under way with a yarn.
He continued:
"She got so she didn't care for Hoboken, Mary didn't. The beaus then took her to every theatre in New York. And they were a fine lot of chaps—Stevens students, bachelor professors, leading merchants' sons—all the best people in town. Before that Stevens student started up the necessary machinery to repair this case, she had no beaus at all; but he fixed things so's she had a regular monopoly because she controlled the raw material. They teach just enough of political economy on the side up there at the institute to bring that in; that you can't have a monopoly unless you control the raw material; so he figured to have her control it. But when she lost it the thing was off."
"What became of it?" asked Mr. Tescheron, who, I am informed, was fearful that the narrator might be interrupted by the ringing of the bell.
"She ate it up. You see, Brown, that smart Stevens man, who laid out this job, went aroundto where Mary kept her little lamb and sheared it every once so often. He gave the wool to our swellest tailor and had him make it up into an extra fancy line of trousering. The best people bought those trousers, and of course everywhere that Mary went the lamb was sure to go. You can see why she had so much good company. The fellows simply couldn't stop going to Mary's till they shed 'em. It took a mechanical engineer to do it. But when the lamb got old her pa, who had not been told about this thing, thought he'd have to eat the pet to save its mutton."
"But she got married, of course, didn't she?" asked a stranger, who was en route to Europe on his wedding tour and was full of romance.
"Why, no. You see, she was having such fun fishing, she never stopped till they stopped biting—that is, the snappy bass that she liked to ketch. She landed a lot, but just kept throwing back, probably waiting for some whale in the shape of a Duke to land on one of the steamers, but those Dukes that pass through Hoboken are terribly long on trousers, and generally bring 'em over by the trunk-load. They all passed right through, at any rate. Instead of a whale coming along, the next to bite were a lot of old skates—a regular lot of tramps. They had come into the trousers second hand, usually got for the asking, when preparing to start into New York for the slumming season; but, of course, they had to make for Mary's house just as soon as they put 'em on and the charm got to working. So she has been spending the balance of her life shooing away tramps. The chances are the pet lamb will never quite wear out—excuse me, gentlemen, I think I hear the bell ringing."
Gabrielle did not find it necessary to confide immediately in Hygeia, who cared for us both, but as Jim progressed more favorably than I, and was able to sit up in bed propped with pillows, he became talkative and inclined to drop remarks that might create suspicion in the mind of the nurse. Unless Hygeia became her confidante, Gabrielle feared Jim's identity might become known and his whereabouts learned by the officers of the law, who were now apparently searching for him on misleading clues.
"You will be my good friend, will you not?" asked Gabrielle, as she drew Hygeia closely to her one morning about a week after our entrance to the hospital. "I want you to help me, and I know you now so well that I feel I may safely ask you to. May I?"
"My dear Miss Marshall, there is nothing I will not do for you, believe me. I rejoice that your brother is showing such rapid improvement. Howmuch more fortunate he is than the poor fellow in the next room—his friend, I believe you said?"
"Yes, Mr. Hopkins is his friend. But Mr. Marshall is not my brother, and—"
"Tut, tut! Didn't I know it, my dear! Have I not watched you both? I am already keeping your secret, never fear. Tell me only what you please, but you need not tell me to have your good-will, for my heart is with you, my dear."
"Oh, you are such a kind, good friend!" exclaimed Gabrielle. "It is your sympathy and care that will save the lives of these men. Let me tell you why I so promptly had him" (pointing to Jim, who was beyond hearing), "registered as George Marshall, my brother. My father accuses him of many things—many foolish things—but you know how it is with an impetuous father; these things have been enlarged in his eyes by wicked men, who are conspiring for gain. Detectives, they call themselves, and so long as my father hesitates to publicly expose his family, these men feed upon his fears. I have good reason to believe that Mr. Hopkins, so long friendly to him—whose real name is James Hosley—is now his bitter enemy, for he has given information concerning him to the authorities. And my real name is Gabrielle Tescheron, so you see—"
"Gracious! But this is a conspiracy," exclaimed Hygeia, deeply interested and ready to declare her loyalty to the lovers. "How can you account for the base treachery of that man?" (pointing toward my room, the quarters of the despicable villain in the case.) "What a miserable wretch he must be!"
"But, my dear," said Gabrielle, who now felt that she was established on a firm footing of intimacy with the nurse, "I am not positive as to that, although I have good reason to believe he has deserted his old chum; still I am not sure, for I have only heard so through my father, who is, of course, strongly prejudiced. There are many things I do not understand. I do know that a subpœna has been issued for my father on the complaint of Mr. Hopkins, and so, of course, he must have informed the officials concerning Mr. Hosley, probably accusing him directly as alleged by the detectives and outlined to me hastily by my father. Had Mr. Hopkins not done this we would not have been hurried out of the State to escape the unpleasant publicity of which my father has a horror. Oh, father is such a hot-head!"
"Your love is all you base your loyalty on," smiled Hygeia, and embracing Gabrielle, shekissed her desperately. "Indeed, no harm shall visit either of you," Hygeia tenderly assured Gabrielle.
"But to me this situation is very silly," added Gabrielle. "And were it not for my hasty father and this fire intervening, I know full well that Mr. Hopkins would have made an explanation which would have exonerated Jim. I feel so, but I shall take no risks—no risks whatever, mind you. While I do feel that perfidy in Mr. Hopkins is beyond belief, I shall be cautious, and with your help shall keep him in ignorance of Mr. Hosley's whereabouts. If he did tell a lie to my father about notifying the officials, then let him come forward with the denial. But we must not be too hard on the poor fellow; think how much more he has suffered than Jim. Let us divide the beautiful flowers. Half the time let poor Benny Hopkins gaze on these roses and orchids I send to Jim, and tell him, too, my dear, that they come from me. Let us hear what he says. Perhaps some day all will be clear to us again. Jim and Ben will again be friends, and you will be our new-found friend, whom we shall all rejoice in finding in our hour of need. How beautiful it will be then, and these days of sorrow will be turned into pleasant memories! Poor Mr. Hopkins, he does seem so low at times! Do you think he will get well?"
"I think he will," assured Hygeia. "Each day he rests a little better, but his head is not clear. He wanders a good deal. But Dr. Hanley says that condition will improve—in fact, it shows signs of improvement as his temperature becomes more even."
"I do pray he will recover," said Gabrielle, sadly, shaking her head. "Jim has such faith in him—laughs at my fears and bids me let him be wheeled into Ben's room as soon as the doctors will allow us to go in there, for he knows he can cheer him. Jim says Ben is so given to sarcasm and joking that people who do not know him well misunderstand him. I shall not allow it, however, as there is too much at risk. Jim does not know all. If I am wrong in this, Ben Hopkins is responsible, for he deceived my father and drove us all over there to Hoboken. What a place for an exile! Jim laughs every time I tell him about it. Oh, such a state of affairs, just as we had planned to be married!"
"Isn't it too bad!" exclaimed Hygeia. "Never mind; we shall all laugh over it at the wedding, if I may be there."
"When everything comes out all right in ouraffairs, indeed you shall be there. You shall be my bridesmaid; Nellie Gibson is to be my maid of honor, and Benny Hopkins, Jim's best man. Won't it be grand! Let me tell you about my gowns. I have nearly all of them ready. First there is the—"
Here I shall leave them to talk of the trousseau. My notes on this branch of the subject were gathered from Hygeia and are full enough to give an adequate description. This I would do, but I am afraid I would get tangled in the trail, scalp the bride by tearing off her veil with a flying heel, and fall down on some of the fine lace flouncing around the box pleats hiding the chiffon and the crêpe de chine. Hygeia told me the style of the wedding gown was Princess, but there was a reception gown—I was told, but I forget now how many yards it contained; if the 8,643 tucks were taken out and the goods stretched, I understood there was enough to show that a silk mill and lace factory had been busy several days. As for the silkworms, I suppose they were all summer chewing up a row of mulberry bushes on this job. Weddings make a lot of work for everybody.
Hygeia did everything possible to make it pleasant for Gabrielle at the hospital. She tactfully left the sick man alone with his "sister" the greater part of every afternoon. With sorrow to knit more firmly the bonds of love, it would appear that no disturbing influence could enter there. They chatted quietly and laughed merrily, and when they were not doing either they were silently telling each other of their happiness by those glances that had partially betrayed their secret to Hygeia before she learned it from Gabrielle's lips.
Gabrielle became such a motherly person at the hospital! With a dainty white dotted Swiss apron tied in sprightly bows about her waist, "in sweet perfection cast," she sat near the window sewing or embroidering some bit of finery that must be finished for the wedding, and by her hands alone. Jim was so full of joy he didn't care how long it took his broken leg to mend. The aches and twinges from that quarter were hardly felt by him after the first day of his confinement; his head was right, and he was eager for the daily coming of Gabrielle.
Well do I comprehend how Jim felt. He did not yearn with sickening hope deferred, for he had won the heart of the girl. Contentedly he rested in the sunshine of her smiles, and fell asleep beneath the shadow of her tresses, her small, coolhand on his fevered brow, her low words of sympathy lulling him to the land of rest and sweet dreams of her. I realize how it was with them, because it was so different with me. The chill of loneliness cast by suspicion compelled my silence on the things I was bursting to tell to sympathetic ears. My only visitor was the cheerful nurse, but she was a stranger to my woes, I thought, and could not help me.
Jim frequently asked Gabrielle concerning me. When he had been there three weeks, he manifested an unusual anxiety, for none of his inquiries had received satisfactory replies. Hygeia reported that I was slowly gaining—but very, very slowly, and could not be disturbed, not even by my brother who had called. None of Jim's folks had been down from the North to see him, as he had written them with his own hand that he would soon be out again. This made it clear to them that he was safe.
"Gabrielle, I must see Ben the minute the doctors say he is well enough," declared Jim. "Why, it is nonsense to suspect him. That fellow is my best friend; never mind what you think, you will find him loyal to me. I must see him. What will he think of me?"
"You are not well enough to manage yourown affairs, Jim; believe me, you are not. I want you to give over everything into my hands and let me be your guide. Please do as I say."
She had early outlined to him the grounds for her father's suspicions, but said nothing concerning the Browning case. She emphasized my action which had frightened her father, but did not go into details, for Jim was too weak to stand the mental strain she feared might be imposed on him if he were to enter into a discussion of the matters her father had told her were conclusive evidence that Jim was a notorious criminal. It was all too ridiculous for her to believe. Her father laid great stress on the fact that Hosley had left for parts unknown, fearing to face his accusers, as corroborative of the other evidence supplied by the detectives, including his long criminal record and photographs from the Rogues' Gallery. This made it seem all the more ridiculous. Not a suspicion concerning Jim had ever entered her mind. Her knowledge of her father's obstinacy, and the evil influences surrounding him, were all the protection Jim needed. His enemies counted for him.
"Well, I suppose I shall have to do as you say, Gabrielle," said Jim, "but Ben is a good friendof mine, and it may hurt him to find I am neglecting him."
"That will come out all right, Jim. If he is a friend we shall probably learn of it as soon as he regains control of himself. He may say something about you to the nurse. If he is friendly I will talk with him first, and then we shall learn just where he stands in this matter. Perhaps when we hear what he says we shall be glad we kept him in ignorance of you."
That day when my head appeared to be perfectly clear for the first time, and I began to ask questions, Hygeia hurried into the next room and breathlessly announced:
"Miss Tescheron, Mr. Hopkins has begun to ask questions at last. The first thing he asked almost was: 'Where is Hosley? Is he in jail? Hasn't he been here to see me? Was he hurt? Was he killed? Hasn't he written to me?' and I asked him why he should ask me. He also wanted to know who sent the flowers, and I told him, but he made no answer. He didn't seem to think it possible Miss Tescheron should send flowers to him. What do you make of it? I think he is perfectly friendly, don't you? He wants to know so much about Mr. Hosley."
"Certainly he's friendly; let me be wheeledright in to see him. Oh, please; just for a minute," begged Jim, who was now sitting up with his leg stretched out on a pillow.
"Why should he ask if you are in jail? I don't like that at all; not at all. I will not consent. He has not forgotten his treachery. I will not trust the fellow. Let us wait until he talks a little more." And so Gabrielle's caution intervened.
But I didn't ask any more questions about Hosley.
Circumstances usually arise along the path of folly to make it increasingly expensive. Emil Stuffer appeared to supply one important item. He had been attracted to Stevens Institute by the associations of his home. The students from this great school gathered around his father's hospitable fire and rested their brains when weary with the curves of analytical geometry and the stupid exactness of the differential calculus. Emil was clever at his profession—that of mechanical engineer—and for five years after his graduation from the Institute had devoted himself to that career. Then his father needed his assistance in running the hotel, for in his older years A. Stuffer found it difficult to move with alacrity, and unless more speed could be introduced in the management he saw that it might appear in the departure of the guests. Emil, therefore, had come home to fall heir in due time to the business, and prior to theceremonies attending that event, he was to be his father's lieutenant, practicing his avocation as an ornithologist, whose specialty was rare birds, at leisure moments. Emil enjoyed also the work of the taxidermist, and loved dearly to cut and stuff. Jerry, the wonderful cat of the glass case in the office, gave only a hint of his skill and the remarkable perfection he achieved in improving the designs of nature. Under Emil's mechanical touch Jerry became far more interesting and a better advertisement for the business, when connected with his father's yarn regarding him as an electric phenomenon, than he had ever been during the days of his active existence on earth.
Mrs. Tescheron particularly admired the many specimens of birds shown in nearly every room in the house, and even Gabrielle found them interesting. Mr. Tescheron, who was something of an expert on fish, and had written a number of articles on rare specimens in the line of his specialty for the Fish Journal, was glad to take up the subject of rare birds and pursue it with similar interest. Birds and fish are allied in the student mind. Under the tutorship of Emil, he drank from the Hoboken source of bird wisdom. If Emil by some stroke of Fate had been thrown into Fulton Market for six weeks he might havebecome a student of fish, and Mr. Tescheron the enthusiastic teacher. If any stranger from the briny deep was hauled aboard a fishing smack and brought to our city, Mr. Tescheron was the expert who told the newspapers all about it. He told a straight, scientific story in popular language, and until it had been rewritten by local fish editors and some twenty times more by as many other piscatorial experts, it was hardly cured to a point where it would pass in the domain of post-prandial fact. A very large whale was once brought into the market and placed on exhibition at an admission fee of one dime. The story of this whale, as interpreted by Mr. Tescheron, appeared throughout the country for many weeks afterward. A Western version of the New York interview, as it appeared in some stereotyped plate matter of a Western news association, I give here verbatim, to show how truth may be improved:
JONAH'S WHALE APARTMENT.New York Fish Expert Proves the Bible Story True.The Higher Criticism of the Market.Nothing at all strange that a man should be very comfortable inside the roomy mammal with plenty of light and air and good wholesome food—Structure shows it was built for the purpose.Albert Tescheron, the celebrated Fulton Market expert on rare fish, who is thoroughly familiar with the anatomy of whales, consented to give his opinion concerning Jonah this morning to the reporter of the Sporting Extra."Mr. Tescheron, please tell me," said the reporter, "in just what part of the whale Jonah lived for three days. My paper wants the true story, with such Biblical data as may bear upon it, interpreted by the higher criticism of the Fish Market. I want to get an interior view of the apartments he lived in by flashlight or the X-ray, so as to print the Jonah story right up to date. There were none of our men present, you understand, when the thing happened.""The belly of the whale is commodious, as you may see," replied Mr. Tescheron, pointing to the spot with his cane. "Here we have the probable position of Jonah, seated with a knee against each ear and his hands clasped over his ankles. Now this episode as narrated plainly tells us that Jonah was 'swallowed up;' he wasn't chewed up, but swallowed whole, and from such investigations as I have made, studying whales before and after meals, and from what I know of the layout of the interior occupied by Jonah, he sat, as I say, a solid chunk of a man which no whale could digest. Now you know the whale is a regular submarine vessel equipped the same as those divers of our navy, with a perfect outfit of air valves. You must remember reading that this fish was prepared for the special business of swallowing Jonah, and for no other purpose. The whale comes upat regular intervals and blows the water out of his air-tight compartments and sucks in a fresh air supply—enough to last him and two or three more passengers, so that Jonah, it may be seen, had no trouble at all to breathe, and agreed with the whale until the whale was beached, while asleep, at low water. The lack of all rolling motion in the land, and the fact that an uneven keel made Jonah claw around more than usual, made the whale land-sick. A whale can throw a stream from its snout for about five rods, but when it strikes land that way under heavy ballast it chucks all its load, water and solids, like a torpedo hitting a ship. I have experimented with small whales—say from ten to twenty feet over all, and never knew one to miss when he bumped land. The whale was prepared especially to do that—to release Jonah, and does it with wonderful automatic economy—the same that we scientific men note throughout nature. If the people who laugh at this story of Jonah would watch whales a little closer, especially at low tide, when stranded and taking a nap, they would be surprised to find how the whale wakes up and heaves ballast."Just see the inside arrangements here," and Mr. Tescheron outlined on the surface of the dead monster the exterior elevation of Jonah's home. "Just behind this outer covering is a splendid living-room, 6 feet by 4, lighted by the phosphorescent glow of the interior walls. A whale is full of phosphorus. The ceiling is a little low, but the ventilation is perfect, without draughts, and the temperature is about what you would find in Florida in January. The humidity is a little heavy, so that when the whale runs too far North he may chill inside and steam like a London fog or a Russian bath, but when Jonah entered and stayed for three days it was warm weather, and he was able to see plainly and be quite comfortable, although you may remember he referred to the place in strong terms when he was praying to get out. The two rooms adjoining the living-room are also cosy, you see—hot-water heating system and all—open plumbing. How far did the whale throw Jonah? About a hundred feet, I should say, and this lightened his ballast so that he floated again and was able toreverse his tail motion and back off into deep water."Through the courtesy of Mr. Tescheron the reporter was able to arrange with the whale owners to have it opened and the artists of the Sporting Extra peeked in, and viewed the three-room-and-bath apartment arranged in a kind of ham-shaped building with accordeon sides. The artist's recollection of the plan is as follows:We regret that space will not permit us to present the picture taken by our imaginative artist showing Jonah in his disguise as a prophet, reading one of his own sermons at a phosphorescent chandelier. But the following picture,[A]indicating the camera-like arrangement of the whale's Jonah suite in the dry-land collapse, with Jonah seated on a wad of compressed air shooting upstairs and through the vestibule, presents the Tescheron theory with greater vividness.
Nothing at all strange that a man should be very comfortable inside the roomy mammal with plenty of light and air and good wholesome food—Structure shows it was built for the purpose.
Albert Tescheron, the celebrated Fulton Market expert on rare fish, who is thoroughly familiar with the anatomy of whales, consented to give his opinion concerning Jonah this morning to the reporter of the Sporting Extra.
"Mr. Tescheron, please tell me," said the reporter, "in just what part of the whale Jonah lived for three days. My paper wants the true story, with such Biblical data as may bear upon it, interpreted by the higher criticism of the Fish Market. I want to get an interior view of the apartments he lived in by flashlight or the X-ray, so as to print the Jonah story right up to date. There were none of our men present, you understand, when the thing happened."
"The belly of the whale is commodious, as you may see," replied Mr. Tescheron, pointing to the spot with his cane. "Here we have the probable position of Jonah, seated with a knee against each ear and his hands clasped over his ankles. Now this episode as narrated plainly tells us that Jonah was 'swallowed up;' he wasn't chewed up, but swallowed whole, and from such investigations as I have made, studying whales before and after meals, and from what I know of the layout of the interior occupied by Jonah, he sat, as I say, a solid chunk of a man which no whale could digest. Now you know the whale is a regular submarine vessel equipped the same as those divers of our navy, with a perfect outfit of air valves. You must remember reading that this fish was prepared for the special business of swallowing Jonah, and for no other purpose. The whale comes upat regular intervals and blows the water out of his air-tight compartments and sucks in a fresh air supply—enough to last him and two or three more passengers, so that Jonah, it may be seen, had no trouble at all to breathe, and agreed with the whale until the whale was beached, while asleep, at low water. The lack of all rolling motion in the land, and the fact that an uneven keel made Jonah claw around more than usual, made the whale land-sick. A whale can throw a stream from its snout for about five rods, but when it strikes land that way under heavy ballast it chucks all its load, water and solids, like a torpedo hitting a ship. I have experimented with small whales—say from ten to twenty feet over all, and never knew one to miss when he bumped land. The whale was prepared especially to do that—to release Jonah, and does it with wonderful automatic economy—the same that we scientific men note throughout nature. If the people who laugh at this story of Jonah would watch whales a little closer, especially at low tide, when stranded and taking a nap, they would be surprised to find how the whale wakes up and heaves ballast.
"Just see the inside arrangements here," and Mr. Tescheron outlined on the surface of the dead monster the exterior elevation of Jonah's home. "Just behind this outer covering is a splendid living-room, 6 feet by 4, lighted by the phosphorescent glow of the interior walls. A whale is full of phosphorus. The ceiling is a little low, but the ventilation is perfect, without draughts, and the temperature is about what you would find in Florida in January. The humidity is a little heavy, so that when the whale runs too far North he may chill inside and steam like a London fog or a Russian bath, but when Jonah entered and stayed for three days it was warm weather, and he was able to see plainly and be quite comfortable, although you may remember he referred to the place in strong terms when he was praying to get out. The two rooms adjoining the living-room are also cosy, you see—hot-water heating system and all—open plumbing. How far did the whale throw Jonah? About a hundred feet, I should say, and this lightened his ballast so that he floated again and was able toreverse his tail motion and back off into deep water."
Through the courtesy of Mr. Tescheron the reporter was able to arrange with the whale owners to have it opened and the artists of the Sporting Extra peeked in, and viewed the three-room-and-bath apartment arranged in a kind of ham-shaped building with accordeon sides. The artist's recollection of the plan is as follows:
We regret that space will not permit us to present the picture taken by our imaginative artist showing Jonah in his disguise as a prophet, reading one of his own sermons at a phosphorescent chandelier. But the following picture,[A]indicating the camera-like arrangement of the whale's Jonah suite in the dry-land collapse, with Jonah seated on a wad of compressed air shooting upstairs and through the vestibule, presents the Tescheron theory with greater vividness.
Emil Stuffer's father was very proud of his accomplished son. "That boy of mine," he used to say to Mr. Tescheron, "thinks nothing of starting out any time, day or night, for a rare bird. He'll just leave a note here saying he's started, and like as not the next time I hear from him he's caught a new kind of sand-piper, a god-wit or killyloo bird in a Florida swamp, or one of them glossy ibises he hankers so for. That extra pale bubo up there (pointing to a case above the office desk), he picked up in Northeast Labrador."
Mr. Tescheron was greatly impressed with all this. He liked Emil, the student, and foundmuch in common with him. He questioned Emil frequently, and was always glad to hear that enthusiast talk on his hobby.
When Mr. Tescheron's enthusiasm had attained the proper pitch, he was admitted by Emil to view his private collection of the Rare Birds of Eastern North America, attractively displayed in glass cases around three attic rooms. Collectors from far and near had seen this collection and had praised it in letters which Emil showed in an off-hand way to the eager fish expert. One of these letters contained an offer of $15,000 for the collection.
"I wouldn't take $25,000 for that lot of birds," said Emil to the amazed Tescheron at the first interview.
"Do you suppose you'll ever get that much?" asked the unbelieving guest, making full allowance for the high opinion a collector has of his own wares. "Who'd give it?"
"Any museum that wants the finest collection of Rare Birds of Eastern North America will give it readily. A friend of mine who has been collecting postage stamps, values his collection at that, and he hasn't begun to put the time and money into it I have put in this work. Here are over one hundred of the rarest birds to be foundfrom Florida to Labrador—any bird expert can tell that."
Mr. Tescheron became deeply interested. He consulted his friend Smith, the great detective, who recommended a bird expert he knew to appraise the collection and get a price from its fond owner. For a consideration of fifty dollars, the bird expert spent an hour in Hoboken viewing the Emil Stuffer collection without letting it be known whom he represented. At least that was the agreement he made with Mr. Tescheron. He reported that the collection would be a bargain at five thousand dollars, and he believed it might be bought for that, as he understood Mr. Stuffer was in need of money and was beginning to hint he might sacrifice it among people in the trade; but of course he gave no sign of anxiety to possible purchasers.
A man makes his pile in the fish business, but it is not monumental; it will not live after him in memorial grandeur, and the business itself is far from imposing—the phosphate of ammonia and its volatile allies passing even from the recollection of reminiscent contemporaries. The people with rare collections to sell work among that class of trade represented by Tescheron, a man with money seeking to benefit mankind in some waythat will insure the perpetuation of his name carved in stone or cast in bronze, with the cost of maintenance shouldered by contract on the impersonal taxpayer, for whom glory pro rata is reserved to be enjoyed by reflection from the monumented name of the philanthropist. Thus the good a taxpayer does is interred with his bones, if he has been careful to pay up and not be sold out beforehand for arrears. But the good the philanthropist does is resolved into fame founded on one of the surest things known—taxes.
It is not ethical for a man engaged in supplying rare collections to advertise, but like the most fashionable jewelers, whose correspondence with ladies is in copper-plate long-hand, penned on delicate note-paper, by a clerical force of slender-fingered young gentlemen—refined, polite, indirect and apparently disinterested appeals must be made. Emil Stuffer comprehended the art of the sales department.
Some day I hope to get enough out of the public to give a set of my writings on political economy to every town that will firmly bind itself, as the party of the second part, to keep them dusted.
The town authorities of Stukeville, N. Y., a village of three thousand inhabitants, were already the proud possessors of the Tescheron collection of rare fish, comprising some three hundred prepared specimens, displayed in rooms set apart in the library building. They were glad to furnish the additional rooms needed for the accommodation of the celebrated Stuffer Collection of the Rare Birds of Eastern North America, and also to provide, according to the deed of gift: "for the proper maintenance of the same, with the understanding that the gift is absolute to the citizens of Stukeville without further conditions or reservations, whatsoever," etc.
The dealer, acting as Mr. Tescheron's agent, secretly, made the purchase about a week before the Tescheron family departed, and the outfit was shipped to Stukeville, where it was set up by Miss Griggs, the librarian (who kept two canaries and understood birds), assisted by three men, who did the carting. There it stands to-day, a monument to the benefactor of Stukeville. The smile on the elongated face of the pelican, who is scratching his left ear with a broad web flipper, reflects in mummied perpetuity the gratitude hidden behind the quiet exterior of the studious Emil Stuffer, ornithologist and mechanical engineer—but principally the latter, when he received word from the expert that the sale had been made.
In Hoboken they now tell of the sale of this collection as a joke, but in Stukeville it is a serious matter. Up there it is in the domain of natural history.
Afterward, when I started out to visit the places involved in the wages of my unlucky interference, I ran up to Stukeville and looked over the birds. I could see that a stretched neck or lengthened legs and fancy tail feathers, with a few minor alterations in the bill and wings, were all that was necessary to make a rare wild bird out of a tame duck. Hoboken-built birds seemed to answer every purpose, however, in Stukeville.
When it was all over except spending the money, A. Stuffer used to ask his scholarly son:
"Say, Emil, which was the hardest to make—Jerry, or one of them Stukeville pets?"
A man who writes his friend's love-letters is twice a fool if he admires his work. Burns, Byron, Morris and the others who contributed toward these high crimes and misdemeanors were dead, and so escaped the wrath of the angry gods, who switch triflers in Love's domain. I got all the punishment due for the guilt of writing the compositions, and piled on top of that came another turn on the hard road of the transgressor for issuing them again. I did not intend to put them into general circulation, of course; but my carelessness in leaving one of the letters in the sun parlor really amounted to the same thing. The fellow who carelessly hits a can of dynamite with an axe gets the same perfect results as if he had planned to do it for several months. The worst, however, was the swelling pride which led to the discussion of the letters with Hygeia. It snatched her forcibly from my life at a time when sustaining hope was most needed. The hypnotizing poets were to blame. As I readthe letters, I got the notion that I was responsible for the inspired as well as the uninspired portions, and so became topheavy and foolhardy in handling a kind of fire I did not understand. Many another has been burned the same way.
Before letters of this character are passed out for general reading, it must be understood that the audience shall not include the man who sent them to a woman he afterwards killed, for the simple purpose of marrying an accomplished lady of means, who is also a listener with him at the recital. It is one of the rules in reading aloud second-hand love-letters, never to have these conditions present, for they are apt to induce distress in both parties. Had I been consulted with full details presented for my consideration, I know I should have advised against it.
Gabrielle and Jim listened to the reading of the letter left in the sun parlor. It seemed to be public property, as there was no name attached to it, and so it went the rounds of the hospital. Hygeia had intended to read it for my entertainment first, but before doing so she chanced to read it in the next room; perhaps because she thought the audience would know more than I did of such matters, and would be more appreciative. In this she was not mistaken. Jim's interest was therein cold shivers, which made the springs hum and the slat gables whistle. Gabrielle laughed and giggled like a schoolgirl.
"It's the funniest letter you ever heard," declared Hygeia, who seemed to lose sight of its serious character. "I am sure you will both think it so."
"If it's a love-letter, ought we to trifle with it?" asked Gabrielle. "The man or woman to whom it belongs might not regard it as a joke."
"There are no names on it, and it will never be claimed now," said Hygeia, hesitatingly.
"Read it, by all means, then, to cheer us," said Gabrielle.
Hygeia proceeded to read this collaboration of R. Burns and B. Hopkins:
"'My Darling Margaret: During your visits to the country your letters cheer me as I fondly dwell upon the sweet suggestive thought that you are ever thinking of me, as I am thinking of you, every waking and dreaming moment. I fade away into dreamland, hand in hand with you, and joyously together like innocent children we walk across the broad meadows and through the woods to some hidden bower by the brook; there as I look up into your eyes, the pebbly streamlet flashing a glint of wayward sunshine, the wooing songbirds and the reposeful harmonies of Nature soothe me like your tender glances when they fall upon me alone. Aye, quite alone I would have them fall, to produce that magic sensation of a dream's delight. Then when I awake in the morning and realize that you are far, far away, and read your latest letter again with pangs of the bitterest remorse, I dwell only upon those passages which hint of other joys quite apart from your interest in me. My desolation is that of a storm-tossed soul, seized by every breath of fear and tortured by every agony known to the forsaken. Have you no pity for me, Margaret? Drive no more shafts of anguish through my bruised and shattered heart, but gently administer in words of endearment the potency of your enthralling glances."'Forlorn, my love, no comfort near,Far, far from thee, I wander here;Far, far from thee, the fate severe,At which I most repine, love."O, wert thou, love, but near me;But near, near, near me;How kindly thou wouldst cheer me,And mingle sighs with mine, love!"Around me scowls a wintry sky,That blasts each bud of hope and joy,And shelter, shade nor home have I,Save in those arms of thine, love.'"
"'My Darling Margaret: During your visits to the country your letters cheer me as I fondly dwell upon the sweet suggestive thought that you are ever thinking of me, as I am thinking of you, every waking and dreaming moment. I fade away into dreamland, hand in hand with you, and joyously together like innocent children we walk across the broad meadows and through the woods to some hidden bower by the brook; there as I look up into your eyes, the pebbly streamlet flashing a glint of wayward sunshine, the wooing songbirds and the reposeful harmonies of Nature soothe me like your tender glances when they fall upon me alone. Aye, quite alone I would have them fall, to produce that magic sensation of a dream's delight. Then when I awake in the morning and realize that you are far, far away, and read your latest letter again with pangs of the bitterest remorse, I dwell only upon those passages which hint of other joys quite apart from your interest in me. My desolation is that of a storm-tossed soul, seized by every breath of fear and tortured by every agony known to the forsaken. Have you no pity for me, Margaret? Drive no more shafts of anguish through my bruised and shattered heart, but gently administer in words of endearment the potency of your enthralling glances.
"'Forlorn, my love, no comfort near,Far, far from thee, I wander here;Far, far from thee, the fate severe,At which I most repine, love."O, wert thou, love, but near me;But near, near, near me;How kindly thou wouldst cheer me,And mingle sighs with mine, love!"Around me scowls a wintry sky,That blasts each bud of hope and joy,And shelter, shade nor home have I,Save in those arms of thine, love.'"
"'Forlorn, my love, no comfort near,Far, far from thee, I wander here;Far, far from thee, the fate severe,At which I most repine, love.
"O, wert thou, love, but near me;But near, near, near me;How kindly thou wouldst cheer me,And mingle sighs with mine, love!
"Around me scowls a wintry sky,That blasts each bud of hope and joy,And shelter, shade nor home have I,Save in those arms of thine, love.'"
"Oh, my! How gushy!" exclaimed Gabrielle, as she laughed, and looked at Jim to see if he were enjoying it as thoroughly.
"Yes, but how jolly it is to read," said Hygeia. "Listen to this:
"'There comes a faint ray of sunshine and hope when I read just a word of your possible home-coming in a fortnight. Would that I might keep that single thought in mind to illumine the dreary prospect! There are times when it blazes brightly, and with the tripping footsteps of joy I think of you as here at my side. How sweet the fancy—"'We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk,Till the silent moon shine clearly;I'll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest,Swear how I love thee dearly;Not vernal showers to budding flow'rs,Not autumn to the farmer,So dear can be as thou to me,My fair, my lovely charmer!'"
"'There comes a faint ray of sunshine and hope when I read just a word of your possible home-coming in a fortnight. Would that I might keep that single thought in mind to illumine the dreary prospect! There are times when it blazes brightly, and with the tripping footsteps of joy I think of you as here at my side. How sweet the fancy—
"'We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk,Till the silent moon shine clearly;I'll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest,Swear how I love thee dearly;Not vernal showers to budding flow'rs,Not autumn to the farmer,So dear can be as thou to me,My fair, my lovely charmer!'"
"'We'll gently walk, and sweetly talk,Till the silent moon shine clearly;I'll grasp thy waist, and, fondly prest,Swear how I love thee dearly;Not vernal showers to budding flow'rs,Not autumn to the farmer,So dear can be as thou to me,My fair, my lovely charmer!'"
"My, but wouldn't it be fine to have such letters to treasure!" laughed Gabrielle, teasingly. "Jim, don't you think it splendid?"
But Jim looked glum and tried to dodge under the quilts.
"'It is not every night Icandream, believe me, darling,'" continued Hygeia, her face in smiles, for she felt that her audience was now in sympathy with the reading. "'Many and many a night I pace the floor of my dark room or idly sit by the window gazing out at the flickering stars and the pale moon until they fade away in the dawn, and then I rush out into the turmoil of the unheeding, jostling world, with nothing to live for but your return. On those nights one soft word from your fair lips would summon me to peaceful dreams. Alas! to realize that you are far, far from me, and the agony of the thought that you may never return seizes and holds me fast. Then it is—"'O, thou pale orb, that silent shines,While care-untroubled mortals sleep!Thou seest a wretch who inly pines,And wanders here to wail and weep!With woe I nightly vigils keep,Beneath thy wan, unwarming beam,And mourn in lamentation deepHow life and love are all a dream."'Encircled in her clasping arms,How have the raptured moments flown!How have I wished for fortune's charms,For her dear sake and hers alone!And must I think it!—is she gone,My secret heart's exulting boast?And does she heedless hear my groan?And is she ever, ever lost?"'Oh! can she bear so base a heart,So lost to honor, lost to truth,As from the fondest lover part,The plighted husband of her youth!'"
"'It is not every night Icandream, believe me, darling,'" continued Hygeia, her face in smiles, for she felt that her audience was now in sympathy with the reading. "'Many and many a night I pace the floor of my dark room or idly sit by the window gazing out at the flickering stars and the pale moon until they fade away in the dawn, and then I rush out into the turmoil of the unheeding, jostling world, with nothing to live for but your return. On those nights one soft word from your fair lips would summon me to peaceful dreams. Alas! to realize that you are far, far from me, and the agony of the thought that you may never return seizes and holds me fast. Then it is—
"'O, thou pale orb, that silent shines,While care-untroubled mortals sleep!Thou seest a wretch who inly pines,And wanders here to wail and weep!With woe I nightly vigils keep,Beneath thy wan, unwarming beam,And mourn in lamentation deepHow life and love are all a dream."'Encircled in her clasping arms,How have the raptured moments flown!How have I wished for fortune's charms,For her dear sake and hers alone!And must I think it!—is she gone,My secret heart's exulting boast?And does she heedless hear my groan?And is she ever, ever lost?"'Oh! can she bear so base a heart,So lost to honor, lost to truth,As from the fondest lover part,The plighted husband of her youth!'"
"'O, thou pale orb, that silent shines,While care-untroubled mortals sleep!Thou seest a wretch who inly pines,And wanders here to wail and weep!With woe I nightly vigils keep,Beneath thy wan, unwarming beam,And mourn in lamentation deepHow life and love are all a dream.
"'Encircled in her clasping arms,How have the raptured moments flown!How have I wished for fortune's charms,For her dear sake and hers alone!And must I think it!—is she gone,My secret heart's exulting boast?And does she heedless hear my groan?And is she ever, ever lost?
"'Oh! can she bear so base a heart,So lost to honor, lost to truth,As from the fondest lover part,The plighted husband of her youth!'"
"Jim, why didn't you learn how to write letters, so that you could send some to me like that? Don't you think it lovely? Please don't stop. Pardon my interruptions," said Gabrielle.
"Never mind the interruptions. Let us get all the fun out of it we can," replied Hygeia, who continued to read with frequent interruptions from Gabrielle, but none whatever from Jim—the livelier the comments and laughter, the greater hewas inclined to silence and disappearance beneath the covers.
"Jim, why don't you laugh?" Gabrielle would say, turning to the poor fellow, who was as meek as any beggar could be. The partition wall was too thick for me to hear what was going on, although by direct line I was probably not two feet away from Jim, for our beds stood head to head.
The idea of entertaining Miss Tescheron and her ill companion in this way was pleasing to Hygeia. Of course, she knew there was nothing in those letters that could make a woman cry, so on she read, and as she proceeded the fun for Gabrielle and the interest from Jim's standpoint became intensified. I don't suppose I did anything except snore.
"'I have tried hard, my sweetheart,'" continued Hygeia, "'to find distraction by visiting the places of amusement alone, but the music of the orchestras became jarring discord in my ears; the plays, either dull, or if interesting in plot with lovers happily united, they but added to my anguish. There is no escape for a heart crushed as mine has been. How I long for the wilderness; to be alone with my sorrow since heaven calling for your companionship cannot be mine!
"'I have tried hard, my sweetheart,'" continued Hygeia, "'to find distraction by visiting the places of amusement alone, but the music of the orchestras became jarring discord in my ears; the plays, either dull, or if interesting in plot with lovers happily united, they but added to my anguish. There is no escape for a heart crushed as mine has been. How I long for the wilderness; to be alone with my sorrow since heaven calling for your companionship cannot be mine!