"COME, Fanny," said Mr. Wilmer Voss, speaking to his wife, "you must
get to bed. It is past twelve o'clock, and you cannot bear this loss
of rest and sleep. It may throw you all back again."
The woman addressed was sitting in a large easychair with a shawl
drawn closely about her person. She had the pale, shrunken face and
large, bright eyes of a confirmed invalid. Once very beautiful, she
yet retained a sweetness of expression which gave a tenderness and
charm to every wasted feature. You saw at a glance the cultured
woman and the patient sufferer.
As her husband spoke a fierce blast of wind drove the fine sand-like
snow against the windows, and then went shrieking and roaring away
over housetops, gables and chimneys.
"Oh what a dreadful night!" said the lady, leaning forward in her
chair and listening to the wild wail of the storm, while a look of
anxiety, mingled with dread, swept across her face. "If Archie were
only at home!"
"Don't trouble yourself about Archie. He'll be here soon. You are
not yourself to-night, Fanny."
"Perhaps not; but I can't help it. I feel such an awful weight
here;" and Mrs. Voss drew her hands against her bosom.
"All nervous," said her husband. "Come! You must go to bed."
"It will be of no use, Wilmer," returned the lady. "I will be worse
in bed than sitting up. You don't know what a strange feeling has
come over me. Oh, Archie, if you were only at home! Hark! What was
that?"
The pale face grew paler as Mrs. Voss bent forward in a listening
attitude.
"Only the wind," answered her husband, betraying some impatience. "A
thousand strange sounds are on the air in a night like this. You
must compose yourself, Fanny, or the worst consequences may follow."
"It's impossible, husband. I cannot rest until I have my son safe
and sound at home again. Dear, dear boy!"
Mr. Voss urged no further. The shadow of fear which had come down
upon his wife began to creep over his heart and fill it with a vague
concern. And now a thought flashed into his mind that he would not
have uttered for the world; but from that moment peace fled, and
anxiety for his son grew into alarm as the time wore on and the boy
did not come home.
"Oh, my husband," cried Mrs. Voss, starting from her chair, and
clasping her hands as she threw them upward, "I cannot bear this
much longer. Hark! That was his voice! _'Mother!' 'Mother!'_ Don't
you hear it?"
Her face was white as the snow without, her eyes wild and eager, her
lips apart, her head bent forward.
A shuddering chill crept along the nerves of Mr. Voss.
"Go, go quickly! Run! He may have fallen at the door!"
Ere the last sentence was finished Mr. Voss was halfway down stairs.
A blinding dash of snow came swirling into his face as he opened the
street door. It was some moments before he could see with any
distinctness. No human form was visible, and the lamp just in front
of his house shone down upon a trackless bed of snow many inches in
depth. No, Archie was not there. The cry had come to the mother's
inward ear in the moment when her boy went plunging down into the
engulfing river and heart and thought turned in his mortal agony to
the one nearest and dearest in all the earth.
When Mr. Voss came back into the house after his fruitless errand,
he found his wife standing in the hall, only a few feet back from
the vestibule, her face whiter, if that were possible, and her eyes
wilder than before. Catching her in his arms, he ran with her up
stairs, but before he had reached their chamber her light form lay
nerveless and unconscious against his breast.
Doctor Hillhouse, the old family physician, called up in the middle
of that stormy night, hesitated to obey the summons, and sent his
assistant with word that he would be round early in the morning if
needed. Doctor Angier, the assistant, was a young physician of fine
ability and great promise. Handsome in person, agreeable in manner
and thoroughly in love with his profession, he was rapidly coming
into favor with many of the old doctor's patients, the larger
portion of whom belonged to wealthy and fashionable circles. Himself
a member of one of the older families, and connected, both on his
father's and mother's side, with eminent personages as well in his
native city as in the State, Doctor Angier was naturally drawn into
social life, which, spite of his increasing professional duties, he
found time to enjoy.
It was past two o'clock when Doctor Angier made his appearance, his
garments white with snow and his dark beard crusted with tiny
icicles. He found Mrs. Voss lying in swoon so deep that, but for the
faintest perceptible heart-beat, he would have thought her dead.
Watching the young physician closely as he stood by the bedside of
his wife, Mr. Voss was quick to perceive something unusual in his
manner. The professional poise and coolness for which he was noted
were gone, and he showed a degree of excitement and uncertainty that
alarmed the anxious husband. What was its meaning? Did it indicate
apprehension for the condition of his patient, or--something else? A
closer look into the young physician's face sent a flash of
suspicion through the mind of Mr. Voss, which was more than
confirmed a moment afterward as the stale odor of wine floated to
his nostrils.
"Were you at Mr. Birtwell's to-night?" There was a thrill of anxious
suspense in the tones of Mr. Voss as he grasped the physician's arm
and looked keenly at him.
"I was," replied Doctor Angier.
"Did you see my son there?"
"Yes, sir."
"At what time did you leave?"
"Less than an hour ago. I had not retired when your summons came."
"Was Archie there when you left?"
"No, I think not."
"Are you sure about it?"
"Yes, very sure. I remember now, quite distinctly, seeing him come
down from the dressing-room with his hat in his hand and go through
the hall toward the street door."
"How long ago was that?"
"About an hour and a half; perhaps longer."
A groan that could not be repressed broke from the father's lips.
"Isn't he at home?" asked the young physician, turning round quickly
from the bed and betraying a sudden concern.
"No; and I am exceedingly anxious about him." The eyes of Mr. Voss
were fixed intently on Doctor Angler, and he was reading every
varying expression of his countenance.
"Doctor," he said, laying his hand on the physician's arm and
speaking huskily, "I want you to answer me truly. Had he taken much
wine?"
It was some moments before Doctor Angier replied:
"On such occasions most people take wine freely. It flows like
water, you know. I don't think your son indulged more than any one
else; indeed, not half so much as some young men I saw there."
Mr. Voss felt that there was evasion in the answer.
"Archie is young, and not used to wine. A single glass would be more
to him than half a dozen to older men who drink habitually. Did you
see him take wine often?"
"He was in the supper-room for a considerable time. When I left it,
I saw him in the midst of a group of young men and girls, all with
glasses of champagne in their hands."
"How long was this before you saw him go away?"
"Half an hour, perhaps," replied the doctor.
"Did he go out alone?"
"I believe so."
Mr. Voss questioned no further, and Doctor Angler, who now
understood better the meaning of his patient's condition, set
himself to the work of restoring her to consciousness. He did not
find the task easy. It was many hours before the almost stilled
pulses began beating again with a perceptible stroke, and the quiet
chest to give signs of normal respiration. Happily for the poor
mother, thought and feeling were yet bound.
Long before this the police had been aroused and every effort made
to discover a trace of the young man after he left the house of Mr.
Birtwell, but without effect. The snow had continued falling until
after five o'clock, when the storm ceased and the sky cleared, the
wind blowing from the north and the temperature falling to within a
few degrees of zero.
A faint hope lingered with Mr. Voss--the hope that Archie had gone
home with some friend. But as the morning wore on and he did not
make his appearance this hope began to fade away, and died before
many hours. Nearly every male guest at Mrs. Birtwell's party was
seen and questioned during the day, but not one of them had seen
Archie after he left the house. A waiter who was questioned said
that he remembered seeing him:
"I watched him go down the steps and go off alone, and the wind
seemed as if it would blow him away. He wasn't just himself, sir,
I'm afraid."
If a knife had cut down into the father's quivering flesh, the pain
would have been as nothing to that inflicted by this last sentence.
It only confirmed his worst fears.
The afternoon papers contained a notice of the fact that a young
gentleman who had gone away from a fashionable party at a late hour
on the night before had not been heard of by his friends, who were
anxious and distressed about him. Foul play was hinted at, as the
young man wore a valuable diamond pin and had a costly gold watch in
his pocket. On the morning afterward advertisements appeared
offering a large reward for any information that would lead to the
discovery of the young man, living or dead. They were accompanied by
minute descriptions of his person and dress. But there came no
response. Days and weeks passed; and though the advertisements were
repeated and newspapers called public attention to the matter, not a
single clue was found.
A young man, with the kisses of his mother sweet on his pure lips,
had left her for an evening's social enjoyment at the house of one
of her closest and dearest friends, and she never looked upon his
face again. He had entered the house of that friend with a clear
head and steady nerves, and he had gone out at midnight bewildered
with the wine that had been poured without stint to her hundred
guests, young and old. How it had fared with him the reader knows
too well.