"MR. VOSS," said the waiter as he opened the door of the
breakfast-room.
Mr. and Mrs. Birtwell left the table hurriedly and went to the
parlor. Their visitor was standing in the middle of the floor as
they entered.
"Oh, Mr. Voss, have you heard anything of Archie?" exclaimed Mrs.
Birtwell.
"Nothing yet," he replied.
"Dreadful, dreadful! What can it mean?"
"Don't be alarmed about it," said Mr. Birtwell, trying to speak in
an assuring voice. "He must have gone home with a friend. It will be
all right, I am confident."
"I trust so," replied Mr. Voss. "But I cannot help feeling very
anxious. He has never been away all night before. Something is
wrong. Do you know precisely at what time he left here?"
"I do not," replied Mr. Birtwell. "We had a large company, and I did
not note particularly the coming or going of any one."
"Doctor Angier thinks it was soon after twelve o'clock. He saw him
come out of the dressing-room and go down stairs about that time."
"How is Frances?" asked Mrs. Birtwell. "It must be a dreadful shock
to her in her weak state."
"Yes, it is dreadful, and I feel very anxious about her. If anything
has happened to Archie, it will kill her."
Tears fell over Mrs. Birtwell's face and she wrung her hands in
distress.
"She is calmer than she was," said Mr. Voss. "The first alarm and
suspense broke her right down, and she was insensible for some
hours. But she is bearing it better now--much better than I had
hoped for."
"I will go to see her at once. Oh, if I knew how to comfort her!"
To this Mr. Voss made no response, but Mrs. Birtwell, who was
looking into his, face, saw an expression that she did not
understand.
"She will see me, of course?"
"I do not know. Perhaps you'd better not go round yet. It might
disturb her too much, and the doctor says she must be kept as quiet
as possible."
Something in the manner of Mr. Voss sent a chill to the heart of
Mrs. Birtwell. She felt an evasion in his reply. Then a suspicion of
the truth flashed upon her mind, overwhelming her with a flood of
bitterness in which shame, self-reproach, sorrow and distress were
mingled. It was from her hand, so to speak, that the son of her
friend had taken the wine which had bewildered his senses, and from
her house that he had gone forth with unsteady step and confused
brain to face a storm the heaviest and wildest that had been known
for years. If he were dead, would not the stain of his blood be on
her garments?
No marvel that Mr. Voss had said, "Not yet; it might disturb her too
much." Disturb the friend with whose heart her own had beaten in
closest sympathy and tenderest love for years--the friend who had
flown to her in the deepest sorrow she had ever known and held her
to her heart until she was comforted by the sweet influences of
love. Oh, this was hard to bear! She bowed her head and stood
silent.
"I wish," said Mr. Voss, speaking to Mr. Birtwell, "to get the names
of a few of the guests who were here last night. Some of them may
have seen Archie go out, or may have gone away at the time he did. I
must find some clue to the mystery of his absence."
Mr. Birtwell named over many of his guests, and Mr. Voss made a note
of their addresses. The chill went deeper down into the heart of
Mrs. Birtwell; and when Mr. Voss, who seemed to grow colder and more
constrained every moment, without looking at her, turned to go away,
the pang that cut her bosom was sharp and terrible.
"If I can do anything, Mr. Voss, command--" Mr. Birtwell had gone to
the door with his visitor, who passed out hastily, not waiting to
hear the conclusion of his sentence.
"A little strange in his manner, I should say," remarked Mr.
Birtwell as he came back. "One might infer that he thought us to
blame for his son's absence."
"I can't bear this suspense. I must see Frances." It was an hour
after Mr. Voss had been there. Mrs. Birtwell rang a bell, and
ordering the carriage, made herself ready to go out.
"Mrs. Voss says you must excuse her," said the servant who had taken
up Mrs. Birtwell's card. "She is not seeing any but the family,"
added the man, who saw in the visitor's face the pain of a great
disappointment.
Slowly retiring, her head bent forward and her body stooping a
little like one pressed down by a burden, Mrs. Birtwell left the
house of her oldest and dearest friend with an aching sense of
rejection at her heart. In the darkest and saddest hour of her life
that friend had turned from the friend who had been to her more than
a sister, refusing the sympathy and tears she had come to offer.
There was a bitter cup at the lips of both; which was the bitterest
it would be hard to tell.
"Not now," Mrs. Voss had said, speaking to her husband; "I cannot
meet her now."
"Perhaps you had better see her," returned the latter.
"No, no, no!" Mrs. Voss put up her hands and shivered as she spoke.
"I cannot, I cannot! Oh, my boy! my son! my poor Archie! Where are
you? Why do you not come home? Hark!"
The bell had rung loudly. They listened, and heard men's voices in
the hall below. With face flushing and paling in quick alternations,
Mrs. Voss started up in bed and leaned forward, hearkening eagerly.
Mr. Voss opened the chamber door and went out. Two policemen had
come to report that so far all efforts to find a trace of the young
man had been utterly fruitless. Mrs. Voss heard in silence. Slowly
the dark lashes fell upon her cheeks, that were white as marble. Her
lips were rigid and closely shut, her hands clenched tightly. So she
struggled with the fear and agony that were assaulting her life.