THE DAILY PAPER.
"By the powers!" suddenly interrupted the deep voice of O'Halloran,
breaking in upon our lively and delightful conversation.
At which we all started as though we had been shot.
"By the pipers!" continued O'Halloran, after some hesitation. "To think
of anybody thryin' to cross the river on the 3d! Why, that was the dee
of the breek-up."
At these words I started in new astonishment, and for a moment didn't
know what in the world to make of it all. As for the ladies, they
didn't say a word. I didn't notice them, in fact; I had turned and was
looking at O'Halloran.
"See here," said he. "Did you ever hear the loikes of this? '_Paul
Verrier of Chaudière lift his homne on the 3d of Eepril last, to convee
a leedy to Quebec across the oice_;'" and he read straight through the
very advertisement which I had written and inserted in that very paper.
What my emotions were at that moment it is difficult to describe. At
first I felt surprise, then I experienced a sense of triumph at this
striking proof of the success which my advertisement had met with, but
finally I had occasion to feel emotions which were very different from
either of these. I had turned as O'Halloran began to read those
familiar words, and after he had finished I mechanically settled myself
into my former position, partly because of the comfort of the thing,
and partly to see how perfectly impartial hearers like these ladies
would listen to this composition of mine. My chief feeling was
precisely the same as animates the artist who stands _incognito_ beside
his picture, to listen to the remarks of spectators; or the author who
hunts through papers to read the criticism on his first book. This, it
is true, was neither a picture nor a book, nor was I either an artist
or an author, yet, after all, this advertisement was a literary effort
of mine, and, what is more, it was the first one that had appeared in
print. Was it any wonder, then, that for those reasons I felt curious
to see the effect of that advertisement?
Now, as I turned, I was in expectation of some sign of feeling on the
part of the ladies--call it surprise; call it sympathy; call it what
you will--but I certainly was not prepared for that very peculiar and
very marked effect which my humble effort at composition produced on
them.
For there they sat--Marion erect and rigid, with her eyes fixed on her
sister, and her hand raised in attitude of warning; and Miss
O'Halloran, in the same fixed attitude, looked eagerly at Marion, her
eyes wide open, her lips parted, and one of her hands also half raised
in the involuntary expression of amazement, or the mechanical
suggestion of secrecy, Miss O'Halloran's emotion was not so strong as
that of Marion, but then her nature was more placid, and the attitude
of each was in full accordance with their respective characters. They
sat there in that attitude, altogether unconscious of me and of my
gaze, with deep emotion visible on their faces, and unmistakable, yet
why that emotion should be caused by that advertisement I could not for
the life of me imagine.
"Well," said O'Halloran, "what do ye think of that now? Isn't that a
spicimin of thrue Canajin grade? The man threw his loife away for a
few pince."
As O'Halloran spoke, the ladies recovered their presence of mind. They
started. Hiss O'Halloran saw my eyes fixed on her, flushed up a little,
and looked away. As for Marion, she too saw my look, but, instead of
turning her eyes away, she fixed them on me for an instant with a
strange and most intense gaze, which seemed to spring from her dark,
solemn, lustrous eyes, and pierce me through and through. But it was
only for an instant. Then her eyes fell, and there remained not a trace
of their past excitement in either of them.
I confess I was utterly confounded at this. These two ladies perceived
in that advertisement of mine a certain meaning which showed that they
must have some idea of the cause of the fate of the imaginary Verrier.
And what was this that they knew; and how much did they know? Was it
possible that they could know the lady herself? It seemed probable.
The idea filled me with intense excitement, and made me determine here
on the spot, and at once, to pursue my search after the unknown lady.
But how? One way alone seemed possible, and that was by telling a
simple, unvarnished tale of my own actual adventure.
This decision I reached in little more than a minute, and, before
either of the ladies had made a reply to O'Halloran's last remark, I
answered him in as easy a tone as I could assume.
"Oh," I said, "I can tell you all about that."
"You!" cried O'Halloran.
"You!" cried Miss O'Halloran.
"You!" cried Marion, and she and her sister fixed their eyes upon me
with unmistakable excitement, and seemed to anticipate all that I might
be going to say.
This, of course, was all the more favorable to my design, and, seeing
such immediate success, I went on headlong.
"You see," said I, "I put that notice in myself."
"_You_!" cried O'Halloran, Miss O'Halloran, Marion,
this time in greater surprise than before.
"Yes," said I. "I did it because I was very anxious to trace some one,
and this appeared to be the way that was at once the most certain, and
at the same time the least likely to excite suspicion."
"Suspicion?"
"Yes--for the one whom I wished to trace was a lady."
"A lady!" said O'Halloran. "Aha! you rogue, so that's what ye'er up to,
is it? An' there isn't a word of truth in this about Verrier?"
"Yes, there is," said I, "He was really drowned, but I don't know his
name, and Paul Terrier, and the disconsolate father, Pierre, are
altogether imaginary names. But I'll tell you all about it."
"Be dad, an' I'd be glad if ye would, for this exorjium sthrikes me as
the most schupindous bit of schamin that I've encounthered for a month
of Sundays."
While I was saying this, the ladies did not utter a single syllable.
But if they were silent, it was not from want of interest. Their eyes
were fixed on mine as though they were bound to me by some powerful
spell; their lips parted, and, in their intense eagerness to hear what
it was that I had to say, they did not pretend to conceal their
feelings. Miss O'Halloran was seated in an arm-chair. Her left arm
leaned upon it, and her hand mechanically pressed her forehead as she
devoured me with her gaze. Marion was seated on a common chair, and sat
with one elbow on the table, her hands clasped tight, her body thrown
slightly forward, and her eyes fixed on mine with an intensity of gaze
that was really embarrassing.
And now all this convinced me that they must know all about it, and
emboldened me to go on. Now was the time, I felt, to press my search
--now or never.
So I went on--
"Conticuere omnes, intentique ora tenebaut Inde toro Sandy Macrorie
sic orsus ab alto: Infandum, Regina, jubes renovare dolorem."
That's about it. Rather a hackneyed quotation, of course, but a fellow
like me isn't supposed to know much about Latin, and it is uncommonly
appropriate. And, I tell you what it is, since Aeneas entertained Dido
on that memorable occasion, few fellows have had such an audience as
that which gathered round me, as I sat in that hospitable parlor, and
told about my adventure on the ice.
Such an audience was enough to stimulate any man. I felt the stimulus.
I'm not generally considered fluent, or good at description, and I'm
not much of a talker; but all that I ever lacked on ordinary occasions
I made amends for on that evening. I began at the beginning, from the
time I was ordered off. Then I led my spellbound audience over the
crumbling ice, till the sleigh came. Then I indulged in a thrilling
description of the runaway horse and the lost driver. Then I portrayed
the lady floating in a sleigh, and my rescue of her. Of course, for
manifest reasons, which every gentleman will appreciate, I didn't bring
myself forward more prominently than I could help. Then followed that
journey over the ice, the passage of the ice-ridge, the long,
interminable march, the fainting lady, the broad channel near the
shore, the-white gleam of the ice-cone at Montmorency, my wild leap,
and my mad dash up the bank to the Frenchman's house.
Up to this moment my audience sat, as I have before remarked, I think,
simply spellbound. O'Halloran was on one side of me, with his chin on
his breast, and his eyes glaring at me from beneath his bushy eyebrows.
Marion sat rigid and motionless, with her hands clasped, and her eyes
fixed on the floor. Miss O'Halloran never took her eyes off my face,
but kept them on mine as though they were riveted there. At times she
started nervously, and shifted her position, and fidgeted in her chair,
but never did she remove her eyes. Once, when I came to the time when I
led my companion over the ice-ridge, I saw a shudder pass through her.
Once again, when I came to that moment when my companion fainted,
Marion gave a kind of gasp, and I saw Miss O'Halloran reach out her
hand, and clasp the clinched hands of her sister; but with these
exceptions there was no variation in their attitude or manner.
And now I tuned my harp to a lighter strain, which means that I
proceeded to give an account of my journey after the doctor, his start,
my slumbers, my own start, our meeting, the doctor's wrath, my
pursuasion, our journey, our troubles, our arrival at the house, our
final crushing disappointment, the doctor's brutal raillery, my own
meekness, and our final return home. Then, without mentioning Jack
Randolph, I explained the object of the advertisement--
"Sic Sandy Macrorie, intentis omnibus, unus Fata renarrabat Divum,
cursusque docebat, Conticuit taudem--"
[Hack Latin, of course, but then, you know, if one does quote Latin,
that is the only sort that can be understood by the general reader.]
The conclusion of my story produced a marked effect. O'Halloran roused
himself and sat erect with a smile on his face and a good natured
twinkle in his eyes. Miss O'Halloran lowered her eyes and held down her
head, and once, when I reached that point in my story where the bird
was flown, she absolutely laughed out. Marion's solemn and beautiful
face also underwent a change. A softer expression came over it; she
raised her eyes and fixed them with burning intensity on mine. Her
hands relaxed the rigid clasp with which they had held one a another,
and she settled herself into an easier position on the chair.
"Well, be jakers!" exclaimed one O'Halloran when I had concluded, "it
bates the wurruld. What a lucky dog ye are! Advintures come tumblin'
upon ye dee afther dee. But will ye ivor foind the leedee?"
I shook my head.
"I'm afraid not," said I, disconsolately. "I put out that advertisement
with a faint hope that the lady's sympathy with the unfortunate driver
might lead her to make herself known."
At this point the ladies rose. It getting late, and they bade adieu and
retired. Marion went out rather abruptly, Miss O'Halloran rather
slowly, and not without a final smile of bewitching sweetness. I was
going too, but O'Halloran would not think of it. He declared that the
evening had just begun. Now that the ladies were gone we would have the
field to ourselves. He assured me that I had nothing in particular to
do, and might easily wait and join him in "something warrum."