UNEXPECTED MEETINGS
Christine De Ruyter had long contemplated a visit to the new world.
She was familiar with the history of the Dutch West India Company, a
political movement organized under cover of finding a passage to Cathay,
to destroy the results of Spanish conquest in America.
No doubt, love of discovery and of trade also stimulated the Dutch in
making explorations. In the vessel "Half Moon" they sailed up the Hudson,
and after building several forts, they finally established themselves in
New Netherlands. Peter Minuit for a trifle bought from the Indians the
whole of Manhattan Island. In locating on Manhattan Island, the Dutch
secretly believed that they had secured the oyster while the English
settlements further north and south were the two shells only. The
development of almost three centuries and the supremacy of New York
to-day, as the new world metropolis, verifies the sound sense of the
Dutch.
Christine was alive to the important part which her countrymen had early
played across the Atlantic. Her mother had died, and Christine still
unmarried, controlled both her time and a goodly inheritance. She
resolved to visit her sister Fredrika, whose husband was agent in New
York of a famous German line of vessels.
En route from Holland to New York she spent two weeks with friends in
London, and on Regent Street replenished her wardrobe, enjoyed Irving
and Terry in their latest play, attended an exciting Cambridge-Oxford
boat-race on the Thames, and with a great crowd went wild with delight
at the English races at Epsom Downs.
Saturday at 9:40 A.M. at the Waterloo Station several friends saw
Christine off for America on the special train, the Eagle Express, of the
South Western Railway, which makes the journey of 79 miles to Southampton
in one hour and forty minutes.
At Southampton the passengers were transferred on the new express dock,
direct from the train to the steamers, which are berthed alongside. By
this route passengers escape exposure to weather on tenders and landing
stage, and avoid all delays at ports of call, and waiting for the tides
to cross the bar.
Promptly at 12 o'clock, hawsers and gangways vanishing, the great steamer
moved down the bay, the fertile Isle of Wight in sight. Officers made
note of the time as the Needles were passed, as the runs of the steamers
are taken between the Needles and Sandy Hook. It was a bright breezy
afternoon and after lunch the passengers lounged on the decks, or in
the smoke room; some inspected their rooms, some read the latest French
or English novel, and others in groups gossiped, or walked the decks to
sharpen appetite.
The second steward, of necessity a born diplomat, had succeeded in
convincing most who were at lunch that he had given them favored seats,
if not all at the Captain's table, then at the table of the first
officer, a handsome man, or at the table with the witty doctor.
Christine did not appear at lunch, as she was busy in her stateroom. She
had given careful instructions that one of her trunks should be sent at
once to her room. An hour before dinner there appeared on the promenade
deck a beautiful young woman dressed in black, who attracted attention
and no little comment. She wore a dress of Henrietta cloth, and cape
trimmed with black crepe and grosgrained ribbons in bows with long ends.
Her tiny hat with narrow band of white crepe was of the Marie Stuart
style; her gloves were undressed kid, her handkerchief had black border,
and her silk parasol was draped in black.
Hers was the same pretty face and blue eyes that had won Alfonso's heart.
She supposed him dead; her dress of mourning was not for him, but for her
mother, whom she idolized. At first Christine hesitated about wearing
black on the journey, but she soon learned that it increased her charms,
and that it gave protection from annoyance. Many supposed she was a young
widow. So thought a handsome naval officer whom she had met in London.
When Christine returned to her room, she found that a messenger boy had
brought her his card, with compliments, and a request that she occupy a
seat at his table for the voyage. With a black jacket on her arm,
Christine was conducted to her seat at dinner by the chief steward. She
wore a plain black skirt and waist of black and white, with black belt
and jet buckle.
An up-to-date liner is a sumptuous hotel afloat. The safety, speed, and
comfort of the modern steamer does not destroy but rather enhances the
romance of ocean voyage. The handsome young officer and pretty Christine,
as they promenaded the decks, added effect to the passing show. Her
mourning costume gradually yielded to outing suits of violet tints with
white collar and cuffs, and a simple black sailor's cap with white cord
for band.
Artist that Christine was, and lover of the ocean, she and the officer
watched the sea change from a transient green to a light blue and back
again, then to a deep blue when the sun was hidden in a cloud, then, when
the fogs were encountered, to a cold grey.
Christine took great interest in the easy navigation of the steamer; she
watched the officers take observations, and verify the ship's run.
Frequently she was seen with the young officer on the bridge, he pointing
out the lighthouse on the dangerous Scilly Islands, the last sight of old
England off Land's End, she enjoying the long swell and white crested
billows, as the shelter of the British coast was left behind.
A charming first night aboard ship it was, the moon full, the sky
picturesque, the sea dark, except where the steamer and her screws
churned it white; at the bow, showers and spray of phosphorus, and
at the stern, rippling eddies and a long path of phosphorus and white
foam.
Christine wished she could transfer to canvas the swift steamer, as she
felt it in her soul, powerful as a giant and graceful as a woman; at the
mast-head an electric star, red and green lights on either side, long rows
of tremulous bulbs of light from numerous portholes; the officers on the
bridge with night glass in hand, walking to and fro, dark figures of
sailors at the bow and in the crow's nest, all eyes and ears. "All's
well" lulls to sleep the after-dinner loungers in chairs along the deck,
while brave men and fair women keep step to entrancing music.
With a week of favorable weather, and unprecedented speed the record out
was won; officers, sailors, passengers, all were jubilant. On Pier 14,
North River, Fredrika and her husband met Christine, and drove to their
fine home overlooking the Central Park.
* * * * *
Alfonso Harris had come on to New York to spend a week of pleasure;
already he had secured his ticket for Amsterdam via Antwerp by the Red
Star Line. He was prepared to keep his promise to Christine. "To match
gold with gold!"
In his rounds among the artists he happened to step into the Art
Student's League, and there learned that his old artist-chum, Leo, was
in New York, and stopping at the Plaza Hotel. At once he took cab, and,
surely enough, there on the hotel register was the name Leo Colonna,
Rome. Alfonso sent up his card, and the waiter soon returned with the
reply, "The marquis will see Mr. Harris at once in his rooms." It is
needless to say that the marquis was both shocked and delighted to see
alive a friend whom he supposed long ago dead.
After dinner Alfonso and Leo drove to their old club, and as ever talked
and confided in each other. Alfonso told the marquis the romantic story
of his life, of his pecuniary success, and that he should sail in a few
days to wed Christine, if possible.
The marquis hesitated in his reply, as if in doubt whether to proceed or
not. Observing this, Alfonso said, "Speak freely, tell me what you were
thinking about."
"Nothing, Alfonso, only a report I heard at the club last night."
"What report, marquis?"
"A report or story concerning a beautiful widow, who had just arrived
from Amsterdam. From the minute description given--she had fair face,
blue eyes, fleecy hair and loved art--I suspected that the woman in black
might be Christine De Ruyter."
"You surprise me, Leo, but what was the report?"
"Alfonso, pardon me, I have said too much already."
"No, go on and tell me all."
"Alfonso, since the report is concerning a woman's character, my lips
should be sealed, and would be, except you my friend are the most
interested party. The club story is that a handsome young officer, who
left his newly wedded wife in Bristol, England, was so much enamored of
the charming widow aboard ship that suspicions were aroused, and in fact
confirmed, by an additional report that valuable diamonds had been sent
by the same officer from Tiffany's to the lady, who is stopping somewhere
on Central Park. There, Alfonso, I have given you the story and the whole
may be true or false."
It was now Alfonso's turn to be shocked; he could not believe what the
marquis had told him. Next day he visited the office of the American
Line, found that Christine De Ruyter was a passenger on the last steamer,
and the purser gave him her New York address. Then the marquis
volunteered to call, in Alfonso's interests, upon Miss De Ruyter who
seemed glad to see him, and was amazed with the story which he had to
tell, not only of himself, and his good fortune, but that of Alfonso.
That the latter was alive and wealthy was news almost too good to
believe.
The marquis reported to Alfonso that Christine was overjoyed to have a
bygone mystery so fortunately cleared up, and that she sent him an urgent
invitation to call at once.
Christine congratulated herself over her good luck at the very threshold
of the new world. "Strange romance, indeed, it would be," she mused to
herself, "if, after having refused the poor artist, he having gained
riches should prove loyal, and lay his heart and fortune at my feet!
Would I reject him? No, indeed! He has gold now." Thus musing to herself
before the mirror, she gave final touches to her toilet, and stepped down
into her sister's sumptuous parlor to wait for a lover, restored from the
depths of the sea.
Promptly at 9 o'clock Alfonso was ushered into Fredrika's parlor. For a
second, Christine stood fixed and pale, for Alfonso it really was, and
she had believed him dead; then extending her hand she gave him greeting.
For a full hour Alfonso and Christine talked, each telling much of what
had transpired in the intervening years. Alfonso said he was quite as
much surprised to find that she was still unmarried, as she seemed
surprised that he was still alive.
"Alfonso, I have waited long for you," Christine replied.
"Ah, yes, Christine, but have you been true all these years?"
As Alfonso spoke these words, he sat with Christine's hand in his own,
looking inquiringly into her blue eyes for her answer. Her face flushed
and she was speechless.
Alfonso, dropping her hand, said in a kindly voice, "For years I have
kept pure and sought to be worthy of you, and fortune has smiled upon me;
I could now match gold with gold, but when I demand purity for purity
your silence and your blushes condemn you, and I must bid you a final
farewell."
Christine could not answer, and as Alfonso left the house, she fell
weeping upon the sofa, where her sister Fredrika found her, long past
midnight. The terrible sorrow of that evening remained forever a mystery
to Fredrika.
It was 10 o'clock next morning when the marquis called upon Alfonso
Harris at the Hotel Holland. He found him busy answering important
letters from the coast. The marquis was not long in detecting that
Alfonso lacked his usual buoyancy of spirits, and so rightly concluded
that the meeting with Christine the night before had resulted
unfavorably.
Alfonso explained all that transpired, and the two artists, who had
flattered themselves that they knew women well, admitted to each other
their keen disappointment in Christine's character. Both lighted cigars,
and for a moment or two unconsciously smoked vigorously, as if still in
doubt as to their unsatisfactory conclusions.
Soon Alfonso said, "Leo, how about your own former love, Rosie Ricci? To
meet Rosie again was possibly the motive that prompted you to leave your
estate in Italy."
"Yes, Alfonso, I loved Rosie, as I once frankly stated to your sister on
the ocean, but in a moment of peevishness she returned the engagement
tokens, and the lovers' quarrel resulted in separation. But after the
death of Lucille I found the smouldering fires of the old love for Rosie
again easily fanned into a flame, so I crossed the sea in search of my
dear country-woman."
"And did you find her!"
"Yes, Alfonso, that is, all that was left of the vivacious, happy
songster, as we once knew her. Her new world surroundings proved
disastrous."
"How so?"
"Look, here is a picture in water color, that tells the story." Saying
this the Marquis slowly removed a white paper from a small sketch which
he had made the week before. It was a picture in the morgue on the East
River, with its half hundred corpses, waiting recognition or burial in
the Potter's Field. Upon a cold marble slab lay the body of a young girl,
her shapely hands across her breast. Alfonso recognized Rosie's sweet
face and golden tresses that artists had raved over.
The marquis in sad tones added a few words of explanation. "The senator
who educated Rosie proved a villain. When she acted as Juliet at the
Capitol, fashionable society gave hearty approval of her rare abilities.
Rosie's genius, like a shooting star, flashed across the sky and then
shot into oblivion."
A few days afterwards, Alfonso on the pier with his white handkerchief
waved adieu to Leo who had resolved to wed art in sunny Italy. Sad
memories decided Alfonso to leave New York at once. For a short time he
was inclined to give up a new purpose, and return to his own family at
Harrisville, but the law of equity controlled his heart, he journeyed
back to the Pacific Coast, and again approached the Yosemite Valley.
Seated again on Inspiration Point, he gazed long and earnestly into the
gorge below. He could discern neither smoke nor moving forms. All had
changed; not the peaks, or domes, or wonderful waterfalls; all these
remained the same. But where were Red Cloud and kind-hearted Mariposa?
Alfonso's own race now occupied the valley for pleasure and for gain.
Mariposa might not be of his own race, but she had a noble heart.
Education had put her in touch with civilization, and she was as pure
as the snow of the Sierras. He wondered if she ever thought of him. He
remembered that, when he rode away, her face was turned toward the Bridal
Veil Falls. Did she thus intend to say, "I love you?"
At midnight, as the moon rose above the forest, the tall pines whispered
of Mariposa, of wild flowers she was wont to gather, of journeys made to
highest peaks, of weeks of watching and waiting, and of the burial of Red
Cloud at the foot of an ancient sequoia; then the language of the breezes
among the pines became indistinct, and Alfonso, half-asleep, half-awake,
saw approaching a white figure. Two dark eyes full of tears, gazed into
his face, at first with a startled look, and then with a gleam of joy and
trust.
Alfonso exclaimed, "Mariposa!" He sought to clasp her in his arms, but
the graceful figure vanished, and the pines seemed to whisper, "Alfonso,
I go to join the braves in the happy hunting grounds beyond the setting
sun. You will wed the fairest of your people. Adieu."
When Alfonso awoke, the ring of beaten gold was gone, where, he knew not.
The tourist-coach was rumbling down the mountain road, and he joined it.
After an inspection of his mines, he sadly left the Sierras for San
Francisco.
The prophetic words of Mariposa, whispered among the pines, proved true.
Alfonso again met Gertrude's best friend, beautiful Mrs. Eastlake, now a
young widow, and later he married her, making their home on Knob Hill,
the most fashionable quarter of the city by the Golden Gate.