"And so she's really going to marry Mr. Van Antwerp", said Mrs. Buxton
to Mrs. Waldron a few days later in the month of sunshine and roses.
"I did not think it possible when she left," was the reply. "Why do you
say so now?"
"Oh, Mrs. Rayner writes that the captain had to go to Washington on
some important family matters, and that she and Nellie were at the
sea-shore again, and Mr. Van Antwerp was with them from morning till
night. He looked so worn and haggard, she said, that Nellie could not
but take pity on him. Heavens! think of having five hundred thousand
dollars sighing its life away for you!--especially when he's handsome.
Mrs. Rayner made me promise to send it right back, because he would
never give her one before, but she sent his picture. It's splendid.
Wait, and I'll show you." And Mrs. Buxton darted into the house.
When she reappeared, three or four young cavalrymen were at the gate,
chatting with Mrs. Waldron, and the picture was passed from hand to
hand, exciting varied comment. It was a simple _carte de visite_, of the
style once spoken of as vignette,--only the head and shoulders being
visible,--but it was the picture of a strong, clear-cut face, with
thick, wavy black hair just tingeing with gray, a drooping moustache,
and long English whiskers. The eyes were heavy-browed, and, though
partially shaded by the gold-rimmed _pince-nez_, were piercing and fine.
Mr. Van Antwerp was unquestionably a fine-looking man.
"Here comes Hayne," said Royce. "Show it to him. He likes pictures;
though I wouldn't like this one if I were in his place."
Mr. Hayne stopped in some surprise when hailed, greeted Mrs. Waldron
warmly, and bowed courteously to Mrs. Buxton, who was watching him
narrowly.
"Want to see a picture of the man you ought to go and perforate?" asked
Webster, with that lofty indifference which youngsters have to the
ravages of the tender passion on subjects other than themselves.
"To whom do you refer?" asked Hayne, smiling gravely, and little
imagining what was in store for him.
"This," said Webster, holding out the card. Hayne took it, gave one
glance, started, seized it with both hands, studied it eagerly, while
his own face rapidly paled, then looked up with quick, searching eyes.
"Who is this?" he asked.
"The man who's engaged to Miss Travers,--Mr. Van Antwerp."
"This--_this_--Mr. Van Antwerp!" exclaimed Hayne, his face white as a
sheet. "Here, take it, Royce!" And in an instant he had turned and gone.
"Well, I'll be hanged if I knew he was _that_ hard hit," drawled
Webster. "Did you, Royce?"
But Royce did not answer.
A gorgeous moonlight is bathing the Jersey coast in sparkling silver.
The tumbling billows come thundering in to the shining strand, and
sending their hissing, seething, whirling waters, all shimmer and
radiance, to the very feet of the groups of spectators. There are
hundreds of people scattered here and there along the shingle, and among
the groups a pale-faced young man in tweed travelling-suit has made his
way to a point where he can command a view of all the passers-by. It is
nearly eleven o'clock before they begin to break up and seek the broad
corridors of the brilliantly-lighted hotel. A great military band of
nearly forty pieces is playing superbly at intervals, and every now and
then, as some stirring martial strains come thrilling through the air, a
young girl in a group near at hand beats time with her pretty foot and
seems to quiver with the influence of the soldier melodies. A tall,
dark-eyed, dark-haired man bends devotedly over her, but he, too, seems
to rise to his full height at times, and there is something in the
carriage and mien that tells that soldier songs have thrilled his veins
ere now. And this man the young traveller in gray watches as though his
eyes were fascinated. Standing in the shade of a little summer-house, he
never ceases his scrutiny of the group.
At last the musicians go, and the people follow. The sands are soon
deserted; the great piazzas are emptied of their promenaders; the halls
and corridors are still patronized by the few belated chaperons and
their giddy charges. The music-loving girl has gone aloft to her room,
and her aunt, the third member of the group that so chained the
attention of the young map in gray, lingers for a moment to exchange a
few words with their cavalier. He seems in need of consolation.
"Don't be, so down-hearted, Mr. Van Antwerp. It is very early in the
summer, and you have the whole season before you."
"No, Mrs. Rayner: it is very different from last year. I cannot explain
it, but I know there has been a change. I feel as--as I used to in my
old, wild days when a change of luck was coming. It's like the gambler's
superstition; but I cannot shake it off. Something told me she was lost
to me when, you boarded that Pacific Express last February. I was a fool
ever to have let her go."
"Is she still so determined?"
"I cannot shake her resolution. She says that at the end of the year's
time originally agreed upon she will keep her promise; but she will
listen to no earlier marriage. I have about given up all hope. Something
again--that fearful something I cannot shake off--tells me that my only
chance lay in getting her to go with me this month. Once abroad with
her, I could make her happy; but--"
He breaks off irresolutely, looking about him in the strange, hunted
manner she has noted once or twice already.
"You are all unstrung, Mr. Van Antwerp. Why not go to bed and try and
sleep? You will be so much brighter to-morrow."
"I cannot sleep. But don't let me keep you. I'll go out and smoke a
cigar. Good-night, Mrs. Rayner. Whatever comes of it all, I shall not
forget your kindness."
So he turns away, and she still stands at the foot of the staircase,
watching him uneasily. He has aged greatly in the past few months. She
is shocked to see how gray, how fitful, nervous, irritable, he has
become. As he moves towards the door-way, she notes how thin his cheek
has grown, and wonders at the irresolution in his movements when he
reaches the broad piazza. He stands there an instant, the massive
door-way forming a frame for a picture _en silhouette_, his tall spare
figure thrown black upon the silver sea beyond. He looks up and down the
now-deserted galleries, fumbles in his pockets for his cigar-case, bites
off with nervous clip the end of a huge "Regalia," strikes a light, and
before the flame is half applied to his weed throws it away, then turns
sharply and strides out of sight towards the office.
Another instant, and, as though in pursuit, a second figure, erect,
soldierly, with quick and bounding step strides across the glittering
moon-streak, and Mrs. Rayner's heart stands still.
Only for an instant, though. She has seen and recognized Lawrence Hayne.
Concealed from them he is following Mr. Van Antwerp, and there can be
but one purpose in his coming here,--Nellie. But what can he want with
her--her rightful lover? She springs from the lower step on which she
has been standing, runs across the tessellated floor, and stops short in
the door-way, gazing after the two figures. She is startled to find them
close at hand,--one, Van Antwerp, close to the railing, facing towards
her, his features ghastly in the moonlight, his left hand resting, and
supporting him, on one of the tall wooden pillars; the other, Hayne,
with white clinching fists, advancing upon him. Above the low boom and
roar of the surf she distinctly hears the clear tenor ring of his voice
in the tone of command she last heard under the shadow of the Rockies,
two thousand miles away:
"Halt!"
No wonder a gentleman in civil life looks amazed at so peremptory a
summons from a total stranger. In his high indignation will he not
strike the impertinent subaltern to earth? As a well-bred woman, it
occurs to her that she ought to rush out and avert hostilities by
introducing them, or something; but she has no time to act. The next
words simply take her breath away:
"Sergeant Gower, I arrest you as a deserter and thief! You deserted from
F troop, ----th Cavalry, at Battle Butte!"
She sees the fearful gleam on the dark man's face; there is a sudden
spring, a clinch, a straining to and fro of two forms,--one tall, black,
snaky, the other light, lithe, agile, and trained; muttered curse,
panting breath, and then, sure as fate, the taller man is being borne
backward against the rail. She sees the dark arm suddenly relax its
grasp of the gray form and disappear an instant. Then, there it comes
again, and with it a gleam of steel. With one shriek of warning and
terror she springs towards them,--just in time. Hayne glances up,
catches the lifted wrist, hurls his whole weight upon the tottering
figure, and over goes the Knickerbocker prone upon the floor. Hayne
turns one instant: "Go in-doors, Mrs. Rayner. This is no place for you.
Leave him to me."
And in that instant, before either can prevent, Steven Van Antwerp,
_alias_ Gower, springs to his feet, leaps over the balcony rail, and
disappears in the depths below. It is a descent of not more than ten
feet to the sands beyond the dark passage that underlies the piazza, but
he has gone down into the passage itself. When Mr. Hayne, running down
the steps, gains his way to the space beneath the piazza, no trace of
the fugitive can he find.
* * * * *
Nor does Mr. Van Antwerp appear at breakfast on the following morning,
nor again to any person known to this story. An officer of the ----th
Cavalry, spending a portion of the following winter in Paris, writes
that he met him face to face one day in the galleries of the Louvre.
Being in civilian costume, of course, and much changed in appearance
since he was a youth in the straps of a second lieutenant, it was
possible for him to take a good long look at the man he had not seen
since he wore the chevrons of a dashing sergeant in the Battle Butte
campaign. "He has grown almost white," wrote the lieutenant, "and I'm
told he has abandoned his business in New York and never will return to
the United States."
Rayner, too, has grown gray. A telegram from his wife summoned him to
the sea-side from Washington the day after this strange adventure of
hers. He found her somewhat prostrate, his sister-in-law very pale and
quiet, and the clerks of the hotel unable to account for the
disappearance of Mr. Van Antwerp. Lieutenant Hayne, they said, had told
them he received news which compelled him to go back to New York at
once; but the gentleman's traps were all in his room. Mr. Hayne, too,
had gone to New York; and thither the captain followed. A letter came to
him at the Westminster which he read and handed in silence to Hayne. It
was as follows:
"By the time this reaches you I shall be beyond reach of the law and on
my way to Europe to spend what may be left of my days. I hope they may
be few; for the punishment that has fallen upon me is more than I can
bear, though no more than I deserve. You have heard that my college days
were wild, and that after repeated warnings my father drove me from
home, sending me to Wyoming to embark in the cattle-business. I
preferred gambling, and lost what he gave me. There was nothing then
left but to enlist; and I joined the ----th. Mother still believed me in
or near Denver, and wrote regularly there. The life was horrible to me
after the luxury and lack of restraint I had enjoyed, and I meant to
desert. Chance threw in my way that temptation. I robbed poor Hull the
night before he was killed, repacked the paper so that even the torn
edges would show the greenbacks, resealed it,--all just as I have had to
hear through her pure and sacred lips it was finally told and her lover
saved.
"God knows I was shocked when I heard in Denver he was to be tried for
the crime. I hastened to Cheyenne, not daring to show myself to him or
any one, and restored every cent of the money, placing it in Mrs.
Clancy's hands, as I dared not stay; but I had hoped to give it to
Clancy, who had not arrived. The police knew me, and I _had_ to go. I
gave every cent I had, and _walked_ back to Denver, then got word to
mother of my fearful danger; and, though she never knew I was a
deserter, she sent me money, and I came East and went abroad. Then my
whole life changed. I was appalled to think how low I had fallen. I
shunned companionship, studied, did well at Heidelberg; father forgave
me, and died; but God has not forgiven, and at the moment when I thought
my life redeemed this retribution overtakes me.
"If I may ask anything, it is that mother may never know the truth. I
will tell her that Nellie could not love me, and I could not bear to
stay."
* * * * *
Some few weeks later that summer Miss Travers stood by the same balcony
rail, with an open letter in her hand. There was a soft flush on her
pretty, peachy cheek, and a far-away look in her sweet blue eyes.
"What news from Warrener, Nellie?" asked Mrs. Rayner.
"Fluffy has reappeared."
"Indeed! Where?"
"At Mr. Hayne's. He writes that as he returned, the moment he entered
the hall she came running up to him, arching her back and purring her
delight and welcoming him just as though she belonged there now; and--"
"And what, Nellie?"
"He says he means to keep her until I come to claim her."