V. D. H. IS CLAIMED BY HER FRIENDS.
Doctor Norton easily found the residence of Violet Huntington's friends
on Auburn avenue, and as he mounted the massive granite steps and rang
the bell of the handsome house he read the name of Mencke on the silver
door-plate.
"Aha! Germans," mused the physician, "wealthy people, too, I judge."
A trim servant in white cap and apron answered his summons, and, upon
inquiring for Mrs. Mencke, he was invited to enter.
He was ushered into a handsome drawing-room, where, upon every hand,
evidence of wealth met his eye, and after giving his card to the girl,
he sat down to await the appearance of the lady of the house.
She did not tax his patience long; the "M. D." upon his card had
evidently impressed Mrs. Mencke with the belief that the physician had
come to bring her some tidings of the beautiful girl who had so
strangely disappeared from her home a few days previous. She came into
the room presently, followed by a man whom Doctor Norton surmised to be
her husband.
Mrs. Mencke was a large, rather fine-looking woman of perhaps thirty
years. Her bearing was proud and self-possessed, and, while there was a
somewhat anxious expression on her face, she nevertheless impressed the
kind-hearted doctor as a person of selfish nature, and lacking in
womanly sympathy.
Her husband was a portly man, dark-complexioned, and German in
appearance. There was a cunning, rather sinister expression on his face;
he had small, black eyes, and a full, shaggy beard, while a pompous
swagger in his bearing betrayed an arrogant disposition and excessive
pride of purse.
"Doctor Norton," Mrs. Mencke began, without waiting for him to state the
errand that had brought him there, "have you come to bring me news of my
sister? Was she in that fatal car--is she injured--dead?"
"If my surmises are correct, and Miss Violet Huntington is your sister,
I can give you tidings of her," Doctor Norton returned.
"Yes, yes; that is her name," Mrs. Mencke interposed.
"Then I am happy to tell you that a young lady of perhaps seventeen or
eighteen years was rescued."
"Rescued!" cried Mrs. Mencke, eagerly. "William," turning to her
husband, "do you hear? How was she rescued?"
"Perhaps I should not have spoken with quite so much confidence,"
corrected the doctor. "But the young lady to whom I refer had with her a
music-roll upon the clasp of which the letters 'V. D. H.' were
engraved."
"That must have been Violet," said Mrs. Mencke. "She went to the city
that afternoon to take her music lesson at four o'clock."
"Then she was saved by a young man--a Mr. Wallace Richardson--in the
recent accident on the inclined plane. Mr. Richardson was severely
injured, but he has been able to give an account of how he prevented the
young lady from being dashed to pieces like many of the other victims,"
Doctor Norton returned.
He then proceeded to relate what Wallace had told him had occurred
during those few horrible moments when that ill-fated car was plunging
at such a fearful rate toward its doom.
Mrs. Mencke appeared to be greatly affected by the thrilling account;
but her phlegmatic husband listened to the recital with a stolidity
which betrayed either a strange indifference or a wonderful control over
his nerves and sympathies.
"Oh! it is the most wonderful thing in the world that she was not killed
outright," Mrs. Mencke remarked, with a shiver of horror, "and we have
been very anxious. You say that she is seriously ill?" she questioned,
in conclusion.
"Yes; the shock to her system has been a serious one, madame," the
physician replied, "and, although there is not a scratch nor a bruise
upon her, she is very ill and delirious at the home of this brave young
carpenter to whom she owes so much."
"Young!" repeated Mrs. Mencke, remarking the adjective for the first
time, and looking somewhat annoyed. "How old is he?"
"About twenty-three or twenty-four, I should judge," was the reply.
A frown settled upon the woman's brow; but after a moment she asked:
"Do you consider her dangerously ill, Doctor Norton?"
"Yes, madame, she is. Your sister is delicately organized, and her
system has had a terrible shock; the horror and fright alone, of those
few dreadful moments, were sufficient to unhinge the strongest nerves,"
the physician gravely replied.
As he said this he happened to glance at Mr. Mencke, and was astonished,
amazed, to observe a look of unmistakable satisfaction, if not of
absolute triumph, flash from his eyes.
What could it mean?
Was it possible that the man, for any secret reason, could desire the
death of this young and beautiful girl?
He had not once spoken as yet, having simply nodded to the doctor, with
a half-suppressed grunt, in answer to his courteous salutation.
"William, do you hear?" his wife now said, turning to him. "Violet is
dangerously ill down on Hughes street. I must go to her at once."
"Certainly, of course," responded her better half, with a shrug of his
corpulent shoulders.
"She is my sister, though much younger than myself, and I have had the
care of her ever since the death of our parents," Mrs. Mencke explained.
"What can I do? Will it be possible to bring her home?"
"I fear not at present," Doctor Norton returned, "but it would be well
to provide a competent nurse for her where she is, as Mrs. Richardson
has her hands more than full with the care of both patients and her
domestic duties also."
"Certainly, Violet shall have every attention," the woman responded,
somewhat haughtily, while the frown deepened upon her brow at the
mention of the people upon whose care her sister had been so strangely
thrown.
Doctor Norton was inwardly indignant that neither of his listeners
should express the slightest gratitude or appreciation for what brave
Wallace Richardson had done to save the young girl's life. Evidently
they were not pleased that she should owe so great a debt to so plebeian
a source.
Mrs. Mencke now arose and excused herself, saying that she would make
ready to accompany the physician to Hughes street to attend to her
sister's needs.
"That was a horrible affair," Doctor Norton observed to Mr. Mencke, as
she left the room, determined to draw out his reticent companion if that
were possible.
"It was beastly," grunted the man, with another shrug; "and the
corporation will have a pretty sum to pay for damages. Will--do you
think the girl--Violet--will die?" and the man leaned eagerly forward, a
greedy sparkle in his small, black eyes.
A flush of anger and disgust mounted to the good doctor's brow at this
question, and like a flash the man's character was revealed to him.
He saw that he was a shrewd, grasping, money-making man, who measured
everything and everybody by dollars and cents; that already, instead of
feeling gratitude, he was computing the chances of making something out
of the "corporation" in the event of the death of his wife's sister, if,
indeed, the girl herself did not possess a fortune which would also fall
into his hands should she die.
"I shall do my best to save her, sir; that is, if I am allowed to retain
the case--and I see no reason why, with proper care, she should not
recover," he forced himself to reply, as courteously as possible.
"Humph!" grunted Mr. Mencke, and then he fell to musing again, doubtless
computing the chances upon some other money-making scheme.
Presently Mrs. Mencke returned, dressed to go out and bearing a
well-filled satchell in her hands. She had hastily gathered a few
articles of comfort for her sister's use.
Doctor Norton and his companion proceeded directly to Hughes street,
where Mrs. Richardson welcomed Mrs. Mencke with motherly kindness and
interest, and then conducted her at once to the bedside of the
unconscious Violet, who was still calling piteously upon Belle and
Wilhelm to save her.
"Belle is here, Violet," said her sister, bending over the sufferer;
"you are safe, and nothing can hurt you now."
At the sound of her familiar voice the sick girl glanced up at her, and
a flash of recognition and consciousness returned for a moment.
"Oh, Belle!" she cried, with a sigh of relief, as she seemed to realize
for the first time that she was safe. "It was so horrible--horrible! But
he was so brave--a hero, and so handsome----"
"Hush, dear; you must not talk about it," interrupted the proud woman,
her brow contracting instantly at this mention of the young carpenter,
while she glanced about the humble though pretty room with an air of
disdain that brought the sensitive color into Mrs. Richardson's cheeks,
and made the physician glare angrily at her for her rudeness.
"Will you remove your hat and wrap, Mrs. Mencke? You will probably like
to remain with your sister for a while," her hostess remarked, with a
lady-like courtesy which betrayed that, whatever her present
circumstances might be, she had at some time moved in cultured society.
"Yes, I shall remain until a suitable nurse can be obtained," the woman
said, coldly, as she gave her hat and mantle into her hands.
Then she turned to Doctor Norton and remarked:
"Doubtless you know of some one who would be competent to take charge of
Miss Huntington?"
"Yes, I know of just the person--she is a trained hospital nurse; but
her compensation is fifteen dollars a week besides her living," Doctor
Norton responded.
"I do not care what her compensation is," replied Mrs. Mencke, with a
slightly curling lip; "I wish Violet to have the best of care. Are you
sure it will not do to have her taken home?" she concluded, with an
anxious glance toward the room, where she had caught a glimpse of the
other patient as she entered.
"Very sure, madame," returned the physician, decidedly. "I would not be
answerable for the consequences if she were removed. With an efficient
nurse, the young lady can be made very comfortable here. Mrs. Richardson
has kindly resigned this room--the best she had--for her use. It is cool
and airy, and you do not need to have any anxiety about her on the score
of her accommodations. If you insist upon removing her, however, it must
be upon your own responsibility."
Mrs. Mencke thought a moment, then she said:
"Very well; it shall be as you advise, and I will come every day to
spend as much time as possible with her. Mrs. Richardson shall be well
paid, too, for her room and all inconvenience."
Mrs. Richardson's delicate face flushed again at this coarse reference
to their obligation to her. There had not been one word of thanks or
appreciation for what she had already done; it seemed as if the haughty
woman considered that her money would cancel everything.
"The dear child is welcome to the room and any other comfort that I can
give her," she said, quietly; then added: "It is time now for her fever
drops."
She leaned over the sufferer, who had again relapsed into her delirious
state, and gently put the spoon to her lips.
Violet unclosed her eyes and looked up into the kind, motherly face,
hesitated a moment, then swallowed the drops, while she murmured, as her
glance lingered on her countenance:
"You are good--I love you," then, with a sigh, she turned her head upon
the pillow and dropped into a sleep, while her companions stole from the
room to complete their arrangements for her future comfort.
"Your son--how is he?" Mrs. Mencke inquired, as they entered the
sitting-room, and she felt that it devolved upon her to make the
inquiry.
"Better, thank you. He has not so much pain, and Doctor Norton thinks
his bones are going to knit nicely. He suffers more from his bruises and
cuts than from the broken bones. I am very thankful that he has escaped
with his life," Mrs. Richardson answered, tremulously, and with
startling tears.
"Was he badly hurt?" inquired the lady, languidly.
"Well, he has a couple of protuberances upon his head, three serious
bruises on one leg, and a deep cut on the other from broken
window-glass. Our young hero--and he is a hero, Mrs. Mencke--is pretty
well battered up; but, please God, we are going to save him, and he'll
come out as good as new in time." Doctor Norton returned, with an energy
that made Mrs. Richardson smile, though with tremulous lips.
"It was a frightful accident," murmured Mrs. Mencke, with a slight
shiver.
"You may well say that, madame; and it was a happy inspiration on the
part of Mr. Richardson to try to save Miss Huntington in the way that he
did. By suspending himself from the straps and make her cling to him he
broke the force of the crash for both of them; and, if she lives, there
is not the slightest doubt in the world that she will owe her life to
his thoughtfulness," said the worthy doctor.
"I am sure it was very good of him, and--we are very grateful to him,"
was the tardy admission of Violet's proud sister; but it lacked the ring
of sincerity, and her patronizing manner plainly indicated that her
pride rebelled against all feeling of obligation to an humble carpenter.
"You certainly have reason to be," Doctor Norton retorted; then, bowing
coldly to her, he went into the small bedroom leading from the
sitting-room, to see how his hero fared.
"How is she now, doctor?" Wallace eagerly asked, the moment he crossed
the threshold.
It was always his first thought and inquiry whenever the physician made
his appearance, and he would never allow him to pay the slightest
attention to himself until he had first made an examination of Violet's
condition.
"Pretty sick, my boy; but I hope she is going to pull through," he
cheerfully replied.
"Thank heaven!" murmured the young man, fervently.
Doctor Norton observed him keenly for a moment, with a kindly yet
somewhat anxious gleam in his eyes; then he said:
"Look here, my fine fellow, let me give you a little timely warning;
don't you go to falling in love with this pretty Violet--you'll only
make mischief for both yourself and her if you do, for her friends are
rich, and proud as Lucifer--as hard-hearted, too, if I am not
mistaken--and nothing but a fortune will ever tempt them to yield her to
the best lover in the world."
The young man flushed a vivid crimson at this blunt speech, and the
physician, noticing it, continued:
"No doubt you think I'm meddling with what is none of my business, but
I've seen enough to-day to convince me that such a romantic result of
this accident would be the worst thing that could possibly happen to
you. But how do you find yourself to-day?" he concluded, abruptly
changing the subject.
"I have some pain in this right leg, but not enough to fret over,"
Wallace replied, turning his now pale face away from the doctor's keen
eyes.
There had suddenly come a sharper pain in his heart than any physical
suffering that he had as yet endured, as, all at once, he became
conscious that he had already been guilty of doing exactly what the good
surgeon had warned him against.
Already he had begun to love Violet Huntington with all the strength and
passion of his manly, honest heart. He had been instantly attracted by
her lovely face and lady-like appearance, when he entered the car that
bright spring afternoon. When his glance met hers a magnetic current had
seemed to be established between them. When she had realized the horror
of their situation, after the grip upon the cable had been lost, and
thrown out her hands so appealingly to him, his heart had been suddenly
thrilled with the desire to save her, even at the expense of his own
life; in that one brief instant he had given himself to her, for life or
death. When he had clasped her hands about his neck and lifted her upon
his breast--when he had felt her head droop upon his shoulder, and the
beating of her frightened heart against his own, a feeling almost of
ecstasy had taken possession of him, and the strange thought had come to
him that he was perhaps going into eternity with the woman who should
have been his wife--with the one kindred soul designed for him by his
Maker.
But now the doctor's words had given him a rude shock, and he resolved,
rather than allow a suspicion of his affection to make trouble for the
sweet girl who had become the one coveted object of his life, to bury it
so deep in his heart that no other should ever mistrust it.