Meanwhile all our efforts to obtain information in regard to the fate or
whereabouts of the missing girl, had so far proved utterly futile. Even
the advertisements inserted by Mrs. Daniels had produced no effect; and
frustrated in my scheme I began to despair, when the accounts of that
same Mrs. Daniels’ strange and unaccountable behavior during these days
of suspense, which came to me through Fanny, (the pretty housemaid at
Mr. Blake’s, whose acquaintance I had lately taken to cultivating,)
aroused once more my dormant energies and led me to ask myself if the
affair was quite as hopeless as it seemed.
“If she was a ghost,” was her final expression on the subject, “she
could’nt go peramberlating this house more than she does. It seems as if
she could’nt keep still a minute. Upstairs and down, upstairs and down,
till we’re most wild. And so white as she is and so trembling! Why her
hands shake so all the time she never dares lift a dish off the table.
And then the way she hangs about Mr. Blake’s door when he’s at home!
She never goes in, that’s the oddest part of it, but walks up and down
before it, wringing her hands and talking to herself just like a mad
woman. Why, I have seen her almost put her hand on the knob twice in
an afternoon perhaps, then draw back as if she was afraid it would burn
her; and if by any chance the door opened and Mr. Blake came out, you
ought to have seen how she run. What it all means I don’t know, but I
have my imaginings, and if she is’nt crazy, why--” etc., etc.
In face of facts like these I felt it would be pure insanity to despair.
Let there be but a mystery, though it involved a man of the position of
Mr. Blake and I was safe. My only apprehension had been that the whole
affair would dissolve itself into an ordinary elopement or some such
common-place matter.
When, therefore, a few minutes later, Fanny announced that Mr. Blake
had ordered a carriage to take him to the Charity Ball that evening,
I determined to follow him and learn if possible what change had
taken place in himself or his circumstances, to lead him into such an
innovation upon his usual habits. Though the hour was late I had but
little difficulty in carrying out my plan, arriving at the Academy
something less than an hour after the opening dance.
The crowd was great and I circulated the floor three times before I came
upon him. When I did, I own I was slightly disappointed; for instead of
finding him as I anticipated, the centre of an admiring circle of ladies
and gentlemen, I espied him withdrawn into a corner with a bland old
politician of the Fifteenth Ward, discussing, as I presently overheard,
the merits and demerits of a certain Smith who at that time was making
some disturbance in the party.
“If that is all he has come for,” thought I, “I had better have stayed
at home and made love to the pretty Fanny.” And somewhat chagrined, I
took up my stand near by, and began scrutinizing the ladies.
Suddenly I felt my heart stand still, the noise of voices ceasing
the same instant behind me. A lady was passing on the arm of a
foreign-looking gentleman, whom it did not require a second glance to
identify with the subject of the portrait in Mr. Blake’s house. Older by
some few years than when her picture was painted, her beauty had assumed
a certain defiant expression that sufficiently betrayed the fact that
the years had not been so wholly happy as she had probably anticipated
when she jilted handsome Holman Blake for the old French Count. At all
events so I interpreted the look of latent scorn that burned in her dark
eyes, as she slowly turned her richly bejeweled head towards the corner
where that gentleman stood, and meeting his eyes no doubt, bowed with a
sudden loss of self-possession that not all the haughty carriage of
her noble form, held doubly erect for the next few moments, could quite
conceal or make forgotten.
“She still loves him,” I inwardly commented and turned to see if the
surprise had awakened any expression on his uncommunicative countenance.
Evidently not, for the tough old politician of the Fifteenth Ward was
laughing, at one of his own jokes probably, and looking up in the
face of Mr. Blake, whose back was turned to me, in a way that entirely
precluded all thought of any tragic expression in that quarter. Somewhat
disgusted, I withdrew and followed the lady.
I could not get very near. By this time the presence of a live countess
in the assembly had become known, and I found her surrounded by a swarm
of half-fledged youths. But I cared little for this; all I wanted to
know was whether Mr. Blake would approach her or not during the evening.
Tediously the moments passed; but a detective on duty, or on fancied
duty, succumbs to no weariness. I had a woman before me worth studying
and the time could not be thrown away. I learned to know her beauty;
the poise of her head, the flush of her cheek, the curl of her lip, the
glance--yes, the glance of her eye, though that was more difficult to
understand, for she had a way of drooping her lids at times that, while
exceedingly effective upon the poor wretch toward whom she might be
directing that half-veiled shaft of light, was anything but conducive to
my purposes.
At length with a restless shrug of her haughty shoulders she turned away
from her crowd of adorers, her breast heaving under its robing of garnet
velvet, and her whole face flaring with a light that might mean resolve
and might mean simply love. I had no need to turn my head to see who was
advancing towards her; her stately attitude as countess, her thrilling
glance as woman, betrayed only too readily.
He was the more composed of the two. Bowing over her hand with a few
words I could not hear, he drew back a step and began uttering the usual
common-place sentiments of the occasion.
She did not respond. With a splendor of indifference not often seen even
in the manner of our grandest ladies, she waited, opening and shutting
her richly feathered fan, as one who would say, “I know all this has to
be gone through with, therefore I will be patient.” But as the moments
passed, and his tone remained unchanged, I could detect a slight gleam
of impatience flash in the depths of her dark eyes, and a change
come into the conventional smile that had hitherto lighted, without
illuminating her countenance. Drawing still further back from the crowd
that was not to be awed from pressing upon her, she looked around as if
seeking a refuge. Her glance fell upon a certain window, with a gleam
of satisfaction. Seeing they would straightway withdraw there, I took
advantage of the moment and made haste to conceal myself behind a
curtain as near that vicinity as possible. In another instant I heard
them approaching.
“You seem to be rather overwhelmed with attention to-night,” were the
first words I caught, uttered in Mr. Blake’s calmest and most courteous
tones.
“Do you think so?” was the slightly sarcastic reply. “I was just
deciding to the contrary when you came up.”
There was a pause. Taking out my knife, I ripped open a seam in the
curtain hanging before me, and looked through. He was eyeing her
intently, a firm look upon his face that made its reserve more marked
than common. I saw him gaze at her handsome head piled with its midnight
tresses amid which the jewels, doubtless of her dead lord, burned with
a fierce and ominous glare, at her smooth olive brow, her partly veiled
eyes where the fire passionately blazed, at her scarlet lips trembling
with an emotion her rapidly flushing cheeks would not allow her to
conceal. I saw his glances fall and embrace her whole elegant form with
its casing of ruby velvet and ornamentation of lace and diamonds, and
an expectant thrill passed through me almost as if I already beheld the
mask of his reserve falling, and the true man flash out in response to
the wooing beauty of this full-blown rose, evidently in waiting for him.
But it died away and a deeper feeling seized me as I saw his glances
return unkindled to her countenance, and heard him say in still more
measured accents than before:
“Is it possible then that the Countess De Mirac can desire the adulation
of us poor American plebeians? I had not thought it, madame.”
Slowly her dark eyes turned towards him; she stood a statue.
“But I forget,” he went on, a tinge of bitterness for a moment showing
itself in his smile: “perhaps in returning to her own country, Evelyn
Blake has so far forgotten the last two years as to find pleasure again
in the toys and foibles of her youth. Such things have been, I hear.”
And he bowed almost to the ground in his half sarcastic homage.
“Evelyn Blake! It is long since I have heard that name,” she murmured.
He could not restrain the quick flush from mounting to his brow. “Pardon
me,” said he, “if it brings you sadness or unwelcome memories. I promise
you I will not so transgress again.”
A wan smile crossed her lips grown suddenly pallid.
“You mistake,” said she; “if my name brings up a past laden with bitter
memories and shadowed by regret, it also recalls much that is pleasant
and never to be forgotten. I do not object to hearing my girlhood’s name
uttered--by my nearest relative.”
The answer was dignity itself. “Your name is Countess De Mirac, your
relatives must be proud to utter it.”
A gleam not unlike the lightning’s quick flash shot from the eyes she
drooped before him.
“Is it Holman Blake I am listening to,” said she; “I do not recognize my
old friend in the cool and sarcastic man of the world now before me.”
“We often fail to recognize the work of our hands, madame, after it has
fallen from our grasp.”
“What,” she cried, “do you mean--would you say that--”
“I would say nothing,” interrupted he calmly, stooping for the fan she
had dropped. “At an interview which is at once a meeting and a parting,
I would give utterance to nothing which would seem like recrimination.
I--”
“Wait,” suddenly exclaimed she, reaching out her hand for her fan with a
gesture lofty as it was resolute. “You have spoken a word which demands
explanation; what have I ever done to you that you should speak the word
recrimination to me?”
“What? You shook my faith in womankind; you showed me that a woman who
had once told a man she loved him, could so far forget that love as to
marry one she could never respect, for the sake of titles and jewels.
You showed me--”
“Hold,” said she again, this time without gesture or any movement, save
that of her lips grown pallid as marble, “and what did you show me?”
He started, colored profoundly, and for a moment stood before her
unmasked of his stern self-possession. “I beg your pardon,” said he, “I
take back that word, recrimination.”
It was now her turn to lift her head and survey him. With glance less
cool than his, but fully as deliberate, she looked at his proud head
bending before her; studying his face, line by line, from the stern brow
to the closely compressed lips on which melancholy seemed to have
set its everlasting seal, and a change passed over her countenance.
“Holman,” said she, with a sudden rush of tenderness, “if in the times
gone by, we both behaved with too much worldly prudence for it now to be
any great pleasure for either of us to look back, is that any reason
why we should mar our whole future by dwelling too long upon what we are
surely still young enough to bury if not forget? I acknowledge that
I would have behaved in a more ideal fashion, if, after I had been
forsaken by you, I had turned my face from society, and let the
canker-worm of despair slowly destroy whatever life and bloom I had
left. But I was young, and society had its charms, so did the prospect
of wealth and position, however hollow they may have proved; you who
are the master of both this day, because twelve months ago you forsook
Evelyn Blake, should be the last to reproach me with them. I do not
reproach you; I only say let the past be forgotten--”
“Impossible,” exclaimed he, his whole face darkening with an expression
I could not fathom. “What was done at that time cannot be undone. For
you and me there is no future. Yes,” he said turning towards her as she
made a slight fluttering move of dissent, “no future; we can bury the
past, but we can not resurrect it. I doubt if you would wish to if we
could; as we cannot, of course you will not desire even to converse upon
the subject again. Evelyn I wanted to see you once, but I do not wish to
see you again; will you pardon my plain speaking, and release me?”
“I will pardon your plain speaking, but--” Her look said she would not
release him.
He seemed to understand it so, and smiled, but very bitterly. In another
moment he had bowed and gone, and she had returned to her crowd of
adoring sycophants.