TWO LOVERS.
Miss Murdock was seated at the piano in the drawing-room, her shapely
fingers wandering dreamily over the keys, when a servant knocked at the
door.
"A gintleman to see yer, Miss," said the maid.
"A caller!" exclaimed Agnes in surprise. "At this time of day? Did he
give you his card?"
"No, miss. Nor his name nayther."
"Well then, Mary," said Agnes, with a mixture of amusement and
severity, "why do you announce him? I think you would better keep an
eye on the hat-rack."
"He aint no thafe, Miss," said the maid, positively; "he do be dressed
up too foine fur that. Besoides, Oi've sane him here before. A hansum
young feller wid rid hair----Mister----Mister----Cha----Chapman."
"Chatham!" suggested Agnes, with sudden seriousness.
"Yis, Miss; it do be the same."
"I cannot receive him," said Miss Murdock in frigid tones. "I am
surprised that John should have admitted him, after the explicit
instructions I gave him yesterday. Hereafter I am never at home to Mr.
Chatham."
"Your butler is not at fault in this instance," said a voice from
the hallway, and before either of the women could recover from her
surprise, a flashily dressed young man with intensely red hair entered
the room. He carried his left arm in a sling. His face was pale; his
eyes glittered with a feverish light; his voice quivered with repressed
excitement.
"I was waiting for your father in his office, when I heard your maid go
by, and I asked her to announce me. I hoped for, but I can hardly say I
expected, a more hospitable reception."
Miss Murdock, after the first shock of surprise, had drawn up her
graceful figure to its full height, and stood looking at the young man
with undisguised contempt in her flashing eyes.
Chatham paused as if expecting a reply; and then:
"Shall I explain the object of my visit before your servant?" he asked
bitterly.
"You may leave, Mary, until I ring for you," said the young girl,
turning to the maid.
The woman reluctantly left the room, casting curious glances upon her
young mistress and her unwelcome guest as she went.
Chatham made a motion as if to take a chair; but Agnes remained
significantly standing.
"Perhaps," she said coldly, "you will be good enough to explain as
briefly as possible your object in forcing your presence upon me in
this ungentlemanly way?"
"I suppose my conduct does strike you as ungentlemanly," said the young
man piteously; "but what could I do? I love you devotedly, madly, and
you will not allow me even to tell you so. You instruct your servants
to turn me away from the door like a beggar. Is it a crime to love you?"
"No, Mr. Chatham," said the girl more gently, "it is not a crime to
love a woman; but it is at least a serious blunder to adopt the method
you have selected of showing your affection, and it is certainly not
generous to force it upon her as you are doing."
"What else can I do?" he repeated doggedly. "Here am I suddenly obliged
to leave New York for a long time,--perhaps for ever,--and unable to
get a single word with you. I called yesterday morning and was informed
that you were at that artist fellow's studio. Then I wrote you a letter
asking for an interview and I left it there for you myself. The only
notice you took of it was to give instructions to your butler not to
admit me if I called again. I cannot go away like that, without a ray
of hope to lighten my exile, and leave you here surrounded by a lot of
men who are anxious to marry you."
The tender-hearted girl felt a growing pity for the awkward and vulgar
young man in whom she began vaguely to discern a genuine suffering.
"I am sorry, Mr. Chatham," she said, "more sorry than I can say. But
what can I do? I do not care for you in the way you wish, and affection
is not to be coerced. I have done the best I could to discourage you,
because----"
"I know you have," interrupted Chatham; "you have avoided me, and
snubbed me, and taken every way you could to show that you do not like
me."
"It would have been mistaken kindness to do otherwise," said Agnes
gently.
"No, it wouldn't," exclaimed the accountant; "I don't ask you to love
me; not at once, at any rate. But give me a show; give me time; give me
a little hope----"
"I cannot do that," said the girl in a low tone.
"Why can't you?" urged the young man excitedly. "I have sacrificed
everything for you; I have given up all I had; I have lost my position;
I have risked my life----"
"I don't understand you," said Miss Murdock, looking at him in
astonishment.
"Your father would," he replied huskily; "it was he egged me on to
this; he promised me that you would have me----"
"My father promised----"
"Yes, your father; and by G----"
Chatham, who was growing more and more excited, brought down his
clenched fist upon a table near which he stood, and with an evident
effort repressed the oath which rose to his lips. Miss Murdock,
startled and bewildered, observed him in speechless amazement.
After a momentary struggle, the accountant suddenly broke forth in
piteous pleading:
"I don't ask much now. Tell me only one thing and I shall go away
content for the present. Say that no other man has any better chance
with you than I have. Say that you do not love any one else."
The young girl tried to avoid his ardent gaze.
"Say it!" he commanded in sudden sternness.
Agnes drew herself up proudly then.
"I don't know by what right you presume to catechize or to command me,"
she said coldly, at the same time making a motion as if to touch the
button of the electric bell.
Chatham saw the motion and sprang before her to intercept it.
"Ah! that is the way of it, is it?" he exclaimed with passionate
jealousy. "You are----in love--with another man!"
The words seemed to choke him in the utterance. The blood rushed to
his head; the veins on his temples stood out in purple vividness, and,
as he clutched spasmodically at his collar, a wild light came into his
eyes.
Agnes caught their mad glitter and shrank back in sudden terror.
"I have been duped!" he shouted frantically. "I have been a catspaw,
and now that I have done all that was wanted of me, I am to be turned
off like a dog, with a kick. The dirty work is done, is it? We'll see
about that; we'll see what your father has to say. But, at any rate,
you can be sure of one thing."
His voice sank to a hoarse whisper, and the words fell with impressive
distinctness:
"If I don't marry you, no one ever shall!"
As he spoke he leaned forward upon the table which stood near him, and
his fingers closed nervously upon the handle of a jeweled paper knife.
There was murder in his eye at that moment, and the frightened girl
quailed before it.
Suddenly her ear caught the sound of footsteps in the hallway. She
opened her lips to call for help, but before she could utter a sound
the door opened, revealing the anxious face of the housemaid, who had
heard enough to realize that it was time to interrupt the tête-à-tête
without further ceremony.
"Mister Sprague, Miss," she announced, with a comforting nod at her
young mistress, whose pale face and frightened eyes had not escaped her
attention.
Sprague stood on the threshold in evident embarrassment, looking from
Agnes to Chatham, and uncertain how to act.
"I fear I am intruding, Miss Murdock," he said at last; "your maid told
me she thought you could receive me. Perhaps I would better call again."
"No, no, Mr. Sprague," replied the young girl effusively, coming toward
him with outstretched hands; "I am so glad to see you."
And then, observing his inquiring glance toward Chatham,
"I think," she added coldly, "that this gentleman has said all that he
has to say to me."
Chatham's excitement had subsided; in the reaction, he seemed ill and
weak as he nervously clenched his tremulous right hand.
"I will wait to see Doctor Murdock," he said doggedly in a low voice.
"As you please," replied Agnes after a slight hesitation. "Mary, show
Mr. Chatham to the Doctor's study."
As the accountant followed the servant from the room, blank despair was
stamped in every feature, and it seemed to Sprague, as the door closed,
that he heard something like a convulsive sob.
Unconsciously Agnes had clung to Sprague's hand. Now, as the sense of
danger disappeared, she became aware of what she was doing; and, in
sudden embarrassment, she withdrew her hand from his reassuring clasp.
The artist, recalling the object of his visit, at once became grave and
formal.
"I am sorry to intrude upon you at this unconventional hour, Miss
Murdock, but I found this letter in my studio to-day. It was evidently
dropped by you yesterday; and, thinking it might be important, I----"
"A letter? What letter?" asked Agnes, puzzled.
Sprague held out the sealed envelope. The young girl tore it open and
cast a hurried glance at its contents. Then suddenly understanding, she
tore the paper to shreds, and threw these angrily into the fire which
burned brightly in the large open fire-place.
"Oh, that!" she exclaimed contemptuously. And then after a pause:
"Do you mean to say you thought----?"
She stopped short, seized by a sudden shyness.
"What else could I think?" said Sprague softly.
He was watching the fragments of paper as they flared upon the hearth.
The flame which consumed them seemed to shed a radiant glow upon his
heart.
"Then," he added presently and still more softly, "if there is
nothing between you and--and him--perhaps--perhaps I may hope--Miss
Murdock--Agnes----"
His hand sought hers and found it.
But the reaction had come at last, and the brave girl who had been able
to control herself in the presence of a threatening madman now gave way
to a fit of hysterical weeping.
Sprague, not being a medical man, could hardly have known what remedies
to employ in an emergency of this kind. All he did was to whisper
soothing words in the young girl's ear and to kiss the tears from her
eyes. But apparently that was enough. Evidently for a layman he must
have possessed considerable medical intuition; for, after sobbing a
while upon his shoulder, Agnes quieted down gradually and remained
contentedly nestling in his arms, while the artist, doubtless fearful
of a relapse, continued, for perhaps an unnecessarily long time, to ply
the treatment whose effect had produced upon his patient so marked, so
rapid, and so satisfactory a result.
The attention of the medical profession is respectfully called to
a treatment which, though empirical, may possibly possess specific
virtues.