It was a part of her punishment that she was to be locked in her room
until Helena left for New York; but Helena visited her every night in
her time-honoured fashion. Magdaléna never told of the blows, but
confinement was a sufficient excuse to her restless friend for any
amount of depression; and Helena coaxed twenty dollars out of her father
and bought books and bonbons for the prisoner, which she carefully
disposed about her person before making the ascent. Magdaléna hid her
presents in a bureau drawer; and it is idle to deny that they comforted
her. One of the books was "Jane Eyre," and another Mrs. Gaskell's Life
of Charlotte Brontë. They fired her with enthusiasm, and although she
cried all night after the equally tearful Helena had said good-bye to
her, she returned to them next day with undiminished enthusiasm.
The Sunday after Helena's departure she was permitted to go to church.
She was attended by her mother's maid, a French girl and a fervid
Catholic. St. Mary's Cathedral, in which Don Roberto owned a pew that he
never occupied, was at that time on the corner of California and Dupont
streets.
Magdaléna prayed devoutly, but only for the reestablishment of her
self-respect, and the grace of oblivion for the degradation to which her
father had subjected her. Later, she intended to pray that he might be
forgiven, both by herself and God, and that his heart should be softened
to the poor; but not yet. She must be herself again first.
Her head had been aching for two days, the result of long confinement
and too many bonbons. It throbbed so during service that she slipped
out, whispering to the maid that she only wanted a breath of fresh air
and would be back shortly.
She stood for a few moments on the steps. Her head felt better, and she
noticed how peaceful the city looked; yet, as ever, with its suggestion
of latent feverishness. She had heard Colonel Belmont say that there was
no other city in the world like it, and as she stood there and regarded
the precipitous heights with their odd assortment of flimsy "palaces"
and dilapidated structures dating back to the Fifties, she felt the
vague restlessness that brooded over everything, and understood what he
had meant; and she also knew that she understood as he had not. Above
was the dazzling sky, not a fleck in its blue fire. There was not a
breath of wind in the city. She had never known a more peaceful day. And
yet, if at any moment the earth had rocked beneath her feet, she would
have felt no surprise.
She felt the necessity for exercise. It was now over a week since she
had been out of her room, and during that time she had not only studied
as usual, but read and read and read. She did not remember to have ever
felt so nervous before. She could not go back into the Cathedral; it was
musty in itself and crowded with the Great Unwashed. But it would not be
right to disturb Julie. There could be no harm in the least bit of a
walk alone, particularly as her father was in Menlo Park. She glanced
about her dubiously. Chinatown, which began a block to her right, was
out of the question, although she would have liked to see the women and
the funny little Chinese babies that she had heard of: the fortunate
Helena had been escorted through Chinatown by her adoring parent and a
policeman. She did not care to climb twice the almost perpendicular hill
which led to her home, and at the foot of the hill was the business
portion of the city. There was only one other way, and it looked quiet
and deserted and generally inviting.
She crossed California Street and walked along Dupont Street. She saw to
her surprise that the houses were small and mean; those the fire had
eaten had hardly been worse. They had green outside blinds and appeared
to date from the discovery of gold at least.
"There are poor people so near us," she thought. "Even Helena never
guessed it. I am glad the plate had not been handed round; I will give
some one my quarter."
The houses were very quiet. The shutters were closed, but the slats were
open. She glanced in, but saw no one.
"Probably they are all in the Cathedral," she thought. "I am glad it is
so close to them."
She walked on, forgetting the houses for the minute, absorbed in her new
appreciation of the strange suggestiveness of San Francisco. Again,
something was shaping itself in her mind, demanding expression. She felt
that it would have the power to make her forget all that she did not
wish to remember, and thought that perhaps this was the sponge for the
slate the Virgin was sending in answer to her prayers.
Suddenly, almost in her ear, she heard a low chuckle. She started
violently; in all her life she had never heard anything so evil, so
appalling, as that chuckle. It had come from the window at her left. She
turned mechanically, her spirits sinking with nameless terror.
Her expanded eyes fastened upon the open shutters. A woman sat behind
them; at least, she was cast in woman's mould. Her sticky black hair was
piled high in puffs,--an exaggeration of the mode of the day. Her thick
lips were painted a violent red. Rouge and whitewash covered the rest of
her face. There was black paint beneath her eyes. She wore a dirty pink
silk dress cut shamefully low.
The blood burned into Magdaléna's cheeks. Of sin she had never heard.
She had no name for the creature before her, but her woman's instinct
whispered that she was vile.
The woman, who was regarding her malevolently, spoke. Magdaléna did not
understand the purport of her words, but she turned and fled whence she
had come. As she did so, the chuckle, multiplied a dozen-fold,
surrounded her. She stopped for a second and cast a swift glance about
her, fascinated, with all her protesting horror.
Behind every shutter which met her gaze was the duplicate of the
creature who had startled her first. As they saw her dismay, their
chuckle broke into a roar, then split into vocabulary. Magdaléna ran
faster than she had ever run in her life before. Suddenly she saw
Colonel Belmont sauntering down California Street, debonair as ever. His
long moustaches swept his shoulders. His soft hat was on the back of his
head, framing his bold handsome dissipated face. His frock-coat, but for
the lower button, was open, and stood out about the dazzling shirt, well
revealed by a low vest.
"Uncle Jack!" screamed Magdaléna. "Uncle Jack!"
Colonel Belmont jumped as if a battery had ripped up the ground in front
of him. Then he dashed across the street. "Good God!" he shouted. "Good
God!" He caught Magdaléna in his arms and carried her back to the shadow
of the cross.
"You two have been possessed by the devil of late," he began wrathfully,
but Magdaléna interrupted him.
"No! no!" she exclaimed. "I didn't know there was anything different
there from any other street. I didn't mean to."
"Well, I don't suppose you did. You never know where you are in this
infernal town, anyhow. Where's your maid?"
But Magdaléna had fainted.