Harry Kendal threw back his dark, handsome head with a gesture of
disdain and looked at the girl.
"I do not know of any reason why you should warn _me_, above all other
men, that it is dangerous to cross Miss Holt's path," he said. "Almost
any young man will flirt with a pretty girl when he finds her so _very_
willing. She understood that it was only a flirtation; but when I met
your little friend Dorothy, of course all that nonsense with Nadine
ceased."
"Nadine did not call it a flirtation," returned the girl, gravely. "You
might call it that. She thought of it differently, I am sure."
"Where is Jessie Staples?" he asked, abruptly, to change the
embarrassing subject.
"She, too, has left the bindery," was the unexpected reply. "There have
been great changes among the people in this book-bindery within the last
few months. A young man connected with the place had quite a sum of
money left him, and Jessie Staples was a great favorite with this young
man's mother, so at their invitation Jessie went to live with them."
Finding that she had nothing more to tell him, Kendal soon after took
his departure.
He was desperate as he walked along the street.
"What in the name of Heaven shall I do?" he cried. "One day of the
fortnight has already passed, and I have not even the slightest clew to
Dorothy's whereabouts." And in that hour in which he realized that she
was indeed lost to him he knew how well he actually loved the girl.
Iris' fickleness had killed his mad infatuation at one blow, and,
man-like, his heart returned at once to its old allegiance.
Now that he knew that it was only a question of the merest chance of
ever finding Dorothy, his very soul seemed to grow wild with anxiety.
Suddenly a thought born of desperation occurred to him--why not consult
a fortune-teller as a last resort? It just flashed across his brain, an
advertisement he had read and laughed over in one of the New York papers
a few days before:
"Madame ----, seventh daughter of the seventh daughter, reveals to those
who wish to consult her all the main incidents of their past, present,
and future life; brings together the hearts of those who are suffering
from the pangs of lovers' quarrels, though the whole wide earth should
separate them; indicates the whereabouts of missing ones, though they
should be hidden as deeply and securely from sight as the bowels of the
earth. The madame can with ease secure for you the love of any person
whom you may choose to win, put each and every person in the way of
making fabulous fortunes in the shortest possible space of time, and all
this for the small sum of fifty cents. Madame can be found, between the
hours of nine and twelve in the forenoon, one and six in the afternoon,
and from seven until eleven in the evening, by those who wish to consult
her marvelous powers, on the fourth floor of the last tenement house on
Hester Street. Visitors will please take note that Madame's consultation
studio is in the rear of the building. A candle lights the way."
By dint of much perseverance Kendal found the place.
Taking the candle, he groped his way through the long, narrow, grimy
passage, and found himself at length standing before Room 106, as the
advertisement had indicated.
His loud, impatient knock was answered, after some little delay, by a
tall figure hooded and cloaked, the face almost concealed by a long,
thick veil that was thrown about the head, and which reached almost to
the feet.
In a black-gloved hand this strange apparition held a lighted candle.
"I trust I have found the right place," said Kendal. "I am in search of
Madame Morlacci, the fortune-teller."
At the sound of the deep, rich, mellow voice, the figure started back as
though it had been struck a sudden blow, the black-shrouded hand that
held the candle shook as if from palsy.
"Come in," replied a muffled voice, that sounded like nothing human, it
was so weird.
Kendal stepped fearlessly into the room, the corners of which were in
deepest gloom, which the flickering rays of the candle could not
penetrate.
"Well," said Kendal, impatiently, "I should be grateful to commence the
preliminaries of this fortune-telling business at your earliest
convenience, if you please, madam; my time is somewhat limited."
Kendal drew forth his pocket-book, took out a bank-bill and handed it to
the strange creature; but, to his intense surprise, she flung it back
almost in his face.
"I can tell you all you wish to know without a fee," cried the hoarse,
muffled voice, which somehow made every drop of blood in Kendal's veins
run cold as he heard it.
"That would not be very profitable to you, I am sure, madame," he said,
wonderingly.
"That makes no difference to you," was the almost rude answer. He felt
quite disconcerted; he hardly knew what to say next. This certainly was
an odd _contretemps_, to say the least. "You are here to learn the
whereabouts of--a woman?" she whispered, in a deep, uncanny voice. "Is
it not so?"
"By Heaven! you are quite right," cried Kendal, in amazement, quite
startled out of his usual politeness.
This woman had never laid eyes on him before, he told himself. Now, how,
in the name of all that was wonderful, could she have known this? He had
sneered at fortune-telling all his whole life through; now he began to
wonder if there was not something in it, after all.
"This woman, who is young, and by some called beautiful, will be your
evil genius!" she hissed. "You wronged her through your
fickle-mindedness, and wrecked her young life."
"Great God!" he cried, "are you woman or devil, or a combination of
both? But go on--go on!" he cried, excitedly. "I see you know all my
past. There is no use in my attempting to hide anything from you. But
tell me, where shall I find this young woman of whom you speak? I must
track her down."
A laugh that was horrible to hear broke from the lips of the veiled
woman opposite him.
"That you will never be able to do!" she cried, fiercely. "Though she
may cross your path at will, you might as well hunt for a particular
grain of sand along the sea-shore, a needle in a haystack, a special
blade of grass in a whole field. You may recognize this fact, and abide
by it. But, hark you! listen to what I have to say: The fates have
decreed that your heart shall be wrung as you have wrung hers--pang for
pang!"
"Who and what are you," he cried, "who talk to me in this way? You act
more like a vengeful spirit than a woman unconcerned in my affairs. Who
and what are you, anyhow?"
"I tell you only what I see," was the muttered response.
"See where?" demanded Kendal in agitation.
"That is not for you to know."
"But I shall--I will know!" he cried, furiously. "There is something
underneath all this trumpery. I am not a man to be trifled with in
this fashion, I can tell you, with your fortune-telling
nonsense--humbuggery!"
"Then, pray, what brings you here? what is your object in coming?" asked
the other, with a covert sneer.
"To hear what lies you could trump up," replied Kendal boldly.
"Our interview is ended," said the veiled figure, rising and pointing
her long arm toward the door.
He knew that he must temporize with her if he would find out Dorothy's
whereabouts, which he was beginning to believe she might find out for
him.
"Will you pardon me?" he asked, humbling himself. "I--I must know more."
"You have heard all that I have to say, Harry Kendal!" she cried.
Who was this creature who knew him--aye, knew his name, his most secret
affairs? He must--he would know.
With a quick bound he cleared the space which divided them, and in a
trice he had grasped her wrists firmly and torn the veil from her face.
This was followed by a mighty cry.