TOO LATE! TOO LATE.
"'What is life?'
A battle, child,
Where the strongest lance may fail,
Where the weariest eye may be beguiled,
And the stoutest heart may quail,
Where foes are gathered on every hand,
And rest not day or night
But the angels of heaven are on thy side,
And God is over all."
When Robert returned from the engine-house, he was in doubt whether he
ought to follow Hawthorne or not.
"If he has gone to Miss Harding's house, everything must be all right
between them. It must be some other lady in the same house that
Standish is going to take away. It's a lodging-house, and he may be
acquainted with a dozen ladies there, for all I know."
But still, in spite of these thoughts, he kept on driving to the house.
"I'll go past it anyway, and see if the fellow is there yet with his
grand sleigh."
He threw himself back with an air of importance, for he was certainly
enjoying his little outing. The road was gay with vehicles, and the
air musical with the ring of sleigh-bells. New York was enjoying its
Christmas.
Almost before he realized it, he found himself on the obscure street,
and in front of the shabby house where Geraldine lived, a pure pearl in
an uncouth setting.
He reined up in front of the house and cogitated:
"The sleigh isn't here. Mr. Standish must have got his girl and gone.
Maybe I ought to go, too. I don't see that I have any business going
in!"
Smiling to himself at his humorous play on the verb to go, he waited a
minute, glancing curiously at the front of the four-story house that
looked dark and still as though most of the people had gone out or
retired.
He pictured to himself the handsome fireman within that tenement,
sitting by the side of his sweet young love, Geraldine, perhaps holding
her dainty hand and looking love into eyes that answered love again.
"No, I mustn't go in. I might interrupt a charming _tete-a-tete_," he
decided, and was about to turn back to the livery stable, when the door
before him opened suddenly, and a man appeared, reeling down the steps
like one under the influence of liquor or some heart-breaking emotion.
Robert stared at the handsome figure a moment, then called,
questioningly:
"Mr. Hawthorne?"
Hawthorne stopped, looked up, and asked, hoarsely:
"Who is that? Oh, Robert, is it you? What are you doing here?"
"I came to see you, Mr. Hawthorne."
"What can I do for you? Speak quickly, for I'm going--oh, God!
where--for I know not where to turn!"
The words were a cry of agony, and as he came up to the side of the
sleigh, the youth saw that his face was deathly pale, as if from
terrible trouble.
His first fear that Hawthorne was intoxicated gave way to the
conviction that something was wrong about Geraldine, and he said,
quickly:
"You're in trouble, sir, and I think I can help you if you'll tell
me all about it. Get in the sleigh, won't you, and let me drive you
wherever you want to go."
"Thank you, Robert. I came on a car, and this is very welcome," said
Hawthorne, getting in by the youth's side.
"Where to?" asked Robert, taking up the reins.
"Where? Oh, God, where!" groaned Hawthorne, despairingly. "Wait," he
added, laying his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Ah, Robert, this is one
of the darkest hours of a life that has had many shadows. I came here
to see my betrothed bride, my heart full of joy that has turned to
keenest pain, for I found her gone from me--lured away by a scheming
villain that she hates--and what her terrible fate may be, God only
knows, for I have not a single clew to follow."
"Oh, yes, you have--a clew to follow the villain himself. You mean
Standish, don't you?" shouted Robert, wildly, in his excitement.
"Yes, he has lured her away by a cunning trick--" began Hawthorne
again, but the youth interrupted:
"Yes, yes, I know; he has taken her to the Cortlandt street
ferry--going to elope with her, I reckon. But we'll follow and outwit
the villain," and chirping to his horse, Robert drove to the ferry as
fast as he dared.
On the way he told Hawthorne all that he knew, and received his
confidence in turn.
So the actor's plot was laid bare. No doubt existed as to his
intentions to abduct Geraldine.
On their way, just half a block from the ferry, Robert exclaimed:
"There's our sleigh going back now to the stables. Hello, Pete!"
The driver drew rein, and he asked, anxiously:
"Where's the lady and gentleman you took down to the ferry?"
And the answer was like the trump of doom to Hawthorne's sore heart.
"The lady and gentleman, sir? Oh, they took the Pennsylvania Limited
train to Chicago."
"Are you sure?" cried Robert.
"Oh, yes; I crossed the river with them, and saw them board the train.
That is, the man carried her in his arms. She got sick, or fainted,
maybe, just beforehand, and he grabbed her up and climbed on with
her just as the whistle blew. Oh, they're off, for sure. Is anything
wrong?" added the driver, curiously, scenting an elopement.