FRANK AND HER SINGULAR VISITOR.
It will soon fall to our task to depict certain scenes, which took
place in the Empire City on the 23d of December, between nightfall
and midnight. The greater portion of these scenes will find their
legitimate development in "THE TEMPLE," from midnight until morning;
while others will lift the "Golden Shroud" and uncover to our gaze
threads and arteries of that great social heart of New York, which
throbs with every pang of unutterable misery, or dilates and burns with
every pulse of voluptuous luxury.
Ere we commence our task, let us look in upon a scene which took place
in the house of Frank, about nightfall and (of course) before Nameless
had sought refuge in her room.
Frank was sitting alone, in a quiet room near a desk upon which pen and
ink and papers were spread. It was the room devoted to the management
of her household affairs. She sat in an arm-chair, with her feet on a
stool and her back to the window, while she lifted the golden cross
and regarded it with an absent gaze. The white curtains of the windows
were turned to crimson by the reflection of the setting sun, and the
warm glow shining through the intervals of her black hair, which fell
loosely on her shoulders, rested warmly upon her cheek. Her whole
attitude was that of revery or dreamy thought.
While thus occupied, a male servant, dressed in rich livery, entered,
and addressed his mistress in these words:
"Madam, _he_ wishes to see you."
"He! Whom do you mean?" said Frank, raising her eyes but without
changing her position.
"That queer stranger, who never gives his name,--who has been here so
often within the last three weeks,--I mean the one who wears the blue
cloak with ever-so-many capes."
Frank started up in her chair.
"Show him in," she said,--"Yet stay a moment, Walker. Are all the
arrangements made for to-night?"
"Everything has been done, precisely as Madam ordered it to be done,"
said the servant obsequiously.
He then retired and presently the visitor entered. The room is wrapped
in twilight and we cannot trace the details of his appearance clearly,
for he seats himself in the shadow, opposite Frank. We can discern,
however, that his tall form, bent with age, is clad in a blue cloak
with numerous capes, and he wears a black fur hat with ample brim. He
takes his seat quietly, and rests his hand upon the head of his cane.
Not a word was spoken for several minutes. Each seemed to be waiting
for the other to commence the conversation. Frank at last broke the
embarrassing stillness.
"Soh! you are here again."
"Yes, madam," replied the stranger in a harsh but not unmusical voice,
"according to appointment."
"It is now three weeks since we first met," said Frank. "You purchased
this house of the person from whom I leased it, some three weeks ago.
But I have a lease upon it which has yet one year to run. You desire, I
believe, to purchase my lease, and enter at once upon possession? Well,
sir, I am resolved not to sell."
Without directly replying to her question, the man in the cloak with
many capes replied--
"We did not meet three weeks ago for the first time," he said. "Our
first meeting was long before that period."
"What mean you?" said Frank raising her eyes and endeavoring, although
vainly, to pierce the gloom which enshrouded the stranger. "O, it is
getting dark. I will ring for lights."
"Before you ring for lights, a word,--" the stranger's voice sank but
Frank heard every word,--"we met for the first time at a _funeral_--"
"At a funeral!"
"At a funeral; and after the funeral I had _the body_ taken up
privately and ordered a _post mortem_ examination to be made. Upon that
body, madam,--" he paused.
"Well, sir?" Frank's voice was tremulous.
"Upon that body I discovered traces of a fatal although subtle poison."
Again he paused. Frank made no reply. Even in the dim light it might
be seen that her head sank slowly on her breast. Did the words of the
stranger produce a strong impression? We cannot see her face, for the
room is vailed in twilight.
"This darkness grows embarrassing," he said, "will you ring for lights?"
She replied with a monosyllable, uttered in a faint voice,--"No!" she
said, then a dead stillness once more ensued, which continued until the
stranger again spoke.
"In regard to the lease, madam. Do you agree to sell, and upon the
terms which I proposed when I was here last?"
Again Frank replied with a monosyllable. "Yes!" she faintly said.
"And the other proposition: to-night you hold some sort of festival
in this place. I desire to know the names of all your guests; to
introduce such guests as I choose within these walls; to have, for
one night only, a certain control over the internal economy of this
place. In case you consent to this proposition, I will pay you for the
lease double the amount which I have already offered, and promise, on
my honor, to do nothing within these walls to-night, which can in the
slightest degree harm or compromise you."
He stated his proposition slowly and deliberately. Frank took full time
to ponder upon every word. Simple as the proposition looked, well she
knew, that it might embrace results of the most important nature.
"Must I consent?" she said, and her voice faltered. "It is hard--"
"'Must' is no word in the case, madam," answered that stern even voice.
"Use your own will and pleasure."
"But the request is so strange," said Frank, "and suppose I grant it?
Who can tell the consequences?"
"It is singular," said the stranger as though thinking aloud, "to
what an extent the art of poisoning was carried in the middle ages!
The art has long been lost,--people poison each other bunglingly
now-a-days,--although it is said, that the secret of a certain poison,
which puts its victims quietly to sleep, leaving not the slighted
tell-tale trace or mark, has survived even to the present day."
Certainly the stranger had a most remarkable manner of thinking aloud.
Frank spoke in a voice scarcely audible: "I consent to your
proposition."
She rose, and although it was rapidly getting quite dark, she unlocked
a secret drawer of her desk, and drew from thence two packages.
"This way, sir," she spoke in a low voice, and the stranger rose and
approached her. "Here you will find the names of all my guests, and
especially of those who will come here to-night. You will find such
other information as may be useful to you and aid your purposes." She
placed the package in his hand. "I will place Walker and the other
servants under your command." She paused, and resumed after an instant,
in a firmer voice: "If I have yielded to your request, it has not been
altogether from fear,--"
"Fear! Who spoke of fear?"
"Don't mock me. I have yielded from fear, but not altogether from fear.
I have nursed a hope that you can aid me to quit this thrice accursed
life which I now lead. For though your polite manner only thinly vails
insinuations the most deadly, yet I believe you have a heart. I feel
that when you know all of my past life, _all_, you will think, I do not
say better of me, but differently, from what you do now. Here, take
this package,--it contains my history written by my own hand, and only
intended to be read after my death--but you may read it now or at your
leisure."
The man in the cloak took the package; his voice trembled when he
spoke--
"Girl, you shall not regret this confidence. I will aid you to quit
this accursed life."
"Leave me for a few moments. I wish to sit alone and think for a little
while. After that we will arrange matters in regard to the festival
to-night."
The stranger in the cloak left the room, bearing with him the two
packages, one of which embraced the mysteries of the house of Frank,
and the other contained the story of her life.
And in the darkness, Frank walked up and down the room, pressing one
clenched hand against her heaving bosom, and the other against her
burning brow.
Soon afterward, Frank and the stranger in the old-fashioned cloak, were
closeted for half an hour in earnest conversation.
We will not record the details of the conversation, but its results
will perchance be seen in the future pages of our history.
Here, at this point of our story, let us break the seals of the
_second_ package which Frank gave to the stranger, and linger for a
little while upon the pages of her history, written by her own hand. A
strange history in every line! It is called The History of THE MIDNIGHT
QUEEN!