A Mysterious Stranger.
"Did you do this?" Mr. Knight, the publisher, asked, looking up after a
close examination of the dainty cover.
"Yes, sir," Virgie answered, with a quiet smile, and, seeing that she had
gained her point, that he would not leave it until he had seen the whole,
she sat down near him to await his verdict.
Page after page was turned and on each there was a lovely group of
mountain foliage, flowers, or ferns, all beautifully executed in pen and
ink, while underneath the design, or cunningly woven around it, was
written, in a dainty hand, some appropriate verse or couplet, quotations
from various authors, with now and then a bit of real heart rhyme that had
been the outgrowth of Virgie's own sad experiences.
Everything, as the title indicated, had been taken from the
mountains—from those heights where she had spent the last few years of
her life.
It had been her custom, after gathering the wild, beautiful things, to
carefully arrange them and then copy them upon paper.
This amusement had served to pass away many an otherwise tedious hour, and
she had a portfolio full of these charming designs, which were likely to
prove of great value to her in the future, as we shall see.
Mr. Knight took ample time for his examination of her work, so much,
indeed, that Virgie began to grow weary and anxious to get back to her
little one.
But at last the gentleman leaned back in his chair, took off his
spectacles, and turned his keen, searching glance full upon his visitor's
face.
"Madam," he said, "it is not my custom to speak extravagantly upon any
subject; but I am bound to admit that this is the finest thing of its kind
that it has ever been my privilege to examine."
A beautiful color sprang into Virgie's cheeks at this high praise. She had
known that her work was well done, but she had not expected to be told of
it quite so frankly or emphatically.
She bowed, and murmured her thanks for his appreciation
"What do you want to do with it?" Mr. Knight asked.
"Get it published as a holiday souvenir, and make it pay me a handsome sum
for my trouble," Virgie responded, in a business-like tone, and then was
half-frightened at her own boldness.
The publisher's eyes twinkled with amusement.
"What would you consider a handsome sum?" he inquired.
Virgie thought a moment; then she replied:
"You have offered one, two, and three hundred dollars as prizes for the
simple souvenirs described in your advertisement, and surely a work like
this must be worth much more."
"Very true; but will you name some price for it? I confess that I should
like to take it, if you do not value it <i>too</i> highly."
Virgie was astonished at this.
She had not expected to be allowed to name her own price. She had
supposed, if her work was approved at all, to receive some moderate offer,
which she could accept or decline as she saw fit.
But she shrank from setting a value upon her work. It was her first
effort, and she had no more idea of its worth, as a work of art, than a
child.
"Sir," she returned, "I will tell you frankly that I never did anything of
the kind before; that is, I have never attempted to <i>dispose</i> of any of my
work and I do not know what it ought to bring me. I have been suddenly
thrown upon my own resources, and it occurred to me that I might turn my
one talent to some account."
"Your 'one talent' will prove a very valuable one, if rightly employed,"
interposed the publisher, smiling.
"Thank you," returned Virgie, flushing again. "And now, since my little
book pleases you, will you kindly make me an offer?"
"Well, Miss —— What shall I call you, please? I like to know the names
of people with whom I am dealing," Mr. Knight observed, with a
business-like air.
A sudden shock went over Virgie, making her tingle to her finger-tips at
this question.
It was the first time that she had been asked to give her name since
coming to San Francisco.
She had lived so like a recluse that there had been no occasion, and she
had never decided what she would be called. She could not use her
husband's name.
If she had more time to think she might have answered the publisher
differently; but, as it was, she said, hastily, and not without some
confusion:
"My name is Mrs.—Alexander."
Mr. Knight started slightly, and threw a searching glance at her.
"Alexander! Ah, I used to know—But, pardon me; I was about to make you an
offer, I believe."
He seemed to consider a moment, then continued:
"I will give you five hundred dollars for this little work, just as it
stands, and if it proves to be a success after it is published, I will add
ten per cent, of the sales to that amount."
Virgie could scarcely credit her hearing at this generous offer.
She had never dreamed of anything like it, and bright visions of future
prosperity for herself and her child, attained through her own efforts,
alone, flitted through her mind.
But she did not lose her self-possession or betray her excessive delight
at the unexpected proposal.
"What am I to understand by your words, 'if it proves a success?'" she
asked.
Again the publisher's eyes twinkled.
He knew that she was a novice in dealing with business men, but he saw
that she was shrewd and practical, and, finding her talent valuable, meant
to make the most of it.
He meant, however, to do so well by her that she would be satisfied to
give her services exclusively to him.
"Well," he replied, "if the sales reach a thousand copies I shall consider
the book a success."
He knew well enough, if he could get it out in season, he could easily
sell three times that number for it was a wonderfully unique and
attractive affair.
"More than that," he continued, "if you are pleased to accept my offer, I
should like to engage you to prepare two or three designs of a similar
character for the Easter trade."
Virgie was not proof against all this good fortune. Her lips trembled, and
she was very near breaking down.
It seemed almost as if heaven had suddenly opened and sent her a kind
friend in the midst of her darkness and trouble.
"You are very kind, sir; I feel that you have made me a most liberal
offer, and I accept it most gratefully," she said.
Something in her tone—a sort of hopeless cadence mingling with the
gratitude, as if with all this good fortune there were a lurking despair
in her heart—touched the gentleman deeply.
He was becoming greatly interested in this beautiful woman, who, with that
look of heart-broken sadness in her violet eyes, and that grieved droop
about her sweet mouth, he believed must have some thrilling history
connected with her young life.
"Then, Mrs. Alexander, do your best, and give me something especially nice
for Easter," he returned, brightly, and appearing not to notice her
emotion.
He arose as he spoke, and took leave of her with a cordial handshake,
saying that she would hear from him again soon regarding her other
designs, and Virgie went on her homeward way with more of hope and
courage than she had known since her great trouble came upon her.
She had nearly reached the street where she lived, when something occurred
to give her a fearful start.
In turning a corner she suddenly came face to face with a man who was
wrapped in a heavy circular cape, its collar turned up close about his
face and concealing the whole lower portion of it. He wore a wide-brimmed
hat that was drawn down over his brow, so that, with the collar and hat
together, scarcely anything of his countenance was visible save a pair of
piercing black eyes, and a long, sharp nose.
As Virgie met those eyes, which were fixed upon her with an eager,
questioning look, she had difficulty in repressing a scream of fear and
surprise.
The next moment, however, she recovered herself, and passed him as if he
had been an utter stranger; but, though outwardly calm and indifferent,
she was trembling in every limb, while a sense of weakness caused by the
shock she had received, made it seem as if she could not go on her way.
But she knew it would not do for her to stop, for a sidelong glance over
her shoulder and the sound of a step behind her told her that the muffled
figure was following her, evidently with the intention of accosting her.
"How dare he come back here? It cannot be that he knows me after all these
years," she said to herself as she quickened her pace and sped on toward
her home.
Then a sudden thought smote her.
"He must not know where I live, if it <i>is</i> he, and I am sure I cannot be
mistaken, for those eyes are like no others in the world. What shall I
do?"
She was rapidly nearing her own door, but a sudden purpose impelled her
to keep on and go straight by, without even a pause or a look that way.
A block or two beyond she came to a store where she sometimes went to
purchase articles that she needed She entered, and going to a counter,
called for the first thing she could think of, but kept her eye on the
door to see if the man had followed her.
Yes, there could be no doubt that her steps were dogged, for the man
passed even as she looked.
His keen glance searched her out immediately; then he paused, turned, and
walked slowly back.
The store was on a corner, and there were two entrances to it—one on the
front, one at the side.
Virgie paid for her purchase, then worked her way around, going from
counter to counter, until she reached the side entrance, when she went
slyly out, waited until she saw a car approaching, hailed it, and in
another moment went rolling down the street, believing that she had eluded
the keen eyes that were on the watch for her.
Not so, however; for the man, having heard the car stop, darted around the
corner, and espied her in it just as it was about turning into another
street.
He could not overtake it, and with a muttered expression of annoyance, he
was obliged to wait for the next one. But he saw no more of Virgie that
day, for she took a transfer, and when about a mile from her home changed
cars and at length reached her own door, confident that she had escaped
her pursuer for that time.
A day or two afterward she saw a personal in one of the daily papers that
both puzzled and alarmed her.
F.V.A., whom I met on the corner of W. and C. streets, will communicate
with M.A., Lock Box 95, she will learn something to her advantage.
This was the advertisement, and Virgie knew at once that she had been
recognized by that man muffled in the cloak.
"That means me," she said, growing deadly white, "and I was not mistaken.
<i>He</i> has come back. How dare he? What can he want of me? But I will never
see him. I will have nothing to say to him. I will hide myself from him.
It is evident he has not discovered where I live, else he would have been
here before this, and I will take care that he does not find me out."
After that she was very careful about going out, always closely veiling
her face, and wearing a long circular to conceal her form, when she was
obliged to do so, which was not often, as, with rare exceptions, her
business with Mr. Knight could be mostly transacted by correspondence.
Thus several months passed without her seeing or hearing anything more of
the person who had so disturbed her, until at last she believed he must
have left the city, and she gave herself no further concern about him.