AN AWFUL NIGHT.
It was an awful night for Wilton Fern. The presence in the house of Mr.
Gouger and Mr. Boggs aided him but little to bear the weight that
pressed upon his heart. It was better than being entirely alone, but not
a great deal. Together they listened whenever their ears caught an
unusual sound. Twenty times they went together to the street door and
opened it to find nothing animate before them.
Morning came and still no tidings. The earliest trains from the city
were visited by servants, for the master of the house was too exhausted
to make the journey. And at nine o'clock the gentlemen who had passed
the night at Midlands took the railway back to New York, with no
solution of the great problem.
Mr. Gouger had not been in his office an hour before the door opened and
in walked Archie Weil. The critic started from his chair at the
unexpected sight, and remarked that he had not expected to see his
visitor so early.
"I presume you heard the news and came home at once," he added,
meaningly.
Mr. Weil was pale, and wore the look of one whose rest has been
disturbed.
"I don't know what you mean," he replied. "I was called away on business
that I could not evade, and came back as soon as I could. I fear the
Ferns thought it rather rough of me to stay away from the wedding, but I
could not very well help it. You were there, of course. Everything went
off well, I trust."
The speaker had the air of a man who tries to appear at ease when he is
not. His voice trembled slightly and his hands roamed from one portion
of his apparel to another.
"Then you have heard nothing!" repeated Gouger, gravely. "Prepare
yourself for a shock. There was no wedding last night at the Ferns'.
Miss Daisy disappeared yesterday morning, and has not been seen since."
If Mr. Weil had been pale before, his face was like a dead man's now.
With many expressions of incredulity he listened to the explanations
that followed. He declared that the occurrence was past belief, and that
he could see no way to account for it. Clearly something had happened
that the girl could not prevent. She would never have absented herself
of her own accord. She loved the man who was to be her husband, and if
she had wished to postpone her marriage she could have easily arranged
it.
"I can think of nothing but a fit of temporary insanity," he added, with
a sigh. "And Shirley--poor fellow--how does he take it? Completely
broken up, I suppose?"
When he heard the attitude that Mr. Roseleaf had assumed, Mr. Weil
seemed stupefied. Little by little Mr. Gouger revealed to him the
answers that the young man had made to Mr. Fern, finally referring to
the charge that he (Mr. Weil) had eloped with the bride. Archie's face
grew more and more rigid as he listened, but the anger that the relator
had anticipated did not show there.
"He is crazy," was the mild reply. "I will go and see him, at once, and
enlist his assistance in the thorough search that must be undertaken.
Come, Lawrence, leave your work for an hour and go with me."
Remembering his promise to return in the morning with the latest
tidings, Mr. Gouger put on his hat and coat and entered the cab which
his friend summoned. He felt that he was about to witness another
chapter that would make most dramatic reading in that great novel!
"You had best let me go in first," he whispered, when they stood at
Roseleaf's door. "He is in an excitable frame of mind, I fear."
For answer, Archie brushed the speaker aside and preceded him into the
chamber, without the formality of a knock. Roseleaf lay before them in
his easy chair, bearing evidence in his attire that he had not disrobed
during the night. He greeted his visitors with nothing more than a look
of inquiry.
"I only heard of your terrible disaster a few moments ago," said Mr.
Weil. "I learn that Miss Daisy had not been heard from up to nine
o'clock this morning. We must bring all our energies to bear on this
matter, Shirley. Her father is unable to help us much. For all we know
she may be in the most awful danger. Rouse yourself and let us consult
what is best to do."
Incredulousness was written on the quiet face that looked up at him from
the armchair.
"Why don't you tell us what you have done with her?" said the bloodless
lips, slowly.
Mr. Weil trembled with suppressed emotion.
"This is no time for recriminations," he replied, "or I might answer
that in a different way. We must find this girl. Before we go to the
police let us consider all the possibilities, for they will deluge us
with questions. Did any one think," he asked, suddenly, turning to
Gouger, "of sending word to her sister Millicent?"
Mr. Gouger replied that they had done so. A servant had been dispatched
early in the evening to Millicent's residence and had returned with the
answer that she had heard nothing of Miss Daisy and did not wish to. She
had previously sent a sarcastic reply to an invitation to attend the
wedding.
"And she never came to comfort her father in his distress!" exclaimed
Mr. Weil. "What a daughter!"
They could get nothing out of Roseleaf. He answered a dozen times that
it would be much easier for Mr. Weil to send Daisy home or to write to
her father that she was in his keeping, than to attempt the difficult
task of deceiving the police, who would have enough shrewdness to unmask
him.
"Then you will do nothing to help us?" demanded Archie, his patience
becoming exhausted, though he kept his temper very well. "In that case
we must lose no more time. Ah, Shirley! I thought you worthy of that
angelic creature, but now--"
He checked himself before finishing the sentence, and went out into the
hall.
"I think I had best go to Midlands and consult with Mr. Fern," he said
to Gouger in a low tone. "There is a possibility that his daughter has
returned since you came away. What an awful list of horrible thoughts
crowd on one! If you can help me any I will send you word later."
When Mr. Weil was gone, Mr. Gouger opened the door and looked again into
Roseleaf's room. The young man had not changed his position in the
least.
"He has started for Midlands," he said. "What do you think of his
explanation in regard to his absence last night?"
"I think--I know--it is a lie!" was the quick reply.
"You really believe she went away to meet him--and that he has passed
the last twenty-four hours with her."
"Undoubtedly."
The critic waited a minute.
"Do you think they are married?" he asked.
Roseleaf closed his eyes, as a terrible pain shot across them. He
wondered dimly why this fellow should delight in uttering things that
must cause suffering. Gouger deliberated whether to say more, but
thinking that he had left the right idea in the young man's mind for the
purpose he had in view, he softly withdrew from the chamber and left the
house. When Roseleaf looked up again, some minutes later, he was alone.
* * * * *
Mr. Weil's hand was grasped feebly by the owner of Midlands, when he
came into the presence of the gentleman. Though completely exhausted Mr.
Fern had not been able to sleep. He listened wearily while his caller
suggested possibilities to account for his daughter's absence, but could
not agree that any of them were probable. When the idea was broached of
communicating with the police he shrank from that course, but finally
admitted that it must be adopted, if all else failed. In answer to a
hundred questions he could only say that he had no idea of anything that
could make her absence voluntary.
"She loved her chosen husband devotedly," said the old man. "When she
hears what I have to tell her she will hold a different opinion."
"Then," said Archie, ignoring the latter expression, "she must either be
the victim of an accident, a fit of aberration, or--"
He could not bear to finish the sentence, but the father bowed in
acquiescence.
Lunch was served and Mr. Weil sat down to it, trying by his example to
persuade Mr. Fern to take a few mouthfuls. Neither of them had any
appetite, and the attempt was a dismal failure.
"I leave everything to you," said the host, as Mr. Weil prepared to take
his departure. "You are the truest friend I ever had, and whatever you
decide upon I will endorse. But I have an awful sinking at the heart, a
feeling that I shall never see my child alive. Do you believe in
premonitions? I have felt for weeks that some misfortune hung over me."
Before Mr. Weil could reply a servant entered with a telegraphic message
that had just been received. Tearing it open hastily Mr. Fern uttered a
cry and handed it to his companion:
"I am alive and uninjured. Look for me to-morrow.--Daisy."
A gush of tears drowned the exclamations of joy that the father began to
utter.
"Alive!" he exclaimed. "And will be home to-morrow! Ah, Mr. Weil, hope
is not lost, after all. But why, _why_ does she leave me in my
loneliness another night? Is there any way in which you can explain this
mystery?"
Mr. Weil confessed his inability to do so. He tried, however, to show
the father the bright side of the affair, and bade him rest tranquil in
the certainty that only a few hours separated him from the child he
adored. When Daisy came home she would explain everything to his
satisfaction. In the meantime he ought to indulge in thankfulness for
what he had learned rather than in regrets.
"Go to bed and get a good rest," he added. "I will make a journey to the
telegraph office in the city and see if it is possible to trace this
message. If I learn anything I will ring you up on the telephone at
once. And remember, if you do not hear from me, there is a proverb that
no news is good news. Daisy has promised to come home to-morrow. This
is something definite. An hour ago we were plunged in despair. Now we
have a certainty that should buoy us up to the highest hope."
Catching at this view of the case, Mr. Fern consented to seek rest and
Mr. Weil took the next train to the city. Engaging a carriage he bade
the driver take him with all speed to Mr. Roseleaf's residence.
Notwithstanding the harsh manner in which he had been treated by his
late friend, he wanted to be the first to inform him that Daisy had been
heard from. He was smarting, naturally, under the imputation upon his
own honor, and felt that the telegram in his hand would at least remove
that suspicion.
"I couldn't help coming again, Shirley," he said, when he was in the
presence of the novelist. "I know, despite the cruel manner you have
assumed, that you still love Daisy Fern and will be glad to hear that
she is safe from harm. Here is a telegram that her father has just
received, stating that she is well and will be at home to-morrow."
His face glowed with pleasure as he held out the missive, but darkened
again when Roseleaf declined to take it in his hand. The young man had
not moved, apparently, from the chair in which he had been seen three
hours before, and his expression of countenance was unchanged.
"Does she say where she passed the night--_and with whom_?" he inquired.
"No. But she says she is well and will return. Is not that a great deal,
when we have feared some accident, perhaps a fatal one?"
The novelist uttered a sneering laugh.
"My God, Shirley, why do you treat me like this!" exclaimed Mr. Weil,
excitedly. "I have been your friend in everything, as true to you as man
could be! If I had done the dastardly thing of which you accuse me, why
should I come to you at all? I could have taken my bride and gone to the
other end of the earth. We need not have adopted these contemptible
measures. But although I _did_ care for this girl--more than I ever
cared or ever shall care for another--I knew it was _you_ she loved and
I did all I could to aid you in your suit. Have you forgotten how I
brought her here, as you lay in that very chair, and removed the
misunderstandings that had grown up between you? As God hears me, I have
no idea what caused her absence last night! I am going now to the
telegraph office to trace, if possible, the message and find where she
is at present, for I want to relieve her father's mind still more."
Roseleaf seemed partially convinced by this outburst. He left his chair,
and began slowly to arrange his attire before the mirror.
"If you are sincere," he said, "I will accompany you. I will also do my
best to discover the resting-place of this young woman. You must remain
with me till she is found. If we do not see her before to-morrow
morning, we will walk into her presence at Midlands together. Do you
agree to this?"
"With all my heart!" was the joyous reply.
In ten minutes they entered the carriage at the door, and were driven to
the station from which the telegram had been sent.