HURLED OVER THE FALLS.
Frederick had intended to leave San Francisco on the following day
for the Atlantic coast. He was seized, however, that same night with
a severe attack of fever, which kept him confined to his bed for over
a fortnight. As soon, however, as he had sufficiently recovered to
be able to travel, he betook himself to the offices of the railway
company and purchased a ticket for New York, engaging for himself the
private saloon on board the sleeping-car. On the next night he took
the ferry-boat over to Oakland, and embarked on the transcontinental
express. Among his fellow-passengers were a couple of young English
noblemen, who had been visiting the Yosemite Valley, and who were now
on their way to Ottawa. Frederick soon became acquainted with them,
and created the most favorable impression. The name under which he
introduced himself to them was the Comte de Vaugedale, and he gave them
to understand that he was traveling around the world for his health.
As both his manners and appearance bespoke every trace of aristocratic
birth and breeding, and as he seemed to have plenty of money, the young
Englishmen saw no cause to treat him with the distrust and suspicion
which foreigners ordinarily experience at the hands of the subjects of
her britannic majesty.
The time was spent in playing whist and _ecarte_, games at which
Frederick, who was an exceedingly wealthy man, could afford to
lose in such a cool manner as to attract the admiration of his
fellow-travelers. So agreeable did they find their new acquaintance,
that they prevailed upon him to accompany them to Canada, instead of
going straight to New York, as had been originally his intention.
In due time they arrived at Ottawa, having spent a few days en route at
Salt Lake City, Omaha, and Chicago.
During the two weeks which they spent in the Canadian capital, they
were most hospitably entertained by various persons of high birth and
breeding in that city. They were also included among the guests at the
ball given by the governor-general at Rideau Hall, where the man who,
as “Prado,” was some years later to suffer an ignominious death at the
hands of M. Deibler (the Paris executioner) had the honor of dancing
with the illustrious personage who at that time graced the vice-regal
mansion with her presence.
At the conclusion of their visit to Ottawa, the three young men started
for Niagara Falls, which they were anxious to see, and on arriving
there, took up their residence at one of the principal hotels on the
Canadian side of the cataract.
The day after their arrival was spent in visiting the Cave of the
Winds, and other sights of the place. That same evening, after
dinner, Frederick, leaving his two friends playing billiards at the
hotel, lighted a cigar, and strolled down toward the Falls. As he was
walking along the edge of the precipitous bank of the mighty torrent,
he suddenly heard footsteps advancing toward him from the opposite
direction. Raising his eyes to see who the stranger might be, he
recognized, to his horror, in the bright moonlight, the last person on
earth whom he wished to meet—the husband of Nina, Mr. Van der Beck.
Frederick hoped that Nina's husband would fail to recognize him, and
pulling his hat down over his eyes quickened his pace for the purpose
of preventing the latter from obtaining a glimpse of his features. His
onward course, however, was brought to a sudden stop by Mr. Van der
Beck, who, courteously raising his hat, requested him to give him a
light for his cigar. As the two men stood face to face, the moon, which
for a moment past had been obscured by a fleeting cloud, suddenly shone
forth again, casting its bright rays full on Frederick's face.
With a hoarse cry, the old man started back when he recognized the
man who had so grievously wronged him. His face assumed a terrible
expression; his eyes glittered fiercely, and, trembling with suppressed
fury from head to foot, he seemed for a moment unable to speak.
The situation was truly an awful one for both.
In striking contrast with the violent passions which surged in the
breasts of both the husband and lover of the ill-fated Nina Van der
Beck was the deep calm and loveliness of the scene around them. Not
a breath of wind stirred the lofty branches of the trees. The moon
was sailing majestically across the dark heavens, shedding a light so
bright and pure that every blade of grass, every pebble in the path
was distinguishable in the silvery sheen. Many feet beneath them, they
could hear the mighty rush of waters as they sped on their tumultuous
course between their rocky banks, and from a short distance off came
the dull and unceasing roar of the great Niagara Falls.
At length Mr. Van der Beck broke the silence and exclaimed in a dry,
hollow voice:
“I have caught you at last, Frederick Gavard. My hour has come! God
help you, for I have much to avenge.”
Frederick, who had by this time regained all his habitual composure,
contemptuously shrugged his shoulders and replied with a sneer:
“This is rather melodramatic, Mr. Van der Beck. May I inquire how
you propose to take your revenge? I can make some allowance for your
feelings. I quite realize that the role of a betrayed husband has its
drawbacks, but——”
“Silence! How dare you add insult to the bitter injury you have
done to me. Have you no atom of feeling left? When you think
of the unhappy woman you have ruined—of the friend you have
betrayed—dishonored—robbed—yes, robbed, not only of his wife, but
of his fortune! Do you suppose that I shall allow you to escape
unpunished?—you who have shattered my life and killed the woman I loved
so passionately.”
With these words Mr. Van der Beck took a step toward Frederick and
raised his hand in a threatening manner.
“Stay, you old fool! You do not know what you are talking about. You
had best not tempt me too far. I am not in a mood to be trifled with,”
retorted the young man, defiantly.
“Neither am I!” exclaimed the infuriated Mr. Van der Beck. “You have in
your possession still a part of my fortune. I will have you arrested as
a robber and a thief if I do not kill you before then, as the destroyer
of my happiness. But whatever happens you shall not escape me.”
Frederick uttered a short mocking laugh.
“I have followed you half across the world,” continued Mr. Van der
Beck, “and I swear by Heaven that I will put a stop to your shameless
career and hinder you from doing any further harm.”
The old man looked so awful in his anger that Frederick involuntarily
recoiled. They were now standing on the edge of the path and within a
few feet of the brink of the yawning abyss beneath him. Mr. Van der
Beck violently grasped the young man by the shoulder, exclaiming:
“Come with me. It is of no use to resist. I am armed; and, though I am
but a feeble old man compared to you, you will have to follow me.”
Saying this, he pulled a revolver from his breast-pocket and leveled it
at Frederick's breast.
A fiendish expression swept over the young man's features. With one
swift blow of his arm he dashed the weapon from Mr. Van der Beck's
hand, and, seizing him in his iron grasp, he pushed him toward the
precipice. There was a short struggle, during which the moon was once
again obscured by a fleecy cloud. Twice a cry for help rang through
the still night air; twice the two men, struggling frantically, almost
rolled together over the brink. But at last, putting forth all his
strength, Frederick actually lifted his adversary by the waist from the
ground and with one mighty effort hurled him into the surging waters
below. There was a crash of falling stones, an agonized cry, which was
heard even above the roar of the cataract, and a splash.
[Illustration: FREDERICK HURLS MR. VAN DER BECK OVER THE FALLS.]
Then all was silent again.
In the woods an owl hooted twice dismally, and a dog in the distance
uttered that peculiar howl which is only heard when the Angel of Death
passes through the air.
When the moon shone forth again Frederick might have been seen picking
up the revolver which had belonged to Mr. Van der Beck from the ground.
After hesitating for a minute he flung it into the river. Then, having
arranged as best he could the disorder of his dress occasioned by the
struggle, he turned on his heels and walked back slowly to the hotel,
muttering to himself as he went:
“It was his own fault. What need had he to cross my path? However, it
is best so. Dead men tell no tales.”
When Frederick re-entered the billiard-room at the hotel his friends
noticed that he was very pale. He called for a glass of brandy, and
when it was brought drained it at one gulp.
“My dear boy,” exclaimed one of the young Englishmen, “what the duse is
the matter with you? Have you seen a ghost? How ill you look!”
“Oh, there is nothing much the matter with me,” replied Frederick. “I
suppose I have caught a chill; it is fearfully damp about here.”
“You should have remained with us. We have had a stunning game.”
“Well, I am glad, all the same, that I went. The view of the falls by
moonlight is well worth seeing. Yes,” added Frederick, abstractedly,
“on the whole, I am glad I went.”