THE COLLISION--THE PILOT AT THE WHEEL.
Gerelda had been looking intently out of the window. Suddenly she sprang
back with a wild cry that fairly froze the blood in Varrick's veins.
"What has frightened you, Gerelda?" he asked, gravely; and the look she
turned on him he never forgot, there was something so terrible in the
gaze of those dark eyes. She did not attempt to repel him from drawing
near her, or from clasping her hands; but ever and anon she would laugh
that horrible laugh that froze the blood in his veins.
"Let us talk the matter over calmly, Gerelda," he said at length, "and
arrive at an understanding."
"There is no need," she returned. "As long as I understand, that is
quite sufficient."
There was something in the tone of her voice that frightened him. He
looked into her face. A grayish pallor overspread it. To Varrick's
infinite surprise, Gerelda commenced to laugh immoderately; and these
spells of laughter so increased as the moments flew by, that he became
greatly alarmed.
He wondered what he could do or say to comfort her. She grew so
alarmingly hysterical as he watched her, that it occurred to him he must
find medical aid for her. Fortune favored him; he found a doctor seated
in the compartment next to him. The gentleman was only too glad to be
able to render him every assistance in his power.
One glance at the beautiful bride, and an expression of the gravest
apprehension swept over the doctor's face.
"My dear sir," he said, turning to Varrick, "I have something to tell
you which you must summon all your fortitude to hear. Your young wife
has lost her reason; she is dangerously insane."
Varrick started back as though the man had struck him a sudden blow.
"You are bound for Montreal, I believe," continued the doctor. "You will
see the need of conveying her to an asylum, with the least possible
delay, as soon as you arrive there. If there is anything which I can do
to assist you during this journey, do not hesitate to call upon me.
Consider me entirely at your service."
That was a day in Hubert Varrick's life that he never looked back to
without shuddering. How he passed the long hours he never knew. Gerelda
grew steadily more violent, and twice Varrick's life would have paid the
forfeit had it not been for his watchfulness.
With great difficulty he succeeded, with the doctor's assistance, in
making the change from the train to the boat.
That was how his wedding journey began.
As night came on, the doctor touched him again on the arm.
"You have not left your young bride's side for an instant during all
these long hours," he said. "You are wearing yourself out. Let me beg of
you to go out on deck and take a few turns up and down; the cool air
will revive you. Nay, you must not refuse; I insist upon it, or I shall
have you for a patient before your journey is ended."
To this proposition, after some little coaxing, Varrick consented.
The doctor was quite right; the cool air did revive him amazingly. He
felt feverish, and paced up and down the deck, a prey to the bitterest
thoughts that ever tortured a man's soul.
One by one the stars came out in the great blue arch overhead, and
mirrored themselves in the bluer waters.
Varrick watched them in silence, his heart in a whirl. All at once it
occurred to him that he knew the pilot of the boat--that, as he was from
Montreal, it wouldn't be a bad idea to interview him as to the location
of some private asylum to which he might take Gerelda.
He acted upon this thought at once, and making his way to the upper
deck, he recognized the man at the wheel, in the dim light, although his
back was turned to him.
"How are you, John?" he exclaimed, tapping him on the shoulder. "Don't
let me frighten you; it is your old friend Varrick."
Much to his surprise, the pilot neither stirred nor spoke. Varrick
stepped around, and faced him with some little laughing remark on his
lips. But the words died away in his throat in a gasp. The dim light was
falling full upon the pilot's features. What was there in that ashy face
and those staring eyes that sent the cold blood back to his heart?
"John!" he cried, bending nearer the man and catching hold of his arm
roughly as it rested upon the wheel. But his own dropped heavily to his
side.
The terrible truth burst upon him with startling force--the pilot was
dead at the wheel!
But even in the same instant that he made his horrible discovery, a
still greater one dawned upon him. Another steamer came puffing and
panting down the river, signaling the "St. Lawrence."
Each turn of the ponderous wheels swept her nearer and nearer, and the
"St. Lawrence" was drifting directly across her bow. It was a moment so
feighted with horror it almost turned Varrick's brain. Five hundred
souls, or more, all unconscious of their deadly peril, were laughing and
chattering down below, and the pilot was dead at the wheel!
Ere he could give the alarm, a terrible catastrophe would occur. He
realized this, and made the supreme effort of his life to avert it. But
fate was against him. In his mad haste to leap down the stair-way to
give warning, his foot slipped, and he fell headlong to the floor of the
lower deck, his temple, coming in contact with the railing, rendering
him unconscious. Heaven was merciful to him that he did not realize what
took place at that instant.
There was a sudden shock, a terrible crash, and half a thousand souls,
with terrified shrieks on their lips, found themselves struggling in the
dark waters!
It was a reign of terror that those who participated in it, never
forgot.
When Hubert Varrick returned to consciousness he found himself lying
full length upon the greensward, and his face upturned to the moonlight,
with the dead and dying around him, and the groans of the wounded
ringing in his ears.
For an instant he was bewildered; then, with a rush, Memory mounted its
throne in his whirling brain, and he recollected what had happened--the
pilot dead at the wheel, another steamer sweeping down upon them; how he
had rushed below to inform the passengers of their peril; how his foot
had slipped, and he knew no more.
He realized that there must have been a horrible disaster.
How came he there? Who had saved him? Then, like a flash, he thought of
Gerelda. Where was she? What had become of her? He struggled to his
feet, weak and dazed.
He made the most diligent search for her, but she was nowhere to be
found. Some one at length came hurriedly up to him. In the clear bright
moonlight Varrick saw that it was the doctor in whose care he had left
his young bride when he had gone on deck for fresh air.
"You are looking for _her_, sir?" he asked, huskily.
"Yes," cried Varrick, tremulously.
"Are you brave enough to hear the truth?" said the other, slowly.
"Yes," answered Varrick.
"Your wife was lost in the disaster. I was by her side when the steamer
was struck. We had both concluded to go on deck to join you. With the
first terrible lurch we were both thrown headlong into the water. I did
my utmost to save her, but it was not to be. A floating spar struck her,
and she went down before my eyes."
For an instant Varrick neither moved nor spoke.
"She is dead?" he interrogated.
"Yes," returned the doctor.
Varrick sank down upon a fallen log, and buried his face in his hands.
For a moment he could scarcely realize Gerelda's untimely fate. He had
not loved her, it was true; still, he would have given his life to have
had her reason restored to her.
For an hour or more Hubert Varrick forgot his own sorrow in alleviating
the terrible distress of others.
When there was no more assistance that he could render he thought it
would be best for him to get away from the place as quickly as possible.
Scarcely heeding whither he went, he took the first path that presented
itself. How far he walked he had not the least idea. In the distance he
saw lights gleaming, and he knew that he was approaching some little
village. He said to himself that it would be best to stop there for a
few hours--until daylight, at least, and to recover Gerelda's body if
possible.
He followed the path until it brought him to the edge of a little brook.
The white, shining stones that rose above the eddying little wavelets
seemed to invite him to cross to the other side. Midway over the brook
he paused.
Was it only his fancy, or did he hear the sound of music and revelry?
He stood quite still and looked around him; the scene seemed familiar.
For an instant Hubert Varrick was startled; but as he gazed he
recognized the place. He must be at Fisher's Landing. Up there through
the trees, lay the home of Captain Carr, the uncle of little Jessie
Bain.
As he stood gazing at it, the clock in some adjacent steeple slowly
struck the midnight hour. He wondered if Jessie was there. How he felt
like telling some one his troubles!