IN CENTRAL PARK.
This life is a Drama, its Plot strange and deep--
We laugh at the Farce--at the Tragedy, weep:--
The acts are surprises--no waits intervene
And only the Author stands back of the scene.
For two months Sir Frederic Atherton had hardly eaten or slept, so great
was his grief at Stella's disappearance. No stone had been left unturned
by him in the search for Maurice Sinclair and his beautiful victim.
No shadow of doubt as to Stella's unspotted purity, crossed his noble
soul, and in despair he sat down to a hasty breakfast at the Club, while
he ransacked his brain to find, if possible, some untried scheme for
Maurice's capture.
His eyes roved absently about the richly appointed place, and almost
instantly, associated in his mind with these very surroundings, came
the recollection of a former breakfast, at the same place some months
previous.
He was breakfasting with a friend who had just returned from America,
and in relating the news of their mutual acquaintances, mentioned the
approaching reception of Mrs. Sinclair's adopted daughter.
Almost simultaneous with the mention of her name, a young man rose from
another table and took a seat nearer the ones occupied by his friend and
himself.
The young man was slight, but athlete in build, and his face, although
dark and sunburned, would have been extremely pleasing, but for a
suspiciously unnatural moustache, that drooped heavily over his mouth,
completely hiding that feature and thereby seriously injuring the
amiability of his expression.
The young man was evidently interested in their conversation, but Sir
Frederic at the time gave it little thought, and the matter slipped from
his mind a moment after. The occurrence returning to his memory so
vividly at just this time, impressed him strangely.
Could this young man have been Maurice Sinclair, disguised and under an
assumed name, masquerading about London, in search of information
regarding his mother's household before returning thereto?
Then another idea, relative to the flight of Maurice and Stella,
occurred to him, and suddenly springing to his feet he exclaimed
excitedly, "I'll try it. It can do no harm." A week later he embarked
_incog._ on a transatlantic steamer bound for New York.
Something seemed to tell him that Maurice Sinclair, hunted as he was by
every police officer and detective in London, was sure, sooner or later,
to fly to America for protection. Of course, the usual information had
been cabled to American ports, but detection could be so easily avoided,
that Sir Frederic felt that Maurice would take the risk as a choice
between two evils. Then again he reasoned, that a man familiar, as
Maurice was, with the ports of Hong Kong and Calcutta (and his blood ran
cold at the very thought), would naturally return thereto if
circumstances forced his departure from London. But obeying the whisper
that had so plainly suggested America to his mind, he found himself,
after a rapid passage, safely landed in New York, and shortly after,
comfortably situated in the Brunswick, one of its most spacious hotels.
To a man like Sir Frederic, the encumbrance of an assumed name was a
never ceasing annoyance. His was a nature wholly antagonistic to
deception of any sort, but he knew that in this manner only could he
outwit so clever a rascal as the one he was pursuing.
Fortunately, he found one true and tried friend before he had been in
the city long, and together they worked and waited for clues that should
lead to his loved one's speedy recovery. Weeks went by while he
patiently searched, and four months after the disappearance of Stella,
Sir Frederic, disgusted with his foolish chase across the water, was
sadly preparing to return. On the last Sunday afternoon of his stay he
went with his friend for a farewell drive through the magnificent
boulevards of Central Park.
The day was perfect, and carriages of every description, from the
private liveried turnout to the hired cab and rustic country wagon,
were ambling along, filled with men, women and children, all bent on
securing as much pure air and sunshine as was obtainable during the
short afternoon. Suddenly, at a sharp turn of the carriage-road, the
vehicle containing the two men came side to side with a light phaeton,
whose diminutive pony was ably guided by an extremely stylish young
lady, and there, sitting by her side in evident favor, was the man for
whom Sir Frederic was searching and for whose apprehension all London
was desirous.