III.
A MYSTERIOUS SUMMONS.
"Without unspotted, innocent within, She feared no danger, for she knew no sin."--DRYDEN.
It was after a matinee performance at ---- Hall some two weeks ago thatI stopped to light a cigar in the small corridor leading to the backentrance. I was in a dissatisfied frame of mind. Something in the musicI had been playing or the manner in which it had been received hadtouched unwonted chords in my own nature. I felt alone. I rememberasking myself as I stood there, what it all amounted to? Who of all theapplauding crowd would watch at my bedside through a long and harassingsickness, or lend their sympathy as they now yielded their praise, ifinstead of carrying off the honors of the day I had failed to do justiceto my reputation. I was just smiling over the only exception I couldmake to this sweeping assertion, that of the pale-eyed youth you havesometimes observed dogging my steps, when Briggs came up to me.
"There is a woman here, sir, who insists on seeing you; she has beenwaiting through half the last piece. Shall I tell her you are comingout?"
"A woman!" exclaimed I, somewhat surprised, for my visitors are not aptto be of the gentler sex.
"Yes sir, an old one. She seems very anxious to speak to you. I couldnot get rid of her no how."
I hurried forward to the muffled figure which he pointed out coweringagainst the wall by the door. "Well, my good woman, what do you want?" Iasked, bending towards her in the hopes of catching a glimpse of theface she held partly concealed from me.
"Are you Mr. Mandeville?" she inquired in a tone shaken as much byagitation as age.
I bowed.
"The one who plays upon the piano?"
"The very same," I declared.
"You are not deceiving me," she went on, looking up with a markedanxiety plainly visible through her veil. "I haven't seen you play andcouldn't contradict you, but--"
"Here!" said I calling to Briggs with a kindly look at the old woman,"help me on with my coat, will you?"
The "Certainly, Mr. Mandeville," with which he complied seemed toreassure her, and as soon as the coat was on and he was gone, shegrasped me by the arm and drew my ear down to her mouth.
"If you are Mr. Mandeville, I have a message for you. This letter,"slipping one into my hand, "is from a young lady, sir. She bade me giveit to you myself. She is young and pretty," she pursued as she saw memake a movement of distaste, "and a lady. We depend upon your honor,sir."
I acknowledge that my first impulse was to fling her back the note andleave the building; I was in no mood for trifling, my next to burst intoa laugh and politely hand her to the door, my last and best, to open thepoor little note and see for myself whether the writer was a lady ornot. Proceeding to the door, for it was already twilight in the dimpassage way, I tore open the envelope which was dainty enough and tookout a sheet of closely written paper. A certain qualm of conscienceassailed me as I saw the delicate chirography it disclosed and I wastempted to thrust it back and return it unread to the old woman nowtrembling in the corner. But curiosity overcame my scruples, and hastilyunfolding the sheet I read these lines:
"I do not know if what I do is right; I am sure aunty would not say it was; but aunty never thinks anything is right but going to church and reading the papers to papa. I am just a little girl who has heard you play, and who would think the world was too beautiful, if she could hear you say to her just once, some of the kind things you must speak every day to the persons who know you. I do not expect very much--you must have a great many friends, and you would not care for me--but the least little look, if it were all my own, would make me so happy and so proud I should not envy anybody in the world, unless it was some of those dear friends who see you always.
"I do not come and hear you play often, for aunty thinks music frivolous, but I am always hearing you no matter where I am, and it makes me feel as if I were far away from everybody, in a beautiful land all sunshine and flowers. But nurse says I must not write so much or you will not read it, so I will stop here. But if you _would_ come it would make some one happier than even your beautiful music could do."
That was all; there was neither name nor date. A child's epistle,written with a woman's circumspection. With mingled sensations of doubtand curiosity I turned back to the old woman who stood awaiting me witheager anxiety.
"Was this written by a child or woman?" I asked, meeting her eye with asmuch sternness as I could assume.
"Don't ask me--don't ask me anything. I have promised to bring you if Icould, but I cannot answer any questions."
I stepped back with an incredulous laugh. Here was evidently anadventure. "You will at least tell me where the young miss lives," saidI, "before I undertake to fulfil her request."
She shook her head. "I have a carriage at the door, sir," said she. "Allyou have got to do is to get into it with me and we shall soon be at thehouse."
I looked from her face to the letter in my hand, and knew not what tothink. The spirit of simplicity and ingenuousness that marked the latterwas scarcely in keeping with this air of mystery. The woman observing myhesitation moved towards the door.
"Will you come, sir?" she inquired. "You will not regret it. Just amoment's talk with a pretty young girl--surely--"
"Hush," said I, hearing a hasty step behind me. And sure enough justthen my intimate friend Selby came along and grasping me by the armbegan dragging me towards the door. "You are my property," said he."I've promised, on my word of honor as a gentleman and a musician, tobring you to the Handel Club this afternoon. I was afraid you hadescaped me, but--" Here he caught sight of the small black figurehalting in the door-way, and paused.
"Who's this?" said he.
I hesitated. For one instant the scale of my whole future destiny hungtrembling in the balance, then the demon of curiosity got the better ofmy judgment, and with the rather unworthy consideration that I might aswell enjoy my youth while I could, I released myself from my friend'sdetaining hand and replied, "Some one with whom I have very particularbusiness. I cannot go to the Handel Club to-day," and darting outwithout further delay, I rejoined the old woman on the sidewalk.
Without a word she drew me towards a carriage I now observed standing bythe curbstone a few feet to the left. As I got in I remember pausing amoment to glance at the man on the box, but it was too dark for me toperceive anything but the fact that he was dressed in livery. More andmore astonished I leaned back in my seat and endeavored to openconversation with my mysterious companion. But it did not work. Withoutbeing actually rude, she parried my questions in such a way that by theend of five minutes I found myself as far from any knowledge of the realsituation of the case as when I started. I therefore desisted from anyfurther attempts and turned to look out, when I made a discovery thatfor the first time awoke some vague feelings of alarm within my breast.This was, that the window was not covered by a curtain as I supposed,but by closed blinds which when I tried to raise them resisted all myefforts to do so.
"It is very close here," I muttered, in some sort of excuse for thisdisplay of uneasiness. "Cannot you give us a little air?" But mycompanion remained silent, and I felt ashamed to press the matter thoughI took advantage of the darkness to remove to a safer place a roll ofmoney which I had about me.
Yet I was far from being really anxious, and did not once meditatebacking out of an adventure that was at once so piquant and romantic.For by this time I became conscious from the sounds about me that we hadleft the side street for one of the avenues and were then proceedingrapidly up town. Listening, I heard the roll of omnibuses and the jingleof car-bells, which informed me that we were in Broadway, no otheravenue in the city being traversed by both these methods of conveyance.But after awhile the jingle ceased and presently the livelier sounds ofconstant commotion inseparable from a business thoroughfare, and weentered what I took to be Madison Avenue at Twenty-third Street.
Instantly I made up mind to notice every turn of the car
riage, that Imight fix to some degree the locality towards which we were tending. Butit turned but once and that after a distance of steady travelling thatquite overthrew any calculation I was able to make at that time of theprobable number of streets we had passed since entering the avenue.Having turned, it went but about half a block to the left when itstopped. "I shall see where I am when I get out," thought I; but in thisI was mistaken.
First we had stopped in the middle of a block of houses built, as far asI could judge, all after one model. Next the fact of the front doorbeing open, though I saw no one in the hall, somewhat disconcerted me,and I hurried across the sidewalk and up the stoop in a species of mazehardly to be expected from one of my naturally careless disposition. Thenext moment the door closed behind me and I found myself in awell-lighted hall whose quiet richness betokened it as belonging to aprivate dwelling of no mean pretensions to elegance.
This was the first surprise I received.
"Follow me," said the old woman, hurrying me down the hall and into asmall room at the end. "The young lady will be here in a moment," andwithout lifting her veil or affording me the least glimpse of herfeatures, she retired, leaving me to face the situation before me asbest I might.
It was anything but a pleasant one as it appeared to me at that moment,and for an instant I seriously thought of retracing my steps and leavinga domicile into which I had been introduced in such a mysterious manner.Then the quiet aspect of the room, which though sparsely furnished witha piano and chairs was still of an order rarely seen out of gentlemen'shouses, struck my imagination and reawakened my curiosity, and nervingmyself to meet whatever interview might be accorded me, I waited. It wasonly five minutes by the small clock ticking on the mantel-piece, but itseemed an hour before I heard a timid step at the door, and saw it swingslowly open, disclosing--well, I did not stop to inquire whether it wasa child or a woman. I merely saw the shrinking modest form, the eagerblushing face, and bowed almost to the ground in a sudden reverence forthe sublime innocence revealed to me. Yes, it did not take a second lookto read that tender countenance to its last guileless page. Had she beena woman of twenty-five I could not have mistaken her expression of puredelight and timid interest, but she was only sixteen, as I afterwardslearned, and younger in experience than in age.
Closing the door behind her, she stood for a moment without speaking,then with a deepening of the blush which was only a child'sembarrassment in the presence of a stranger, looked up and murmured myname with a word or so of grateful acknowledgment that would have calledforth a smile on my lips if I had not been startled by the sudden changethat passed over her features when she met my eyes. Was it that I showedmy surprise too plainly, or did my admiration manifest itself in mygaze? an admiration great as it was humble, and which was already of anature such as I had never before given to girl or woman. Whatever itwas, she no sooner met my look than she paused, trembled, and startedback with a confused murmur, through which I plainly heard her whisperin a low distressed tone, "Oh, what have I done!"
"Called a good friend to your side," said I in the frank, brotherly wayI thought most likely to reassure her. "Do not be alarmed, I am only toohappy to meet one who evidently enjoys music so well."
But the hidden chord of womanhood had been struck in the child's soul,and she could not recover herself. For an instant I thought she wouldturn and flee, and struck as I was with remorse at my reckless invasionof this uncontaminated temple, I could not but admire the spiritedpicture she presented as, with form half turned and face bent back, shestood hesitating on the point of flight.
I did not try to stop her. "She shall follow her own impulse," said I tomyself, but I felt a vague relief that was deeper than I imagined, whenshe suddenly relinquished her strained attitude, and advancing a step orso began to murmur:
"I did not know--I did not realize I was doing what was so very wrong.Young ladies do not ask gentlemen to come and see them, no matter howmuch they desire to make their acquaintance. I see it now; I did notbefore. Will you--can you forgive me?"
I smiled; I could not help it. I could have taken her to my heart andsoothed her as I would a child, but the pallor of womanhood, which hadreplaced the blush of the child, awed me and made my own words comehesitatingly.
"Forgive you? You must forgive me! It was as wrong for me," I went onwith a wild idea of not mincing matters with this pure soul, "to obeyyour innocent request, as it was for you to make it. I am a man of theworld and know its _convenances_; you are very young."
"I am sixteen," she murmured.
The abrupt little confession, implying as it did her determination notto accept any palliation of her conduct which it did not deserve,touched me strangely. "But very young for that," I exclaimed.
"So aunty says, but no one can ever say it any more," she answered. Thenwith a sudden gush, "We shall never see each other again, and you mustforget the motherless girl who has met you in a way for which she mustblush through life. It is no excuse," she pursued hurriedly, "that nursethought it was all right. She always approves of everything I do or wantto do, especially if it is anything aunt would be likely to forbid. Ihave been spoiled by nurse."
"Was nurse the woman who came for me?" I asked.
She nodded her head with a quick little motion inexpressibly charming."Yes, that was nurse. She said she would do it all, I need only writethe note. She meant to give me a pleasure, but she did wrong."
"Yes," thought I, "how wrong you little know or realize." But I onlysaid, "You must be guided by some one with more knowledge of the worldafter this. Not," I made haste to add, struck by the misery in her childeyes, "that any harm has been done. You could not have appealed to thefriendship of any one who would hold you in greater respect than I.Whether we meet again or not, my memory of you shall be sweet andsacred, I promise you that."
But she threw out her hand with a quick gesture. "No, do not rememberme. My only happiness will lie in the thought you have forgotten." Andthe last remnants of the child soul vanished in that hurried utterance."You must go now," she continued more calmly. "The carriage that broughtyou is at the door; I must ask you to take it back to your home."
"But," I exclaimed with a wild and unbearable sense of sudden loss asshe laid her hand on the knob of the door, "are we to part like this?Will you not at least trust me with your name before I go?"
Her hand dropped from the knob as if it had been hot steel, and sheturned towards me with a slow yearning motion that whatever it betokenedset my heart beating violently. "You do not know it, then?" sheinquired.
"I know nothing but what this little note contains," I replied, drawingher letter from my pocket.
"Oh, that letter! I must have it," she murmured; then, as I steppedtowards her, drew back and pointing to the table said, "Lay it there,please."
I did so, whereupon something like a smile crossed her lips and Ithought she was going to reward me with her name, but she only said, "Ithank you; now you know nothing;" and almost before I realized it shehad opened the door and stepped into the hall.
As I made haste to follow her, the sound of a low, "He is a gentleman,he will ask no questions," struck my ear, and looking up, I saw her justleaving the side of the old nurse who stood evidently awaiting me halfdown the hall. Bowing with formal ceremony, I passed her by andproceeded to the front door. As I did so I caught one glimpse of herface. It had escaped from all restraint and the expression of the eyeswas overpowering. I subdued a wild impulse to leap back to her side, andstepped at once over the threshold. The nurse joined me, and together wewent down the stoop to the street.
"May I inquire where you wish to be taken?" she asked.
I told her, and she gave the order to the coachman, together with a fewwords I did not hear; then stepping back she waited for me to get in.There was no help for it. I gave one quick look behind me, saw the frontdoor close, realized how impossible it would ever be for me to recognizethe house again, and placed my foot on the carriage step. Suddenly abright idea struck me, and hasti
ly dropping my cane I stepped back topick it up. As I did so I pulled out a bit of crayon I chanced to havein my pocket, and as I stooped, chalked a small cross on the curbstonedirectly in front of the house, after which I recovered my cane, utteredsome murmured word of apology, jumped into the carriage and was about toshut the door, when the old nurse stepped in after me and quietly closedit herself. By the pang that shot through my breast as the carriagewheels left the house, I knew that for the first time in my life, I_loved_.