IV.
SEARCHINGS.
"Patience, and shuffle the cards."--CERVANTES.
If I had expected anything from the presence in the carriage of thewoman who had arranged this interview, I was doomed to disappointment.Reticent before, she was absolutely silent now, sitting at my side likea grim statue or a frozen image of watchfulness, ready to awake and stopme if I offered to open the door or make any other move indicative of adetermination to know where I was, or in what direction I was going.That her young mistress in the momentary conversation they had heldbefore our departure had succeeded in giving her some idea of the shamewith which she had felt herself overwhelmed and her present naturaldesire for secrecy, I do not doubt, but I think now, as I thought then,that the unusual precautions taken both at that time and before, to keepme in ignorance of the young lady's identity, were due to the elderlywoman's own consciousness of the peril she had invoked in yielding tothe wishes of her young and thoughtless mistress; a theory which, iftrue, argues more for the mind than the conscience of this mysteriouswoman. However, it is with facts we have to deal, and you will be moreinterested in learning what I did, than what I thought during that shortride in perfect darkness.
The mark which I had left on the curbstone behind me sufficiently showedthe nature of my resolve, and when we made the first turn at the end ofthe block I leaned back in my seat and laying my finger on my wrist,began to count the pulsations of my blood. It was the only device thatsuggested itself, by which I might afterward gather some approximatenotion of the distance we travelled in a straight course down town. Ihad just arrived at the number seven hundred and sixty-two, and wasinwardly congratulating myself upon this new method of reckoningdistance, when the wheels gave a lurch and we passed over a car track.Instantly all my fine calculations fell to the ground. We were not inMadison Avenue, as I supposed; could not be, since no track crosses thatavenue below Fifty-ninth Street, and we were proceeding on as we couldnot have done had we gained the terminus of the avenue at Twenty-thirdStreet. Could it be that the carriage had not been turned around while Iwas in the house, and that we had come back by way of Fifth Avenue? Icould not remember--in fact, the more I tried to think which way thehorses' heads were directed when we went into the house, the more I wasconfused. But presently I considered that wherever we were, we certainlyhad not passed over the narrow strip of smooth pavement in front of theWorth monument, and therefore could not have reached Twenty-third Streetby way of Fifth Avenue. We must be up town, and that track we crossedmust have been at Fifty-ninth Street. And soon, as if to assure me ofthis, we took a turn, quickly followed at a block's length by another,after which I had no difficulty in recognizing the smooth pavement ofthe entrance to the Park or the roll down Fifth Avenue afterwards. "Theyhave thought to confuse me by an extra mile or so of travel," thought I,with some complacency, "but the streets of New York are too simply laidout to lend themselves to any such easy mode of mystification." Yet Ihave thought since then how, with a smarter man on the box, the affairmight have been conducted so as to have baffled the oldest citizen inany attempt at calculation.
When we stopped in front of the Albemarle I quietly thanked the womanwho had conducted me, and stepped to the ground. Instantly the door shutbehind me, the carriage drove off, and I was left standing there like aman suddenly awakened from a dream.
Entering my hotel, I ordered supper, thinking that the very practicaloccupation of eating would serve to divert my mind into its ordinarychannels. But the dream, if dream it was, had made too vivid animpression to be shaken off so easily. It followed me to the hall in theevening and mingled with every chord I struck.
I could scarcely sleep that night for thinking of the sweet child's facethat had blossomed into a woman's before my eyes, and what a woman! Withthe first hint of daylight I rose, and as soon as it was in any degreesuitable to be out, hired a cab and proceeded to the corner ofFifty-ninth Street and Madison Avenue, where, according to mycalculations of the evening before, we had crossed the car track whichhad first interrupted me in that very original method of computingdistance of which I have already spoken, a method by the way, which youmust acknowledge is an improvement on the boy's plan of finding his wayback from the woods by means of the bread-crumbs he had scattered behindhim, forgetting that the birds would eat up his crumbs and leave himwithout a clew. Bidding the driver proceed at the ordinary jog trot downthe avenue, I laid my finger on my wrist, and counted each throb of mypulse till I had reached the magical number seven hundred and sixty-two.Then putting my head out of the window, I bade him stop. We were in themiddle of a block, but that did not disconcert me. I had not expected togain more than an approximate idea of the spot where we had first turnedinto the avenue, it being impossible to regulate the horses' pace so asto tally with that taken by the span of the night before, even if thepulsations in my wrist were to be absolutely relied upon. Noting thestreets between which we had paused, I bade the driver to turn down oneand come back by the other, occupying myself in the meanwhile, insearching the curbstone for the small mark I had left in front of herdoor the night before. But though we drove slowly and I searchedcarefully, not a trace did I perceive of that tell-tale sign, andforsaking those two streets, I ordered my obedient Jehu to try the twooutlying ones below and above. He did so, and I again consulted thecurbstone, but with no better success. No mark or remnants of a mark wasto be found anywhere. Nor, though we travelled through three or fourother streets in the same way, did we come upon any clew liable toassist me in my search. Clean discouraged and somewhat out of temperwith myself for my pusillanimity of the evening before in not havingbraved the anger of my companion by opening the carriage door at thefirst corner and leaping out, I commanded to be taken back to the hotel,where for a whole miserable day I racked my brain with devices foracquiring the knowledge I so much desired. The result was futile, as youmay imagine; nor will I stop to recount the various expedients to whichI afterwards resorted in my vain attempt to solve the mystery of thisyoung girl's identity.
Enough that they all failed, even the very promising one of searchingthe various photographic establishments of the city, for the valuableclew which her picture would give me. And so a week passed.
"It is time this mad infatuation was at an end," said I to myself onemorning as I sat down to write a letter. "There is no hope of my everseeing her again, and I am but frittering away the best emotions of mylife in thus indulging in a dream that is not the prelude to a reality."But in spite of the wise determination thus made, I soon found mythoughts recurring to their old channel, and seized with suddenimpatience at my evident weakness, took up the letter I had been writingand was about to read it, when to my great amazement I perceived thatinstead of inditing the usual words of a business communication, I hadbeen engaged in scribbling a certain number up and down the page andeven across the bottom where my signature should have been.
"Am I a fool?" I exclaimed, and was about to tear the sheet in two, whenglancing again at the number, which was a simple thirty-six, I askedmyself where I had got those especial figures. Instantly there arosebefore my mind's eye the vision of a brown-stone front with itsvestibule and door. It was, then, the number of a house; but what house?a _chateau en Espagne_ or a _bona fide_ New York dwelling, which forsome reason had unconsciously impressed itself upon my memory? I couldnot answer. There on the page was the number thirty-six, and equallyplain in my mind was the look of the brown-stone front to which thatnumber belonged--and that was all.
But it was enough to awaken within me the spirit of inquiry. The fewhouses thus numbered in that quarter of the city where I had latelybeen, were not so hard to find but that a morning given to the businessought to satisfy me whether the vision in my mind had its basis inreality. Taking a cab, I rode up town and into that region of streets Ihad traversed so carefully a week before. For I was assured that if theimpression had been made by an actual dwelling it had been done at thattime. Following the same course I then took, I consulted the appearanceof t
he various houses to which that number was assigned. The first wasbuilt of brick; that was not it. The next one had pillars to thevestibule; and that was not it. The third, to use an Irish bull, was nohouse at all, but a stable, while the fourth was an elegant structure ofmuch more pretension than the plain and simple front I had in my mind ormemory. I was about to utter a curse upon my folly and go home, when Iremembered there was yet a street or two taken in my zig-zag course ofthe week before, which I had not yet tested. "Might as well bethorough," I muttered, and bade my driver proceed down ---- Street.
What was there in its aspect that dimly excited me at the first glance?A dim remembrance, a certain ghostly assurance that we had reached theright spot? As we neared the number I sought, I could not suppress anexclamation of surprise. For there before me to its last detail, stoodthe house which involuntarily presented itself to my mind, when my eyefirst fell upon that mysterious number scribbled at the foot of the pageI was writing.
It was, then, no chimera of an overwrought brain, this vision of ahouse-front which had been haunting me, but a distinct remembrance of anactual dwelling seen by me in my former journey through this street. Butwhy this house-front above all others; what was there in it to make suchan impression? Looking at it I could not determine, but after we hadpassed, something, I cannot tell what, brought back another remembrance,trivial in itself, but yet a link in the chain that was destined sooneror later to lead me out of the maze into which I had stumbled. It wasmerely this; that as I rode along the streets on that memorable morning,searching for that mark on the curbstone from which I hoped so much, Ihad come upon a spot where the pavement had been freshly washed. Withthat unconscious action of the brain with which we are familiar, Ilooked at the sidewalk a moment, running even then with the water thathad been cast upon it, and then gave a quick glance at the house. Thatglance, account for it as you will, took in the picture before it as thecamera catches the impression of a likeness, and though in anotherinstant I had forgotten the whole occurrence, it needed but a certaintrain of thought or perhaps a certain state of emotion to revive itagain.
A noble cause for such an act of unconscious cerebration you will say, afreshly washed pavement: _Le jeu ne faut pas la chandelle._ And so Ithought too, or would have thought if I had not been so interested inthe pursuit in which I was engaged, and if the idea had not suggesteditself that water and a broom might obliterate chalk-marks fromcurbstones, and that the imps that preside over our mental forces wouldnot indulge in such a trick at my expense unless the play _was_ worththe candle. At all events, from the moment I made this discovery, Ifixed my faith on that house as the one which held the object of mysearch, and though I contented myself with merely noting the number ofthe street as we left it, I none the less determined to pursue myinvestigations, till I had learned beyond the possibility of a doubtwhether my conjectures were not true.
A perseverance worthy of a better cause you will say, but you are nolonger twenty-five and under the influence of your first passion. I ownI was astonished at myself and frequently paused in the pursuit I hadundertaken, to ask if I were the same person who but a fortnight beforelaughed at the story of a man who had gone mad over the body of anunknown woman he had saved from a wreck only to find her dead in hisarms.
The first thing I did was to ascertain the name of the gentlemanoccupying the house I have specified. It was that of one of ourwealthiest and most respectable bankers, a name as well known in thecity--as your own for instance. This was somewhat disconcerting, butwith a dogged resolution somewhat foreign to my natural disposition, Ipersevered in my investigations, and learning in the next breath thatthe gentleman alluded to was a widower with an only child, a youngdaughter of about sixteen or so, recovered my assurance, though not myequanimity. Seeking out my friend Farrar, who as you know is a walkinggazette of New York society, I broached the subject of Mr.--excuse meif I do not mention his name; allow me to say, Preston's domesticaffairs, and learned that Miss Preston, "A naive little piece for sogreat an heiress," I remember Farrar called her, had left town within aday or two for a visit to some friends in Baltimore. "I happen to know,"said he with that careless sweep of his hand at which you have so oftenlaughed, "because my friend Miss Forsyth met her at the depot. She wasintending to be gone--two weeks, I think she said. Do you know her?"
That last question sprung upon me unawares, and I am afraid I blushed."No," I returned, "I have not that honor but an acquaintance of minehas--well--has met her and--"
"I see, I see," broke in Farrar with his most disagreeable smile. Thenwith a short laugh, meant to act as a warning, I suppose, added as hewalked off, "I hope your friend is in fair circumstances and notconnected with the fine arts. Music is Mr. Preston's detestation, whileMiss Preston though too young to be much sought after yet, will in twoyears' time have the pick of the city at her command."
"So!" thought I to myself; "my little innocent charmer is an embryoaristocrat, eh? Well then, I was a greater fool than I imagined." And Iwalked out of the hotel where I had met Farrar, with the very sensibleconclusion to drop a subject that promised nothing but disappointment.
But the fates were against me, or the good angels perhaps, and at thenext comer I met an old acquaintance, the very opposite of Farrar incharacter, who with a long love story of his own fired, my imaginationto such an extent that in spite of myself I turned down ---- Street, andwas proceeding to pass her house, when suddenly the thought struck me,"How do I know that this unapproachable daughter of one of our mostprominent citizens is one and the same person with my dainty littlecharmer? Widowers with young daughters are not so rare in this greatcity that I need consider the question as decided, because by a halfsuperstitious freak of my own I have settled upon this house as the oneI was in the other night. My inamorata may be the offspring of amusician for all I know." And inflamed at the thought of thispossibility--I remembered the piano, you see--I gave to the winds all myfine resolutions and only asked how I could determine for once and all,whether I had ever crossed the threshold of the house before me. Somemen would have run up the stoop, rung the bell and asked to see Mr.Preston on some pretended business he could easily conjure up to suitthe occasion, but my face is too well known for me to risk any suchattempt, besides I was too anxious to win the confidence of the younggirl to shock her awakened sense of propriety by seeming to seek herwhere she did not wish to be found. And yet I must enter that house andsee for myself if it was the one that held her on that memorableevening.
Pondering the question, I looked back at the door so obstinately closedagainst my curiosity, when to my satisfaction and delight it suddenlyopened and a man stepped out, whom I instantly recognized as a businessagent for one of the largest piano-forte manufactories in the city. "Theheavens smile upon my enterprise," thought I, and waited for the man tocome up with me. He was not only a friend of mine but largely indebtedto me in various ways, so that I knew I had only to urge a request forit to be immediately granted, and that, too, without any questions orgossip.
You will not be interested in anything but the result, which wassomewhat out of the usual course, and may therefore shock you. But youmust remember that I am telling you of matters which young men usuallykeep to themselves, and that whatever I did, was accomplished in aspirit of respect only a shade less constraining in its power than thelove that was at once my impelling force, and my constant embarrassment.
To come, then, to the point, a piano was to be set up in that house onthat very day, Mr. Preston having yielded to the solicitations of hisdaughter for a new instrument. My friend was to be engaged in thetransfer, and at my solicitation for leave to assist in the operation,gave his consent in perfect confidence as to my possessing good andsufficient reasons for such a remarkable request, and appointed the hourat which I was to meet him at the ware-rooms.
Behold me, then, at half-past two that afternoon, assisting with my ownhands in carrying a piano up the stoop of that house which, four hoursbefore, I had regarded as unapproachable. Dressed in a workman
's blouseand with my hair well roughened under a rude cap that effectuallydisguised me, I advanced with but little fear of detection. And yet nosooner had I entered the house and seen at a glance that the aspect ofthe hall coincided with my rather vague remembrance of that throughwhich I had been ushered a week before, than I was struck by a suddensense of my situation, and experiencing that uncomfortable consciousnessof self-betrayal, which a blush always gives a man, stumbled forwardunder my heavy burden, feeling as if a thousand eyes were fixed upon meand my cherished secret, instead of the two sharp but totallyunsuspicious orbs of the elderly matron that surveyed us from the top ofthe banisters. "Be careful there, you'll knock a hole through that glassdoor!" though a natural cry under the circumstances, struck on my earswith the force and mysterious power of a secret warning, and when aftera moment of blind advance I suddenly lifted my eyes and found myself inthe little room, which like a silhouette on a white ground, stood out inmy memory in distinct detail as the spot where I had first heard my ownheart beat, I own that I felt my hands slipping from my burden, and inanother moment had disgraced my character of a workman if I had notcaught the sudden ring of a well known voice in the hall, as nurseanswered from above some question propounded by the elderly lady withthe piercing eyes. As it was, I recovered myself and went through myduties as promptly and deftly as if my heart did not throb with memoriesthat each passing hour and event only served to hallow to myimagination.
At length the piano was duly set up and we turned to leave. Will youthink I am too trivial in my details if I tell you that I lingeredbehind the rest and for an instant let my hand with all itspossibilities for calling out a soul from that dead instrument, lie amoment on the keys over which her dainty fingers were so soon totraverse?
The Sword of Damocles: A Story of New York Life Page 5
