UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES 
 
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 VHSrZZi2 
 
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 LIBRJS 
 
 ROBERT ERNEST COWAN
 
 WESTERN AUTHORS SERIES N?-2. 
 
 50 CENTS . 
 
 icwii
 
 L1HRIS 
 
 SAN C.A.RL.OS 1700 
 
 ROBERT ERNEST COWAN
 
 In f fie Confessional 
 
 GUSTAV ADOLF DANZIGER, 
 
 Joint Author of "The Monk and the Hangman s Daughter." 
 
 (COPYRIGHT, 1893, BY G. A. DANZIGER.) 
 
 All Rights Reserved. 
 
 TKflestern Butbors ffwbltebfng association, 
 
 NEW YORK: t SAN FRANCISCO: 
 
 tig T 
 
 1893,
 
 S 
 
 
 / dedicate this volume of unpretentious stories to 
 the ULtterarg Strugglcra of the Pacific Coast, and to 
 
 MARCUS B. LEVY, ESQ., 
 so 
 
 In Law my Father, 
 In Fact my Friend; 
 
 By whose many favors 1 was enabled to pursue my 
 literary labors, of which this is the smallest part. 
 
 0. A. D,
 
 IN THE CONFESSIONAL.
 
 IN THE CONFESSIONAL 
 
 i. 
 
 |HE Church of Our Lady of the Sa 
 cred Heart in Paris was filled with 
 worshipers, kneeling, and devoutly count 
 ing their rosaries. A number of the fair 
 est women in the parish knelt by the door, 
 near the priest s confessional, waiting their 
 turn to confess to the handsome priest, who 
 had lately arrived it was said from 
 Rome. In the green-curtained inclosure 
 sat the priest, his head bent toward the 
 narrow opening, speaking solace and en 
 couragement to all those who sought for 
 giveness for transgressions. 
 
 He was a remarkably handsome man, - 
 Father Felician. His face clean shaven
 
 6 IN THE CONFESSIONAL. 
 
 was plump and rosy ; his neck and hands 
 were of alabaster whiteness ; the latter 
 were almost effeminate in their ghape 
 and elegance. In his eyes was reflected 
 Heaven s own mildness, and his mouth 
 would have expressed divine innocence and 
 gentleness, were it not for a sharp cut 
 about the corners, which marred the per 
 fect harmony of that angelic face. In 
 spite of Father Felician s five and fifty 
 years, there was not a white streak in the 
 glossy blackness of his hair. 
 
 His voice, usually resonant and manly, 
 became low and tender as he greeted the 
 penitents with a soft Pax vobiscum; it 
 thrilled the souls of the fair sinners and 
 made them more fervent and devout. He 
 listened to the narration of trivial short 
 comings with priestly grace and fatherly 
 kindness. 
 
 It is needless to state that Father Feli-
 
 IN THE CONFESSIONAL. 7 
 
 cian had not an enemy in the world. Was 
 he not the anointed of the Lord ? His 
 consoling words were like the balm of Gil- 
 ead upon an open wound, and his sage ad 
 vice as tender and benign as that of an 
 elder brother. Men and women alike 
 loved and admired him. " He was born 
 to be a priest of God," they would say. 
 This popular sentiment was shared by his 
 Bishop, who never missed an opportunity 
 to affirm the excellent qualities of Father 
 Felician. 
 
 Holy Mother Church seemed proud of 
 so handsome, so eloquent, and so beloved a 
 son, for she, too, showered upon him ex 
 ceptional favors. 
 
 And no wonder. His sermons were so 
 stirring, so strong, so persuasive and logi 
 cal, that the church register was full of the 
 names of his converts from the ranks of 
 Protestants. His sermon on the Christ-
 
 IN THE CONFESSIONAL. 
 
 mas morning on which the sad event to be 
 told in this story took place was a master 
 piece of rhetorical dexterity, logical acu 
 men, and Christian piety ; it was a glorious 
 exposition of the Saviour s love, of joy in 
 Heaven and peace and happiness among 
 men. And now the fair parishioners 
 thronged around his confessional, watching 
 eagerly the green curtains to see those who 
 had received absolution leave with bright 
 and smiling faces. 
 
 Among those waiting their turn to pour 
 out their sorrow-laden hearts before the 
 Throne of Mercy was a woman dressed in 
 black and closely veiled; she was evidently 
 a stranger, for she knelt alone, and no one 
 seemed to know her. 
 
 She had waited for some time, and at 
 length grew quite restless. She rose and 
 gently made her way toward the confes 
 sional, and addressed the woman whose turn
 
 IN THE CONFESSIONAL. 9 
 
 it was next to enter the sacred inclosure: 
 " May I ask you to let me enter first, dear 
 madame \ I am very unfortunate, and I 
 have no time to wait." 
 
 Her tone was so sad and her foreign ac 
 cent so charming, her figure so imposing 
 and her dress so somber, that the amiable 
 Parisienne involuntarily moved aside and 
 deferentially asked the stranger to-precede 
 her. The stranger expressed her thanks, 
 and knelt. When her turn came she took 
 a vial from her pocket, and, putting it to 
 her lips, deliberately drank its contents. 
 
 The woman, who noticed this, marveled, 
 as it was not customary for any one to taste 
 anything before confession; but she thought 
 no more of it until an hour later, when she 
 recalled it with a shudder. 
 
 " Blessed be the name of our Lord Jesus 
 Christ," said Father Felician, softly, as the 
 woman in black knelt before the opening
 
 10 IN THE CONFESSIONAL 
 
 in the confessional. But as she made no 
 response, he continued: " In all eternity. 
 Amen." 
 
 "Who are you, my daughter?" he con 
 tinued, placing his ear close to the opening. 
 
 " I am an unfortunate woman, driven to 
 despair, crime, and death by the cruelty of 
 a merciless man," said the woman, hardly 
 above a whisper. 
 
 Father Felician sighed, as if he felt the 
 burden of sorrow that bore down this poor, 
 forlorn creature before him. 
 
 " Forgive, my daughter. Whoso for- 
 giveth shall be forgiven by our Father who 
 is in heaven." Father Felician spoke those 
 words solemnly, softly, sweetly, and full of 
 divine compassion. 
 
 " Ah, Father, there are sins which cannot 
 be forgiven, not if one is impenitent." 
 
 There was a wild look in the woman s 
 eyes as she said that. Father Felician did
 
 IN THE CONFESSIONAL. ll 
 
 not seem to have noticed it, for he said: 
 " But you are penitent, my daughter." 
 
 A tired look came into her face, and she 
 leaned her head against the railing. 
 
 " I am dying, Father," she said; " and 
 before I die, I desire to confess and ah 
 - yes to be forgiven, if there can be 
 forgiveness for such as I." 
 
 Her voice grew faint, a pallor spread over 
 her face, and a shudder ran through her 
 frame. 
 
 Father Felician knew that a poor, sinful 
 creature knelt before him, who needed the 
 comforting words of a father and the divine 
 solace of God s anointed. His heart went 
 out toward this young and beautiful sinner, 
 for this was undeniably true; the face be 
 fore him was of the most exquisite beauty. 
 Creatures like those are always beset by 
 the flesh and the devil, and the designers of 
 evil never rest until they get them into
 
 12 IN THE CONFESSIONAL, 
 
 their power. She is innocent, she is cer 
 tainly innocent, thought Father Felician. 
 And now his words came with seolian soft 
 ness. 
 
 " Have courage, my daughter," he said. 
 " Man is sinful, but true repentance leads 
 to grace. As is written: If thy sins be as 
 scarlet, they shall be made as white as 
 snow. In the name of Him who saved 
 the world, I bid you have courage." 
 
 These words seemed to overpower the 
 poor woman. She seemed broken-hearted; 
 her head sank on her breast, and sigh after 
 sigh escaped her lips. 
 
 " Father," she cried, " I am dying, not 
 with disease, but by my own hand. I have 
 taken poison." Father Felician started 
 back, shocked. 
 
 " Daughter, what have you done? I 
 will get you help." 
 
 " Useless, Father. There is no antidote
 
 IN THE CONFESSIONAL. 13 
 
 to the poison I have taken; it is as sure as 
 fate, and as cruel. Call no one, Father, but 
 listen, although I am afraid the task of 
 telling my sad story may prove too diffi 
 cult for me." 
 
 " This is terrible, my daughter; let me 
 call a physician; there may be help for you, 
 and you may yet live to be happy," said 
 the priest. 
 
 " I am past help and past happiness, 
 Father. In less than two hours I shall be 
 dead; and if you will not hear me I shall 
 die without confessing," said the lady, reso 
 lutely. 
 
 Now, Father Felician would let no peni 
 tent Christian die without absolution if he 
 could "help it. Young, beautiful, and dy 
 ing, ah, how really sad and disagreeable 
 the latter fact was ! 
 
 " Proceed, then, my daughter," said the 
 priest, sadly; "and may God strengthen 
 you."
 
 14 IN THE CONFESSIONAL. 
 
 " Before I tell you my sad story, I beg 
 you, Father, to accept this; it contains my 
 my last will and testament. You may read 
 it now." With this she handed the priest 
 a small envelope. The will must have been 
 remarkably brief, the envelope was so 
 small. So, indeed, thought Father Feli- 
 cian, as he somewhat thoughtfully gazed 
 upon the diminutive letter cover in his 
 hand, upon which was written his name, in 
 a bold, masculine hand. 
 
 A student of physiognomy would have 
 observed the change in the priest s face af 
 ter he had read the will. His color came 
 and went like lightning. 
 
 The will was certainly quite brief. It 
 read as follows: " The sum of 900,000 
 francs, which I give and bequeath to Fa 
 ther Felician of the Church of Our Lady 
 of the Sacred Heart, is to revert to the 
 Church after his death."
 
 IN THE CONFESSIONAL. 15 
 
 This peculiar document was duly signed 
 by the testatrix and two witnesses. Father 
 Felician was quite surprised. He had 
 never before seen the lady, nor had he ever 
 heard her name mentioned. The latter 
 Da Poniatowska was a Polish name, 
 and he knew no one by that name. 
 
 The lady, however, gave him no time 
 for reflection. 
 
 " I have no explanation for my action," 
 she said. "I am alone, and you may as 
 well have the use of that money as the 
 state. But now, I entreat you, Father, 
 hear me; hear the story of my life, and 
 judge of the magnitude of my sins." 
 
 " God s mercy is without end," said the 
 priest. " Jesus forgave the murderer on 
 the cross. Tell me your story."
 
 16 IN THE CONFESSIONAL. 
 
 II. 
 
 About ten Russian miles from the city 
 of Warsaw, on an eminence overlooking 
 the valley of the Vistula, stood the ancient 
 castle of the widowed Count Potosky. 
 The Count and his only child, the Coun 
 tess Wanda, occupied the castle six months 
 of each year; the other six months they 
 spent in Paris or in St. Petersburg. The 
 Countess Wanda was universally acknowl 
 edged to be the most beautiful woman in 
 the empire. At her feet princes had knelt, 
 hungry for a look from her glorious eyes. 
 Men had fought duels and had gone mad 
 on her account, but no one could ever boast 
 that Wanda, by word or look, had ever 
 encouraged their advances. She was not 
 a coquette, . and would not deign to play 
 with men s hearts; the people that courted 
 her found no favor in her eyes, and she
 
 IN THE CONFESSIONAL. 17 
 
 did not try to like them. The Count was 
 not at all satisfied. 
 
 "You are too fastidious," he would say. 
 
 She then kissed his forehead, and asked 
 him whether he would like to get rid of 
 her. 
 
 "No," said the Count; "but you will 
 have to marry some time; I shall not live 
 forever, and you need a protector." 
 
 " Whenever I shall see the man I like," 
 she replied, " I will tell you, and you may 
 invite him.. Until then wait." 
 
 The Count did not wait very long, for 
 very soon Countess Wanda met Count 
 Vladislav de Turnisky, whom she loved 
 with a devotion born of a tender heart and 
 spotless soul. But she also met Vladislav s 
 friend, Jan Felix Kanigefsky, and her sad 
 fate. 
 
 Kanigefsky loved her with a most unholy 
 passion, and seeing his friend succeed where
 
 18 IN THE CONFESSIONAL. 
 
 he had failed, his vindictive nature turned 
 against the friend of his youth, and he 
 hated them both with the bitterest, most 
 unrelenting hatred. 
 
 He swore their ruin, and he never rested 
 until he had accomplished his revenge. 
 
 Wanda paid dearly for the blissful mo 
 ments of a short love; the agony of her 
 soul overshadowed the sunshine of her 
 wedded life. Kanigefsky was more cruel 
 than Satan, his rage hotter than hell, and 
 his vindictiveness as deep as the bottom 
 less pit. 
 
 III. 
 
 The city of Warsaw and its famous cita 
 del at Praga were alive with soldiers of 
 all grades and descriptions. The country 
 swarmed with imperial troops, who were 
 quartered in the houses of free farmers and 
 the castles of the nobles.
 
 IN THE CONFESSIONAL. 19 
 
 The massing of troops in the Vistula dis 
 trict was due to the maneuvers which were 
 to be held in the vicinity of the city of 
 Warsaw. 
 
 The nobles entertained the officers of the 
 army with balls and parties. The castle 
 of Count Vladislav de Turnisky was the 
 rendezvous of the highest grades. The 
 beautiful Countess was the main attraction. 
 On the third day after the maneuvers were 
 opened the Count and Countess, with their 
 ten-year-old daughter, witnessed the grand 
 spectacle at the special invitation of the 
 commander. 
 
 A sham battle was planned. The field 
 of action was a plain, where a large body 
 of soldiers were stationed, while the attack 
 ing forces came from the imperial forest to 
 the right, where the Count and his family 
 had taken their positions and were watch 
 ing with eager interest.
 
 20 IN THE CONFESSIONAL. 
 
 The roar of cannon was deafening, and 
 the smoke suffocating, but the curious 
 spectators did not mind it much; the nov 
 elty excited and fascinated them. Sud 
 denly the Count uttered a cry and fell. 
 The Countess, who had leaned on his arm, 
 seeing her husband fall, believed that lie 
 had fainted, and called for help. The 
 General, on hearing what happened, dis 
 patched his physician. The latter looked 
 at the Count and shook his head. Bend- 
 "ing down, he then placed his hand upon 
 the Count s heart, and, rising, calmly said, 
 " He is beyond help." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " cried the Coun 
 tess. 
 
 " I am extremely grieved to tell your 
 ladyship that the Count is dead." 
 
 " Dead ! " cried the Countess, and fell 
 upon the body in a swoon. She was car 
 ried to her carriage, and was attended by
 
 IN THE CONFESSIONAL. 21 
 
 the physician whose words had dealt her 
 such a hard blow. As soon as she had re 
 covered, the doctor left her, and ordered 
 some men to carry the Count to a carriage. 
 But as they lifted the body, the physician 
 gave a low whistle, for beneath it was 
 found a pool of blood. 
 
 When Valera, the Count s little daugh 
 ter, saw the blood on the ground she 
 screamed and became hysterical. 
 
 "Papa is cut," she cried. "Papa is 
 cut." 
 
 This drew the attention of the Countess 
 to the body of her husband. But she was 
 strangely composed as she asked the phy 
 sician where the blood came from. " It 
 must have been a stray shot that killed 
 him," said the surgeon. 
 
 Count Vladislav de Turnisky lay in state 
 for three days. Officers of all grades visited 
 the castle to view the remains of one who
 
 22 IN THE CONFESSIONAL. 
 
 in life had been most conspicuous for hos 
 pitality. Some there were who went to 
 see the beautiful Countess, but all were 
 respectful; this somewhat ameliorated the 
 sorrow of the stricken widow. 
 
 The night before the burial she refused 
 to let any one but herself watch by the 
 loved one. Valera begged to stay; she was 
 gently but firmly commanded to go to bed. 
 Poor child! she could not sleep, while her 
 beautiful mother was weeping by the side 
 of her dead father. She put her ear to the 
 keyhole and listened. 
 
 Suddenly she heard the hall door open, 
 and by the heavy tread concluded that a 
 man had entered the room. 
 
 The child thought she heard her mother 
 give a suppressed scream, but she was 
 afraid to enter the saloon, because her 
 mother had told her to go to bed. All at 
 once Valera heard her mother say: "What 
 do you want, sir ? "
 
 IN THE CONFESSIONAL. 23 
 
 " I want you, Countess Wanda," said a 
 masculine voice. 
 
 " Begone, sir," cried the Countess, "or I 
 shall call the servants." 
 
 " You will do nothing of the kind," the 
 man said. 
 
 Then the child heard her mother utter a 
 muffled scream, and all was quiet. Valera 
 was too frightened to move. She slipped 
 into her little bed, drew the cover over her 
 face, and soon fell asleep. There was great 
 consternation in the castle the next morn 
 ing when it was found that the Countess 
 had disappeared. 
 
 They hunted high and low, but they 
 could not find her; she was gone. The 
 Count was buried, and Valera went to live 
 with her aunt in the city of Warsaw.
 
 24 IN THE CONFESSIONAL. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Eight years had gone by. Valera had 
 grown to be a young lady of great beauty; 
 but all through the years she never for a 
 moment forgot her mother, and when she 
 went to school she frequently stopped and 
 looked after ladies, in hopes of finding her. 
 One day, as Valera was on her way home 
 from church, she was accosted by a woman, 
 who placed her hand on Valera sarm. The 
 latter turned and uttered a scream; the 
 woman s face was frightfully mutilated. In 
 spite of the distressing sight, Valera mas 
 tered herself, and asked the woman what 
 she wanted, at the same time handing her 
 her purse. 
 
 The woman did not seem to see it; she 
 gazed steadily into the girl s eyes and asked 
 her whether her name was Valera de Tur- 
 nisky. The girl answered, and again asked 
 what she could do for her.
 
 IN THE CONFESSIONAL. 25 
 
 The woman s mutilated face grew pale as 
 she murmured: "It is true, she does not 
 know me. No one will ever know me 
 again." 
 
 Two big tears rolled down her slashed 
 and scarred cheeks. Valera stood and 
 looked at the woman, but her gaze seemed 
 to wander beyond the woman into the dis 
 tance. Suddenly she began to shiver, and 
 pressed her hands against her heart. She 
 knew not how it happened, she uttered 
 the word " Mother." At this the woman 
 uttered a cry and fell down in a faint. 
 Being brought to by passers-by, the first 
 words she uttered were, " Thank God, she 
 knows me ! " 
 
 Yes. Valera s instinct was true; the 
 woman with the scarred and mutilated face 
 was* none other than the onc6 beautiful 
 Countess Wanda. 
 
 Valera wanted to bring her mother to her
 
 26 IN THE CONFESSIONAL. 
 
 aunt s residence, but the poor Countess im 
 plored her not to shock the people; she pre 
 ferred, she said, to go away and live in 
 seclusion the short time she still had to live. 
 Valera put a heavy veil about her mother s 
 face and brought her to a hotel, after which 
 she hastened home and told her aunt that 
 she was going to leave at once for the coun 
 try. An hour later, Valera and her mother 
 were on the road to her old home. 
 
 " It was in this room," said Valera s 
 mother on the morning after her arrival, 
 " that I sat and watched by the side of your 
 father s dead body, when the door suddenly 
 opened and Kanigefsky stood before me. 
 He was dressed in the uniform of a colonel, 
 and had on a great-coat. I was so shocked 
 at his sudden appearance that I did not 
 know what to say; because he had Tbeen 
 your father s bitterest enemy ever since I 
 refused to marry him. Still, I thought
 
 IN THE CONFESSIONAL. 27 
 
 that your father s death had softened his 
 heart, and that he had coine to offer his con 
 dolence. I would not believe otherwise, 
 although I could see that his eyes were 
 aglow with hatred. 
 
 " I asked him to be seated, but he re 
 fused, at the same time uttering an impre 
 cation against your poor father. I was 
 shocked, and asked him what he wanted. 
 He told me that he wanted me. The pas 
 sion in his eyes frightened me. I told him 
 to go. I was at the same time moving 
 toward the bell-cord to call the servants. 
 But he evidently knew of my intention; for 
 as quick as a flash he was by my side, and, 
 throwing his great-coat over me, took me 
 and carried me out of the room. I was 
 placed in a carriage ; my abductor took his 
 seat by my side, and we were driven away. 
 
 " Shortly after, Kanigefsky took the coat 
 off me; and seeing that I was completely in
 
 28 IN THE CONFESSIONAL. 
 
 his power, I begged him to be merciful. 
 But lie only laughed. 
 
 " You shall amuse me first, he said, 
 with a coarse laugh. 
 
 " For heaven s sake, what do you want 
 of me? I cried, horrified. 
 
 " You refused to be my wife; you shall 
 now be my slave, and beware how* you act. 
 I shall enforce obedience through my or 
 derly. 
 
 " My heart stood still at the thought of 
 the horrible fate that awaited me, but I 
 swore to die rather than yield to him. Oh, 
 what shall I tell you of the many sorry days 
 and anxious nights I spent in the house of 
 that monster? I was always on the watch, 
 and frustrated his schemes. At last, mad 
 dened by drink, he came into my room and 
 caught me in his arms. But, like a flash, 
 I buried my penknife in his breast. His 
 ray;e became uncontrollable. He took his
 
 IN THE CONFESSIONAL. 29 
 
 sword and deliberately slashed and hacked 
 my face. I fell on my knees and begged 
 for mercy, but this infuriated him still more. 
 He kicked me with the heel of his boot, 
 and in his madness would have killed me 
 had not his servant entered and prevented 
 him. He at once turned upon the servant, 
 but the latter was too quick. He knew 
 the brute, and was prepared. He jumped 
 behind a large marble table, and covered 
 his master with a revolver. This had the 
 desired effect. I will not stay with you 
 any longer, said the servant. You are a 
 maniac and a murderer. First you shot 
 down the Count, then you brutalized his 
 wife. You ought to be put in an insane 
 asylum. 
 
 "Poor fellow, he paid dearly for his 
 bravery. The monster permitted him to 
 leave the room, but had him arrested a few 
 minutes later and flowed to death. Months
 
 30 IN THE CONFESSIONAL. 
 
 afterward, when I had barely recovered 
 from that horrible treatment, I found 
 myself in convict s clothes, on the way to 
 Siberia. 
 
 " Your own father would not recognize 
 you now, were the words he called after 
 me when I was marched off. 
 
 "One year ago I had been given permis 
 sion to return home. I thanked God for 
 the privilege; for I hoped to see you, my 
 child. But the fear that you would not 
 recognize me, and that you might turn 
 away in horror from your poor mother, has 
 nearly robbed me of my senses. My daugh 
 ter," the Countess cotinued, emphasizing 
 each word, "I shall die soon. Promise me 
 to avenge your father s death and your 
 mother s sufferings upon that wretch. Hunt 
 him down if you have to go to every land 
 under the sun,"
 
 IN THE CONFESSIONAL. 31 
 
 V. 
 
 In the confessional sat Father Felician, 
 listening to that narrative of passion and 
 crime. He was deadly pale, and big beads 
 of perspiration stood upon his forehead. 
 
 " You are innocent, my daughter," said 
 the priest. " You have magnified your 
 sins." 
 
 " Oh no, Father ! I have not," said the 
 woman. "I have had murder in my heart 
 for a number of years, and have been, I 
 think, greatly sinful; for I am the daugh 
 ter of that unfortunate woman, Countess 
 Wanda, and I have kept my promise most 
 faithfully." 
 
 " Did you slay the Colonel Kanigefsky?" 
 the priest asked. 
 
 " No," replied the lady. " Soon after 
 my mother s death, which occurred a few 
 weeks after Her return from Siberia, I sold
 
 32 IN THE CONFESSIONAL. 
 
 our estates, and as my aunt, too, had died 
 and had left me all her property, I sold all 
 and moved to Paris. Before I left, how 
 ever, I tried to find the Colonel, but was 
 told that he had left the army many years 
 ago, and no one seemed to know whither he 
 had gone. I searched for him in every 
 country in Europe, but in vain. 
 
 " Last week I returned to Paris from 
 Rome, where I had lived for several months. 
 As I have attended your church for some 
 time, I concluded to bequeath my fortune 
 to you, and in case of your death, to the 
 Church. 
 
 " My agent in Rome, who knew my 
 mother, and through me learned of her sad 
 fate, begged me to desist from the useless 
 search. 
 
 " Kanigefsky is dead/ my agent said. 
 If he were alive, we would have discov 
 ered his whereabouts ere this. But, my
 
 IN THE CONFESSIONAL. 33 
 
 dear young lady, you need rest. Go to 
 Paris, and keep quiet. I shall have my 
 eyes open and write you from time to time. 
 
 " This morning I received a dispatch 
 from my agent, informing me that Kani- 
 gefsky was in Paris. But I was tired of 
 life, and before going to confession I took 
 poison that is sure to kill me now." 
 
 " Does the dispatch state where Kani- 
 gefsky is ? " asked the priest. 
 
 Yes, Father ; do you care to see it ? " the 
 woman inquired. 
 
 " Let me see it, my daughter," said the 
 priest, in a trembling voice 
 
 " Here," she said. 
 
 Quick as thought she arose, thrust her 
 hand through the opening of the confessional, 
 and pushed in with all her force; then she 
 staggered backward, and fell in a heap upon 
 the ground. Simultaneously with this a cry 
 was heard a cry of agony. The people
 
 34 IN THE CONFESSIONAL. 
 
 heard it, but did not understand its mean 
 ing; a moment later they were horror- 
 stricken when they saw Father Felician 
 draw the green curtains aside, blood rush 
 ing from his nose and mouth, a dagger with 
 a jeweled handle up to the hilt in his 
 breast. 
 
 He tried to speak, but could not, the 
 blood in his throat causing a gurgling sound; 
 a moment later he fell his entire length 
 upon the floor. A scene of confusion en 
 sued; women screamed and fainted, and 
 men pushed their way to the confessional. 
 
 They found Father Felician dead, and, 
 near by. the lady in black. 
 
 She was dead, too, and, clutched tightly, 
 in her hand was found a dispatch from 
 Rome, which read as follows : 
 
 " Jan Felix Kanigefsky, the renegade 
 and murderer of your parents, after leav 
 ing the army, entered the theological semi-
 
 IN THE CONFESSIONAL. 
 
 35 
 
 nary in Rome, and took holy orders twelve 
 years ago. He is now known as Father 
 Felician, the priest of the Church of Our 
 Lady of the Sacred Heart. 
 
 "RAUL."
 
 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 PAOt 
 
 THE FATED STAR . . . . 37 
 
 A CHRISTMAS PROMISE .... 77 
 
 THE STORY OF VLADIMIR .... 94 
 
 THE AUTOMATIC EXECUTIONER . . 133 
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE .... 154 
 
 THE FOREIGN ELEMENT . . . . 216 
 
 THE FATAL LETTER 239 
 
 A MIDNIGHT SONG ... . 277
 
 THE FATED STAR. 
 
 i. 
 
 IF you want to succeed on the stags 
 you must live by the rule of four ; it 
 leads to fame and fortune," said Miss Lud- 
 milla Lassen. 
 
 "The rule of four ! I never heard of 
 such a rule. I know of the rule of three, 
 but of no other," replied Miss Antonette 
 de Fallen. 
 
 "The rule of three is a flat failure in 
 this case. An actress who deviates from 
 the rule of four lives in poverty and dies 
 ingloriously. Having reached the pinnacle 
 of fame, she may discard one or two, but 
 to start without them is out of the ques 
 tion." 
 
 302409
 
 38 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 "Perhaps this is the reason why I do 
 not succeed. I have no idea of your rule." 
 
 "Precisely. You are young, beautiful, 
 and talented, and yet you are a mere cipher. 
 You don t get a first-rate engagement; 
 you are not popular." 
 
 " But what shall I do ? " 
 
 " Do ! Study the rule of four ; but be 
 careful to study the proper rule; if you 
 make a mistake,. you are lost." 
 
 " But I am ignorant of the elementary 
 principles of your rule ? Can t you tell me 
 the rudiments of the same?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " What are they ? " 
 
 " Men." 
 
 " Men ! What would you want me do ?" 
 
 " Don t be alarmed, Tony. I don t mean 
 that you should throw yourself away on 
 every flirt; for an actress without dignity r , 
 womanhood, and virtue cannot be a true
 
 THE FATED STAE. 39 
 
 actress. Our art demands dignity, but, 
 withal, we need men a certain class, at 
 least to assist us." 
 
 " Mamma has warned me against all as 
 sistance proffered by men." 
 
 "Bless your mamma! If it were not for 
 your mamma, you would be far ahead in the 
 profession." 
 
 "Don t say that, Ludi dear; my mamma 
 is the best woman living." 
 
 "I don t deny that; but she cannot 
 make you a success so long as you and she 
 are prejudiced against men. An actress 
 needs admirers. If you can t make up 
 your mind to that, you had better leave 
 the stage." 
 
 "I can t do that; I could not exist with 
 out its excitement." 
 
 " And you are willing to make your way 
 on the stage 7 ?" 
 
 "Yes."
 
 40 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 "And study the rudiments of the rule 
 of four ? 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Very well, you shall have your first 
 lesson this evening at the dance, for 
 there is going to be a dance at the Casino, 
 and we will be there. But now let us take 
 a walk to the Brunnen ; a glass of mineral 
 water will do us good." 
 
 II. 
 
 The remarkable conversation of the pre 
 vious chapter, was held between two ladies 
 at their temporary residence in a moun 
 tain village near one of the summer re 
 sorts in the Tyrol. Both were actresses 
 in the Burg Theater, in the city of Vienna. 
 Ludmilla Lassen was a brunette, tall, im 
 perious, beautiful, and intelligent. She 
 was famous and wealthy, and could well
 
 THE FATED STAR. 41 
 
 afford to advise her friend Antonette, who 
 was much younger, and of whom she was 
 very fond. Ludmilla was about thirty 
 years of age, while her friend was one and 
 twenty. The beauty of the latter was su 
 perlative, but she had been catalogued by 
 the director of the Burg Theater as a 
 " beautiful acquisition without talent." 
 Actresses know what that means in a 
 country where histrionic success is not 
 achieved by a beautiful face, but by genius 
 or commanding talent, both of which are 
 more potent than birth, wealth, and in 
 fluence. Antonette bv no means lacked 
 
 / 
 
 talent; but, somehow, she had never been 
 given a part in which she might have ex 
 celled. Besides, the military and aristo 
 cratic civilians had tacitly ignored her as 
 soon as it became known that her mother 
 acted the Cerberus against their licentious 
 advances. The press never mentioned
 
 42 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 Antonette in her fifth-rate roles, and thus 
 the poor girl suffered the mortification of 
 being tolerated on the stage and neglected 
 by the public until the famous Ludmilla 
 noticed her. Her sententious expressions 
 encouraged Antonette, and she concluded 
 to live and work by Ludoiilla s advice. 
 
 III. 
 
 " I say, Seebag," said Baron Zano, a 
 Hungarian magnate of eccentric proclivi 
 ties, " did you notice those two girls at the 
 Brunnen this morning? Devilish fine 
 girls ! Wonder who they are ?" 
 
 " Why, don t you know Ludmilla Las- 
 sen, Baron ? Where are your eyes?" cried 
 Seebag, a noted litterateur and playwright 
 from Vienna. 
 
 " The devil you say ! Is this Ludmilla ? 
 Ah, immense 1 But who is the other ? "
 
 THE FATED STAR. 43 
 
 "Don t know; some friend, I suppose. 
 I didn t see her close enough ; can t tell." 
 
 " Suppose we invite them to the dance 
 to-night ? " said Baron Zano. 
 
 " Capital idea," Seebag cried. " Ah ! see, 
 Baron! there comes the trinity, Dr. Grau, 
 Director Kraut, and Count Mehrau. Hello, 
 gentlemen!" he cried, addressing the new 
 comers. " Fraulein Ludmilla Lassen is 
 rusticating in the village. Baron Zano 
 and myself have just conspired to invite 
 them to the dance to-night. Let s go in a 
 body, and do honor to the Muses." 
 
 "C e_st charmant" said Count Mehrau, a 
 fat little Prussian, with small, blinking eyes. 
 "Great idea; let us go." 
 
 " Hi-hi-hi ! so my Ludmilla has taken 
 her quarters here," said Director Kraut. 
 " Tis lucky, very lucky indeed," he con 
 tinued, stroking his abdomen, which pro 
 truded like a good-sized beer-barrel. " Let
 
 44 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 us go, gentlemen; the gods are with us. 
 Yes, indeed!" 
 
 Dr. Grau, the merciless critic, alone was 
 silent. He did not show any excessive 
 joy; it would have been beneath his dignity 
 to manifest any undue enthusiasm for an 
 actress, whom he might annihilate with his 
 pen at any time. His companions seemed 
 to know his sentiments and made no obser 
 vation. It was a fact known in all circles 
 of society that Dr. Grau was incorruptible; 
 his feeling if he had any never be 
 fogged his judgment, and the beauty of an 
 actress, if she lacked talent, made him so 
 much more bitter against her. " A puppet 
 of clay without expression, without a soul," 
 he would say in his report. " Unworthy of 
 notice; still, a menace to the general appre 
 ciation of talent by her unhallowed, unneces 
 sary, and undeserved presence." 
 
 Poor Ludmilla ! it took her years to win
 
 THE FATED STAR. 45 
 
 a word of approval from Dr. Grau; and it 
 was owing to this fact that he accompanied 
 the rest to the village. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " What do you think of the blonde, Grau 1 ? 
 Is n t she superb ? Is a member of the Burg 
 Theater, too. By the gods ! never thought 
 
 v O O 
 
 she was so beautiful. De Fallon comes of 
 a good family. Mother is said to be a 
 Satan. But is n t she great 1 " said the 
 Director. 
 
 " It depends upon what you consider 
 great, Kraut," replied Dr. Grau. " I have 
 not discovered any greatness in her. A 
 woman of her stamp always reminds me of 
 the biblical sentence, that it is easier for a 
 camel to pass through the eye of a needle 
 than for rich men to enter heaven. In this 
 case I should say that it was easier for a
 
 46 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 camel to pass through the eye of a needle 
 than for Mile, de Fallen to have talent, 
 to be, as you expressed it, great." 
 
 "The devil take you, pedants!" cried the 
 Director, mopping his brow. " What do 
 you think of her, Seebag ? " 
 
 " That she is a dream, a poem, a love- 
 song; that I have never seen her peer in 
 beauty; that she is an inspiration." 
 
 " She may be all that," chimed in the 
 eccentric Baron. "But I hate common 
 place women. I worship an eccentric 
 woman, a woman that don t mope and 
 pout and sigh and weep, and drown me in 
 an ocean of brats. I want 
 
 " Ah, pap-er-la-pap ! " broke in Count 
 Mehrau; " that is nothing. My ideal is the 
 divine Ludmilla, Ludmilla the charming, 
 the fiery, the great, the Rachel of Austria! 
 Ah, Ludmilla, there is nothing like thee 
 on earth ! Come in, gentlemen, let s drink
 
 THE FATED STAR. 47 
 
 a bottle to Ludmilla the divine, and to that 
 other star, who borrows her radiance from 
 the only Sun in Vienna ! Allans, messieurs!" 
 They drank deep and long, until the 
 Baron forgot his eccentricities and praised 
 Ludmilla, and Count Mehrau swore he 
 loved Antonette; until the Director shed 
 tears of regret at not having recognized 
 her charms heretofore, and Dr. Grau ac 
 knowledged the supremacy of beauty over 
 talent; and Bacchus, laurel- wreathed upon 
 his hogshead, blinked and smiled approval. 
 
 V. 
 
 "So, Tony dear," said Ludmilla, "let us 
 arrange a plan of action. The lesson in 
 the rule of four begins. You are very 
 lucky. The ciphers have appeared unbid 
 den; it will depend upon your mathemati-
 
 48 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 cal skill to keep them intact; and rely upon 
 my assistance in all matters." 
 
 " I will do my best, dearest; but I am 
 quite at sea in this matter. I don t know 
 how to begin," Antonette replied. 
 
 " Well, we will see. There is, to begin 
 with, Herr Seebag, an author and play 
 wright. You must catch him first. For, 
 in order to succeed, you must have a lover 
 who can write a good play, and this he 
 must write for you especially; he must 
 make you famous." 
 
 " You seem to think this quite an easy 
 matter; besides, Herr Seebag " Here 
 Antonette blushed to the roots of her hair. 
 
 Ludmilla gave a long, shrill whistle. 
 
 " The fish is caught, eh ? Never mind, 
 Tony, it will come out all right. But at 
 present you must act. You understand, 
 you must act a part; have as much or as 
 little sentimentality with Herr Seebag as
 
 THE FATED STAR. 49 
 
 you like, but don t forget the others. Herr 
 Seebag is but one of the principles in the 
 rule of four. The second principle, or 
 cipher, shall be Baron Zano." 
 
 " For what purpose ? " asked Antonette. 
 
 " You goose ! Don t you know that you 
 need some one to care for and supply your 
 wardrobe ? " 
 
 " I don t dream of such a thing, replied 
 Antonette. 
 
 " My dear Tony, if you desire to make 
 headway on the stage, it is absolutely ne 
 cessary that you should have a second ad 
 mirer, who shall regard it his greatest 
 happiness to lay at your feet the best Pa 
 risian gowns, or pay for them, which 
 amounts to the same. This by no means 
 obliges you to anything; the longer you 
 lead him on, the better for you. Your 
 moral principles are not in the least en 
 dangered by this."
 
 50 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 "You must not forget, Ludi dear, that " 
 
 " That you are the daughter of an aris 
 tocratic father, who was a colonel in the 
 Austrian army," the vivacious Ludmilla in 
 terrupted her friend; "but who imprudently 
 left his family nothing but a small monthly 
 allowance. Well, now, I think we had bet 
 ter stop here. You are not made for the 
 stage." 
 
 " Go on, dear," cried Antonette, " 1 11 do 
 as you say; you know best." 
 
 " That s a dear girl," said Ludmilla, kiss 
 ing her friend. " The Baron is crazy for 
 eccentric women. I know that of old. If 
 you can manage him, and you must doit, 
 he is not only yours, but you have made a 
 most important step in the right direction. 
 The other two ciphers can be managed in 
 the city. There they will prove of consid 
 erable service; but at present they are in 
 different. Will you go ahead 1 "
 
 THE FATED STAR. 51 
 
 " I will, dearest, " cried Antonette. " You 
 are so good, so unselfish." 
 
 " Not at all," said Ludmilla. " I am 
 selfish; I want the satisfaction of knowing 
 that your future success is my creation, and 
 that I shall have some one to take my 
 place for I shall retire soon who is 
 worthy of the laurels. I love you, and you 
 shall succeed me." 
 
 Antonette threw herself in her friend s 
 arms and wept tears of joy and gratitude. 
 
 " Now, remember, Tony," said Ludmilla, 
 " with Seebag you must play the part of 
 the ideal maiden, innocent and full of feel 
 ing, he is a poet, you know. The Baron, 
 on the other hand, you must treat badly; 
 the more brutally you treat him, the more 
 he will worship you. You must tell him 
 that you hate women; that your sole regret 
 in life is not having been born a man. Then 
 you may be a little whimsical, just a little,
 
 52 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 * 
 
 you know. So, and now to work, young 
 woman," Ludmilla concluded, with a laugh. 
 " It is time to dress; and pray, remember, 
 wear nothing but white, and some forget- 
 me-nots on the left side of your coiffure. 73 
 
 VI. 
 
 It was a day or two after the dance. 
 The weather was hot and sultry, and Anto- 
 nette de Fallon, acting upon the advice of 
 her friend Ludmilla, sought the cool shade 
 of the woods. Before long, Seebag found 
 her. She was occupied winding a wreath 
 of oak-leaves. The blush which mantled 
 her brow and crimsoned her cheeks was 
 not in her " programme," nor was her 
 maidenly bashfulness mere acting. The 
 poet, delighted to renew the acquaintance 
 under such bucolic circumstances, asked 
 permission to take a seat by her side. This
 
 THE FATED STAB. 53 
 
 being granted, an animated conversation 
 was fast assisting their respective endeav 
 ors. Antonette s lustrous eyes kindled an 
 unquenchable fire in Seebag s poetic breast, 
 and when Antonette naively placed the 
 wreath upon the poet s brow, he became 
 her slave, body and soul. 
 
 On their homeward walk, Seebag said to 
 Antonette: "You have given me so much 
 pleasure ; you have been so gracious, Miss 
 de Fallen, that I wish I knew how to re 
 pay your kindness. But poor as any at 
 tempt on my part may prove, I beg you 
 will command me. I am at your dis 
 posal." 
 
 " Are you, indeed ? " said Antonette, 
 with downcast eyes. 
 
 " Certainly, gracious Fraulein. I await 
 your commands." 
 
 " Then," cried Antonette, lifting her
 
 54 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 eyes, in which shone the light of triumph, 
 " then write me a part, Herr Seebag." 
 " You are too modest, Miss de Fallen." 
 " Not at all; a new play by you, in which 
 I had to play the principal part, would be 
 more valuable to me than jewels," the girl 
 replied. 
 
 Flattered by her praise and fired by the 
 luster in her eyes and the smile on her lips, 
 Seebag said : 
 
 " Very well, you shall have the play." 
 " But you must give me a role peculiarly 
 adapted for me alone. I want something 
 entirely out of the common." 
 
 "Ah!" said Seebag, "I have a play the 
 title of which is The Fated Star/ but the 
 heroine is one of those capricious and ec 
 centric creatures whom no man with a 
 soul in his body can respect, and which is 
 as different from you thank God ! as 
 black is from white."
 
 THE FATED STAR. 55 
 
 "Ah, that would certainly be an excel 
 lent part for me!" Antonette remarked. 
 " One always plays that character best 
 which is entirely opposed to one s own na 
 ture, you know." 
 
 " This is quite indisputable," Seebag re 
 plied, " especially one with as much beauty, 
 breeding, and talent as you. Your word is 
 law ; you shall have the play." 
 
 "Thank you, very much," Antonette 
 said with a sweet smile ; and having 
 reached the cottage where she and Lud- 
 milla resided she gave him her hand. "I 
 thank you," she repeated. Seebag kissed 
 her soft and slender hand and left. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Baron Zano, finding the people at the 
 Casino too commonplace, rented a cabin 
 high up in the mountains. His hostess
 
 56 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 just suited him, she swore like a trooper 
 and smoked a pipe. A day or two affcer 
 the sentimental meeting with the ^poet 
 Seebag, Antonette, dressed in elegant 
 hunter s costume, stepped into the Baron s 
 cabin. She was accompanied by a hunter, 
 who carried a buck she had just shot. 
 
 "You here, Baron!" she cried, appar 
 ently surprised. " That is lucky ! I am 
 just in need of a knight." 
 
 " Command me at your pleasure," re 
 plied the Baron. 
 
 " Why, that is quite self-understood; all 
 you have to do is to obey. Now, then, 
 Baron, I find this place charming, and as it 
 is evening now, I will stay here over night, 
 in order to see the sun rise. Fellow," she 
 said to the hunter; "you may take this 
 buck down to the village; keep the meat, 
 but bring me the skin in the morning." 
 
 When the hunter had gone, the Baron
 
 THE FATED STAR. 57 
 
 said: " That is a capital idea, your staying 
 hear to see the sun rise; I was just about 
 to propose that to you." 
 
 " Ah ! but do you see these heavy boots, 
 Baron ? I cannot be without my slippers; I 
 must have my slippers." 
 
 " What is to be done?" the Baron asked, 
 perplexed. 
 
 " That is very simple," said Antonette. 
 " Go down into the village and fetch them." 
 
 That is certainly very simple, ha, ha> 
 ha ! very simple, indeed simple, indeed," 
 the Baron laughed. It was a forced laugh, 
 but Antonette would leave him no time. 
 
 " Go down and fetch them, and be quick 
 about it. I am of an impatient disposition, 
 and very hungry, you hear, very hun 
 gry-" 
 
 That settled it. The Baron hastened 
 
 down to the village, and after an hour or 
 so returned with a pair of dainty bullion-
 
 58 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 embroidered slippers, fit for the feet of a 
 princess. 
 
 "That was quick, Baron," cried Anto- 
 nette. " You shall be royally rewarded 
 for your obedience: I give you permission 
 to put them on for me." 
 
 The Baron thought this really a royal 
 reward, and was delighted. His delight 
 increased when she slapped his hand for his 
 awkwardness. 
 
 The Baron was a Hungarian magnate, 
 and they never do things by halves. At 
 his wink a man stepped into the room 
 loaded with baskets, containing dainty vi 
 ands and choice wines. And when Anto- 
 nette set the table and arranged everything 
 with housewifely grace, his exuberance of 
 joy made him speechless. He sat in the 
 chair and gazed at her, open-mouthed. 
 
 Having enjoyed their supper, they took 
 seats outside of the cabin and gazed at the
 
 THE FATED STAR. 59 
 
 mountains, canons, and the many pictu 
 resque Alpine villages, which the moon 
 light revealed. 
 
 Meantime, Antonette discoursed upon 
 her tastes and peculiarities, which were 
 sufficiently bizarre and eccentric to kindle 
 the fire of love in his baronial breast. She 
 culminated her eccentricity by rolling and 
 smoking a cigarette. Before retiring into 
 the shepherdess s cabin Antonette enjoined 
 upon the Baron to call her early, so as not 
 to miss that beautiful sight in the Alps, 
 a sunrise. 
 
 " Do you know, Baron," said Antonette 
 the next morning, when she was ready to 
 go home again, " I am very tired ? " 
 
 " Shall I fetch a mule to carry you to 
 the village?" the Baron asked. 
 
 " O no! what are you here for 1 ?" An 
 toinette said with a bewitching smile. 
 
 " Shall I carry you ? "
 
 60 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 " Certainly; I am sure it will make you 
 happy to sigh under such a beautiful bur 
 den. You told me last night that I was 
 beautiful." 
 
 "Beautiful! ha, ha! you are more 
 than beautiful. You are divine," cried the 
 Baron, in ecstasy. 
 
 " This is better, still," said she. " Take, 
 then, thy divinity, arid carry her to her 
 abode in the village." 
 
 The Baron saw no other way than to 
 carry the beautiful girl upon his back. 
 When they neared the village, Antonette 
 commanded the Baron to halt. Stepping 
 down, she arranged her dress, and, taking 
 his arm, they walked into the village.
 
 THE FATED STAB. 61 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " Good morning, Mrs. de Fallon. Is 
 Madamoiselle, your daughter, in ? " 
 
 "Ah, Herr Director Kraut ! pray enter ; 
 I will call her at once." 
 
 Antonette made ,her appearance, before 
 he had time to take stock of the furniture. 
 
 " Ah, see, the Director ! How do you 
 do ?" she said, giving him her hand. She 
 was not at all humble. She expected to 
 see him this morning, because Seebag had 
 brought her his play the day before, and 
 that was on the day she and Ludmilla had 
 returned to Vienna. The instructions of 
 the latter had been minute. 
 
 " Just tell Seebag to send word to Di 
 rector Kraut that he had written a play for 
 you," Ludrnilla had said. The result was 
 as expected. The Director made his ap 
 pearance.
 
 62 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 "You are a witch to get that fellow 
 Seebag to write you a play; why, he has 
 persistently refused to write a line for us." 
 
 "Ah, my dear Director ! I shall not ap 
 pear in the part he has written. In fact, I 
 shall never go on the stage again," said 
 Antonette, sadly. 
 
 " Not appear in the role Seebag has 
 written ! " cried the Director, springing 
 from his seat. "Not go on the stage 
 again ! Why ? What is the matter ? And 
 this, now that Baron Zano, Seebag, and 
 the Count are interested in you. Ye gods ! 
 are you insane ? " 
 
 "No, Herr Director. But I recognize 
 the futility of ever becoming a great actress. 
 I doubt the soundness of my talent. With 
 out a master, how could I possibly succeed ? 
 The interest of those three gentlemen is 
 flattering, but it balances lightly against 
 yours. Your interest in me would make of
 
 THE FATED STAB. 63 
 
 mediocrity a genius. Under your instruc 
 tion I would have no doubts, and no anxi 
 ety about my success." 
 
 Her arms were stretched out toward him 
 in supplication, while her face expressed 
 sorrow, anxiety, and hope. 
 
 Now, as a matter of course, this was a 
 bold demand on the part of Antonette. 
 For the " royal and imperial Director 
 Adolphus Kraut," as he was styled, could 
 have commanded any price had he chosen 
 to instruct aristocratic maidens in elocu 
 tion. But he refused such offers, because 
 he was rich, and occupied an honorable 
 position under his sovereign. But Director 
 Kraut was human; his heart followed the 
 same impulse which sways the prince and 
 the pauper, neither of whom is impervious 
 against the power of love and beauty. 
 
 When Director Kraut heard the beau 
 tiful Antonette* thus humbly pleading, his
 
 64 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 heart gave a leap in his fat bosom, and, 
 springing from the chair, he fell on one 
 knee before her. 
 
 "Adored Antonette!" he cried, "whose 
 beauty has inspired the genius of a See- 
 bag, and brought to your feet a Hungarian 
 magnat, I cannot resist you! Adored 
 one ! I will do as you desire ; I will de 
 vote my time to your part. I will be 
 your teacher, guide, slave, anything you 
 desire! You shall you must become 
 famous." 
 
 The light of joy and victory shone in 
 her radiant eyes as she placed her alabaster- 
 like hand upon his shoulder and begged 
 him to rise. Gently he took her hand from 
 off his shoulder and kissed it, and she let 
 him hold it until the rustling of a silk dress 
 announced the approach of Antonette s 
 mother. 
 
 The fat Director sprang nimbly to his
 
 THE FATED STAB. 65 
 
 chair, and folded his stubby little hands 
 over his stomach, his face taking on an ex 
 pression such as conscience-stricken children 
 are wont to show after some naughty act. 
 
 Having been told of his praiseworthy 
 intention, Antonette s mother was profuse 
 in her thanks to the dear Herr Director. 
 
 " Only the dear Lord in Heaven can 
 reward you for such a noble act," said 
 Madame de Fallon. 
 
 " I should hate to wait for it," was the 
 Director s mental rejoinder; but he was 
 careful not to express it. After appoint 
 ing an hour for the reading of her part, 
 he kissed Antonette s hand with the ut 
 most deference, bowed to- the mamma, and 
 left. 
 
 Half an hour later, Ludinilla came to 
 the house. Being told by Antonette how 
 she had managed the Director, Ludmilla 
 said
 
 66 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 " I think you will succeed; and now for 
 the last cipher in the principle of the rule 
 of four, the great and only Dr. Grau." 
 
 IX. 
 
 A week had passed since the Director 
 had first visited Antonette. He had kept 
 his appointment with regularity, and sank 
 deeper and deeper into the love-meshes of 
 the beautiful actress. His instruction was 
 a revelation, and Antonette, who by no 
 means lacked talent, filled the Director 
 with wonder and admiration. He prom 
 ised her a great future. 
 
 Believing the time ripe for figuring with 
 the cipher which went by the name of Dr. 
 Grau, Antonette sent him a polite note 
 to call on her. 
 
 Knowing the character of the man she 
 was to deal with, she dressed to harmo-
 
 THE FATED STAR. 67 
 
 nize with the fated part she was to play 
 in a gown of black silk trimmed with black 
 velvet. The room was darkened, and 
 everything looked somber and ghostly. 
 Upon her writing-desk was a skull and a 
 revolver. Everything looked so gruesome 
 that the great Dr. Grau involuntarily shiv 
 ered when he was shown into Antonette s 
 room. 
 
 She received him with quiet dignity. 
 Her face seemed inexpressibly sad; the 
 white frill around her neck, contrasting 
 with the black gown and the black lace 
 upon her head, made her face pale. An 
 indefinable gloom seemed to hover about 
 her beautiful mouth, and her smile spoke 
 of patient resignation. 
 
 Dr. Grau contemplated her features, and 
 thought that he had never seen anything 
 so beautiful and classical. He had heard 
 of Seebag s play, " The Fated Star," and
 
 68 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 when she asked his opinion, the great critic 
 felt pleased and flattered. 
 
 " An author may write a play, an actress 
 might attempt its interpretation, but tow- 
 erino- over both stands the critic," said she. 
 
 o 
 
 " His judgment is supreme; it is the only 
 guide." 
 
 In her conversation she displayed so 
 much pessimism, that the great critic was 
 shocked. 
 
 " Believe me, dear Doctor," she said, sadly, 
 " if it were not for my art, I would have 
 made an end of this life long ago. Oh, how 
 often have I pressed this revolver against 
 my temple to do it ! " 
 
 " For heaven s sake," cried Dr. Grau, 
 " it would be a crime to rob the world of 
 such a genius, such a philosophical spirit, 
 which is sure to revive art and give our 
 stage the stamp of greatness. I shall 
 take this revolver with me." Slipping the
 
 THE FATED STAR. 69 
 
 weapon into his pocket, he continued: " I 
 could not sleep in peace as long as this 
 weapon was on your desk." 
 
 "You are right; take it along," said 
 Antonette, sadly. " But you take from 
 me only the mechanical means of ending 
 this life. You must do more, if you 
 would save me, dear Doctor, you must be 
 come the physician of my soul. Come to 
 me often. In a spiritual intercourse with 
 you, I may regain the lost joy of life." 
 
 When the great critic left Antonette, his 
 head was in a whirl; he admired her as 
 much as the author of "The Fated Star," 
 the eccentric Baron, and the convivial Di 
 rector. 
 
 X. 
 
 The " Ring Theater," in Vienna, was filled 
 
 O 
 
 with people, and hundreds upon hundreds 
 were turned away, unable to gain admis-
 
 70 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 sion. Director Kraut had foreseen that 
 the "Burg Theater" would not be ade 
 quate to the demand for seats by the aris 
 tocracy and the haute finance, let alone 
 the people ; and he arranged the presenta 
 tion of " The Fated Star " at the more com 
 modious "Ring Theater." 
 
 But the beauty of the new star, whose 
 pictures were to be seen in every shop win 
 dow, and for whom the famous Seebag had 
 especially written " The Fated Star, " at 
 tracted all classes of society in the " Kai- 
 serstadt." 
 
 In one of the proscenium boxes sat Lud- 
 milla Lassen, surrounded by four gentle 
 men. Her face beamed with pleasure as 
 she gazed upon the vast audience, that 
 brilliant array of beauty, refinement, and 
 wealth. But suddenly her brow clouded; 
 she grew silent, and seemed strangely ner 
 vous.
 
 THE FATfiD STAR. 71 
 
 "One would think that this was your 
 debut, you are so pale and nervous, beauti 
 ful Ludmilla," said Baron Zano. 
 
 "I don t know how it is, but I do feel 
 distressed and nervous just now," Ludmilla 
 replied. 
 
 Director Kraut uttered a loud laugh. 
 "Never fear, Ludi; she will take the house 
 by storm." 
 
 " If she preserve her dignity before the 
 audience as she has done hitherto, there 
 can be no doubt of her success," said Dr. 
 Grau, sententiously. 
 
 Seebag alone seemed to share Ludmilla s 
 nervousness, but he said nothing. 
 
 7 O 
 
 The rythmic tones of one of Strauss s 
 waltzes, especially arranged for the occa 
 sion, put the friends of Antonette de Fallon 
 in better humor. The tremendous ap 
 plause was taken as a good omen; but 
 when the storm of applause had subsided,
 
 72 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 Ludmilla s nervousness returned, and, driv 
 en by an unconquerable anxiety, she rose 
 and announced her intention of going to 
 Antonette s room. 
 
 "She might want my assistance," Lud- 
 milla said. 
 
 "I would not go, if I were you," said 
 Dr. Grau; "she will do very well, if no 
 unforeseen misfortune is brought about by 
 the people in the cast." 
 
 Hardly had he uttered the last words, 
 when two huge flames were seen shooting 
 up from the footlights. In an instant the 
 curtain was one sheet of fire. A cry of 
 despair rose above the vast audience. It 
 came from beneath the stage, and for a 
 moment all was silent. Then ensued a 
 scene such as is beyond human power to 
 describe. One impulse seemed to sway 
 all. They rose, and, gazing at the leaping 
 flames, were transfixed with horror. The
 
 THE FATED STAR. 73 
 
 pale faces, the rigid bodies, seemed petri 
 fied. Soon, however, the reaction set in ; 
 they turned as if with one accord, and 
 made a rush for the door. 
 
 Had there been no impediment, they 
 might have gradually left the house. But 
 women had fainted, and the men who bent 
 down to assist them were instantly crushed 
 down and trampled on. However, the 
 momentary and minute opening was imme 
 diately closed as if by a vice. Nature s 
 most brutal maxim is that which expresses 
 the law of self-preservation, and of all ani 
 mals, the human is the most brutal advo 
 cate and executor. In the theater, big 
 men were seen to put their hands on the 
 shoulders of weak women, and thus lift 
 themselves up, seeking to gain exit and 
 possible safety. The weaker victims broke 
 down with a shriek, that was drowned un 
 der the feet of those who profited by the
 
 74 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 temporary opening. Frantic men and 
 women leaped from the balcony and landed 
 on the heads of those below, whose necks 
 they broke, while others positively walked 
 on the heads of that trampled, despairing 
 mass of humanity. A few daring ones 
 saved themselves by leaping from high 
 windows. 
 
 At the door, which unfortunately opened 
 from within, the horrors were ghastly in the 
 extreme. The awful catastrophe seemed 
 to have robbed many of their reason. 
 
 " Open the doors ! Open the doors ! " they 
 shrieked. "You are keeping the doors 
 closed on purpose to burn us alive ! " They 
 cursed the " Fated Star " and its author, 
 they cursed God and the Emperor, and 
 with blood-curdling yells fastened their 
 teeth in the cheeks of those against whom 
 they were pitched, in the agony of unre 
 lenting fate. And now ensued a scene,
 
 THE FATED STAR. 75 
 
 the ghastliness of which surpasses expres 
 sion. They tore each others flesh, biting, 
 biting, till their heads fell against each 
 other, dead. 
 
 At length the doors were broken, and 
 those nearest fell in the doorway ; the dy 
 ing were trampled to death. Like a gigan 
 tic wave, the mass of tortured humanity 
 rushed into the aperture where the stairs 
 were leading down into the hall, and in 
 stantly the funnel-shaped opening was 
 clogged with dead and dying. 
 
 Among those who escaped with their 
 lives were the Director, Dr. Grau, the 
 latter a raving maniac, Seebag, and Lud- 
 milla. Her hair had turned completely 
 white, but she was more composed than 
 Seebag, who wept like a child, and seemed 
 broken in spirit and body. " I have lost 
 all, all," he cried; " every thing that makes 
 life worth living. Antonette, Antonette,
 
 76 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 you were the Fated Star, my Fated 
 Star. " 
 
 Ludmilla supported him as they made 
 their way through the populace. The 
 tears ran down her pallid cheeks. 
 
 " I have calculated without fate," she 
 murmured.
 
 A CHRISTMAS PROMISE. 
 
 i. 
 
 \HRE sei Gott in der Hoehe, und Friede 
 auf Erden, und den Menschen ein 
 Wohlgef alien" 
 
 " Glory be to God in the highest, and 
 peace on earth and good will to man." 
 
 Some one had opened the door of the 
 church on the Friedrichs Platz, in Berlin, 
 and the words quoted rang out into the 
 silent square, clear and distinct. Opposite 
 the church, in the " Platz," that was cov 
 ered by a foot and a half of snow, but 
 which had been cleared in places for pedes 
 trians, a lady and a gentleman, both dressed 
 in elegant furs, their feet in high goloshes, 
 walked up and down. They were young,
 
 78 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 and the lady was very beautiful. She was 
 a blonde, and her cloak and head-covering, 
 the latter in the shape of the national 
 Polish "chapka," were of blue velvet 
 trimmed with silver fox. Needless to say 
 that this enhanced her beauty, which was 
 classical. Her companion was of medium 
 height, of dark complexion, and mobile- 
 featured. People might have called him 
 homely, but no one would have passed 
 him without turning the head to take an 
 other glance at the retreating form. The 
 remarkable feature in the ^gentleman s 
 make-up was his eyes. Heavens I what 
 eyes he had! One might have read all 
 the passions in them, but not stupidity. 
 For Nathan Berger s eyes were the Eyes 
 of Genius. They were jet black, and one 
 could see every object mirrored in their 
 spectrum. 
 
 When he heard the words coming from
 
 A CHRISTMAS PROMISE. 79 
 
 the church, he gazed at the edifice, then at 
 his companion, and said: 
 
 "In there they sing about peace on 
 earth. They lie! there is no peace on 
 earth, Sophie," he cried, taking hold of the 
 girl s arm. "Give me peace; give me rest. 
 The yellow leaves, which the autumn 
 winds have blown from these trees, are 
 buried beneath the snow, they are at rest; 
 they have peace. Ah ! but who knows ?" 
 he said, as if soliloquizing, " maybe some 
 worm is gnawing their dry carcasses; then 
 there is no peace for them, either. Sophie, 
 do you love me as I love you ? Tell me ! " 
 
 " I love you more than any one on earth, 
 Nathan; but- 
 
 ".But," he cried, when Sophie hesitated, 
 " but you find it impossible to marry me, 
 because your parents are against it. Do 
 you remember, love, when I first played in 
 Leipsic ? When I first looked into your
 
 80 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 beauteous face, ah ! then I played for you 
 only. You were my inspiration. My mind 
 was unconscious of my playing, because my 
 soul was with you, and my bow was guided 
 by the hands of an angel. Ah, dear love ! 
 how I must have played to cause so much 
 enthusiasm among the people ! and yet I 
 was utterly oblivious of their existence. 
 For me no one existed but you, love. And 
 now it is all over with me ; I cannot play 
 any more; my violin weeps, it weeps, 
 weeps, w r eeps." 
 
 " Und Friede auf Erden," came from the 
 church again. 
 
 "And peace on earth!" he mocked. 
 " Idiots ! don t you see that it is all a 
 farce ? There is no peace, I tell you. I 
 have come all the way from America to 
 your land of music and learning. I was a 
 child of nature. I loved God, my parents, 
 and my violin, and I had peace. It is
 
 A CHRISTMAS PROMISE. 81 
 
 but six months since I came here, and I 
 am stranded. My peace is gone, because 
 I love hopelessly." The last word was al 
 most a sob. 
 
 Sophie leaned her head on his shoulder, 
 and her tears trickled down upon his fur. 
 The brilliancy of the tears caught his eye. 
 
 "Don t cry, dear love, Sophie, dear, 
 don t cry," he said, forgetting his own an 
 guish at the sight of hers. " Is there no 
 way out of this difficulty ? Come with me 
 to America. My parents will love you as 
 they love me." 
 
 "And have a father s curse upon my 
 life; break my mother s heart. Oh ! Nathan 
 dear, wait; maybe father will relent. We 
 are young, we can afford to wait a couple 
 of years." 
 
 " Ah," said Nathan, " time cures or kills. 
 In a couple of years from now, I may be 
 dead, and you married."
 
 82 THB FOLLOWING: 
 
 " Never ! " cried Sophie. " I will never 
 marry any one but you. Wait, darling, for 
 my sake." 
 
 " I will," said he. " I will wait for you. 
 I will hope and with your promise it will 
 not be against hope. But I will never 
 live to see you married to any one else. 
 Men of my character love but once, and 
 die." 
 
 His dark brow contracted threateningly; 
 his eyes flashed fire, but it was for a mo 
 ment only, and as the church door opened 
 again, and the song of the Christmas an 
 them reached his ear, " Und Friede auf 
 Erden," - - he was not bitter against the 
 glorious promise. He pressed Sophie s 
 hand to his heart. " We may yet have 
 peace and happiness," he said. 
 
 " Amen," the girl responded, and as the 
 people left the church they mingled with 
 the crowd, and were lost to view.
 
 A CHRISTMAS PROMISE. 83 
 
 II. 
 
 "What sweeter promise can possibly be 
 made to mankind than the one which the 
 angel brought to the lowly of Palestine, 
 Behold, I bring you tidings of great joy ? 
 This promise of great joy is the birth of 
 Christ," ran the preacher s sermon in the 
 church on the Friedrichs Platz. " Who 
 would not rejoice at such a promise? For 
 we know that the Father will keep His 
 promise of giving to the world His only 
 begotten Son. It is in our hearts to be 
 lieve it. For are not we weak and sin 
 ful though we be eager to keep our 
 promises given to those we love? and we 
 rejoice at the joy we shall give to those 
 who expect the fulfillment of our sacred 
 promises." As he uttered the last sen 
 tence, a sob was heard that rose and seemed 
 to flutter through the vast building. Some
 
 84 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 of the worshipers turned to see whence it 
 came. 
 
 In the center of the aisle sat Herr Mar- 
 low, a stout and choleric-looking gentle 
 man, his wife, arid his daughter Sophie; 
 the latter was weeping. By her side sat 
 a young man, elegantly dressed, who bent 
 over her and whispered in her ear. In 
 stinctively she drew away from him; he 
 seemed amazed, and his low forehead con 
 tracted; he looked at Herr Marlow; the 
 latter shrugged his shoulders and listened 
 to the sermon. 
 
 " Are you ill, Miss Marlow ? " said the 
 young man by her side. 
 
 She made no answer. 
 
 "Are you weeping for that fiddler?" 
 hissed Mrs. Marlow in Sophie s ear. " I 
 will tell your father as soon as we get 
 home," the mother threatened. At this 
 moment the preacher said "Amen I" and 
 the congregation rose.
 
 A CHRISTMAS PROMISE. 85 
 
 The organ pealed forth a grand overture, 
 and as Mr. and Mrs. Marlow were nearing 
 the door the former stumbled and fell. 
 Mrs. Marlow screamed, and Sophie stood 
 as if petrified. A great commotion en 
 sued ; every one wanted to know what had 
 happened. A physician made his way to 
 where Mr. Marlow lay; he looked at the 
 prostrate man, who was blue in the face, 
 his eyes staring into vacancy, and a white 
 film on his lips. The physician placed his 
 hand on the man s breast, rose, and said, 
 "Apoplexy." Mrs. Marlow s lamentations 
 were heart-rending. "Dead, dead!" she 
 cried. 
 
 The well-dressed young man put his arm 
 
 around Sophie s waist, but she pushed him 
 
 away, and threw herself by her father s side. 
 
 "Oh, father, father," she cried, "what an 
 
 unhappy lot is mine!" 
 
 " Sophie, dear Sophie," breathed some
 
 86 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 one by her side. Sophie did not turn, she 
 knew the voice ; it was Nathan Berger. 
 A shiver ran through her frame, and, 
 forgetting the world and all around her, 
 she laid her head on his breast and wept. 
 All of a sudden Mrs. Marlow s voice was 
 heard, shrill and unforgiving, "Leave us, 
 please," she cried. 
 
 Nathan Berger rose without a word and 
 left the church. As he passed by the well- 
 dressed young man, the latter threw him a 
 look of malicious hatred. " We don t need 
 your fiddle here, Herr Berger," he hissed. 
 Nathan Berger never turned. He thought 
 that it was just one year since Sophie Mar- 
 low had promised to be his, hoping that 
 her father would give in. He now decided 
 to wait another year.
 
 A CHRISTMAS PROMISE. 87 
 
 III. 
 
 " If he should wake while I am away," 
 said Dr. Wagner to the young man at the 
 bedside, "just give him a teaspoonful of 
 this medicine. The crisis is over ; he will 
 pull through. But be careful not to let 
 him have any excitement; no one is to be 
 admitted. I will be here again this after- 
 
 o 
 
 noon. 
 
 On the bed, pale and haggard, lay Na 
 than Berger. On his lips played a happy 
 smile, as he repeatedly uttered the name 
 "Sophie." .... 
 
 Suddenly he opened his eyes, his glo 
 rious eyes had not lost their luster. It 
 was ten o clock in the morning; the bells 
 from the steeple in the neighborhood called 
 the people to the worship of the annually 
 newly born joy, the birth of Christ. 
 Nathan asked no questions, he knew
 
 88 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 that it was Christmas. He recalled 
 Sophie s promise, two years previous, to be 
 his, and then the announcement of her en 
 gagement to Dr. Pille. He remembered 
 clearly the reading of the paragraph ; how 
 each word and each letter had cut his 
 heart and had fallen like molten lead upon 
 his soul. Then all had grown dark; he 
 knew no more until he awoke this morning. 
 He thought that he must have fainted, 
 and that his friend had put him to bed. 
 
 It was about time to rise ; he had an 
 appointment to play at the Academy. He 
 wanted to get out of bed, but was quite 
 unable to move a limb. 
 
 " Keep perfectly quiet, Nat," said his 
 friend. " Here, take this medicine and 
 try to sleep. The doctor will be here 
 again this afternoon." 
 
 "How is that? "said Nathan Berger. 
 "Havel been ill?"
 
 A CHRISTMAS PROMISE. 89 
 
 " Yes, very," his friend replied. " We 
 have despaired of your life; but you pulled 
 through, like a good fellow, and now, if 
 you will behave properly, you will soon be 
 able to be about again." 
 
 " Have I been ill long ? " asked Berger, 
 astonished. 
 
 * About six weeks," said the other. 
 
 Nathan sighed and turned his face to 
 the wall, without making any remark. 
 When his friend smoothed the pillow and 
 asked Nathan to try and sleep, the latter 
 turned his face, and the young man saw 
 the luminous eyes suffused with tears. 
 
 IV. 
 
 They stood in a row for blocks and 
 blocks on Mission Street, in San Francisco, 
 each one eager to buy a ticket for the 
 " Berger Concert" Patti, in her most palmy
 
 90 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 days, could not have boasted of such an 
 enthusiastic throng. Berger had played 
 at the Metropolitan Temple, and his violin 
 had set the music-loving San Francisco 
 people wild with enthusiasm. " He is 
 crazy," said some. " He is a genius," 
 others said. But men and women broke 
 down and wept at the tremendous heart 
 ache that burst forth from his instrument. 
 And for weeks his playing had been dis 
 cussed in the street, in clubs, and in the 
 parlor. The announcement of a concert at 
 the Grand Opera House, therefore, brought 
 all sorts and conditions of people to Mis 
 sion Street. They stood in the pelting 
 rain, heedless of cold and inconvenience. 
 Two doors from the entrance to the theater 
 stood a woman dressed in black and heav 
 ily veiled. She had been in line nearly an 
 hour ; her teeth chattered, and she seemed 
 faint. A gentleman by her side, observing
 
 A CHRISTMAS PROMISE. 91 
 
 her pitiful condition, at first wondered that 
 people could be so " music mad " as to en 
 danger their lives. He spoke to her, tell 
 ing her to go home, as she would be ill. 
 But she merely said: "I must have a 
 ticket." 
 
 Then, out of sheer pity, he placed his 
 broad form in front of her, so as to shield 
 her from the rain. He was a gentleman ! 
 And when he was near the box-office he 
 took her money and bought her ticket. 
 She thanked him and entered the Grand 
 Opera House. 
 
 V. 
 
 .... Nathan Berger s appearance was 
 greeted with tremendous applause. He did 
 not seem to notice it. His pale face was 
 impassive; but his eyes, those luminous 
 orbs, searched the vast audience as an as 
 tronomer the skies, and when the uproar
 
 92 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 had subsided, he took his violin, placed it 
 in position, and with a sweep of his bow 
 played a symphony. It was a masterful 
 rendition. But all of a sudden he stopped, 
 stopped just for a moment, and then 
 there were heard those plaintive sounds as 
 of weeping angels. They grew in intensity 
 and volume. They spread over the vast 
 house, and fell upon the hearers as the fore 
 bodings of a tremendous calamity. Then 
 there was heard a sigh that fluttered above 
 the people and mingled with those sorrow 
 ful strains, and as Nathan Berger drew out 
 his bow in one prolonged tone of agony, all 
 the strings of the violin snapped with a 
 loud report. In the audience a cry was 
 heard, and Nathan Berger fell upon the 
 stage in a faint. Unspeakable confusion 
 ensued. Women became hysterical, and men 
 rushed upon the stage to assist as much as 
 possible. Some one in the audience called
 
 A CHRISTMAS PROMISE. 93 
 
 for a doctor, a woman had fainted. The 
 doctor was on hand. It was the woman in 
 black; she was pale as death, but her fea 
 tures, though worn, were of exquisite beauty. 
 " She is dead," said the doctor. She was 
 at once conveyed to the receiving hospi 
 tal, because the doctor might be mistaken, 
 as some thought. But she was dead; she 
 had died of heart failure. In her pocket 
 was found an elegant card-case, with black- 
 rimmed cards, which bore the inscription: - 
 
 " Frau Dr. Sophie Pille, 
 
 Wittwe, 
 
 18 Spandauer Strasse, 
 Berlin, W." 
 
 She was buried by the German pastor 
 three days later, and his text was, "Ehre 
 seiGott in derHoehe,und Friedeauf Erden, 
 mid den Menschen ein Wohlgefallen." 
 
 It was Christmas I
 
 THE STORY OF VLADIMIR. 
 
 SAY, Burton, what has became of 
 that tall Russian friend of yours with 
 the elegant furs and patent leather top- 
 boots?" said Anderson, a young American, 
 who studied medicine at the University of 
 Heidelberg. 
 
 " He is dead," replied Gustave Burton, 
 a fellow-student. 
 
 " Died in his boots, I suppose ?" said the 
 American. 
 
 " No, he died of a broken heart," the 
 other replied. 
 
 " Well, that is romantic, a vicious Ni 
 hilist to die of a broken heart. He died, 
 at least, in Siberia ? " queried Anderson.
 
 THE STORY OF VLADIMIR. 95 
 
 "It would have been in the general fitness 
 of things." 
 
 Burton seemed hurt at the sarcasm, and 
 said: " He was worthy of a better fate; he 
 was a noble fellow, and, far from being a 
 vicious Nihilist, he was an enthusiast, 
 courageous and refined." 
 
 " He certainly was very handsome," said 
 Anderson. "Do you mind telling me what 
 caused his death ?" 
 
 "His story is best told in his letters," 
 Burton replied. 
 
 " I should very much like to read them," 
 said Anderson. 
 
 Burton unlocked a metal box, from which 
 he took a package of letters tied with a 
 black ribbon 
 
 " Here they are," said he. " Read them 
 and judge of the young man s character. 
 He was not a Nihilist when he was here, 
 nor was he acquainted with the leaders
 
 96 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 of the Propaganda. And when he went 
 to Russia he said that he did not care suffi 
 ciently for politics to bother about them. 
 It seems, however, that Professor Herten, 
 a friend of his father, took him in hand and 
 initiated him in the mysteries of the social 
 agitation. His first letters speak in the 
 most glowing terms about the professor; 
 the most interesting are the two last." 
 Anderson opened one of them and read: 
 
 I. 
 
 " DEAR GUSTAVE, Six months have 
 elapsed since I wrote you last. What a 
 change these six months have wrought in 
 my life ! I have lost my passiveness for 
 politics and my equilibrium. I am in a 
 constant fever of excitement. What I have 
 seen surpasses description. Such misery 1 
 Such ignorance 1 Such brutality 1 And we
 
 THE STORY OP VLADIMIR. 97 
 
 still live ! live in abundance and affluence; 
 enjoy all the seeming blessings which educa 
 tion allots us. But there is really no bless 
 ing in it at all; for we have no sooner learned 
 to appreciate life, than we are appalled at 
 the awful misery which surrounds us. 
 
 " But let me thank God for the privilege 
 of being permitted to write to you again. 
 You will shudder to think how near I came 
 to being prevented from indulging in such 
 a pleasure. I had been sent to St. Peters 
 burg, and on my arrival was met at the 
 depot by two gentlemen, one tall and 
 stately, and the other of medium height, 
 and swarthy-looking. The tall gentleman 
 gave me the sign ; but I hesitated to recog 
 nize him, because I thought I had seen the 
 other gentleman enter the car I had been 
 in, at a way-station. I was not quite sure, 
 but it was sufficient to keep me on my 
 guard. And yet his features were not at
 
 98 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 all repulsive or suspicious-looking. In fact, 
 they looked so much like one who was 
 near and dear to me, that the similarity was 
 astonishing. But this man with the black, 
 glossy hair and whiskers and dark com 
 plexion, I was sure was quite a different 
 person. While I was thus hesitating a 
 smile flitted across his face. 
 
 " We had better take a carriage and 
 carry off Vladimir, without delay. 
 
 " The sound of his voice caused me a 
 faintness of heart. I was about to make an 
 exclamation, but a sharp look bade me be 
 silent. In the carriage I could not master 
 myself any longer. I threw my arms 
 around the dark man s neck. Herten, I 
 cried with a sob, dear Herten! 
 
 " It was the professor. His make-up was 
 so perfect that I did not recognize him. 
 
 " We were uneasy about you, said ho, 
 and I thought it best to be on hand. I
 
 THE STORY OF VLADIMIR. 99 
 
 have to be in Moscow in a week. You 
 will stay at Romanov s house while here. 
 
 " Romanov was the tall gentleman. But 
 I did not enjoy long his hospitality, having 
 been arrested that very evening. Roma 
 nov occupied an elegant mansion on the 
 Nevsky Prospect. After our arrival at 
 the mansion, we were brought to our rooms, 
 bathed, and shortly after dined. After 
 dinner the professor attended to his cor 
 respondence, Romanov went out, and I left 
 the mansion, with the intention of looking 
 around town. 
 
 " Not far from the Nevsky Prospect is 
 a magnificent square, in the center of which 
 is a small lake surrounded by artificial 
 grottos. In one of these sat a gentleman, 
 reading. I seated myself in the same 
 grotto, took a French newspaper from my 
 pocket, and began to read. I saw that my 
 companion was scrutinizing me, and, some-
 
 100 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 what annoyed, I turned around, struck a 
 match and lit a cigar. He arose, and, com 
 ing up to me, politely asked for a light for 
 his cigarette, addressing me in French. He 
 
 O * O 
 
 was very amiable, and, seating himself by 
 my side, said that he was a Frenchman and 
 glad to have found a countryman. I told 
 him that I was not a Frenchman, but had 
 learned the French language from my 
 father, who was of French descent and 
 spoke the language fluently. 
 
 " May I take the liberty of inquiring his 
 name? said he, in a very winning way. 
 Pardon me, he added, gracefully, that I 
 have not told you my name; I am called 
 Lenier, Charles Francois Lenier. 
 
 " You are very kind, said I; my 
 father s name was Pierre Vladislav. 
 
 " What was it that passed over his face? 
 It contracted as if in great pain; but this 
 was only momentary; for when I asked him
 
 THE STORY OP VLADIMIR. 101 
 
 if he was ill, he looked at me with a pleas 
 ant smile. 
 
 " Ah! it is nothing but that trouble 
 some gout, which occasionally gets hold of 
 me. It is over now. Do you intend to re 
 main long at the capital? 
 
 11 A. few weeks, said I. This ended the 
 conversation; he bowed and left the grotto. 
 
 " On reflection, I was not quite pleased 
 with that Frenchman. I had certainly no 
 business to tell him my name. Putting 
 the paper into my pocket I left the grotto, 
 and turned toward the Nevsky Prospect. 
 But had not gone twenty paces when two 
 gendarmes placed their hands on my shoul 
 ders and arrested me in the name of the 
 Czar. 
 
 " So you are Vladimir, the son of Pierre 
 Vladislav/ said the pseudo-Frenchman,
 
 102 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 who was none other than the Inspector of 
 Police. 
 
 "I am, said I. 
 
 " Do you know where you are now ? 
 
 " I suppose in the fortress Peter-Paul/ 
 
 " Exactly. 
 
 " And what do you want of me ? 
 
 " I want you to tell me what object you 
 have in coming to St. Petersburg, when you 
 are a student in Moscow and have no vaca 
 tion ? 
 
 " I was silent. 
 
 " Who came with you ? 
 
 " Still no answer. 
 
 " At whose house do you stop ? 
 
 " I remained silent. 
 
 " Answer, you dog, as I have the means 
 to make vou talk, he cried. 
 
 V 
 
 " His superficial politeness was all gone; 
 he was a Tartar. 
 
 " You may have the means to torture
 
 THE STORY OF VLADIMIR. 103 
 
 me, said I, but you have none to make 
 me talk. I shall say no more. 
 
 " You shall, you cursed dog. I will see 
 whether your flesh is as tough as your 
 character; but, before I go on, let me tell 
 you that you may choose between the 
 mines of Siberia and a life of pleasure. 
 Give me the name of the rebels in Moscow 
 and here, and you shall be set free, pro 
 tected by me. You are young, possess 
 talent, and we can use talented and loyal 
 servants. Choose ! 
 
 "I said nothing. 
 
 " At a motion of the Inspector s hand, a 
 Cossack, evidently used to such scenes, took 
 off my coat and stripped me to the waist. 
 Another motion and my hands and feet 
 were tied, and I was placed on a long bench. 
 
 " You have still time, said my execu 
 tioner. 
 
 "But I kept silent.
 
 104 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 "How can I describe their fiendish bru 
 tality ? My back was cut to the bone by the 
 knout. Consciousness was about leaving 
 me, when I felt a sponge pressed to my 
 lips, a cold shiver passed through my body, 
 and all was dark. 
 
 "When I awoke to consciousness again, 
 I looked into the face of Professor Herten. 
 
 " Where am I? I said, feebly. 
 
 " With me, Vladimir/ 
 
 " But how came I here ? I asked, as the 
 remembrance of what I had suffered gradu- 
 ually came back to me. 
 
 " When you were arrested, I was but a 
 few steps from you. Discretion demanded 
 my non-interference. You could not escape 
 the clutches of the police then, but I could 
 save you afterwards. I was apprised of 
 your fate by the physician, who is an old 
 friend of mine. It was he who pressed the 
 saturated sponge to your month, while hold-
 
 THE STORY OF VLADIMIR. 105 
 
 ing your pulse, and pronounced you dead. 
 You were left with instructions to be buried. 
 As soon as you feel strong enough, we will 
 leave for Moscow, although you need not 
 fear the "late" Police Inspector any more. 
 
 " What ! Did you say " late " ? Is he 
 no longer in his position? 
 
 " Better than that, he is dead ! 
 
 " I was quite overcome. Dead ! He 
 who had witnessed my father s sufferings 
 and torn the flesh from my bones. Surely 
 he deserved death ; but I did not think it 
 would overtake him so quickly. 
 
 " The professor handed me a newspaper, 
 wherein it was stated that the Police In 
 spector had been assassinated in bed. I 
 could not read any further. The letters 
 danced before my eyes. I swooned away. 
 
 " I am again in Moscow, and but few 
 know of my existence, as the police would
 
 106 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 be only too glad to make me an object of 
 their earnest consideration. I live in dif 
 ferent quarters, bear a different name, and 
 not one not even my mother would 
 know me by my appearance. 
 " Adieu. 
 
 "Ever your affectionate 
 
 " VLADIMIR." 
 
 II. 
 
 "BERNE, SWITZERLAND, May 1, 1883. 
 " My DEAR GUSTAVE, Some time has 
 elapsed since you last heard from me. I 
 have been on the highest pinnacle of bliss, 
 and have fallen into the deepest deep of 
 despair. In this happy country, where 
 liberty is the heirloom of every child, I 
 am comparatively free, that is, I am 
 not harassed by the police. But alas ! I 
 shall not live long to enjoy life, as the 
 physicians have declared my malady in-
 
 THE STORY OF VLADIMIR. 107 
 
 curable. Indeed, they could cure or at 
 tempt to cure every known disease; but is 
 there a cure for a broken heart ? I am 
 therefore prepared for the worst. Worst I 
 did I say worst ? Well, I retract that ex 
 pression ; death to me has nothing terrible. 
 It will redeem me from my misery, and I 
 ought to contemplate its approach with the 
 satisfaction we accord a friend. Although 
 the recital of my sad experience causes me 
 intense pain, yet I know that in your heart 
 there is a responsive chord for the sorrows 
 of a friend. 
 
 " It was in the forenoon of a bleak No 
 vember day, 1880, I was at my desk writ 
 ing, that Professor Herten entered and 
 told me that I was to leave for St. Peters 
 burg at once. 
 
 " Be cautious and quick, he said. The 
 reports are very disquieting. The firebrands 
 Hartman and Russiakoff are brewing mis-
 
 108 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 chief, and that crazy Petrovsky is backing 
 them with money. There is but one man 
 whose influence can do some good, Count 
 Datleff. We are watched, and you must 
 try all means to get them to desist. If they 
 do not, it will spoil the work of years. No 
 extremes ! 
 
 " Receiving money and a passport, I left 
 that night for St. Petersburg. There my 
 message caused a flurry among those who 
 had a desire to see bloodshed. A letter 
 from Datleff, that arrived simultaneously 
 with me, cautioned not to make any attempt 
 that was liable to double the vigilance and 
 activity of the police. I was ordered to 
 take a message to Datleff at once, but to 
 take the chaussee instead of the railroad. 
 This command somewhat surprised me. If 
 the message was so pressing, why was I to 
 take a slower means of conveyance ? I ex 
 pressed myself to that effect; they gave me
 
 THE STORY OF VLADIMIR. 109 
 
 the reason of the trains being watched, etc., 
 and I was forced to go by the post-chaise. 
 I reached the village of K - without any 
 mishap, and, being very tired, I asked the 
 post-master to show me a room where I 
 could rest until about to resume my jour 
 ney. He conducted me to a pleasant room, 
 and in a few moments I was fast asleep. 
 
 " I was roughly aroused, and looking 
 about me, saw three Cossacks at my bed 
 side. 
 
 " One of them, a corporal, ordered me to 
 get up immediately. I jumped up, and, 
 without asking any questions, followed 
 them. Resistance on my part would have 
 been madness, for it would have resulted in 
 death. I had to deliver a message to Dat- 
 leff, and, who knows, an opportunity for es 
 cape might offer itself on the road. They 
 handcuffed and put me in a troyka, where 
 I sat between the corporal and one of the
 
 110 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 Cossacks, both holding their carbines on 
 their knees ready to fire, while the third 
 Cossack drove the horses. I had never 
 experienced such a drive. The horses 
 raced as if driven by furies ; it almost took 
 my breath away. Suddenly we came to a 
 bend in the road, and before the maddened 
 horses could be turned, the troyka dashed 
 against a tree. We were literally lifted 
 from the vehicle and thrown into the com 
 pact snow, while the team fell into a deep 
 ditch. It was marvelous that none of us 
 was hurt except the driver, who was stunned, 
 but revived in a few minutes. The corporal 
 and one of the Cossacks looked after the 
 team. The troyka was broken beyond 
 repair, one of the horses had been 
 killed, and two were extracted after the 
 traces had been cut. The corporal and one 
 of the Cossacks mounted each a horse, 
 while the third drove me in front of them.
 
 THE STORY OF VLADIMIR. Ill 
 
 It was quite dark when we reached one of 
 those monjick huts so frequently found in 
 the Russian steppes. The horses being 
 tired, and my guardians hungry, they lost 
 no time in getting under shelter. 
 
 " Hey, monjick! Hay for my horses, 
 and vodky for us, cried the corporal, as 
 he entered the hut. 
 
 " None to spare, Cossack, replied the 
 peasant. 
 
 " The corporal, infuriated at this curt 
 reply, rushed at the peasant; but at that 
 moment his young wife appeared with a 
 light in her hand. The corporal stepped 
 back, bewildered by her beauty. 
 
 "But I could have screamed with joy, 
 for in that peasant s wife I recognized 
 Katinka, the beautiful daughter of old 
 Cahileff, one of my father s tenants. The 
 recognition was mutual, but an almost 
 imperceptible motion of her lips told me to
 
 112 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 keep quiet. Oh! I was quite sure Katinka 
 would save me, and with a light heart I 
 sat down upon a three-legged stool by the 
 fire. 
 
 " What do you wish, sir? she asked, in 
 a sweet voice. 
 
 " I want some hay for my horses, 
 gospodyinna (madam). 
 
 " Ivan, give the corporal some hay, 
 while I prepare some soup, said she to her 
 husband. 
 
 " Ivan said, Harasko (very well), and 
 left the room, accompanied by one of the 
 soldiers. While Ivan and the soldier were 
 outside attending to the horses, Katinka 
 put a stone jug with whisky on the table, 
 and told the Cossacks to help themselves. 
 They needed no second invitation, and 
 very soon their natural tendency toward 
 singing asserted itself. They sang one of 
 those plaintive songs, full of longing for
 
 THE STORY OF VLADIMIR. 113 
 
 their homes and sweethearts. Ivan s wife, 
 too, sang a German song. But if the 
 Cossacks had understood the meaning of 
 those words I doubt not but that they 
 would have cut her down in spite of her 
 beauty. 
 
 " Behind the house, sang she, to the 
 right, stands my cousin s saddled horse. 
 He is asleep upstairs. When the soldiers 
 are deep in whisky, then, dear Vladimir, 
 take the horse and ride a mile on the road 
 until you come to a white house. There 
 my uncle lives; he will save you. 
 
 " In the mean time Ivan and the Cossack 
 returned; they seemed on the best of 
 terms. The Cossack introduced Ivan to 
 the corporal as an old acquaintance, and all 
 drank vodky. 
 
 11 The corporal found the vodky salubri 
 ous for his temper; he offered me some 
 vodky, and at Katinka s solicitation re-
 
 114 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 moved my fetters. Soon the steaming 
 soup was served; but, hungry as I was, I 
 could eat nothing, my mind being on the 
 venture I was to make. Seated between 
 the Cossacks, I made every attempt to 
 swallow a spoonful of the soup; but I was 
 trembling with agitation, and my teeth 
 chattered against the tin spoon as often as 
 I put it into my mouth. If the Cossacks 
 had divined my thoughts, there is hardly 
 any doubt but that I would not have been 
 in a position now to write this story. 
 
 " But the human mind is a mysterious 
 world of its own, and hence I was per 
 mitted to brood deliriously over my plans 
 of escape while the Cossacks tranquilly ate 
 their supper. Suddenly a sound was heard 
 from without, that froze the blood in our 
 veins. 
 
 " It was the howl of wolves and the 
 dying shriek of a horse torn to pieces by
 
 THE STORY OF VLADIMIR. 115 
 
 those terrible beasts, that abound in the 
 Russian steppes only. 
 
 " The horses ! cried Ivan and the Cos 
 sacks simultaneously , and Ivan rushed to 
 the door. 
 
 " * Take your rifle, cried Katinka. 
 
 " I ll go with you, said the corporal. 
 
 " And so will I, added one of the Cos 
 sacks. 
 
 " They rushed out, and I was left alone 
 with one Cossack. Katinka, being a Kus- 
 sian woman, knew that a political prisoner 
 would as lief face wolves in his attempt to 
 gain liberty as to go to Siberia. She there 
 fore cried in German : Now or never ! 
 
 " I can scarcely describe what happened 
 in the next few moments. My hand still 
 trembles; my mind gets confused, and I 
 have to close my eyes and pause when I 
 think of it. Quick as a flash, I jumped up, 
 grasped the stone jug and struck the Cos-
 
 116 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 sack a blow on the head ; he fell like a log. 
 Snatching the pistols from his belt, and 
 telling Katinka to cry for help after a few 
 minutes, so as to free her from the sus 
 picion of aiding in my escape, I ran from 
 the room. 
 
 " I found the saddled horse, and, firing 
 one of the pistols as a signal, I soon heard 
 Katinka cry for help. 
 
 " It was a race for life. In a few min 
 utes I was at the house of Katinka s uncle. 
 When the latter heard who I was, he said : 
 Don t stop here ! You are lost if you 
 do. The Cossacks will surely be here 
 shortly. Take a fresh horse and ride direct 
 to Badin Castle ; it is a straight road. You 
 cannot miss it. It is eighty vierst. You 
 will get there by ten or eleven o clock to 
 morrow morning. Don t spare the horse ; 
 he is. strong. 
 
 " A few minutes later I was on my way
 
 THE STORY OF VLADIMIR. 117 
 
 to Badin Castle, which I reached at noon 
 the next day. 
 
 " Count Datleff, the gentleman to whom 
 I was to deliver an awful message was 
 
 O 
 
 about forty-five years of age. He was six 
 feet in height, finely proportioned, and 
 very handsome of features. He was in his 
 study, a spacious apartment, the walls 
 showing a fine library. The table was 
 covered with maps and papers. Address 
 ing me, he said : 
 
 " So you are Vladislav s son ? Your 
 father was a brave man, he added with a 
 far-off look. Then, after a moment : Can 
 you imagine who was the -cause of your 
 arrest ? 
 
 " I cannot, I answered. 
 
 " * It was evidently a ruse to keep you 
 from delivering the message, he said. As 
 if speaking to himself, he continued : They 
 don t send plain Cossacks to arrest political
 
 118 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 suspects. Ah ! he cried ; it is so, it must 
 be so. They sent word to the police that 
 you are one of the men who committed the 
 church robbery. Ha ! ha ! ha ! he laughed. 
 That is quite a tumble down from your 
 political pinnacle, young man ! You were 
 merely arrested as a church-robber. Tres 
 lien! The Cossacks will be sent to the 
 mines for permitting you to escape. But 
 you are here. I dare say they would roast 
 those fellows alive, if they knew what bird 
 slipped through their fingers. Well, thrice 
 welcome, sir ! What is the message V 
 
 " As he uttered the last word, his face 
 grew somber; and well it might, for I ut 
 tered an awful word. DEATH, I said. 
 
 "When he heard that word he jumped 
 from his seat, and laying his powerful hand 
 on my shoulder, said, in a voice of thunder: 
 
 " Is that their message to me ? Are 
 you sure you make no mistake ? He was
 
 THE STORY OF VLADIMIR. 119 
 
 fearful in his passion. However, I repeated 
 the word. 
 
 " No, he cried; no blood. I don t 
 want it. We are not assassins. We want 
 rights and justice, but these are not the 
 means to get them. In order to get a 
 constitutional government, they would 
 murder 
 
 " Sir, said I, we are not alone. 
 " Between the curtains leading to an 
 other apartment stood a girl whose trans 
 cendent beauty surpasses expression; but 
 she was pale and trembling. I had per 
 ceived her just as the last words had 
 passed Count Datleff s lips. At my re 
 mark, he turned around, and seeing the 
 girl, he extended his arms, saying: - 
 
 " Eveline, my child, what do you wish ? 
 " She came to his arms, rested her head 
 upon his shoulder, and, looking up to him, 
 said with ineffable sweetness:
 
 120 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 " My father! 
 
 " There was a world of meaning in those 
 two words. They told him that she was 
 willing to help him bear his sorrow. How 
 can I describe the beauty of the scene ? It 
 was the most divine sight my eyes had 
 ever beheld. He, tall and strong, in his 
 face supreme sorrow, in his sigh, broken 
 hopes, suppressed anger, and with his arm 
 encircling the form of a woman that in its 
 frailness and pliancy seemed to me that of 
 a supernatural being. 
 
 " When her father introduced her as his 
 only child, I could find no words. I could 
 make no remark in ordinary language. 
 All that I might have said seemed to me, 
 at that moment, banal and evanescent. 
 
 " She gave me her hand, smooth as ala 
 baster. I touched the rosy tips of her fin 
 gers with my lips. 
 
 " Eveline, my child/ said her father, I
 
 THE STORY OP VLADIMIR. 121 
 
 will leave you here with my young friend 
 Vladimir. I shall return in a couple of 
 hours. I trust you will be friends. He 
 kissed Eveline on the forehead, and left. 
 
 " I cannot repeat what we talked about. 
 Two hours had passed as swiftly as two 
 seconds. Oh, most heavenly seconds ! and 
 when her father returned, I knew that my 
 fate was sealed, that I loved Eveline with 
 all the might of my soul, that her image 
 was indelibly stamped in my heart, and 
 that, had she bid me die, I should have 
 considered it divine bliss. 
 
 " * You are friends, said her father, see 
 ing our beaming faces. I am glad of that. 
 Leave us now, dear. We will dine in half 
 an hour. 
 
 "My instructions were given to me with 
 a clearness and precision characteristic of 
 the man. 
 
 " The train for Moscow leaves in two
 
 122 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 hours. Go at once to Professor Herten 
 and tell him my orders are: " No Blood !" 
 We have not sunk so deeply as to murder 
 a man who has done much good in his time, 
 and, but for bad counsel, might have clone 
 better. The conquest of popular ignorance 
 must precede popular liberty. If we edu 
 cate the Russian people, they will liberate 
 themselves; but let not the assassin think 
 he can accomplish it. 
 
 " Shortly after dinner I left for Moscow. 
 Herten was delighted to see me. He 
 doubted if Datleff s message would have 
 any influence at this late hour. I do not 
 know if he was disobeyed, or if his message 
 was delivered at all. A few weeks later 
 the world was shocked at the regicide com 
 mitted by brutal assassins and furthered 
 by misguided visionaries. A week later I 
 went to Berlin. 
 
 " I had left Russia with conflicting feel-
 
 THE STORY OF VLADIMIR. 123 
 
 ings in ray heart. Count Datleff s life, so 
 noble and precious, was in imminent dan 
 ger; and who could tell but that the one 
 I prized above all things on earth might 
 share her father s fate 1 ? My sorrow and 
 anxiety increased, as days and weeks passed 
 without any intelligence from Count Dat- 
 leff. I could control myself no longer. I 
 must go to her. 
 
 " I left Berlin for Moscow, the danger 
 scarcely less than my intense longing to 
 see Eveline. I arrived at Badin Castle 
 three days later. The door opened, and I 
 stood face to face with Eveline. 
 
 " When the confusion incident to my 
 unexpected arrival had passed, she told me 
 of the mental suffering her father had en 
 dured since I had gone. Her father, she 
 said, had an idea that I was in England; 
 and now I had come back to the lion s den. 
 
 " Why did you come? she said.
 
 124 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 They have been hunting for you in every 
 house. You are in great danger. 
 
 " I was silent, and listened to that sweet 
 voice, which thrilled my soul. 
 
 " I came/ I managed to articulate, I 
 came to see you. I believed your father 
 and yourself in danger. 
 
 " And why do you wish to suffer with 
 our misfortune ? Go and save yourself. 
 
 " Never ! 
 
 " Why ? 
 
 " Because I love you ; because I would 
 suffer everything to save your sweet life. 
 
 " As I spoke, she turned pale and 
 pressed her hand to her heart. 
 
 " Eveline, dear Eveline ! I cried; par 
 don me if I have hurt you; but my heart 
 is surcharged with love, one great love 
 for you, my darling, my dear love ! I have 
 loved you from the moment I first saw 
 you. Oh, tell me that I have not hurt
 
 THE STORY OF VLADIMIR. 125 
 
 you. Give me some hope; tell me that I 
 may love you, you alone. 
 
 I looked at her face, suffused with 
 tears and smiles, and I sank on my knees. 
 Eveline, my love ! I cried. She took my 
 head in her hands. 
 
 " Vladimir, dearest Vladimir, she 
 breathed. I caught her in my arms ; and 
 thus we stood, united in one great love, her 
 head on my breast, her eyes closed, pale 
 as a lily. Nor did we hear the opening of 
 the door until the tall figure of the Count 
 stood before us. 
 
 " Vladimir! Eveline! said he, smiling; 
 he did not seem surprised at seeing me. 
 Involuntarily we sank on our knees before 
 the man, so loving as a father, so kind 
 as a friend, and so great as a philosopher. 
 
 " My father ! said Eveline with emo 
 tion, are you displeased with me 1 I love 
 him 1
 
 126 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 " My dear child, said he with ineffable 
 tenderness, it is for your happiness. How 
 can I be displeased with you ? Act as 
 your own heart dictates. 
 
 " Then, turning to me, he said : Vladi 
 mir, into your keeping I intrust my child. 
 I know that you will make her happy. I 
 am only grieved that you cannot remain 
 here. There is no salvation for those poli 
 tically outlawed in Russia. Nor is there 
 any hope for those under suspicion. It is 
 only a question of time when I shall be 
 called away from you. When I am away, 
 Vladimir, do not forget that in this hour I 
 have given you the most precious jewel in 
 my possession, my Eveline. Cherish her, 
 and promise me that in the future you will 
 leave politics alone for her sake. Give 
 me your hand. 
 
 " I gave him my hand, while tears 
 blinded my vision and sobs shook my
 
 THE STORY OF VLADIMIR. 127 
 
 frame. Poor Eveline! she threw herself 
 on her father s breast and wept. 
 
 "We stood thus for several minutes. 
 Datleff held his hands over our heads as in 
 benediction. 
 
 " Suddenly, heavy treads and the clink 
 of spurs were heard in the hall. Children/ 
 said Count Datleff, my time has come. 
 He had hardly finished, when the doors 
 opened and an officer of rank appeared. 
 
 " He bowed. It is my painful duty, 
 Count, he said, to ask you to accompany 
 me. 
 
 " Very well, Baron Larin; I am ready, 
 said Datleff. 
 
 "With a cry of despair Eveline threw 
 herself on her father s neck. O rny dear 
 father! let me go with you. Baron, you 
 are an old friend, take me along. We are 
 both guilty ; we will suffer together. 
 
 " I could see a nervous twitching in the 
 Baron s face.
 
 128 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 "/Order your affairs, Count/ said he, in a 
 whisper. The castle is surrounded. lean- 
 not help there; but you might secure your 
 valuables. The young folks can take them 
 away; they will be unmolested. 
 
 " Then assist them to leave the coun 
 try/ said the Count. 
 
 " I will/ Larin replied, and gave the 
 Count his hand. 
 
 "Turning to Eveline, he continued: 
 Countess, this house will be searched by 
 the Commissair. If no inconvenient papers 
 are found, there might yet be hope/ 
 
 " Impossible/ said the Count. There 
 is enough evidence in this house of my free 
 thoughts to send me to Siberia for life. 
 Baron, I will go with you/ 
 
 " They shall not find the evidence/ 
 cried Eveline, and before we could stop her, 
 she caught a firebrand from the hearth and 
 ran into her father s study. Larin shook
 
 THE STORY OF VLADIMIR. 129 
 
 his head and smiled, but made no effort to 
 follow her, and in a few minutes we saw 
 the flames rise and the smoke fill the house. 
 Not until the fire had made sufficient head 
 way, did Larin open the door to the hall 
 and give the alarm to the soldiers. But 
 nothing could be done; and before the 
 Commissair arrived, Badin Castle was in 
 flames. 
 
 " My duty is done, whispered Larin as 
 he saw the Commissair; you are saved, 
 Count. I think the minister will revoke 
 the order for your arrest now. 
 
 " This was so; the Commissair tele 
 graphed an utter lack of incriminating 
 evidence/ after he and the Count had held 
 a brief conversation. 
 
 " I have paid dearly for our liberty, 
 said Datleff to us, a few hours later, while 
 on our way to Moscow, but I am not de 
 ceived by the Minister s revocation. I re 
 peat, it is but a question of time.
 
 130 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 "We were quietly married in Moscow, 
 and prepared for our journey to Switzer 
 land. On the afternoon of the third day 
 after our arrival at Moscow, Count Dat- 
 leff said: My children, I have concluded 
 to go to Berlin, and have procured pass 
 ports for Eveline and myself. You, Vladi 
 mir, will travel on your own passport. I 
 consider it safer. 
 
 " We rejoiced at this news, and the next 
 morning found us comfortably lodged in 
 our sleeping-car, on the train going to 
 Berlin. 
 
 " I breathed more freely when I had 
 passed the Russian frontier. We staid in 
 Berlin six weeks, and were ready to pro 
 ceed to Berne, in Switzerland. I had 
 gone out to say good by to some friends. 
 I might have been out a little more than 
 an hour; but when I returned to the hotel, 
 both Eveline and her father were gone.
 
 THE STORY OF VLADIMIR. 131 
 
 " Believing them on a promenade, I took 
 a book and read. But when, after two 
 hours, they still remained away, I grew 
 restless. 
 
 " I was just going down to inquire, when 
 the porter came up and handed me a card. 
 
 " Bear up, darling; we are taken to our doom. 
 
 " EVELINE. 
 
 " Who gave you this card? I asked the 
 porter, with a passion that made him stand 
 back. 
 
 " The young lady, he said. Three 
 men came here in a closed carriage, and 
 the old gentleman and the young lady went 
 with them. 
 
 " I heard no more, nor did I see any 
 thing. I seemed to sink into black space. 
 For weeks I hovered between life and 
 death. I rallied for a brief time, and went 
 to Switzerland; but I feel that my time 
 has come.
 
 132 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 " Adieu, my dear friend, till we meet in 
 a happier life. Yours ever, 
 
 " VLADIMIR." 
 
 " Wonderful," said Anderson. 
 
 "Yes; the ways of the Russians are 
 queer," Burton rejoined. " Here is a dis 
 patch, evidently sent to Vladimir after his 
 death." The dispatch ran as follows: 
 
 " Count Datleff and his daughter have been par 
 doned and their possessions restored. They are 
 on their way to Berne. LARIN." 
 
 "This dispatch was sent to me with a 
 lot of papers and the notice of Vladimir s 
 death," remarked Burton. 
 
 "Poor fellow!" said Anderson.
 
 THE AUTOMATIC EXECUTIONER. 
 
 |R. GIERS, Feldon has gone, and left 
 things down in Mexico in confusion. 
 I have just received a dispatch; he has 
 taken along all the stock, securities, and 
 the private papers. You must go down at 
 once and look the matter up. Get those 
 papers at all hazards. As the scoundrel 
 left but yesterday, he must be within reach. 
 My private car will take you as far as the 
 City of Mexico; there you take the narrow 
 gauge to Orizaba. Your old friend Jack 
 son will meet you at the station and assist 
 you. Get ready. Steam is up; in five 
 minutes you will have to start." 
 
 The morrow was to have been my wed-
 
 134 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 ding-day. I was sorry to think of the 
 annoyance which this sudden departure 
 would cause my beautiful Beatrice and her 
 family. I had long learned to make the 
 interests of my chief my own; delay was 
 impossible; I could not even bid them good 
 by. Duty before everything. 
 
 With feelings in which bitterness was 
 curiously blended with satisfaction satis 
 faction with the new evidence of confidence 
 that I was giving I said that I would be 
 ready. 
 
 Returning to my office, I hastily wrote 
 a note to Beatrice, took a box of cigars, 
 and in another two minutes found myself 
 in the chief s private car. He handed me 
 written instructions and a check-book, and 
 wishing me a safe journey, gave the signal 
 to the engineer. A shrill whistle, and 
 away we sped at a tremendous rate. 
 
 I read the instructions carefully. Spe-
 
 THE AUTOMATIC EXECUTIONER. 135 
 
 cial stress was laid upon the recovery of 
 those private papers which the chief had 
 mentioned. Being acquainted with the 
 country, I was sanguine of success, if 1 
 could but get hold of Feldon, although I 
 did not know him personally. 
 
 We reached El Paso almost before I 
 knew it. On we sped through Mexico, un 
 til we arrived at Queretaro, where an acci 
 dent happened to the car. Fortunately we 
 were within twenty minutes of the night 
 express from Aguas Calientes to the City 
 of Mexico, which stops in Queretaro. 
 
 Having telegraphed to the chief regard 
 ing the accident, I ordered the car and the 
 engine side-tracked until the next day, and 
 procured a ticket for a first-class compart 
 ment to the City of Mexico. 
 
 I say "a first-class compartment" be 
 cause the ticket agent had informed me 
 that the express was made up of English
 
 136 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 coaches, with doors on both sides. I don t 
 feel myself called upon to discuss the 
 difference between English coaches and 
 American cars, but although there are 
 some disadvantages in English coaches, 
 owing to the fact that the passengers face 
 each other, a first-class compartment, when 
 occupied by one or two passengers, is cer 
 tainly far more convenient than the Amer 
 ican car, with its two-seat chairs. The 
 seats, which run the whole width of the 
 English compartment-coaches, are comfort 
 ably upholstered, with soft arm-rests and 
 head-cushions. 
 
 I was talking with the engineer, who 
 swore at the Mexicans in choice machine- 
 shop terms, when the express rushed into 
 the station. I was ushered into a com 
 partment by the conductor ; the engine 
 gave a shriek, and we sped toward the 
 City of Mexico.
 
 THE AUTOMATIC EXECUTIONER. 137 
 
 The light in the compartment being 
 rather dim, I did not, on entering, observe 
 the presence of any other person. But I 
 was made aware that I had a fellow-trav 
 eler by something like a growl. My com 
 panion had evidently been disturbed in his 
 slumber, and did not greatly relish it. As 
 I looked more closely, I saw that he was 
 well dressed, of gigantic size, and evidently 
 an American. I apologized for the intru 
 sion, but he made no answer. I had been 
 traveling alone the whole day, and was in 
 clined to talk to some one, so, nothing 
 daunted, I stepped across to his corner, 
 and offered him a cigar ; he refused, and 
 turned his head towards the window. 
 
 I said no more, and, drawing my soft felt 
 over my eyes, I tried to sleep. But how 
 shall I say it? a mysterious power seemed 
 to keep me awake. Opening my eyes, they 
 met the steady gaze of the stranger. Again
 
 138 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 I closed them, and feigned sleep by a good 
 imitation of a snore, while I looked at him 
 through half-closed lids. 
 
 His gaze was still upon me; turn as I 
 might, my eyes reverted to his, and the an 
 noyance which I felt at first soon changed 
 into horror, for suddenly his eyes took that 
 strange brilliancy peculiar to savage beasts 
 and the insane. The longer I looked at 
 him, the firmer my conviction grew that I 
 was the companion of a madman. It is 
 literally true that this knowledge positively 
 paralyzed me, for as I thought of rising, I 
 could not move. The horror grew so in 
 tense that I felt the perspiration oozing 
 from every pore of my body. 
 
 Thoughts chased one another through 
 my brain with the rapidity of lightning; 
 my school days, my life as a newsboy, my 
 meeting with the chief, my first step to an 
 honored position, my lovely affianced, my
 
 THE AUTOMATIC EXECUTIONER. 139 
 
 rise to the highest position in the gift of 
 the chief, ray race after Feldon, all flashed 
 before my mind; and there I was, my eyes 
 spellbound by those of the madman. 
 
 I tried to recall my energy; I sought to 
 coax my limbs into mobility. I reasoned 
 with my fingers, asking them to move just 
 a little; I knew if they but moved one 
 hundredth of an inch, 1 should be safe. I 
 tried to persuade them to move in the di 
 rection of my overcoat pocket, where I had 
 my revolver. Life is so sweet (I reasoned); 
 I am young, beloved, and well to do, and 
 you know that I am a dead shot; move, 
 oh, move just a little! All in vain; they 
 could not or would not obey my will. In 
 sheer despair I tried to scream, but while 
 I heard the wheels roll upon the rails, 
 heard the breathing of the madman, whose 
 face was livid with mania, and heard the 
 beating of my own heart, I could not utter
 
 140 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 a sound. My God I Dumb and palsied in 
 the bloom of life, in the chase after fortune, 
 at the gate of domestic paradise ! Help 1 
 help! But no sound escaped my lips, and 
 those terrible eyes still upon me! 
 
 Now he rose and slowly came to my side. 
 What a tremendous fellow he was! his 
 head touched the ceiling. He stooped and 
 looked into rny eyes; his glance went right 
 through me. He put his hand into my 
 overcoat pocket, out of which he took my 
 revolver and slipped it into his own pocket; 
 as he did so he smiled a ghastly smile, 
 more horrifying even than his gaze. Now 
 he tapped me on the forehead, at the same 
 time saying, ""Get up, Mister!" 
 
 His touch acted on me like a powerful 
 battery; I was up in an instant. Strange 
 to say, and as I stood on my feet, my facul 
 ties returned, but with them the recogni 
 tion that I was absolutely at the disposi 
 tion of the merciless maniac.
 
 THE AUTOMATIC EXECUTIONER. 141 
 
 For a moment I thought he had hyp 
 notized me, and wanted some sport, but I 
 soon found out my mistake; he was obvi 
 ously insane. 
 
 "What do you want of me, sir ?" I cried. 
 
 "I want you!" he replied, ferociously. 
 
 " You want my money, I suppose. Here 
 it is/ and I handed him my pocket-book. 
 
 " Keep your money; I am not a robber; 
 I am a philanthropist." 
 
 " And what do you want of me? " 
 
 "I want to show you an invention of 
 my own; the automatic executioner." 
 
 " I shall be pleased to see it," said I. 
 
 " Shall you ? I am glad of that." 
 
 With this he took from his pocket a cu 
 riously twisted cord, and continued thus : 
 " I have worked on this for years, and am 
 at last ready to show the world what real 
 genius is like. As sheriff of Montreal, I 
 have executed many criminals in my time,
 
 142 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 but their last struggle was always a disgust 
 ing sight. My invention does away with 
 all this; one end of the electro-automatic 
 executioner is fastened to a hook, the noose 
 is slipped over the criminal s head, and in 
 a fraction of a second he is with the silent 
 majority. Do you see the advantage of 
 my invention?" 
 
 I thought it advisable to humor the 
 trend of his mania, and said, " This is 
 truly a great invention. I should like to 
 introduce this among the politicians of San 
 Francisco." 
 
 "Introduce it, eh ? Why, yes, certainly; 
 it shall be introduced, but I will do that 
 myself!" 
 
 "And what do you want me to do in the 
 matter?" I asked, trembling as the thought 
 dawned upon me that he possibly wanted 
 to try his invention on me. His answer 
 confirmed my fears. Ho said:
 
 THE AUTOMATIC EXECUTIONER. 143 
 
 "You? Why, you shall be made glorious 
 by verifying the utility of my invention. 
 I have been hunting in every country in 
 the world for the proper person, worthy 
 enough for that grand purpose, but Heaven 
 bade me wait until this evening. I knew 
 you would come, and am prepared to exe 
 cute Heaven s command." 
 
 Imagine my horror ! If I could have 
 fainted, I should have experienced relief, 
 and would have been executed without 
 consciousness. But my nerves had grown 
 strong during the last moments. I had 
 perfect control over my faculties and feel 
 ings, and thought of means to escape an 
 untimely death. 
 
 Involuntarily I looked at the bell-cord 
 line, which, unfortunately for me, was on 
 the other side of the compartment. 
 
 Madmen are cunning; he caught my 
 look, and said, "It is useless to look for
 
 144 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 that rope there ; this train does not stop at 
 any of the way-stations; nor would Heaven 
 permit this work to be interrupted. When 
 we reach the City of Mexico, I shall be 
 famous and you in heaven I " 
 
 For a moment I thought of jumping at 
 the door, opening it, and saving myself; 
 but the idea was not feasible, because, at 
 the rate the train was moving, I would be 
 dashed to death, were I lucky enough to 
 escape the grasp of the powerful maniac. 
 
 " Make haste," said he, drawing his 
 watch ; " the execution must be completed 
 before five, and it is now twenty minutes 
 to five." 
 
 This intelligence caused me a thrill of 
 
 O 
 
 joy; since force would only hasten my aw 
 ful end, I must seek to gain time. The 
 train was due in the City of Mexico at five 
 o clock; if I could divert him for that length 
 of time, I was saved.
 
 THE AUTOMATIC EXECUTIONER. 145 
 
 " My dear sir," said I, " I am quite will 
 ing that you should try your invention on 
 me, but before I die, I ask you to grant me 
 a favor." 
 
 " What is it? Speak ! it is granted." 
 
 " I wish to write my will, and a letter to 
 a lady to whom I am betrothed, and would 
 ask you to mail the letters in the City of 
 Mexico. Will you do that?" 
 
 " Certainly, with pleasure; only be quick 
 about it." 
 
 " I thank you very much. Ah, how pro 
 voking ! " said I, searching in my pockets. 
 " I have no paper to write the letters. 
 Could you oblige me with a sheet of paper ?" 
 
 " Certainly, sir; I have plenty of that," 
 said he, extracting from his breast-pocket a 
 tablet of paper and two envelopes. 
 
 While he was taking the paper from his 
 pocket, I managed to break the point of 
 my pencil.
 
 146 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 " Just see how troublesome I am ! The 
 point of my pencil has broken off, and I 
 have no knife to sharpen it." 
 
 "Oh, no trouble at all," he replied. "Just 
 hand me the pencil and I will sharpen it 
 for you." With this he took a keen-edged 
 dagger from the belt under his coat and 
 sharpened the pencil. He was evidently 
 as well armed as he was physically power 
 ful. Having sharpened the pencil, he 
 sheathed his dagger, and told me to go on. 
 
 I thought of writing a lot of nonsense, but 
 could not, for the life of me, which really 
 was at stake, compose a simple sentence. 
 In my despair I copied the alphabet. I 
 drew the characters with care, in order to 
 fill up time and space. Oh, my sorry fate ! 
 how slowly the moments passed by! how 
 miserably slow the train moved on ! I had 
 often whistled a gallop to the " tac " the 
 wheels were beating as they touched the
 
 THE AUTOMATIC EXECUTIONER. 147 
 
 connecting points of the rail, but now they 
 were so slow that funeral music would have 
 required a quicker tempo. 
 
 At last the sheet was full, and my exe 
 cutioner asked me if I were ready. 
 
 " I am ready with my will, but I have 
 not written the letter to my affianced." 
 
 " Well, write quickly," said he, and his 
 look was threatening. 
 
 " I should like to describe to her your 
 wonderful invention. Can you show me 
 how it works, so that I may write intel 
 ligently on the subject." 
 
 4< Decidedly, I will. You are a good fel 
 low, entirely unlike those cowards in Mon 
 treal." 
 
 "Ah, but where will you fasten it ?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "Nothing easier; I slip the end through 
 that lamp-bracket in the ceiling, just the 
 place for it."
 
 148 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 So said, so done; but while he was thus 
 occupied, I cast a glance at the window, 
 and my heart gave a leap, for I saw the 
 first houses of the great Mexican city. 
 To gain a little more time was all that I 
 needed; but my life depended on my doing 
 so. 
 
 " Behold how it is done," said he, hold 
 ing the cord in one hand. 
 
 " Ah, but you would have to engage a 
 living executioner to slip the noose over 
 the criminal s head," I argued. 
 
 " There is where you are at fault. You 
 need no one at all to assist in the execution. 
 The criminal himself slips it over his head, 
 the automatic executioner being so charged 
 with electricity that it no sooner touches 
 his neck than it kills him." 
 
 He became frightfully excited, and in his 
 rage did not hear the whistle of the locomo 
 tive. The sound inspired me with hope
 
 THE AUTOMATIC EXECUTIONER. 149 
 
 and courage. Now, another minute and I 
 
 O 
 
 am safe ! 
 
 " This is indeed the greatest invention of 
 the age," said I. 
 
 " The only thing that perplexes me is 
 how you prevent the criminal from slipping 
 out of the noose. You would then need a 
 man, after all, to keep the noose in the 
 proper place." 
 
 " There is the great point of my inven 
 tion. The electricity draws the noose to 
 gether the instant it slips over his head 
 and " 
 
 " Can you draw? " I interrupted him. 
 
 " No," he replied. "Why?" 
 
 " Because, I should like to send my affi 
 anced a sketch of this wonderful execu 
 tioner; she would enjoy it. But as you 
 cannot draw, and as I, who am a first-class 
 sketcher, could not possibly make a sketch 
 after my death, she will have to do with-
 
 150 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 out it. She will be doubly sorry, because 
 she edits a newspaper. 
 
 " A newspaper, did you say?" he cried, 
 his eyes flashing wildly. " They refused 
 to mention my invention in the papers in 
 Montreal, the curs ! " 
 
 "My affianced would be only be too 
 happy to do it, if " 
 
 " If what ? " he cried. " Why don t you 
 finish ?" 
 
 " I was going to say, if you would con 
 sent to slip the noose over your head, so 
 that I might sketch you. She would pub 
 lish the description only if it is accompan 
 ied by a sketch." 
 
 " This is a capital idea," said he; " and if 
 you are quick about it, I ll do it." 
 
 "I will be quick," I cried. "Get ready." 
 
 I had hardly finished when he slipped 
 the cord over his head; but quicker than 
 thought I was at the door, opened it, and
 
 THE AUTOMATIC EXECUTIONER. 151 
 
 jumped. I fell into a crowd of people, 
 we were at the station of the City of Mex 
 ico. As I jumped I heard the gurgling 
 sounds of the strangling maniac. Regain 
 ing my feet I hastened to the compartment, 
 anticipating the horrible sight of the mad 
 man, strangled by the invention of his dis 
 ordered mind. But imagine my surprise, 
 when, on reaching the place of my late ad 
 venture, I found it vacant. 
 
 Had I been dreaming, or was I mad? 
 Had all that I suffered been an hallucina 
 tion? 
 
 The curious crowd made such a noise 
 that the conductor came forward, eager to 
 know the cause of the tumult. I asked 
 him if he knew my traveling companion, 
 if he had seen him leave. He looked at 
 me in blank astonishment; he had seen no 
 one leave the compartment except myself, 
 in the peculiar manner described. He
 
 152 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 said that I had been the sole occupant of 
 that compartment from Queretaro; and, 
 turning to the crowd, said, in Spanish, 
 "The American is crazy." This caused the 
 crowd to disperse, panic-stricken. Seeing 
 that I could get no satisfactory explanation 
 from the conductor, I took my overcoat and 
 bought a ticket for Orizaba. At the sta 
 tion there I was met by Jackson, who re 
 ceived me very cordially, and informed me 
 that Feldon had been found. I had ex 
 perienced so many shocks in the last few 
 hours, that this news hardly surprised me. 
 Still, I asked, "Where was he found]" 
 
 "In Jalapa," was Jackson s reply. 
 
 "When was that?" I queried. 
 
 "Last night," said Jackson. 
 
 "What has he got to say?" said I, 
 sternly. 
 
 " To say 1 " cried Jackson ; " the poor fel 
 low has nothing to say; he is as crazy as a
 
 THE AUTOMATIC EXECUTIONER. 153 
 
 loon. I pity him. It took six men to 
 manage him last night." 
 
 We had just arrived at the quartz- mills, 
 and Jackson conducted me into the room 
 where Feldon was strapped to an iron bed 
 stead, a raving maniac. As I looked into 
 his face, I nearly fell, the shock was so 
 tremendous. Great God ! it was my trav 
 eling companion of the night before ! 
 
 When I told Jackson the cause of my 
 agitation, he was perplexed. " The auto 
 matic executioner is the very thing he 
 raved about. We found him half dead, 
 with a riata around his neck. This is very 
 strange !" said Jackson. 
 
 My story met with many incredulous 
 smiles in San Francisco. My dear wife 
 alone believes it. "It is the projected 
 consciousness, or your Astral Body, that 
 experienced all this," she says.
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 
 
 i. 
 
 [HERE are many people living now, 
 who will recall with a shudder the 
 frightful epidemic which raged in the city 
 of San Francisco a score of years ago. This 
 epidemic was a malignant typhoid fever, 
 which made its appearance first in the hos 
 pital of the county jail. More than fifty- 
 eight convicts died in one summer of that 
 mysterious disease, which manifested al 
 ways the same symptoms and always ended 
 with a fatal result. The people in the city 
 knew -at first very little of this dreadful 
 calamity ; moreover, they were quite un 
 concerned whether more or fewer convicts 
 lived or died behind the massive walls of
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 155 
 
 the county s penal institute. However, the 
 newspapers soon spread the matter abroad ; 
 people became cognizant of the danger that 
 threatened the community. Thus far, the 
 people of San Francisco had been merci 
 fully spared; but while some spoke in 
 whispers about the epidemic which was 
 raging among the outcasts of society, others 
 spoke with pride of Dr. Clinton, the peni 
 tentiary physician, who had discovered the 
 disease, and was the first to give a minute 
 description of it. He had not been able to 
 cure any of the convicts, but his fame had 
 reached the remotest corners of the civil 
 ized world. 
 
 Dr. Clinton lived in a gloomy house at 
 the outer end of Broadway, which stood 
 alone in a block of land. He was not very 
 sociable, but that did not prevent the 
 wealthiest people from calling him to their 
 houses.
 
 156 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 Dr. Clinton was born in the city of New 
 York, had graduated from the medical col 
 lege at quite an early age, had gone to 
 Europe, and after years and years of hard 
 study at the great universities, had at last 
 gone with a scientific expedition to study 
 the fever epidemic and other noxious dis 
 eases among the natives of the West In 
 dies, finally settling in San Francisco. 
 
 Some of the younger physicians were en 
 thusiastic about Dr. Clinton s discovery 
 (the older practitioners were less demon 
 strative), and adored his fine scholarship. 
 It was a pity, they said, that he was so ex 
 clusive, and buried himself in the old house 
 on Broadway, when society was eager to 
 lionize him. The Doctor paid no attention 
 to gossip, either favorable or otherwise. 
 The prison and his gloomy house on Broad 
 way were his world ; he was satisfied. 
 
 With Dr. Clinton lived his sister, Alvira,
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 157 
 
 who kept house for him, and a dismal-look 
 ing servant by the name of Mort, who had 
 accompanied the doctor on his travels. 
 
 Alvira Clinton was wealthy in her own 
 right; her parents, at their death, had left 
 her and her brother enough means to live 
 in luxury all their lives, but the Doctor s 
 love of science had made him careless of 
 ease. 
 
 Alvira Clinton, without being very beau 
 tiful, lacked by no means a certain attract 
 iveness. She had big black eyes, which 
 were expressive of intelligence; about her 
 mouth there was that peculiar expression 
 said to be expressive of an indomitable will. 
 But when Alvira talked she was positively 
 handsome. There was a bubbling over of 
 spirit, a sparkling of wit, that charmed all 
 men. She talked but seldom now; her de 
 votion to h^r brother, her tireless help in 
 his scientific labors, occupied her time. She
 
 158 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 did not care for society, its gossip and its 
 parties, but was seen more frequently in 
 the houses of the poor, her neighbors and 
 well-wishers. She went to see them be 
 cause, curiously enough, the miserable Mex 
 icans in the neighborhood were afraid to 
 enter the gloomy house, which was sur 
 rounded by a high fence and tall eucalyptus 
 trees. 
 
 At a short distance from the house was 
 a large stable containing the animals on 
 which the Doctor experimented, and which 
 Mort called the " Clinic." 
 
 Alvira shuddered when she heard her 
 brother give the details for the dog clinic; 
 the winnings of the tortured animals filled 
 her with unspeakable horror. This annoyed 
 her brother, and he made her enter the 
 gruesome hospital. He desired her to sat 
 isfy herself that the animals were not being 
 tortured, and that the noise came from the
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 159 
 
 dogs playing in the garden. Alvira was 
 compelled to acknowledge that the ani 
 mals in the " Clinic " were quite as lively as 
 the dogs in the garden; there was no sign of 
 cruelty, nor even harshness, visible; every 
 thing was kept scrupulously clean, making 
 quite a pleasing impression. Of course, 
 there were several of the sick rabbits 
 stretched out in their cages; the light had 
 gone from their eyes, and they seemed to 
 wait for the end which was sure to come. 
 But this had to be; it was in perfect har 
 mony with a hospital. 
 
 " Are you satisfied now ? " Dr. Clinton 
 asked his sister. 
 
 " Yes," said Alvira; " still, I think I had 
 better keep away from your clinic." 
 
 " Suit yourself," said he, calmly. It was 
 just as well she staid away; he had no need 
 of her there, and she might be in Mort s 
 way. The latter attended to all the business 
 in that domain.
 
 160 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 Mort was Clinton s right-hand man. 
 He was absolutely indispensable. He con 
 trived to keep the " Clinic " supplied with 
 the animals necessary for anatomical 
 purposes and to dispose of them after that. 
 Alvira hated him because he seemed too 
 familiar with her brother. She shuddered 
 when he came near her; he was so repul 
 sive-looking. From the back of his head 
 to his forehead there was not a hair. His 
 head looked like a huge ball of polished 
 ivory. He had neither brows nor eye 
 lashes, and his nose was flattened down to 
 a wide mouth with colorless lips and im 
 mense teeth. His body was lank and his 
 clothes too wide. The skin of his face and 
 hands looked like yellow parchment drawn 
 taut. One invariably imagined that his 
 clothes covered a horrible skeleton. And 
 this individual, at the sight of whom dogs 
 drew in their tails and ran away, had the 
 fullest confidence of her brother.
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 161 
 
 " No one outside of the Doctor and my 
 self shall see what we are about in our 
 hospital," he once said to a presumptuous 
 reporter. And thus they lived, secluded 
 from the world, with nothing to disturb 
 them. The many famous physicians and 
 the lesser lights who had come to study 
 the peculiar disease, and had expected to 
 be treated hospitably by Dr. Clinton, were 
 somewhat disappointed. Not that he did 
 not treat them with the necessary civility, 
 but while he took them to the prison hos 
 pital, he coldly refused to admit them to 
 his private study or to Mort s " Clinic." 
 They should neither see his notes nor the 
 means he employed to check the disease. 
 
 His persistent refusal to show his private 
 " workshop " caused the learned doctors 
 to shake their heads suspiciously. Clinton 
 saw it and bit his lips ; but when they had 
 gone his rage was uncontrollable. "The
 
 162 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 idiots!" he cried, and ran into the garden, 
 racing up and down. Mort, who knew the 
 cause of the Doctor s rage, roundly abused 
 the " Eastern quacks." This invariably 
 had a pacifying effect upon the Doctor. 
 He smiled, and a defiant look came into 
 his face. Let them shake their heads. 
 Mort and himself, and not a living human 
 soul besides, should enter his sanctum un 
 til the work is done. 
 
 Any person who ventured into the gar 
 den or into the house was treated most un 
 graciously by Mort. "What do you want? 
 We don t receive visitors," was the stereo 
 typed remark with which he sent away 
 men and women. 
 
 However, one man, George Dalton, was 
 an exception. He alone dared to enter the 
 lonely house without being sent away.
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 163 
 
 II. 
 
 George Dalton was a lawyer who had 
 known the Clinton family in New York, 
 and had transacted their business there. 
 He had asked Mr. Alfred Clinton, Sen., 
 for permission to pay his respects to the 
 only daughter, but was met with such 
 harshness by the old gentleman that 
 he did not make a second attempt. Of 
 course, George Dalton was an impecunious 
 young lawyer, but he was young, well 
 educated, of a jovial disposition, and quite 
 hopeful. When the old Mr. Clinton told 
 Dalton that he could aspire to transact the 
 legal business of the family, and to nothing- 
 else, George said nothing. But he no 
 
 * o o 
 
 sooner left the Clinton mansion than he 
 proceeded to the nearest barber, had his 
 blonde locks and beard cut and shaved, 
 went home, packed his portmanteau, and
 
 164 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 went West. In less than five years George 
 Dalton had made a reputation and a fortune; 
 but his early timidity never left him. He 
 recalled the words of Clinton, Sen., and he 
 staid in the city of San Francisco. 
 
 Ten years more had gone by and one 
 day George saw Alvira on the street. The 
 hot wave that suffused his face when he 
 saw her clearly told that years and space 
 had no effect upon his affections. Alvira, 
 too, was happy to see him. She told him 
 of the death of her parents, of her brother s 
 great learning and fame, and their inten 
 tion to locate in the city. They were in 
 deed a handsome pair as they walked up 
 Broadway. Dr. Clinton was favorable to 
 Dalton, as far as he was capable of showing 
 his regard. He spoke a word or two with 
 the friend of his sister, and then left them 
 alone. Dr. Clinton had no interest in any 
 thing or anybody that did not betray the
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 165 
 
 symptoms of typhoid fever. But when 
 George Dal ton succeeded in getting him 
 the position in the prison hospital, he con 
 descended to express his appreciation, not 
 to Dalton, but to Alvira. She was happy 
 that he thought well of George ; for, be it 
 understood, she loved the lawyer, and would 
 have followed him, were it not that she 
 pitied her brother, who would have been 
 helpless without her. Nor could she think 
 of leaving him alone with his "evil genius," 
 as she called Mort. 
 
 Dr. Clinton was sure of his sister. He 
 knew that she would not leave him for 
 any man. He did not object to Dalton s 
 visits, which, however, were not so fre 
 quent as to cause him any uneasiness. 
 Every Sunday evening the gloomy house, 
 or, to be more precise, the family sitting- 
 room, was enlivened by George Dalton s 
 pleasant conversation; and because Alvira
 
 166 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 seemed to enjoy the lively chit-chat, her 
 brother rather encouraged the visitor. 
 Without it, the Doctor thought she might 
 tire of the loneliness and gloom, and who 
 knows? might leave him alone the very 
 thought caused him to shudder with his 
 factotum, Mort. The latter knew that 
 this thought upset the Doctor, and he never 
 failed to allude to it. These allusions en 
 raged Clinton, and he would have chastised 
 his servant or dismissed him if he could. 
 But as he could not do either, he raved in 
 impotent rage, and then consoled himself 
 with the thought that Alvira was too sen 
 sible to entertain any such ideas. How 
 could she? 
 
 One bright, sunny morning, it was on a 
 Sunday, a scene was enacted in Dr. Clin 
 ton s garden that caused Alvira to weep, 
 the Doctor to rave, and Mort to grin; and 
 when Mort grinned, the birds in the trees
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 167 
 
 ceased their chirping and flew away; every 
 thing seemed to wither when Mort s eyes 
 glistened and Mort s mouth grinned. The 
 scene was as follows: In an altana in the 
 garden sat George Dalton, Alvira, and 
 the Doctor. Dalton seemed depressed, - 
 strange for a man of his temper; the Doctor 
 was smoking, and Alvira was speaking 
 rather hastily and incoherently. At some 
 distance, but near enough for him to hear, 
 was Mort with his dogs. Clinton had just 
 thrown away the stump of a cigar, and Al 
 vira, glad at the pretext, went into the 
 house to fetch some fresh cigars. 
 
 Dalton took advantage of Alvira s ab 
 sence and said, " I might as well say it 
 now as at any other time. Dr. Clinton, I 
 love Almira; have loved her for years, and 
 have reason to believe that she is not in 
 different to me. In a word, I desire to 
 marry your sister. She shall never have
 
 168 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 any cause to regret it. Give us your con 
 sent, Doctor." 
 
 Dr. Clinton seemed to think of a proper 
 expression to couch his refusal. Dalton s 
 speech had evidently displeased him, but 
 it did not come unexpected. He had grown 
 tired of the lawyer s visits. He wanted 
 absolute seclusion. If the lawyer suffered 
 a second rebuff, he was sure to stay away 
 for good. He stroked his beard, and a 
 smile of satisfaction flitted across his pale 
 face. 
 
 " You are speaking of an impossibility, 
 Dalton," he said. " My sister has con 
 cluded, once for all, to devote her life to 
 such an unworthy old bachelor as I am." 
 
 But you cannot you dare not accept 
 such a sacrifice, Dr. Clinton," said Dal- 
 ton. " Alvira is not the girl to spend her 
 life in the society of that fellow Mort and 
 his dogs. You ought to be more reason 
 able, Doctor."
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 169 
 
 Dr. Clinton rose from his seat. He was 
 a shade paler than usual. His dark eyes 
 shot flashes of malignant hatred and con 
 tempt. Dalton involuntarily stepped back 
 as the Doctor hissed the answer into his 
 face : "Whether I have the right to accept 
 the sacrifice of my sister, if to resign the 
 drudgery of a commonplace marriage can 
 be called a sacrifice, this, I judge, is no 
 business of a stranger." 
 
 "But I am" 
 
 "A stranger for us," said the Doctor. 
 " You could have spared yourself this ex 
 planation if your feelings had been less 
 youthful than your age would lead one to 
 believe." 
 
 George Dalton was astounded, but he 
 gradually gained his balance. " We two 
 are done, Dr. Clinton," he said. "Miss 
 Alvira is of age, and mistress of her own 
 action. I will ask her to decide."
 
 170 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 " There she is," said Clinton. " I will 
 leave you two alone, so that you do not 
 accuse me of influencing her decision." 
 
 When Alvira returned she was aston 
 ished to find her brother and Dalton facing 
 each other in evident excitement. Clinton 
 cut the matter short by saying: "Alvira, 
 Mr. Dalton desires to speak to you. I 
 will, in the mean time, look after Mort s 
 boarders." 
 
 Alvira took a seat and motioned Dalton 
 to do likewise. But when Dalton was 
 about to speak, she said, " Do not speak." 
 Her voice was soft and sad. " Whatever 
 changes you desire to bring about, do not 
 count upon my consent. Years ago, yes ; 
 but now it is different. I feel it is my sa 
 cred duty to care for Alfred, who would 
 be lost without me. Besides, I do not feel 
 at all lonely," she added, with all the fem 
 inine tenderness she was capable of, "since
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 171 
 
 you come to the house. Leave matters as 
 they are. We have peace; do not disturb 
 the mutual harmony." 
 
 " My dear Alvira, what you have said," 
 replied Dalton, " demonstrates to me one 
 fact, namely, that you appreciate my visits, 
 and because of that I tell you, if you do 
 love me a little, you will not refuse me. 
 You will not cast aside the true devotion 
 of a man tried and found loyal. I say again, 
 Alvira, be my wife." 
 
 The girl looked at Dalton with eyes that 
 mirrored the gratitude of her soul. She 
 knew that she loved him, and had he taken 
 her to his breast in youthful passion, she 
 would have followed him. She would have 
 forsaken her brother, if Dalton had kissed 
 the confession from her lips. But as he 
 appeared in a matter of fact manner, speak 
 ing friendly and sensibly, it was her duty 
 to be sensible, too, and this demanded that
 
 172 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 she tell him where her duty lay, namely, 
 with her brother. The reason why she 
 would not leave him was that he was sac 
 rificing his health and his life to science. 
 She said it with a sigh that clearly told of 
 her sufferings. 
 
 " Then you stay with him out of sheer 
 pity?" Dalton asked. 
 
 Alvira took hold of Dalton s hand, and 
 with every evidence of anxiety she said: 
 " Forgive me, George, but I cannot act 
 otherwise. My brother believes in my 
 faithful love and devotion, and he shall not 
 be disappointed. On the day that he needs 
 my life it shall be fettered by no other 
 bonds. I must be at his side." 
 
 4 
 
 Alvira sank back into her seat and cov 
 ered her face with her hands. Dalton saw 
 the tears trickle through her fingers. His 
 heart ached to see the woman he loved 
 suffer so much.
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 173 
 
 " Your brother is ill. He ought to give 
 up his work. Let him travel, anything 
 that will keep him away from his labors," 
 said he. 
 
 " You are right," said Alvira. " His 
 work will be his death; but he cannot live 
 without it. You ought to have seen him 
 when he discovered the first case at the 
 prison hospital. He had evidently been 
 baffled by something in his investigations, 
 and the epidemic at the hospital had come 
 at the most opportune moment. He suf 
 fered, nevertheless, because he believed him 
 self responsible for every person that died, 
 as if he, and not God, had brought on the 
 epidemic. The first evening when the 
 dread disease made its appearance was 
 the most horrible. I shall never forget it. 
 He came into the house without saying a 
 word, and ran out into the garden again, 
 running up and down as if possessed, tram-
 
 174 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 pling upon flowers and the shrubbery, and 
 laughing loudly. It terrified me, but I did 
 not dare to speak to him. He is quiet now, 
 and with nothing to excite him, we live 
 quite happily. And now I see the dark 
 clouds again. This time, dear friend, you 
 are the disturber. For my sake, George, 
 be friends with Alfred, and when you come 
 again do not broach that other subject." 
 
 "My dear Miss Alvira, I am grieved to 
 tell you that after the hard words that 
 have passed between your brother and me 
 it would be quite impossible for me to call 
 at his house again ; but granted I did come, 
 it would be equally impossible for me to 
 subdue my feelings, now more than ever, 
 since I know how unhappy you are." 
 
 He rose and stretched out his hand, 
 which she grasped, saying: "I know that 
 you will forever remain my dearest, my 
 best, friend, and because of that I ask you
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 175 
 
 to promise me when I call you that you 
 will come to me. Promise me, George ! " 
 He knew what she suffered, and without a 
 word he pressed her hand in token of a 
 promise, and left. Dr. Clinton saw Dalton, 
 the only friend of the family, leave the 
 house, but he seemed to be engrossed in 
 some subject which Mort had shown him, 
 and did not turn. 
 
 III. 
 
 Added to gossip that Dalton s with 
 drawal occasioned, was the fact that the 
 Doctor s star was on the wane. The peo 
 ple became disappointed in Dr. Clinton. It 
 is true, he had made a great discovery, and 
 the medical journals all over the world were 
 still discussing the subject; but suffering 
 and death are old evils, and the discovery 
 of one more disease was interesting, but
 
 176 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 not quite agreeable to contemplate, consid 
 ering that one might become a victim to 
 the new discovery. Dr. Clinton had not 
 found a remedy against the epidemic, and 
 therefore had achieved nothing. 
 
 But this was not all. He had managed 
 to make more enemies than any man in his 
 profession. When he had become the fash 
 ion in the city, and every one consulted the 
 eminent " fever doctor," he was found defi 
 cient in that one quality, a sine qua non 
 to the success of a physician, to flatter the 
 rich, to humor their ills, especially the fe 
 male patients, and be interested in the babies 
 of fond mothers. To make matters worse, 
 it so happened that he had some differences 
 with one of the prison directors, who told 
 him that he (Dr. Clinton) was merely an 
 official at the hospital, but not the master. 
 And last, but not least for Dr. Clinton, 
 was the fact that the epidemic had disap 
 peared as suddenly as it had come.
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 177 
 
 People began to lose their dread of the 
 disease and their respect for the discoverer. 
 Added to this was the opinion of a promi 
 nent college professor of New York, who 
 had spent months in the city to investigate 
 the disease. " This disease is not a new 
 discovery," the professor said, "and it is 
 due to the boundless conceit of Dr. Clinton 
 that it was given so much prominence. If 
 Dr. Clinton had discovered a mode by 
 which the organic disease germs can be 
 developed and scientifically explained, if 
 he have found the bacillus and learned to 
 conquer its poisonous and deadly effect, let 
 him proclaim it, and the world would hail 
 him a Messiah. If he had not done this, 
 he had not merited any recognition, outside 
 of the fact that he had opened one more of 
 the many problems which science is work 
 ing hard to solve. However, the problem 
 was not put by Dr. Clinton, but by his suf-
 
 178 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 fering patients. Dr. Clinton," the professor 
 concluded, "has done nothing; he has not 
 even attempted to save the lives of those 
 who fell victims to the fever." 
 
 The opinion of this eminent man, being 
 published, had the effect that not one per 
 son could be found in the city of San Fran 
 cisco who would consent -to be treated by 
 Dr. Clinton. Even the poorest people were 
 afraid to consult him, and only those who 
 could not get the services of any other phy 
 sician free of charge called him to their 
 bedsides. 
 
 But that peculiarly malignant smile never 
 left Dr. Clinton s lips. In the fever ward 
 of the prison hospital he was still master ; 
 there no one interfered with him. 
 
 But one day the whole matter came to 
 a sudden end. Dr. Clinton came home 
 and told Alvira that he had been dismissed. 
 Alvira desired to know what cause the Di 
 rectors had for such an action.
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 179 
 
 " They at first made all sorts of charges," 
 said Clinton. "I was too independent. I 
 told them I would consult them in the future 
 on all matters. Then they trumped up a 
 charge of infidelity. One of them the 
 fellow is a deacon in a church objected 
 to an atheistic physician; and that cur pre 
 tends to be an American. I laughed in 
 their faces at first, but ultimately promised 
 that for the sake of peace I would go to 
 church and partake of communion, or that 
 I would embrace any faith they pleased." 
 
 "You would not have done that," said 
 Alvira. " I don t believe it! You would 
 never have sacrificed your honor ; because 
 to dissemble is dishonorable." 
 
 Clinton looked at his sister with a con 
 temptuous smile upon his lips. 
 
 " I have laid so many sacrifices upon the 
 altar of science and investigation," said he, 
 grimly, " that a lie more or less could not
 
 180 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 possibly make much difference. But they 
 would not consider my proposition. 
 
 "The next charge was, that I was too ex 
 travagant at the cost of the institution, by 
 giving chickens and wine to the prisoners. 
 Poor devils! I should have deprived them 
 of the necessary nutriment, while I am ex 
 perimenting on their carcasses. To hamper 
 my work on account of such trifles! I mas 
 tered myself, and promised to let the sick 
 starve as much as possible. But it came 
 out at last. They told rne that I do not 
 prescribe any medicine for the sick. Not 
 prescribe enough medicine! Ha, ha, ha! 
 
 "After this I was, of course, forced to 
 leave. The professional honor demanded 
 that I should leave ! The professional 
 honor! Ha, ha, ha! Do these fools think I 
 am like those quacks who believe, and make 
 their patients believe, that they can and 
 will cure them ? We are not here for the
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 181 
 
 sake of hospitals, but hospitals are here for 
 our sakes, for the sake of science. But 
 there was no use fighting ; they had made 
 up their minds to get rid of me, and I 
 went." 
 
 His restless eyes gazed upon the instru 
 ments in the cabinet, then upon the big 
 volumes in his library. There, upon long 
 shelves, stood a fine selection of all the 
 classical and standard medical works from 
 Aristotle down to Pasteur. Alvira un 
 derstood his looks. Among these princes 
 of science, among the greatest of the great, 
 should be Dr. Clinton s work on the ori 
 gin and cause of fever germs and their 
 conquest. Otherwise he had nothing to 
 live for. Alvira, with the instinct of a 
 tender woman, found the right words to 
 encourage her brother. " You are on the 
 road to fame already ; in fact, you are 
 near the goal, and in spite of the petty
 
 182 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 jealousy of small men, you will yet be 
 glorious, brother. You have made all 
 the observations at the hospital that you 
 needed, and as the epidemic is on the wane, 
 it would be the proper time to bring your 
 work to a close." Clinton seemed absent- 
 minded, but at Alvira s last words he shook 
 his head, and said, as if speaking to him 
 self: " But three months more and I would 
 have been done. I could have offered to 
 the world the very greatest work of science, 
 a collection of deadly and of protecting 
 bacilli." 
 
 But Alvira staid by her argument. 
 " Of course, I am not competent to judge," 
 she said ; " but from the information which 
 I gleaned from your remarks made at odd 
 moments, I am inclined to think that new 
 cases of the dread disease could hardly 
 make much difference, and should the epi 
 demic break out again at the hospital, I
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 
 
 am sure they will have to call you. Who 
 else could fill your place ?" 
 
 " The epidemic is gone. I was mistaken. 
 It does not make its appearance where 
 bunglers are at work," Clinton said with a 
 hoarse laugh, while his right hand me 
 chanically played with his golden hypo 
 dermic injector. He then took up a book 
 and was soon engrossed in his reading. 
 His sister took it as a good omen. " He 
 may yet succeed, and be counted among 
 the foremost men of all times," she said, 
 going to her own room. 
 
 But Alvira s hopes were not fulfilled. 
 He grew darker and moodier every day. 
 He lost all interest in his dog clinic, and 
 when Mort approached to make some re 
 port regarding one of the animals he drove 
 him away. 
 
 " Go to the devil with your dog stories," 
 Alvira heard her brother scream at the
 
 184 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 top of his voice. " I do not need dogs. I 
 need human beings, and these were taken 
 from rne, stolen. Not even a condemned 
 murderer would they give me." 
 
 Alvira could not hear Mort s answer, 
 but she heard his tuneless laughter and a 
 cry of rage from her brother, who threat 
 ened to knock him down. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Not like a young physician anxious for 
 practice, but like a panting deer crying for 
 water, did Dr. Clinton look for a patient. 
 A patient ! only one sick person whom 
 he could study ; but he looked in vain. 
 Not a soul came to the house. Alvira 
 went from room to room and sighed. She 
 never left the house now, and Mort, who 
 attended to all affairs on the outside, came 
 and went like a shadow. No one in the
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 185 
 
 vicinity or in any part of the city thought 
 of calling Dr. Clinton. 
 
 Unable to bear it any longer, the Doctor 
 left the house, incognito, to find a patient, 
 if possible. He entered the huts of the 
 poorest people and bribed them with food 
 and wine. He gave the parents money 
 and. the children candy, until he had gained 
 their confidence. Then he told them that 
 he was a physician, and when any one com 
 plained he volunteered his services. His 
 life received a fresh impetus; he was 
 happy. His science had found new ma 
 terial for investigation ; Dr. Clinton was 
 himself once more. 
 
 The best reason for his good humor was 
 not so much the new and varied practice 
 which he had found as the fact that the 
 fever had made its appearance among the 
 Mexicans in lower Broadway. It was as 
 yet in its mildest form, but it was there,
 
 186 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 evidently and unmistakably. That no 
 cases were reported from the prison hospi 
 tal was probably due to the ignorance of 
 the physicians, Dr. Clinton said. Those 
 bunglers would not know the disease if 
 they were laid low with it themselves. 
 There was but one Dr. Clinton I 
 
 As the months passed, it was noticed 
 that the epidemic had reached a very dan 
 gerous degree. None had died as yet; the 
 Doctor s art had conquered death thus far, 
 but the epidemic raged with frightful vio 
 lence. 
 
 It was in the spring of the year that 
 the poor people whom Dr. Clinton had 
 assisted with food, medicine, and money 
 grew to suspect a compact between Dr. 
 Clinton and the Devil. This suspicion was 
 fostered by the relentless hatred of an old 
 Mexican fisherman whom the Doctor had 
 had the misfortune to displease. As the
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 187 
 
 old Mexican was the oracle among his kind, 
 his words carried weight. " He is in 
 league with the Devil," he was heard to 
 say. "Look out for yourselves; he brings 
 you the sickness." But there were some 
 who laughed at the padre, and told him to 
 consult the Doctor for the affection of the 
 eyes. After much persuasion the old 
 Mexican so far mastered his antagonism as 
 to send for Dr. Clinton. The latter per 
 formed an operation with so much skill and 
 success that the populace danced with joy, 
 and told the old padre that he was mis 
 taken about the good Doctor. Nothing 
 could now have shaken their faith in Dr. 
 Clinton, were it not that the old Mexican 
 caught the fever. In his delirium he ut 
 tered frightful imprecations against the 
 Doctor. When Clinton made his visit the 
 next morning, he was met by a mob, who 
 warned him to keep away from their houses,
 
 188 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 else he would get hurt. He tried to rea 
 son with them. He begged ; he pleaded, 
 all in vain. " You are the Devil," they 
 said. " You gave us food and money, and 
 you bought us body and soul; but you 
 shall not come here again. Wherever you 
 go, there is death." And he was forced 
 to retreat. 
 
 " The dogs ! the curs ! " he cried, running 
 up and down in his study. " They are 
 afraid of their miserable lives, as if their 
 lives were worth anything, if they did riot 
 serve to enrich science. They want to live. 
 Well, let them live, and starve." 
 
 As it was, these wretches had added 
 their mite toward assisting his studies. 
 The raging fever had revealed to him many 
 new points of interest. If he could have 
 brought one of those cases under the mi 
 croscope, and if he could also have suc 
 ceeded in curing a most violent case, his
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 189 
 
 ambition would have been satisfied, bis work 
 done, and he would have laughed at their 
 ingratitude. He was so excited that he 
 discussed the subjects of his research with 
 his sister and Mort. The latter taunted the 
 Doctor with cowardice, to retreat before 
 a mob of dirty Mexicans. Alvira suffered 
 unspeakably. Why was her learned brother 
 so haughty to everybody and so submissive 
 to the taunts and insults of his servant ? 
 Did Mort know the modus opemndi of the 
 new method? and did her brother fear that 
 his servant might reveal it to one of the 
 many jealous physicians, who would benefit 
 by the labors of her brother? Probably. 
 
 A few days later, Alvira and her brother 
 were walking in the garden, arm in arm. 
 Mort was busy tending to some plants, but 
 his sharp ears never lost one word of the 
 conversation between brother and sister. 
 
 " Ah ! if I could only get to work again,
 
 190 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 to work among people, and not among rab 
 bits and dogs in that clinic over there," said 
 Clinton. 
 
 " Are you sure, Alfred," said Alvira, 
 " that mankind will be benefited by your 
 discovery!" 
 
 A contemptuous smile played about 
 Mort s lips. Alvira caught that smile, and 
 shivered. 
 
 "Mankind is but a drop in the ocean of 
 nature," said Dr. Clinton, " and nature re 
 fuses to be helped. She laughs and jeers 
 at us when we are presumptuous enough to 
 attempt to conquer her. Nature is with 
 out consideration. She is the most power 
 ful murderess in existence, and science, in 
 order to know nature, must be in sympathy 
 with her." 
 
 " But where is the benefit to mankind ? " 
 said Alvira, sick at heart. 
 
 " Our science, my dear Alvira," said
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 191 
 
 Clinton, with a smile, "knows of cases where 
 enthusiastic pupils took poison to assist 
 their perplexed masters in demonstrating 
 its effects. You have heard of the paint 
 er s daughter who permitted herself to be 
 crucified, so that her father might catch 
 the proper expression for a picture of the 
 Saviour? Natural science knows of such 
 models who have sacrificed their lives 
 mundane to live eternally in the sacred 
 history of science. We live for science, 
 not for mankind. Mort," the Doctor cried, 
 " what do you say to the idea of advertis 
 ing, for such volunteers for scientific re 
 search ? " 
 
 Clinton s eyes sparkled with a brilliancy 
 and wildness that frightened his poor sister. 
 Mort, however, seemed to have considered 
 the Doctor s proposition. " We might try 
 it," he said. " But I don t believe it would 
 be a success. You cannot rely upon vol-
 
 192 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 untcers. One must take his subjects 
 wherever he finds them." 
 
 Alvira was horrified to hear Mort speak 
 so to her brother. In the mouth of the 
 latter those words seemed but the exas^er- 
 
 *J Z7 
 
 ation of an exuberant fancy, but in the 
 mouth of Mort they sounded like the words 
 of a scoundrel. She was so overcome that 
 she could hardly stand. She ran into the 
 house, that her brother might not notice 
 her weakness. 
 
 For days after this conversation, Alvira 
 shivered at the recollection, and remained 
 in her room so as to avoid meeting her 
 brother s evil genius. 
 
 Dr. Clinton s endeavors to visit the poor 
 were met with determined opposition. 
 When he showed himself, a shower of 
 stones and other missiles met his advance ; 
 once he was even shot at. Had he incurred 
 the displeasure of the Americans in the
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 193 
 
 same degree as that of the superstitious 
 Mexicans, he would have been tarred and 
 feathered, if not shot. But when the 
 Americans heard one of those absurd stories 
 about the luckless Dr. Clinton, they merely 
 laughed at the horror that was expressed 
 in the faces of the " Greasers " at the 
 mention of his name. They had wisely or 
 providentially been spared an intimate 
 acquaintance with Dr. Clinton s philan 
 thropy. 
 
 But the repeated rebuffs that he suffered 
 from the Mexicans doubled his energy and 
 
 O v 
 
 his desire for investigation. He experi 
 mented on the animals, and very soon all 
 the dogs and rabbits in Mort s clinic lay 
 either sick or dead. Mort pleaded in vain 
 against the total extermination of his ani 
 mals; he refused to bring new specimens, 
 in spite of his master s commands and 
 threats. A gruesome stillness had now
 
 194 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 fallen upon the lonely house and in the gar 
 den. Bruno, the big St. Bernard dog, was 
 the sole animal left; he was Alvira s pet, 
 and sacred. He greeted his master with 
 mighty jumps, and gave a joyous howl 
 whenever his mistress showed herself in 
 the garden. 
 
 One brio-ht morning, in the middle of 
 
 O O 
 
 May, as Mort entered the library, he found 
 the dog lying on the floor, with red eyes, 
 and its swollen tongue protruding from its 
 mouth, the dog had caught the fever. 
 Mort uttered a hoarse laugh as he dragged 
 the splendid animal into his "Clinic." Al- 
 vira was very sad when she heard of Bruno s 
 illness, but she did not give up the hope of 
 his recovery. The dog had been her 
 brother s pet, and he would surely cure 
 him. 
 
 As often as Dr. Clinton came from the 
 " Clinic," she asked him after the dog s
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 195 
 
 health. On the third day after Bruno s ill 
 ness, Alvira concluded to see the poor ani 
 mal herself, and, mastering her dislike for 
 Mort and his establishment, the girl crossed 
 the garden toward the "Clinic." But she 
 halted at the door, because of the angry 
 words which her brother spoke to Mort. 
 The two were evidently engaged in a vio 
 lent quarrel. The door was partly open, 
 and Alvira could look into the experi 
 mental room without being seen. Dr. 
 Clinton walked up and down, -gesticulating 
 wildly and uttering curses at his factotum, 
 while the latter busied himself with cleans 
 ing the microscope, but kept a vigilant eye 
 on his master. 
 
 " Yo ur spite and obstinacy be damned!" 
 cried the Doctor. "You miserable wretch, 
 you would prevent me from completing my 
 work by refusing to bring me the necessary 
 subjects, eh? I have asked you again and
 
 196 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 again to bring some, but you have not 
 brought me a mouse, even. I would like to 
 experiment day and night, but am ham 
 pered by your obstinacy." 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Mort. This 
 laugh caused Alvira s heart to stop. How 
 dared the wretch be so insolent to her 
 brother ! She listened again. 
 
 "You are experimenting! Ha, ha, ha! 
 Well, I don t propose to go to the peni 
 tentiary for stealing dogs. If I am to 
 hano 1 , I want to be as great as you are, 
 Doctor. I shall then have done my share 
 of work by the million." 
 
 " Shut up ! " cried Dr. Clinton, his voice 
 hoarse with passion. You miserable cur, 
 you know very well why I desire to com 
 plete my work just now. It is the last 
 moment. I am maddened by the thought 
 that while I am longing for subjects to 
 finish my work some one else might publish
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 197 
 
 a book on the subject, and spoil the work 
 of a lifetime." 
 
 * No one in America or Europe can do 
 that," replied Mort, with a grin. " To do 
 what we have done one must have a steady 
 hand like you, and be without prejudice. 
 I can rely upon you ! No one else could 
 possibly accomplish your work. After 
 Bruno s death there is nothing left but to 
 experiment on yourself; who else would 
 
 "Shut up, or " Alvira was unable 
 to listen any longer ; the knowledge that 
 her brother had sacrificed his pet dog was 
 too much for her. She understood that 
 science could not have benefited by Bruno s 
 death ; that her brother must certainly have 
 acted under mental stress. In that case, 
 however, he was not bad ; he was only 
 unfortunate; his work and anxiety were 
 too much ; they had undermined his health. 
 But what could she do ? Her brother,
 
 198 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 she knew, would sooner die than give up 
 his work. She was miserable beyond ex 
 pression. There was no one to help her ; 
 she was alone in the world, without a 
 friend or relative. But no; she was not 
 without a friend. There was her friend 
 Dalton, of whom she had so often thought 
 with love and longing ; she would call 
 him. Alvira was about to return to the 
 house when the noise of falling furniture 
 and a wild cry from her brother attracted 
 her to the spot. Suddenly she saw Mort 
 come from the "Clinic," a long knife in his 
 hand, and, walking backwards, followed by 
 Dr. Clinton, whom he sought to keep at a 
 distance. Alvira being concealed behind 
 the door, held on to it to support herself. 
 The sight had made her faint. 
 
 " Keep away from me, Dr. Clinton, or 
 I 11 run this knife into you. Not one step, 
 I say. Don t commit any foolishness.
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 199 
 
 You could not kill me quick enough to 
 prevent me from giving you away. I tell 
 you, have a care ! " 
 
 Alvira could stand it no longer. Satis 
 fied that her brother did not follow his 
 servant, she slipped behind a bush and 
 ran into the house. Quickly she wrote a 
 few lines to George Dalton, asking him to 
 come to her house, either that very evening 
 or the following morning. She was so 
 excited and nervous that she frequently 
 paused in writing. The note being written 
 and sealed, she hastened into the street, 
 and luckily finding a boy, gave him half a 
 dollar to carry the note to George Dalton s 
 office. 
 
 But all this had completely exhausted 
 her strength. She barely managed to 
 reach the library, when she fell upon the 
 lounge, shaken by cold and fever. She 
 had not been in there more than half an
 
 200 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 hour when the door was opened and Dr. 
 Clinton came in. It was already dark, and 
 he did not see his sister. He ran up and 
 down, gesticulating and fighting imaginary 
 foes. He was striking at one of those 
 phantoms, when he was startled by a sigh. 
 He was so scared that he stood as if rooted 
 to the spot. 
 
 " Is it you, Alvira ? " he asked, quite 
 unnerved. But being answered by another 
 sigh, he lighted a candle and stepped up to 
 the lounge. 
 
 "For God s sake! you have the fever," 
 he cried, in terrible excitement. But he 
 soon mastered himself. Covering her with 
 a heavy blanket, he hastened into the 
 kitchen and made her a hot drink. When 
 Alvira s fever had quieted down, he sat by 
 her side, her hand in his. Once in a while 
 his eyes became restless, and his hand 
 moved toward the vest pocket where his
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 201 
 
 "injector" was. Alvira, who felt much 
 better, smiled at her brother gratefully. 
 
 " You have the fever," said her brother. 
 
 " Whose fever, yours ? " Alvira asked, 
 frightened. 
 
 Dr. Clinton made no answer, but he 
 gazed at her absently. 
 
 " This would be a fine affair for you and 
 science if you were to find the very case 
 you were after in your own house. You 
 could be proud of your sister, Alfred." 
 
 Clinton stared at her with eyes wide 
 open. "Is it possible, Alvira, that your 
 thoughts could take such sublime flights? 
 You, of all people, could comprehend me 
 and my work ? Alvira, I am your brother ! 
 Do you suppose I would sacrifice my own 
 sister 1 " 
 
 " Keep quiet, dear," said Alvira, "I shall 
 be all right to-morrow morning. Keep 
 quiet, that you don t get sick yourself. I 
 have not your fever, have I ?"
 
 202 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 Dr. Clinton had the thumb and index 
 of his right hand in his vest pocket, where 
 he toyed with his instrument, as was his 
 habit. 
 
 " This would have been one of those 
 tragic conflicts," said Dr. Clinton, still toy 
 ing with his hypodermic needle, " if a lov 
 ing brother could reach the highest aim of 
 his life by the death of his own sister. 
 Don t be frightened, Alvira ; it is but one 
 of those crazy questions which doctors are 
 apt to ask. But why should it not be real 
 ity ? Why should a girl not be permitted 
 to sacrifice her life in the same manner as 
 we ? We sacrifice our life to science, and 
 with our lives our pleasures, our youth, and 
 all our desires. Every drop of blood, every 
 fiber of our brain, labors for science, and 
 thus our whole life is one chain of denials, 
 abnegations, and sacrifices. Why should 
 not a girl take that one brave step for the
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 203 
 
 sake of science, which alone would place 
 her en a level with the greatest of men 1 ?" 
 
 "You look quite tired, dear," said Alvira. 
 " Follow my advice, and take a dose of mor 
 phine and go to bed. I feel sick. I would 
 like to sleep a little, if possible." 
 
 " You are right," said Clinton, gathering 
 his energy. " A morphine injection will 
 do me good, and, come to think of it, you, 
 too, would sleep better if you had one. You 
 would, in fact, not be able to sleep at all 
 without it," and drawing himself up to his 
 full height, he continued, resolutely, " I 
 will fetch the necessary articles from my 
 room." 
 
 He left the room with a heavy tread. 
 
 V. 
 
 " Did you hear the latest?" said a phy 
 sician to George Dalton as the two were 
 walking towards the latter s office.
 
 204 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 " No," said Dalton ; " what is it ? " 
 
 The physician handed Dalton a medical 
 journal, which contained a full description 
 of the peculiar disease discovered by Dr. 
 Clinton. The writer stated that he had 
 succeeded in discovering the germ as en 
 tirely independent of the person ill with the 
 fever. He had brought this independent 
 fever germ to its highest strength in viru 
 lence, and then weakened it so that it be 
 came absolutely harmless. All this he had 
 tested by experiment on animals, and dem 
 onstrated publicly, and while Dr. Clinton 
 had certainly given an impetus to investiga 
 tion, he had achieved nothing new. 
 
 " This will bring Dr. Clinton down a peg 
 or two," said the disciple of Esculapius, not 
 without malice. 
 
 Dal ton s heart was heavy as he stepped 
 into his private office, and he experienced 
 something of a shock when his office-boy
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 205 
 
 handed him Alvira s note. He lost no 
 time, but hastened to the call of the woman 
 he had loved these many years. 
 
 " I am so glad you have come," said Al- 
 vira, after telling him of all that had trans 
 pired within the last few hours. 
 
 "And where is your brother now?" 
 Dalton inquired. 
 
 "He has just gone down to get me a 
 morphine injection. I think he is right. I 
 shall not be -able to sleep without it." 
 
 "And did he give you nothing else 
 against the fever ? Did he give you any 
 medicine ? " asked Dalton. 
 
 " No ; he don t believe much in medi 
 cines," said Alvira. " I will be all right 
 soon. Are you going to leave me now?" 
 she asked, seeing Dalton rise. 
 
 "I am going to see your brother," the 
 latter replied, resolutely. 
 
 "That is right," said Alvira. "But be
 
 206 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 patient with him, for my sake, and, above 
 all things, try and excuse your presence in 
 the house." 
 
 Dalton left the room. He stepped down 
 hastily, and as he turned to the Doctor s 
 room he noticed the light coming through 
 the open door. Dalton halted and looked 
 into the room. At the table sat Dr. Clin 
 ton, staring into the light. Before him lay 
 an open book in which he had evidently 
 been writing ; his right hand held a pen, 
 and his left toyed witli the golden injector. 
 Dalton entered, and as Dr. Clinton recog 
 nized his visitor, he jumped from his chair 
 and said : " My sister has a slight attack of 
 fever. I was afraid she might grow worse, 
 and concluded to give her an injection of 
 morphine, which I had just now chemically 
 tested. Remedies like those require the 
 greatest care." 
 
 He had evidently forgotten how he had
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 207 
 
 dismissed his sister s suitor. Clinton s 
 words, at first full of embarrassment, grew 
 
 7 O 
 
 rather mocking in tone at the end. Dalton 
 lost all control of himself. His eyes invok 
 untarily fell upon the book, and there, in 
 the Doctor s large, bold handwriting, stood 
 the date of the day, the month, and the year, 
 and beneath it, in red ink, the words 8:30 
 P. M., last trial Clinton turned toward the 
 door, and was about to leave, but Dalton 
 barred his way. 
 
 " Can you give me your word of honor, 
 Dr. Clinton, that this injection will do your 
 sister no harm ? " 
 
 Dalton said this in a hoarse voice. Clin 
 ton was stunned at Dal ton s words, but he 
 soon regained his composure and his mock 
 ing tone: " This remedy is reliable, I as 
 sure you." 
 
 But, suddenly changing his tone, he said : 
 "May I ask the reason of your visit at such
 
 208 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 a late hour, Mr. Dalton ? I had an idea 
 that we had done with each other for life." 
 
 Dalton kept an eye on Clinton. Taking 
 the medical journal containing the article 
 against the " Fever" from his pocket, Dal 
 ton spoke in measured tones : " In this 
 journal, Dr. Clinton, you will find an article 
 which is of the greatest importance to you, 
 as it affects your lifelong labors. Read it." 
 
 Under the pressure of Dalton s gaze, 
 Clinton looked at the journal. He had 
 hardly read the heading of the article when 
 he turned deathly pale. The hand that 
 held the hypodermic syringe trembled, and, 
 totally unnerved, he sank into a chair. 
 Clinton read the article, and after he had 
 finished, he heaved a deep sigh, like one 
 who has received a death-blow. He looked 
 at Dalton as if he desired to read the lat- 
 ter s thoughts. Dalton could barely stand 
 this look, for he felt as if he had spoken Dr.
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 209 
 
 Clinton s death-sentence. Suddenly Clin 
 ton rose from his seat, stepped to the other 
 side of the big table, so that the table was 
 between him and Dalton. His eyes shone 
 with radiance that beautified his face. 
 
 " You have asked me a while ago whether 
 T would pledge my honor upon the reliabil 
 ity of this remedy. I will pledge rnylife." 
 Dr. Clinton had taken hold of the loose skin 
 on his neck, and before Dalton could move, 
 injected the contents of the syringe. At 
 first Dalton was paralyzed, but he soon ran 
 up to Dr. Clinton and tore the injector from 
 the latter s hand. It was too late. Clinton 
 tried to make light of the matter, saying 
 that he only meant to scare Dalton ; but 
 when he saw the latter s despair, his bra 
 vado gave way to a like feeling. With a cry 
 of horror he threw himself on Dalton s 
 breast and said : " For God s sake, George, 
 save Alvira. I am lost, but you will spare 
 me for her sake."
 
 210 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 " I will," said Dalton ; "and now lie down 
 and rest. I think you will need to. I will 
 look after Alvira." 
 
 Slowly Dalton went upstairs again, so as 
 to collect himself, and not to frighten Al- 
 
 O 
 
 vira by his looks. He told the girl not to 
 despair about her brother; that he was all 
 right, and except the interruption caused 
 by some physical disarrangement, will 
 continue his work. However, he thought 
 
 7 O 
 
 it advisable that Alvira should look after 
 her brother once in a while, and for that 
 purpose she must try to get well soon. He 
 also said that he had made up with her 
 brother, and that he would now call more 
 frequently, after which he left her in a 
 blissful deception, but himself heartsore 
 and troubled. 
 
 Two days passed. Dalton came twice a 
 day, and Alvira s reports were quite en 
 couraging. " Her brother felt tired," she
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 211 
 
 said. " He writes everything in his book 
 of scientific notes, his pulse, his tem 
 perature. To me he is quite tender, and 
 he is full of praise about your manliness 
 and worth"; and the girl smiled as a wo 
 man only can smile when proud of the man 
 she loves. 
 
 On the third day a frightful fever at 
 tacked Dr. Clinton. His sister watched 
 by his side during the day, and at night 
 Dalton changed with Mort. Upon a little 
 table near the bed was the day -journal in 
 which Clinton wrote notes as often as he 
 was clear-headed. During the day, while 
 his sister was by his side, he seldom uttered 
 a word; his power of will seemed strong 
 enough, even in the heat of fever. He 
 would not shock the poor girl. But it was 
 different before the men. Now he seemed 
 to be among the Mexicans, whom he gave 
 snakes. " They are good; they don t bite;
 
 212 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 eat them, eat them!" he cried. Then, 
 again, he seemed to be in the West Indies, 
 where he and Mort were hunting patients. 
 But he could not find them; and if he did 
 not find them within a specified time, he 
 would be hanged. The library seemed 
 full of laughing and grinning doctors, howl 
 ing dogs, and gnawing rats. He was look 
 ing for his great book upon the " Fever 
 Bacillus," which he could not find. Some 
 one of the grinning doctors had stolen it, 
 trying to rob him of his fame. 
 
 When Dalton heard these ravings, he 
 shuddered and disliked to stay. But when 
 Mort came into the room, and Dalton saw 
 that moving skeleton grin and leer at the 
 poor Doctor, he was loath to leave him 
 alone with that abominable wretch. 
 
 Five days had gone by. Clinton was 
 still raving. Dalton sat by his side, con 
 templating the sad end of a brilliant
 
 A SACRIFICE TO SCIENCE. 213 
 
 career, when Clinton suddenly sat up in 
 his bed. " George, promise me," he said, 
 and his words came hard and slow. " It 
 will be too late to-morrow. Send this 
 book to the fellow who wrote that article. 
 Let him use it." 
 
 " If this book is so valuable, why not 
 publish it for Alvira s benefit?" asked Dai- 
 ton. 
 
 "No, no!" cried Clinton. "I have 
 worked for science only. Everything for 
 science; for humanity, nothing. If you 
 don t send it, destroy it. Another thing, 
 George: in Mort s Clinic over there, 
 in the glass tubes, all the diseases in the 
 world are in those tubes. There are the 
 Fever Bacilli. I want rest in the grave. 
 They will come from those tubes and de 
 stroy mankind to the last. Swear, Dalton, 
 that you will destroy them 
 
 " How are the poisons to be destroyed? " 
 Dalton faltered.
 
 214 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 "By fire, by fire, by fire!" screamed 
 Clinton. " Otherwise that fellow Mort is 
 sure to come and carry the diseases and 
 death among the people. He was always 
 so hard against niy dog Bruno, I have no 
 time now. I am looking for fresh subjects. 
 I want to make my last injection. Ha, ha, 
 ha ! I am the creator of the fever I The 
 fools did not know it, one more "; and 
 Clinton became again delirious. 
 
 About two o clock in the morning Mort 
 
 o 
 
 entered and desired to take Dal ton s place, 
 but the latter remained until daybreak. 
 When he left he heard Clinton cry, "Burn 
 them, Dalton, and Mort, too." 
 
 Dalton was gone about two hours, and 
 was about to lie down to rest for a little 
 while when the fire alarm was sounded. 
 Looking out of the window, he saw the 
 flames rising from the direction of Dr. 
 Clinton s house. He dressed hastily and
 
 A SACRIFICE ^O SCIENCE. 215 
 
 went thither. Dalton found Alvira wring 
 ing her hands in front of Mort s " Clinic," 
 which was being consumed in spite of all 
 efforts of the firemen. The house, beino- 
 
 7 O 
 
 quite a distance from the " Clinic," was 
 not in danger. 
 
 " Where is your brother ? " cried Dalton. 
 
 " I don t know," answered the weeping 
 girl. " I went to his room some time ago 
 and found him and Mort gone." 
 
 In the afternoon the firemen found the 
 charred remains of two bodies lying upon 
 the stone floor of the "Clinic." 
 
 Dalton examined them and identified his 
 poor friend Dr. Clinton, as well as his evil 
 genius, Mort. In the breast of the latter 
 was found a long Persian dagger.
 
 THE FOREIGN ELEMENT. 
 
 i. 
 
 WAY out in that part of the Mis 
 sion, in San Francisco, known as the 
 "Warm Belt" lives a little Irishman who 
 goes by the name of the "Patriarch," al 
 though his right name is Patrick O Hara. 
 There is certainly nothing patriarchal, 
 pious, or heaven-striving about the man s 
 features or appearance, unless it be the 
 point of his nose, which has a decided up 
 ward tilt; otherwise one is not reminded 
 of O Hara s devotional proclivities. He 
 swears sometimes, but as his imprecations 
 are usually directed against the "Oppres 
 sor" one does not take it to heart. 
 
 O Hara is rich. He owns considerable
 
 THE FOREIGN ELEMENT. 217 
 
 property in the Mission, and he does not 
 work. But this is not the reason why they 
 style him the " Patriarch." 
 
 " You see that little man there," said the 
 clerk at the corner grocery; "that s him." 
 
 "Who?" I queried. 
 
 " The fellow we was talking about, the 
 Patriarch," he replied. 
 
 "But why is he called the Patriarch?" 
 I asked. 
 
 " Because he has twelve sons and four 
 daughters," replied the clerk. 
 
 Twelve sons and four daughters ! " I 
 cried. The clerk must have thought me 
 crazy, as I ran out of the grocery and raced 
 after Pat O Hara. I wanted to shake 
 hands with the man who could boast the 
 progeny of twelve solid Democratic citizens, 
 adding four votes when Lizzie, Maggie, 
 Mary Ann, and Katie should have found 
 their masculine equals among the aris 
 tocratic families of the " Warm Belt."
 
 218 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 Having caught up with Mr. O Hara, I 
 asked the privilege of shaking him by the 
 hand. 
 
 "Faith, if that ll do yez any good, ye 
 are welcome," he said, wtth a grin. 
 
 I assured him that it would make mo 
 quite happy. 
 
 " Then do it agin," said he, and he held 
 forth his big, horny hand. 
 
 " Ph. fat may be yer business ? " he 
 queried. 
 
 " I am a reporter," I replied. 
 
 "I hope ye dun t wroite for any of thim 
 Republican papers," he said, and gazed at 
 his hand, evidently regretting that he had 
 shaken hands too hastily. 
 
 I assured him that I was a stanch 
 Democrat, and would not bemean my soli 
 by writing for a Republican journal. 
 
 " Then shake," said Pat, quite happy. 
 " Ye are the man I loike."
 
 THE FOREIGN ELEMENT. 219 
 
 As he spoke, I had a chance to take a 
 mental photograph of the man who lived 
 up to his principles, even to the shaking of 
 hands. 
 
 His eyes blue in color and small in 
 circumference had the merriest twinkle 
 imaginable. There seemed an eternal grin 
 about his mouth, but I was inclined to 
 think after close inspection that the 
 grin was due to the natural cut of his 
 mouth, the sides of which terminated in 
 the back. He had teeth, too, but the lips 
 seemed ashamed of them, for they made 
 ineffectual efforts to cover them. Between 
 the teeth a clay pipe had taken permanent 
 lodgings, never leaving, rain or shine. As 
 for Mr. O Hara s hair and chin whiskers, 
 they were, as usual, of the flaming color. 
 
 " So you are the father of sixteen chil 
 dren, Mr. O Hara," I said. 
 
 " Yes, sure, I have the foinest b ys in the
 
 220 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 country, sur, an foiner guvls ye can t find 
 in the wurld," he said, with all the pride 
 he could possibly put into his words. 
 
 " How old is your oldest child, Mr. 
 O Hara ? " 
 
 " Me oldest son will be tirty-tree next 
 Christmas, sur." 
 
 "And your youngest?" 
 
 "Is here, right here, sur. An as foin 
 a gurl as iver ye laid eyes on. Kathy, dar- 
 lint, come here; come here an shake hands 
 with the gintleman." 
 
 Kathy came and shook hands. Her 
 hands were rather dirty, but her sweet face 
 and rich carnation atoned for the insuffi 
 cient use of soap and water. Kathy was 
 about si:: years of age. Moggie, the old 
 est, was about twenty; then came Lizzie, 
 eighteen, and Mary Ann, sixteen years of 
 age. 
 
 Lizzie was certainly the handsomest of
 
 THE FOREIGN ELEMENT. 221 
 
 all the girls. She was, in fact, very beau 
 tiful. 
 
 " It costs something to bring up a family 
 like yours, Mr. O Hara ?" said I. 
 
 "Yes, sur; it does cost a little some 
 thing," he replied, sucking at his clay pipe. 
 "But there s enough for all, an some to 
 spare. Me childhreo can hav anything 
 they want. All I ask in return is for 
 thim to kape clane the reckord. They 
 must marry none but Irish gurls, an me 
 gurls shall marry Irish b ys." 
 
 Interesting as the study of this phase 
 of the Irish character would have been, I 
 forebore the pleasure, bade Mr. O Hara a 
 "good day," and left. 
 
 II. 
 
 Several weeks later, I again happened to 
 meet Mr. O Hara. His nose was still in
 
 222 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 the same position ; his eyes were blue, but 
 they had lost the merry twinkle; the 
 upper lip was drawn tightly over his upper 
 teeth, in a vain endeavor to meet the lower 
 lip. The latter hung dywn listless, and in 
 the corners there was a glimmer of white 
 foam. Patrick O Hara was evidently a 
 broken-down and unhappy man. Touched 
 by a humane impulse, I walked up to him 
 and, taking him by the hand, said: 
 
 " What seems to be the matter, Mr. 
 O Hara 1" 
 
 His lower lip trembled as he recognized 
 me. 
 
 " Iverything is the matter," he breathed. 
 
 I took a seat by his side. 
 
 " It is the grippe/ Mr. O Hara," I said. 
 " You will be all right soon. Brace up. A 
 man who has twelve brave boys and four 
 handsome girls has cause to be happy." 
 
 " There is no happy days fur me any
 
 THE FOREIGN ELEMENT. 223 
 
 mohre," he said. There was a deep note 
 of sadness and melancholy in his voice. " I 
 hav no luck, sur. Me ouldest b y mar 
 ried an English gurl, and me second ran 
 away with a Dutch bar- maid. The foreign 
 iliment, sur, is what kills this grate coun 
 try, an it is the foreign iliment that kills 
 the family. I have no luck, sur." 
 
 At this juncture little Kathy came 
 racing through the yard, and cried: " Pop, 
 I have a nickel and a box of candy." 
 
 She handed the box of candy to her 
 father, who gazed into it sadly, extracted 
 a piece and slipped it into his capacious, 
 mouth, and then offered me the box. I 
 refused, with thanks, but asked Kathy who 
 had given her the candy. 
 
 " Mr. Isaak," she said. 
 
 " Do you like Mr. Isaak ?" I asked. 
 
 "Yes, I do," she replied. 
 
 " And would you like me if I gave you 
 candy and a nickel ? " I queried,
 
 224 TUP: FOLLOWING: 
 
 She thought a while; then she said, 
 "No; you ain t Lizzie s beau, and Mr. 
 Isaak is." 
 
 If a cannon had been discharged full at 
 the breast of Mr. O Hara, the effect could 
 not have been more terrific. His eyes 
 shot sparks, the foam in the corners of his 
 mouth spread and filled the aperture with 
 a film thereof. 
 
 u Kathy, darlint, come here, acushla," 
 he cried. " What did you say was the 
 name of the chap who is Lizzie s beau 1 ?" 
 
 " His name is Mr. Isaak. The boys call 
 him Sheeny Jake/ " she said, munching 
 her candy, unconscious of the agony she 
 was causing her father. The blow was too 
 hard for him of the O Hara race. He took 
 his head between his hands, bent it between 
 his knees, and set up a moaning that would 
 have turned Lizzie s callous heart, had she 
 heard it.
 
 THE FOREIGN ELEMENT. 225 
 
 As it was, her father uttered groan after 
 groan, such as come from the breast of a 
 true Irishman in despair, while the way 
 ward Lizzie was cooing in the arms of her 
 Hebrew lover, whose father sold notions, 
 and he himself earned the princely salary 
 of forty dollars per month in one of the 
 great bazars of San Francisco. 
 
 I tried to console poor O Hara. " He 
 may be a good young man. The Jews 
 have a reputation of treating their wives 
 much better than Christians. He may 
 make Lizzie quite happy, and it ought to 
 be your pride to see your children happy." 
 
 " Och, Mr. Martin, ye are not married. 
 Ye didn t have the trouble av bringing up 
 sixteen childhren. Am I to slave for me 
 childhren s happiness, an as soon as they 
 grow up, fur thim to make me unhappy ? 
 Oi say, no, sur ! An suppos he meks her a 
 good husband, will that take off the disgrace
 
 226 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 of the foreign iliment? Oi say agin, no, 
 sur! To have the oppressor s daughther 
 in me family, and a Dutch bar-maid, is bad 
 enough, but a Jew! I ll niver live to see 
 the day. No, I won t. If me childhren 
 are bent on disgracing me name, let thim 
 do it when I ain t about." 
 
 It seems, however, that Patrick O Hara 
 did not commit suicide that day. Mrs. 
 O Hara gave Lizzie a good talking, and she 
 promised that she would not disgrace the 
 family. When he heard his daughter s 
 promise, it pleased him mightily. 
 
 "Yez are an honest man s honorable 
 daughter. Yer father is a man av sub 
 stance; ye can have whativer you like, an 
 why should yez hang yerself on the neck 
 av an old good-for-nothin Jew, an idler 
 who would kape ye in want the rist av yer 
 naturral loife." 
 
 " Jake I mean Mr. Isaak is no idler,
 
 THE FOREIGN ELEMENT. 227 
 
 papa," said Lizzie. " He works and makes 
 his own living; although his people are 
 quite wealthy, he never asks anything of 
 them. He stands on his own legs." 
 
 "An how do ye know all this, Liz?" 
 asked O Hara. 
 
 She turned crimson. " I heard it," she. 
 said, and was about to leave the room. 
 
 "Lizzie!" cried her father. 
 
 Lizzie halted. 
 
 " What do you want, pa ? " 
 
 " Come here." 
 
 She obeyed. 
 
 " Lizzie, I want ye to promise me not to 
 talk to that Jew Isaak. Not that I dis 
 trust me own daughther, but that Jew will 
 mislead you; and if ye iver disgrace me, I 
 shall cut you off from the family. Now, 
 you will have to choose between your fam 
 ily and that Jew Isaak." 
 
 "Papa, do you doubt me ?" cried Lizzie.
 
 228 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 " Well, I am bound to. Ye was seen 
 with him ; yer little sister called him yer 
 beau. Now, while it ain t any crime to 
 speak to any gintleman on the street, it is 
 certainly a different affair when it comes to 
 marriage. Marry the poorest lad in the 
 neighborhood, and be sure ver father will 
 
 V 
 
 stand by ye; but for God s sake don t 
 bring me any foreign iliment." 
 
 " I won t, pa," said Lizzie. 
 
 " Swear by the Holy Virgin, then, gurl," 
 cried O Hara. 
 
 Poor Lizzie trembled, as she placed her 
 hand upon the bisque statue of the Virgin, 
 and hot tears fell from her lids. 
 
 "I swear!" she breathed, and fell into 
 her mother s arms, weeping. 
 
 Shortly after this dramatic scene, an 
 other one of joyous moment took 
 place in the O Hara residence. Maggie 
 married Tim Ryan, the man who kept
 
 THE FOREIGN ELEMENT. 229 
 
 a saloon, was a sport, and had the full 
 favor of Patrick O Hara, inasmuch as he, 
 too, hated the " foreign iliment." 
 
 The acquisition of a thoroughbred son 
 of Erin caused Patrick O Hara to for 
 get all his former troubles. 
 
 "Mr. Martin, sur, a sight loike that"- 
 pointing to his son-in-law and Maggie 
 " is enough to drown all trouble, even if 
 
 O 
 
 there was no champagne. Drink, sur. I 
 invited yez to see me joy, because ye saw 
 also me sorrow. Drink, sur, an may God 
 blesh ye." 
 
 III. 
 
 Tim Ryan became a great factor in the 
 O Hara establishment. Being shrewd, he 
 soon found out the peculiar weakness of 
 his father-in-law, taking good care to 
 keep his standing. Patrick O Hara em 
 braced Tim, as the latter told him that
 
 200 THE FOLLOWING! 
 
 "Sheeny Jake" had tried to speak to 
 Lizzie, but that lie (Tim) had threatened 
 to thrash the Jew if he ever dared to in 
 sult his sister-in-law. 
 
 As a matter of course, however, Tim had 
 not spoken to Lizzie s sweetheart, although 
 he had seen the two in close conversation 
 near the Cogswell Institute. 
 
 One bright sunny morning as I was sit 
 ting on a bench in a shrubbery in the park, 
 I heard a sob, and a masculine voice say: 
 "Don t cry, Lizzie. I have the same diffi 
 culty at home. My father lectures me 
 continually about not marrying out of the 
 faith. He hates mixed marriages, and 
 would not hear of \t, unless, indeed, dar 
 ling, you would consent to embrace the 
 Jewish faitli. You know how my dear 
 mother would love you. They would carry 
 you on their hands, and my old dad well, 
 there isn t a better chap living, but he will 
 have no foreign element."
 
 THE FOREIGN ELEMENT. 23l 
 
 "Oh, Jack dear, how can you say this to 
 me? Do you want me to break my poor 
 father s heart? A marriage would be hard 
 enough in his eyes, but to become a traitor 
 to the Church, this he would not forgive; 
 and would you want your wife to be bur 
 dened by a father s curse and the ever 
 burning tears of a mother? O God," cried 
 
 O * 
 
 Lizzie, for I knew now that it was Lizzie 
 O Hara and her lover, Jake Isaak, " my 
 mother has been so kind to me ever since 
 I was a baby. I was such a care to her, 
 more than any of her children. It hurts 
 nay heart to think of it"; and the girl 
 sobbed. 
 
 "I am in the same fix, darling," said 
 her lover. "But what can we do? Do 
 you want to give me up, Lizzie?" There 
 was a tremor in his voice as he said this. 
 
 " O no," cried she. 
 
 " Well, then, there is but one course open
 
 232 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 to us. Since you will never gain your 
 folks consent to a marriage with me, and 
 as my people will consent only on condition 
 that you become a Jewess, but as I love 
 you too much to ask you to do a cruel 
 thing to your parents, I propose that we 
 marry by law ; and if after a year you 
 still love me as you do now, and you have 
 not obtained your people s forgiveness, I 
 propose that you embrace the faith of the 
 people who will receive you with never 
 failing love. Are you willing, Lizzie dar- 
 ling?" 
 
 I could not hear the answer; but it 
 must have been quite satisfactory to both, 
 judging by the osculatory music that floated 
 in rapid tempo through the shrubbery. 
 
 I struck a match and lit a cigar. " The 
 knowledge of a secret makes the heart 
 heavy," is an old saying ; but though I 
 knew Mr. Jake Isaak and Miss Lizzie
 
 THE FOREIGN ELEMENT. 233 
 
 O Hara were planning an elopement, I felt 
 light and comfortable ; and, what was more, 
 I did not propose to interfere, either. Who 
 knows, how soon I might be in the same 
 fix ? I argued, and made up my mind 
 to forget that Mr. Patrick O Hara existed. 
 Two days later I went North, thence 
 to New York and Europe. I was away 
 some eighteen months. 
 
 IV. 
 
 On my arrival in San Francisco, I met 
 an old friend, a Jewish merchant. 
 
 " Martin," said he, " I know you are in 
 terested in Jewish affairs and customs ; if 
 you will accompany me to the Turk Street 
 synagogue to-morrow, you shall witness a 
 peculiar ceremony. 
 
 On my asking of what nature the cere 
 mony would be, he refused to answer.
 
 234 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 "Come and see, at 10 A. M., sharp," 
 was all he said as he jumped off the car 
 
 At ten o clock the following morning I 
 was at the synagogue impatiently waiting 
 for my Jewish friend. At length he came. 
 
 "Now watch," he said; "when the 
 Rabbi opens the ark there, where stands 
 the holy scroll, the ceremony will begin." 
 
 I could hardly master myself, I was so 
 impatient to see that peculiar ceremony. 
 
 Presently the Rabbi rose and drew 
 aside the heavy velvet curtain, embroi 
 dered with massive bullion, in the center 
 being two golden lions supporting a crown. 
 As the curtain moved to the left, the con 
 gregation rose. The Rabbi opened the 
 doors of the ark, bent low, and kissed the 
 holy scroll; he then turned toward the con 
 gregation and said: "My friends, we are 
 about to perform the novel ceremony of in 
 itiating into the holy covenant a mother
 
 THE FOREIGN ELEMENT. 23o 
 
 and her child. The mother, a born Chris 
 tian, has voluntarily embraced Judaism. 
 I have instructed her, and am proud to 
 state that a truer daughter of Israel will 
 not be found, even among those born in the 
 faith. Leah, rise and proclaim thy faith in 
 the one God of Israel." 
 
 At this a young woman, clad in purest 
 white, rose, and with bent head, in her 
 arms an infant, ascended the stairs leading 
 to the ark. The words she spoke in bell- 
 like notes, sweet and distinct impressed 
 themselves on my mind: " Shemang Yisroel 
 adonoi elohenu-adonio echod." My friend 
 translated them for me. They are: "Hear, 
 oh Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is 
 one." 
 
 I had recognized Lizzie O Hara at once. 
 She must have experienced naught but 
 love and affection to act as she did. After 
 her profession of faith the Rabbi took the
 
 236 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 child from her arms, and lifting it before 
 the ark, said : 
 
 May thy name be called in Israel, 
 Sarah, and may thy parents live to see 
 thee happily married and prosperous. 
 Amen ! " 
 
 I waited till the service was over, and 
 then offered my congratulations to the 
 beautiful- mother convert. She remem 
 bered me quite well. 
 
 "You kept your promise, made in 
 the Golden Gate Park," I said. 
 
 She blushed and smiled. "So it was 
 you, then. I thought I heard some one 
 strike a match," she said. 
 
 " Yes ; it was I. And where is your 
 father?" I queried. 
 
 " My father sold his property and went 
 back to Ireland. He has disinherited me; 
 but I am satisfied; my husband is doing 
 well, and we are happy.
 
 THE FOREIGN ELEMENT. 237 
 
 " I am glad for your sake," said I, and 
 left. 
 
 V. 
 
 Two years had passed, and one day 
 while walking on Kearny Street, I felt a 
 hand on my arm; turning I gazed into the 
 broad, grinning face of Patrick O Hara. 
 
 "When did you come back"?" I asked. 
 
 " Some toime since," he replied. 
 
 "And have you seen your daughter Liz 
 zie?" 
 
 " Av course," he said. " We av kissed 
 arid med up. I could not live widout me 
 daughther Lizzie." 
 
 " And how about that foreign element, 
 Mr. O Hara?" I asked, with a smile. 
 
 " One religion is as good as the other," 
 he said. " An if Oi had known that * Sheeny 
 Jake as they used to call me son-in-law 
 would make sich a good husband, I
 
 238 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 would let all me gurls marry * Sheenies ; 
 so I would, be jabers ! 
 
 " That s a pretty baby of your daughter 
 Lizzie," I said. 
 
 " Oh, that baby of theirs," said he, in 
 ecstasy, " it s a perfect darlint, Mr. Mar 
 tin, a perfect darlint. You must come and 
 see it. It s so smart. You know, Mr.. 
 Martin," he said, standing on tiptoe and 
 whispering into my ear, "I belave it s the 
 mixed breed the foreign iliment that 
 makes the kid so smart!"
 
 THE FATAL LETTER. 
 
 i. 
 
 H, madame, madamel I cannot write 
 ze English, lettair. I av try ; ze is 
 too hard," said Babette, Mrs. Mogens s 
 French maid, holding a pen in her trem 
 bling right hand while wiping her brow 
 with the back of her left. She looked the 
 very picture of despair, and the ever-laugh- 
 ino- Mrs. Mogens, who had been on the 
 
 O O * 
 
 point of ringing one of her merry peals at 
 Babette s exclamation, suppressed her nat 
 ural inclination, and asked who was the 
 object of her attempted correspondence. 
 
 " Zat is Monsieur Morries, my sweet 
 heart, zat I write," explained Babette. 
 
 " Where does he live, Babette?" inquired 
 Mrs. Mogens, interested.
 
 240 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 " In ze ceety," replied the maid. 
 
 " And what would you like to write 
 him?" 
 
 " O, he is very nice young man, and 
 I write him zat I look favorable upon his 
 suit, zat I,"- - here Babette blushed to the 
 roots of her hair, "zat I lofe him." 
 
 Now, Mrs. Mogens was just the kind of 
 woman to encourage people in love affairs, 
 no matter what the consequences might be. 
 She would have gone miles to pacify a 
 pouting maiden or bring back a recreant 
 lover. She considered it her special mis 
 sion in this vale of unhappiness to counter 
 act the set purpose of nature in squeezing 
 the lachrymal glands of human beings. 
 Happiness was her watchword; she wanted 
 all people to be happy. Hence her readi 
 ness to assist Babette. 
 
 " Does Mr. Morris reciprocate your feel 
 ing?" inquired Mrs. Mogens.
 
 THE FATAL LETTER. 241 
 
 " Mon Dieu! lie tell me, ves" said Ba- 
 
 7 t/ 
 
 bette. 
 
 "Very well, then, Babette, I will write 
 your letter, and you may copy it and send 
 him the happy message; but, remember, 
 don t send my handwriting; you must 
 copy it. 
 
 " Mille merci, madame," cried Babette, 
 and, kissing Mrs. Mogens s hand, ran from 
 the room. 
 
 Mrs. Mogens went to her elegant writ 
 ing-desk, took a sheet of finely scented pa 
 per, and was about to compose the love-let 
 ter, but, not knowing the Christian name 
 of Babette s lover, she rang the bell which 
 summoned the maid. 
 
 " What is Mr. Morris s Christian name?" 
 asked Mrs. Mogens. 
 
 " He tell me his name is Petair Morries. 
 I call him Petit, Mon Petit; zat is nice," 
 she said, with a rippling smile.
 
 242 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 Mrs. Mogens thought it nice, indeed, 
 and wrote one of those charming notes 
 which are half a confession and half an in 
 sinuation, and which would have filled the 
 heart of the most phlegmatic lover with 
 jo} 7 and daring. The letter being finished, 
 Mrs. Mogens quite unconsciously signed it, 
 and left it on the table for Babette to copy. 
 She then proceeded to her apartment, made 
 her toilet, and went out. 
 
 II. 
 
 Mr. Mogens, the husband of Mrs. Mo 
 gens, was a peculiar character. He had 
 married late in life. He never told the 
 reason why he had waited so long; but 
 intimate acquaintances said that he was 
 too shy in his youth, and in his manhood 
 too busy to think of matrimony. But 
 every one has his Kismet. Mr. Mogens
 
 THE FATAL LETTER. 243 
 
 met Miss Ophelia Love, and this settled 
 his fate. She was tall, beautiful, and 
 bright; she loved pleasure and wealth; 
 and Mr. Mogens thought life and railroad 
 stock far above par, but of little value 
 without Miss Ophelia Love. He proposed; 
 and as his manly manner and good looks 
 were enhanced by half a dozen millions and 
 a mansion on " Nob Hill," Miss Love- 
 being encouraged by her handsome mother 
 - accepted all in one hand. It is neces 
 sary to reiterate that Mr. Mogens was 
 good-looking, although his driver called 
 him Mr. Muggins, and Pety Baglow 
 called him Mug, for short. 
 
 Mr. Mogens seemed happy and con 
 tented; and were it not for a periodical 
 dejection which he strove hard to master, 
 he would have passed for that anomaly in 
 this world of care, a happy rich man. 
 This periodical dejection was not caused
 
 244 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 by fluctuations in the stock market, nor by 
 the rumored uustability of banks; neither 
 by annoying neighbors nor by political 
 opponents, for Mr. Mogens s fortune, as was 
 already pointed out, was secure, and his 
 mansion, with gardens, occupied a whole 
 block. Nor \vould Mr. Mogens have ac 
 cepted a United States senatorship if the 
 people had thrown it at his feet; he was 
 patriotic in a Mogenesque fashion, but he 
 loathed politics. His sole anxiety it 
 might as well be told now was his wife, 
 the vivacious Mrs. Mogens. Yes, Ophelia 
 Mogens Ophelia Love, her intimates 
 called her was, ever since she came to 
 her .husband s stately mansion, a source of 
 pleasure and palpitation to the otherwise 
 serene heart that beat in the rnanly 
 Mogens bosom. 
 
 The trouble with her or rather with 
 him was his wife s superlative beauty.
 
 THE FATAL LETTER. 245 
 
 Mr. Mogens thought of the many snares 
 and pitfalls a mashing Kearny Street world 
 presented to a beautiful woman walking- 
 unattended amidst the multitude. Ah, if 
 Mrs. Mogens possessed that shielding qual 
 ity some call it virtue of shyness, the 
 bejeweled and ogling masher might founder 
 on such a rock! But Mrs. Mogens held 
 her head high when she essayed on one of 
 her " down-town walks." She even looked 
 the masher straight in the face; but her 
 pure gaze and invulnerable virtue caused 
 brazen sin to beat an ignominious retreat 
 to the accommodating cigar-store. The 
 masher s head invariably drooped before 
 her imperious look; and when his red nose 
 touched the flashing diamond on his shirt- 
 front, Mrs. Mogens smiled, a smile such 
 as angels would over the triumph of a 
 saint. 
 
 But Mr. Mogens understood her not.
 
 246 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 He saw only her smile, and this smile, 
 he thought, was enough to encourage the 
 angel Gabriel to sell his famous trumpet 
 for old brass, and to enter into a partner 
 ship with his Nickish Majesty of the Pit. 
 When Mr. Mogens accompanied his wife 
 down town, therefore, he suffered the most 
 exquisite torture, and his eyes from a 
 forced endeavor to reconnoiter both sides of 
 the sidewalk had actually acquired that 
 peculiar expression which is said to belong to 
 those whose right eye looks for Christmas 
 when the left is looking for Easter Sunday. 
 And when Mrs. Mogens at such queer mo 
 ments looked at her husband s queer eyes, 
 her silver smile broke into a golden laugh. 
 Mr. Mogens, like all well- bred slaves, gave 
 his eyes a convulsive jerk, sighed, and 
 said nothing. But in his heart for 
 Mr. Mogens had a heart, a pious, loving, 
 throbbing heart in his heart he was sad 
 and dejected.
 
 THE FATAL LETTER. 24? 
 
 After all, what could he do? He could 
 not lock her up in the house. He had 
 thought of such an expedient once, but the 
 thought did not fecundate, because Mrs. 
 Mogens had once remarked that if she had 
 had the misfortune to marry a man who 
 would restrict her, and not such a darling as 
 Mr. Mogens, she would have committed sui 
 cide the first opportunity she should have 
 had. At these words, which seemed to have 
 answered his incipient resolution to lock her 
 up, Mr. Mogens shivered and kissed his 
 wife s hand. What a beautiful hand hers 
 was! so finely shaped, so small and full; 
 and the skin was as soft as that of an in 
 fant. As he gazed upon that alabaster- 
 like hand, and thought that this very hand 
 might be discolored and shriveled by a self- 
 inflicted death, he felt a cold, creepy sen 
 sation down his spine and a chill in his 
 bones. No; he would do nothing that might
 
 248 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 possibly deprive him of this hand, arid his 
 eyes from feasting upon the glorious beauty 
 of her face and form. 
 
 And so he sighed, and concluded to bear 
 his burden manfully. She was his \\li\-, 
 after all, bis, and his only. Besides, he 
 had the satisfaction of not being bored by 
 
 o */ 
 
 too many visitors and a chance lover. The 
 few elderly ladies and gentlemen who were 
 entertained once or twice a week could 
 hardly be called dangerous. There was 
 nothing to be apprehended on this score; 
 and in his house, at least, Mr. Mogens had 
 no cause for anxiety. 
 
 But his heart was doomed to a long 
 
 O 
 
 martyrdom. For, one bright November 
 day, as Mr. and Mrs. Mogens were walk 
 ing on Market Street they were met by 
 two tall gentlemen, and one of them said, 
 "Hello, Mug, old man, how are you? 3 
 and, taking off his hat, he continued, ad-
 
 THE FATAL LETTER. 249 
 
 dressing Mrs. Mogens, " This is my friend, 
 Mr. Bearspaw." Mrs. Mogens was exceed 
 ingly glad to meet Mr. Bearspaw; she had 
 read his writings, and admired him very 
 much. Mr. Bearspaw s usual severity 
 vanished in the presence of Mrs. Mogens; 
 and, though he was not given to answering 
 any questions that any one, male or female, 
 might ask, he very soon found himself an 
 swering some propounded by the charming 
 Mrs. Mogens ; which demonstrates that 
 there never yet lived a philosopher who 
 was impervious to a woman s charms, es 
 pecially when the woman had spirit, and 
 plenty of that woman s sense known as 
 "tact." 
 
 Mr. Bearspaw was, as already indicated, 
 tall and finely proportioned. He had a 
 military carriage, and the face of a thinker. 
 His features were strong and marked; not 
 that there was that cadaverous hollowness
 
 260 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 in liis face that sometimes cnves intellectual 
 
 O 
 
 people a satanic look, but the strength was 
 rather marked in the general make-up of 
 that remarkable face. His forehead had 
 long, deep lines, and his brows were of an 
 extraordinary length. But, while they 
 partly shadowed, they did not prevent the 
 observer from seeing a most penetrating 
 eye, blue in color, but by its great sharp 
 ness robbed of that insipidness which gen 
 e-ally marks eyes of "heavenly hue." A 
 straight nose added to the character of the 
 face, and an elegantly shaped mustache 
 completed it. He spoke in a low tone of 
 voice, and in this, probably, was the only 
 fault of the man s make-up. There was no 
 strength in it; he seemed afraid to speak; 
 but he only seemed so, for, in reality, there 
 was nothing in how loud he said a thin^, 
 
 i-J O 
 
 but what he said, and that carried weight 
 every time. As he walked by the side
 
 THE FATAL LETTER. 251 
 
 of Mrs. Mogens, they appeared a very 
 handsome pair, the whole strength of his 
 manhood matched against her glorious 
 womanhood. 
 
 Mr. Mogens s heart gave a thump as he 
 saw his wife look up to Mr. Bearspaw s face 
 with an intensity that was as new as it was 
 startling. And Bearspaw looked down into 
 her face and smiled. Bearspaw looked dread 
 ful when he frowned, but when he smiled, 
 well, that was quite a different affair. 
 
 " The devil take " that was the be 
 ginning of Mr. Mogens s sentence, but he 
 only thought those three words; aloud, how 
 ever, he said, " Your friend there " 
 
 "Yes, isn t he a charming fellow?" in 
 terrupted Mr. Pety Baglow. " He is a 
 most delightful fellow. Say, Mug, old boy, 
 I 11 bring him up to your house some even 
 ing, say next Sunday evening; will that 
 suit you ? I arn sure your wife will be de-
 
 252 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 lighted to see him. You have still that 
 good whisky of yours, have n t you ? " 
 
 And Mr. Mogens said Yes. Thus the 
 matter was settled, and Pety Baglow raced 
 on on another theme, so that poor Mr. Mo- 
 gens s head was in a whirl. He forgot to 
 look cross-eyed on the sidewalk; all he 
 knew was that Baglow rattled on, saying 
 sweet nothings about theater parties and 
 dinners, and wines and girls, and that in 
 front of him, like lovers in sweet forgetful- 
 ness, walked Bearspaw and his Ophelia. 
 He could have strangled Pety Baglow and 
 turned a dagger in the entrails of Bearspaw. 
 Oh, how he regretted not having realized 
 that first thought of shutting her up in the 
 house! But he recalled her threatened 
 suicide in a given case, and he mastered his 
 raore, sighed, and bore his burden with 
 
 O O 
 
 Christian meekness. But fate is sometimes 
 better than man imagines. Did Pety see
 
 THE FATAL LETTER. 253 
 
 the poor man s sufferings, and desire to pour 
 oil into the wound ? or was it merely a 
 natural inclination to tell a pleasant lie ? 
 Enough; he told Mr. Mogens that Mr. 
 Bearspaw hated women, and that the im 
 pression the sweetest woman would leave 
 in his heart would be a desire to never meet 
 her again. 
 
 These words had a startling effect upon 
 Mr. Mogens; he became positively lively, 
 and linked his arm with that of Baglow. 
 The recording angel sneezed, so that a drop 
 of heavenly saliva fell on the book, and 
 Pety had a notch to his credit. Of course, 
 Pety told Mr. Mogens that he (Pety) was 
 not as unsusceptible as Bearspaw, but 
 Mogens laughed at the thought of Pety s 
 rivalry. He knew him too well ; good old 
 Pety, he would have trusted him with 
 everything, excepting, perhaps, his Ophelia, 
 but this was quite a different matter.
 
 254 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 As a matter of course, however, Mr. 
 Mogens underrated Pety Baglow s quality 
 in " stooping to conquer." Because Pety 
 Baglow was a student of the gentler sex, 
 and though all fish was not meat to him, 
 yet when a man is hunting up authorities 
 on the " Art of Persuasion," he must, of 
 necessity, give the material on hand a fair 
 trial, and Baglow s trials were nearly always 
 of the fair kind. Might he not be induced 
 - simply from love of study to change 
 the subject? physicians certainly do so 
 quite often, and Pety was a student of anat 
 omy from no motive of gain, but for the 
 love of the thing. His endeavors had been 
 crowned with exceptional success in nearly 
 every instance; and though he was a student 
 and a writer of repute, he was not at all 
 pedantic. To be sure, his nature was in 
 total opposition to that of Bearspaw ; but 
 all people can not be alike. Pety was as light
 
 THE FATAL LETTER. 255 
 
 as air, but he was beautiful. One would not 
 have called him handsome, because this term 
 applies to persons of a grosser nature. 
 Pety s nature was fine; he was born of a 
 woman, brought up among women, and he 
 needed woman s sympathy and woman s 
 love to spice his life. In this intercourse 
 he had acquired all the finesse of a woman; 
 his touch was tender and delicate; his man 
 ner gentle. Had he been beardless, his 
 oval face and soft, pointed chin, his long hair 
 and dreamy eyes, would have given him the 
 character of a beautiful woman. His rich 
 red and swelling lips might have stamped 
 him a voluptuous woman. But as he was 
 a man, with a certain man s courage, and 
 the qualifying masculine hairiness, it made 
 him what women were pleased to call a 
 beautiful man. His mustache covered his 
 upper lip, according to regulation, and a 
 short, pointed beard toned up his feminine
 
 256 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 chin. He was a favorite with men, and 
 more so with women. His gentle manner, 
 his pretty speech, his readiness to do them 
 favors, small favors, to be sure, such as 
 not even jealous husbands would object to, 
 -captivated them. Mr. Baglow was a 
 fortunate man, indeed. 
 
 III. 
 
 " Good by, Mr. Baglow, and call again," 
 said Mrs. Mogens, opening the door. 
 
 " Thanks, awfully," replied Mr. Baglow, 
 and bowed himself out. But he bowed 
 himself into the avoirdupois of Mr. Mogens, 
 who was nearly knocked down from the 
 steps leading to his own house. 
 
 "Hello, Pety, look out!" cried Mr. 
 Mogens, grabbing the former s coat, by 
 which he managed to gain his equilibrium. 
 
 " Beg pardon, old man. How are you ?
 
 THE FATAL LETTER. 257 
 
 Charming flowers you have in your garden. 
 By by ! " and, skipping down the stairs, 
 he was gone. 
 
 At the collision between Mr. Baglow s 
 back and Mr. Mogens s front, Mrs. Mogens 
 uttered a ringing laugh. Mr. Mogens 
 would have frowned if he had dared ; as it 
 was, he smiled a sickly sort of a smile, and, 
 entering, kissed his wife on the forehead. 
 
 Mr. Baglow had called as promised, but 
 he had come without Mr. Bearspaw. Mrs. 
 Mogens had shown her displeasure almost 
 as much as Mr. Mogens his delight. He 
 hated that Mr. Bearspaw, into whose face 
 his Ophelia had looked with so much evi 
 dent pleasure. Mr. Mogens was so happy 
 at the absence of the supposed rival that 
 Pety Baglow s attentions to his wife evoked 
 but little feeling. But Mr. Baglow had 
 continued his visits at short intervals. He 
 brought flowers, books, and often box-
 
 258 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 checks for first nights at the Baldwin The 
 atre. Mr. Mogens was annoyed at first, 
 then suspicious, until the torture became so 
 poignant that he felt sick at heart. He 
 was sure his wife liked Pety Baglow; he had 
 seen her smile upon him oh, so happily ! 
 She had never smiled on him her own hus 
 band, her benefactor so sweetly. Each 
 smile cut his heart; but what could he do? 
 Of course, he might have ordered Pety 
 Baglow from the house; but what good 
 would that have done him ? Might they 
 not carry on their illicit love somewhere 
 else ? It is an old saying, that those bent 
 on mischief laugh at watchfulness. He 
 could do nothing. 
 
 Several days later, as Mr. Mogens as 
 cended the steps leading to his mansion, 
 and thought of the late collision with his 
 hated friend Pety, he kept close to the 
 railing. But he was spared the agony;
 
 THE FATAL LETTER. 259 
 
 the catastrophe did not come to pass. On 
 inquiry, Babette told him that "ze Mad 
 ame Mogens hav gon out." That did not 
 make him any happier. Where had she 
 gone to ? Whom had she gone to meet ? 
 These were torturing questions. Mr. Mo- 
 gens lighted a cigar and seated himself at 
 the window. Was he going to spy on his 
 wife ? Probably. But who would not ex 
 cuse him? He worshiped her; there on 
 the wall hung her picture, what a grand 
 woman she was ! Suddenly he felt a de 
 sire to go into her boudoir, to see her trin 
 kets, to kiss everything his wife had looked 
 at or touched. Oh, was there ever such a 
 love as burned in his tortured heart ? 
 
 He opened the door of his wife s room 
 and looked in. It was the bower of a 
 princess. He entered, and seated himself 
 in a soft chair, probably the one she had 
 sat in before she had gone out. Suddenly
 
 260 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 his eye fell upon a sheet of paper on the 
 table, there was writing on it; he recog 
 nized his wife s hand at a glance. To whom 
 had she been writing ? Who? Who? An 
 unconquerable desire to read that note 
 seized him. Twice he tried to master his 
 unmanly desire, but at last he succumbed. 
 With a bound he was at the table, he held 
 the note in his hand, but the hand trembled 
 so he could not see. He heaved a sigh and 
 steadied himself. He needed all the forti 
 tude to remain on his feet ; for what he 
 read crushed him to death. A cry of 
 agony escaped his lips; he sank into a chair, 
 but he did not lose consciousness : fate was 
 too cruel for that. There, black on white, 
 was his wife s guilt. " My darling Peter," 
 the letter began, and ended with an effu 
 sion of love that drove him mad. Nor 
 had she made any attempt to conceal the 
 fact ; she had written that incriminating
 
 THE FATAL LETTER. 261 
 
 letter, and had signed it with her no, his 
 name. He was disgraced, annihilated. 
 
 " My darling Peter," she calls him, he 
 murmured at length. "She hopes soon to 
 be his wife ; all it needs is to put me out 
 of the way. Very well, Pety, you have 
 wrecked my life, I 11 give you a show to 
 wreck hers, also. You shall have her. 
 Life is not worth living if you have to 
 fight for each inch of ground. I am going, 
 I am going"; saying which he left his wife s 
 room and the house. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Monsieur Morris, the intended husband 
 of Babette, was a charming young man, just 
 such as would capture the heart of a French 
 maid ; he was employed in an office that 
 closed its doors daily at two, p. M., and Mr. 
 Morris had all the pleasant afternoon hours
 
 262 THE FOLLOWING: , 
 
 to himself. He spent them mostly at the 
 Golden Gate Park. It was there that he 
 met and learned to love his sweet Babette. 
 But if his passion for pretty French maids 
 was bound to end in that derogation of 
 freedom called matrimony, his greater pas 
 sion for picking choice flowers at the city s 
 park was bound to land him in jail. But 
 Morris indulged in both those passions with 
 a nonchalance that was lordly, to say the 
 least. Another peculiarity of Mr. Morris 
 was the wearing of a green coat and a green 
 felt hat, and with his black mustache and 
 beard a la Napoleon the Third, he looked 
 not unlike his club-footed Majesty at a ball. 
 " Every crime has its time," is a saying, 
 and Mr. Morris s predilection for stealing 
 flowers brought him int.) unpleasant rela 
 tions with the park police. 
 
 It was on the day that Babette sent him 
 the happy message of her love that Mr.
 
 THE FATAL LETTER. 263 
 
 Morris, dressed in a bright green coat and 
 hat, walked jauntily into the Park, whistling 
 a few bars from that charming opera, "Cav- 
 alleria Rusticana." A beautiful oleander- 
 blossom took his fancy, and, without much 
 care for spying policemen, he broke it off 
 and put it into his buttonhole. But the 
 Argus-eye of an officer was upon him ; to 
 be sure, the policeman was a quarter of a 
 mile away, but as he made straight for Mr. 
 Morris, the latter thought speed the better 
 part of valor. He cut and ran into the 
 depth of a bush, and had the satisfaction 
 of seeing the policeman race by at the top 
 of his speed. He knew that the police 
 would beat the bush and find him erelong; 
 he also knew that he would go to jail, and 
 this was not quite agreeable, when one an 
 ticipates matrimony in a few days. He 
 thought of means to get out of the Park 
 unobserved; but he looked at his green
 
 264 THE FOLLOWING : 
 
 coat, the police would recognize that a 
 mile off, and he despaired. Suddenly he 
 heard a voice, and as he looked to his right, 
 he saw a man. 
 
 " I am tired of this everlasting torture," 
 said the man. "I ll make an end of it." 
 
 Mr. Morris was about to say " Don t," 
 being afraid that the man might expedite 
 his soul by means of lead and powder, which 
 would attract those "hounds of justice," as 
 he styled the reputable persons who follow 
 the shrill call of the police- whistle. But, 
 to his great relief, he saw the man take a 
 bottle from his pocket, which he could see 
 was labeled " laudanum" and deliberately 
 drink it contents. A happy thought struck 
 Morris, and he smiled with satisfaction. 
 Bending over the twigs, he stepped into the 
 place where the suicide lay. 
 
 " See here, friend," said Morris, <f I saw 
 you drink that stuff; in twenty minutes
 
 THE FATAL LETTER. 265 
 
 you will be as dead as a door-nail. The 
 police are after me for stealing flowers in 
 this park. I cannot leave the place with 
 this green coat and hat ; give me yours 
 while there is time, and you put on mine. 
 You will save me from trouble and my 
 Babette from anxiety, for, let me tell you, 
 sir, I shall be married in a week, and I 
 don t like to go to jail just now." 
 
 When the suicide heard that Morris was 
 about to get married, he smiled, and said, 
 " I have half a mind to let those fellows 
 arrest you ; the confinement in the county 
 jail would probably cure your attempted 
 matrimonial folly. But, as you seem to be 
 bent upon mischief, have your own way "; 
 saying which, he took off his coat and 
 hat and donned those of Morris. The ex 
 change was hardly made when the police 
 were upon them. 
 
 " There he is, the fellow in the green
 
 266 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 coat," cried the policeman who had chased 
 Morris. 
 
 " That man has committed suicide, gen 
 tlemen," said Morris, gravely. "You had 
 better ring up a patrol wagon "; and in the 
 excitement that followed his statement, he 
 stole away. 
 
 V. 
 
 Mrs. Mogens felt very uneasy when the 
 dinner-bell rang and her husband had not 
 come home. He was always punctual ; 
 what could possibly have kept him out so 
 late ? From Babette she had heard that 
 the master had been in, and had gone away 
 again. And it was the first time in her 
 married life that she sat down to dinner 
 alone. Her husband must have found 
 something or somebody very interesting 
 to neglect her thus; she was piqued, for, 
 as a matter of fact, she loved her husband
 
 THfi FATAL LETTER. 267 
 
 dearly ; he was manly and devoted ; he al 
 ways read her wishes from her eyes, and 
 fulfilled them before they were uttered. 
 She mentally compared him with all the 
 men she knew ; there was not one she 
 would have put in his place. And then, 
 too, there was the fifth anniversary of their 
 wedding, which was also his birthday. 
 How she had schemed to surprise him, 
 and now he was neglecting her ; that was 
 a sad beginning for the coming joy. 
 
 The dinner remained untouched, and 
 when, at midnight, her husband had not re 
 turned, Mrs. Mogens, for the first time in 
 her married life, wept and cried herself 
 to sleep. The next morning she was much 
 sadder. Mr. Mogens was not in his apart 
 ments, had not been there at all. The poor 
 woman was nearly frantic; she cried, and 
 Babette cried with her. What were they 
 to do ? Mrs. Mogens sent Babette down
 
 268 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 town to the office; he was not there. At 
 length the bell rang, and the servant an 
 nounced Mr. Pety Baglow. He appeared 
 to the poor woman like an angel from 
 heaven. If any one, he could find out what 
 had become of Mr. Mogens. When Bag- 
 low heard the terrible storv, he thought 
 
 / 
 
 a while; then he thought that Mr. Mogens 
 might have gone the way of all flesh, in one 
 of the many pleasant resorts of San Fran 
 cisco, where champagne fizzes and semi- 
 dressed women wear sparkling diamonds 
 and play the piano. So Mr. Baglow con 
 soled Mrs. Mogens, and told her that he 
 would go and find her husband (more dead 
 than alive, he added, mentally), and that he 
 would return soon. 
 
 Now, Mr. Baglow was an adept in locat 
 ing all sorts of people, from a lad who ran 
 away from the Boys and Girls Aid So- 
 cietv to the bold, bad men who rob trains
 
 THE FATAL LETTER. 269 
 
 and kill people because they are too for 
 ward in pressing their acquaintance. , And 
 so Mr. Baglow scoured the resorts, high 
 and low, but no trace could he find of the 
 missing Mr. Mogens; and as Pety could 
 not bring it over his heart to face a woman 
 when he had to make a discouraging re 
 port, he went to a friend whose whisky was 
 better than his reputation, and drowned 
 his failure in copious draughts. 
 
 VI. 
 
 "Prisoner at the bar, stand up," said 
 Police Judge Hishornblower. The pris 
 oner at the bar looked pale and distin 
 guished. He wore a green coat, which 
 made his face ghastly looking, and on the 
 bench by his side was a green hat. 
 
 "You are guilty of a misdemeanor; you 
 are accused of having stolen flowers in the 
 park. Do you plead guilty ? "
 
 270 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 The prisoner at the bar said he was not 
 guilty. 
 
 " Call the witness," cried his Honor. 
 
 The witness was called, sworn, and said 
 that his name was Michael McGinnis, a 
 park policeman. 
 
 " Is that the man you saw picking flow 
 ers ? " asked the judge. 
 
 " Av yer Onor plase, it is th inon. He 
 had on a grane coht, an Oi knows grane 
 whin Oi sae it." 
 
 The judge was about to sentence the 
 culprit, when an auditor rose and asked 
 permission to address the court. Permis 
 sion being given, the auditor declared that 
 he was in the park at the time ; that he 
 saw the thief, and that he was positive it 
 was a much smaller man who took the 
 flowers. He also maintained that if he 
 put on that green coat and hat, the police 
 man would accuse him. In fact, he was
 
 THE FATAL LETTER. 271 
 
 positive, he stated, that the policeman was 
 under the influence of liquor. The police 
 man turned purple in the face, and said that 
 if the auditor would put on that coat and 
 hat he would take an oath that he was not 
 the thief. 
 
 The judge actually asked the auditor 
 to put on the green coat and hat, and to 
 stand at a distance from the witness. When 
 that was done, the policeman trembled in 
 every limb. 
 
 " Av yer Onor plase, this mon is the 
 divil, fer, be the saints, it s him Oi saw 
 stealin thim flowers," cried the policeman, 
 and sat down, stunned. 
 
 There was first a titter, then a roar of 
 laughter among the spectators, for the man 
 in the green coat and hat, with his black 
 mustache and pointed beard, looked very 
 much like Mephistopheles in " Faust." 
 Even the judge made but little endeavor
 
 272 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 to hide his mirth, when suddenly a woman s 
 voice was heard, who said, " Oh, mon cher 
 Pelair!" It was Babette, who at this mo 
 ment entered the court-room and espied her 
 lover. 
 
 In his effulgent joy, Peter Morris for 
 it was he that saved the accused, who was 
 none other than Mr. Mogens embraced 
 Babette in the court-room. The judge 
 thought this enough for the serenity of a 
 court of justice, and dismissed the case. 
 Babette and her lover left the court-room 
 first, and the former did not see her master. 
 
 The latter, however, had made a won 
 derful discovery while locked up in a cell ; 
 for be it known that it was not laudanum 
 that the providential druggist had given 
 Mr. Mogens, but plain every-day brandy. 
 The city physician diagnosed the case at 
 once, and Mr. Mogens was locked up on a 
 charge of misdemeanor. As he was in the
 
 THE FATAL LETTER. 273 
 
 cell, Mr. Mogens reviewed his case. His 
 failure at self-destruction, instead of caus 
 ing him dejection, filled him with mirth. 
 How ludicrous the entire business was, - 
 the exchange of his garments for that 
 green coat, which was much too small for 
 him ! Now he also remembered that his 
 pocket-book, which contained valuable pa 
 pers and checks, was in the coat he had 
 given to that flower- thief, and what did 
 he get in return ? Nothing. He put his 
 hand in the breast pocket, ah, there was 
 a letter addressed to Mr. Peter Morris. 
 Who was he ? He did not care. Uncon 
 sciously he drew the letter from the envel 
 ope and opened it. It made him stagger. 
 The letter began: "My darling Peter." 
 Oh, the mixed feelings of agony and hope! 
 So, after all, it was not Pety Baglow his 
 wife had been writing to, but to this stran 
 ger, whom he knew not, but whom chance
 
 274 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 had thrown in his way. In his excitement, 
 he did not notice that it was not his 
 wife s handwriting at all. He read on ; he 
 was perplexed still more ; the letter was 
 signed " Babette." Did his wife use her 
 maid s name as a guise ? Certainty, if 
 he could get but certainty. Now he was a 
 prisoner in a filthy cell. He shook the iron 
 bars ; he wanted to be free, to find out 
 if life was worth living 1 after all. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Here, driver," cried Mr. Mogens, as 
 soon as he had reached the street from the 
 Old City Hall, he had the green coat and 
 hat on, "there is ten dollars for you; 
 race for your life up to Mogens s place." 
 He was in the cab, and, but a few minutes 
 later, at the feet of his wife. 
 
 Well, she laughed and wept as she kissed
 
 THE FATAL LETTER. 275 
 
 his dear head. But he took from his 
 pocket that fatal love-letter, and asked her, 
 for the love of heaven, to explain its star 
 tling evidence. Mrs. Mogens read the let 
 ter, and uttered such a peal of laughter 
 that both Babette and her lover, who were 
 waiting to call on Mrs. Mogens to acquaint 
 her with future plans, rushed into the 
 room. 
 
 " O monsieur," cried Babette. " My 
 Petair s coat!" 
 
 " And my letter ! " cried Mr. Morris. 
 
 " I wrote that copy for Babette," said 
 Mrs. Mogens, with a laugh. " And you 
 were jealous, dear hubby; naughty man to 
 go away before the anniversary." 
 
 " My darling, I love you more than I 
 can tell," said Mr. Mogens; "and the 
 thought that you might be unhappy with 
 me drove me mad; forgive me." 
 
 It was a picture fit for an artist s brush.
 
 276 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 There they stood embraced, both the mil 
 lionaire and his wife, who never knew of 
 her husband s attempted suicide, and the 
 humble servant with her lover. And the 
 cabman below swore that the " bloke " in 
 the green coat was a dead beat.
 
 A MIDNIGHT SONG. 
 
 FINALE. 
 
 |HE night was calm and glorious. Not 
 a breath of wind, nor a cloud in the 
 sky. The moon threw her silver light in 
 one gigantic beam upon the ocean, and the 
 stars glittered in their iridescent back 
 ground, while our ship, The Homeless, gently 
 rocked upon the heaving bosorn of the deep. 
 Of the thousand passengers on board nearly 
 all were on deck. Almost every nation of 
 the civilized world was represented. They 
 were steering for the land of freedom and 
 endeavor, America. They were remark 
 ably quiet at this moment; were they awed 
 by the grandeur of the ocean ? Probably.
 
 278 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 Sudden!;: the trumpet-like voice of the 
 Captain broke the silence. Every one 
 started. 
 
 "Let us have a song, ladies and gentle 
 men. Give us a nice song, a song in which 
 all may join." 
 
 " O yes, sir; please, sir," chimed an 
 Anglo-Saxon maiden from the county of 
 Yorkshire ; " let us have a genuine Eng 
 lish song, sir. I propose, sir, we sing, 
 God Save the Queen, sir." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said a portly Ger 
 man ; " the Queen is nothing to us. Let 
 us sing something that will remind us of 
 loyalty and bravery, and deeds done. Cap 
 tain, I propose we sing Die Wacht am 
 Ehein. " 
 
 " Au diable with the Wacht am Rhein," 
 cried an excitable Frenchman. " Gentle 
 men and ladies, I humbly crave your par 
 don; but I must protest against German
 
 A MIDNIGHT SONG. 2?9 
 
 songs. The best German product is Liin- 
 burger cheese. I mean no offense. But 
 liberty was won when every man of France 
 sang the one great song, La Marseillaise. 
 Captain, 1 propose this very popular song." 
 . "Presto, Signor Capitano," said an Ital 
 ian. "Ah, there is nothing like Italy s great 
 song, Patria, mia Cara. Captain, we sing 
 the Italian song, Patria, mia Cara. " 
 
 At this a girl approached the Captain. 
 She was remarkably beautiful, and as the 
 moonlight fell upon her figure, she looked 
 like one of those forms modeled by the 
 Greek masters, the poise and symmetry of 
 which take the soul captive, and fill the 
 heart with longing. 
 
 "Ladies and gentlemen," she said, and 
 her voice sounded soft and melodious, like 
 the deep, melting tones of a flute. " I am 
 an American. My patriotism, though 
 strong, is rather cosmopolitan. But an
 
 280 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 American neither fights nor sings for trifles, 
 being ready, however, to do both for the 
 blessings of his home. If I understand the 
 Captain correctly, it is his intention that 
 we should have a song to inspire the soul 
 and fill the heart with memories and hopes. 
 To accomplish this, you must sing a song to 
 voice the sentiments of all on board. But 
 for this you need not go to London, Paris, 
 Berlin, or Rome. The name of the ship 
 we are on is quite suggestive of the general 
 feeling, Homeless ! Are we not home 
 less just now, floating between life and eter 
 nity ? And what could possibly be nearer 
 to our hearts, from whatever country we 
 may hail, than the thought of home, and 
 those loved ones we left behind us ? I am 
 certain there is no one on this ship who 
 would not fall in with those who sing 
 Home, Sweet Home. : 
 
 " Alas, yes ! there are," said a man in the
 
 A MIDNIGHT SONG. 281 
 
 immediate vicinity of the charming and 
 eloquent American. " Yes, miss, there 
 are over two hundred heart-broken Jews 
 below in this ship, who would rather lament 
 as did their ancestors, By the waters of 
 Babylon, there did we sit and weep, re 
 membering thee, O Zion P We had homes 
 and happiness, but the Czar s cruelty and 
 the mob s brutality robbed us of both. Let 
 those sing of a sweet home who have homes, 
 but to us, homeless wanderers of nigh on 
 two thousand years, to us home is a stigma 
 and a curse. It is very hard to be driven 
 from the land of your birth, to be declared 
 homeless, but it is harder still to join in a 
 joyous chorus when one s soul is in agony 
 and the heart is broken." 
 
 And the poor man covered his face and 
 wept. 
 
 " My friend," said the beautiful Ameri 
 can, " you should not weep over past mis-
 
 282 THE FOLLOWING: 
 
 fortunes. You are going to a land of liberty, 
 and your future happiness will far outweigh 
 your past misery. In suggesting the song, 
 Home, Sweet Home/ 1 thought of you also. 
 I thought of all those that are homeless. 
 While it is true that some of us are returning 
 to old-established and happy homes, still 
 others, and those are by far in the majority, 
 go to America to found homes and rear fam 
 ilies. A few years hence and your past life 
 will be like^a dream, aye, a bad dream, but 
 gone and forgotten. You and your people 
 will be citizens of a great republic, respected 
 and honored by all. Some of America s 
 best citizen s are of your faith, who, coming 
 like you, poor and homeless, have made 
 for themselves names, homes, and fortunes. 
 And were you to ask the least of them 
 whether they prefer their old to their new 
 homes, I am certain they would be in favor 
 of the latter. Cheer up, then, my friend,
 
 A MIDNIGHT SONG. 283 
 
 and in anticipation of your future happiness, 
 sing with us of the glory and sweetness of 
 home." 
 
 " God bless you, miss," said the Jew, while 
 every one on deck cheered the wise and 
 fascinating girl. 
 
 Again the voice of the Captain resounded, 
 but there was a slight tremor in his deep 
 tones as he said, " Let us sing Home, Sweet 
 Home. " 
 
 He gave the signal, and the air was filled 
 with the chorus of a thousand voices, some 
 singing and some sobbing, " Home, Sweet, 
 Sweet Home!" 
 
 The monsters of the deep rose to the sur 
 face, the sea heaved, the moon shone in 
 tranquil beauty, the stars blinked approval. 
 It was a beautiful night; it is a memory 
 now.
 
 \Ve call special attention to our next book, 
 a powerful novel, founded on the great 
 SHARON CASE, entitled: 
 
 "SERALTHA," 
 
 BY 
 
 ABEL M. RAWSON, 
 
 Author of "The Junior Partners." 
 
 We have also a new and beautiful edi 
 tion of 
 
 BLACK BEETLES IN AMBER, 
 
 BY 
 
 AMBROSE BIERCE. 
 
 Our Coast Address is 
 
 WESTERN AUTHORS PUBLISHING ASSOCIATION, 
 MURPHY BUILDING, 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO, CAL. 
 
 133
 
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