A Memorable Night

CHAPTER I.





I am a young physician of limited practice and great ambition. At the

time of the incidents I am about to relate, my office was in a

respectable house in Twenty-fourth Street, New York City, and was

shared, greatly to my own pleasure and convenience, by a clever young

German whose acquaintance I had made in the hospital, and to whom I

had become, in the one short year in which we ad practised together,

most unreasonably attached. I say unreasonably, because it was a

liking for which I could not account even to myself, as he was neither

especially prepossessing in appearance nor gifted with any too great

amiability of character. He was, however, a brilliant theorist and an

unquestionably trustworthy practitioner, and for these reasons

probably I entertained for him a profound respect, and as I have

already said a hearty and spontaneous affection.



As our specialties were the same, and as, moreover, they were of a

nature which did not call for night-work, we usually spent the evening

together. But once I failed to join him at the office, and it is of

this night I have to tell.



I had been over to Orange, for my heart was sore over the quarrel I

had had with Dora, and I was resolved to make one final effort towards

reconciliation. But alas for my hopes, she was not at home; and, what

was worse, I soon learned that she was going to sail the next morning

for Europe. This news, coming as it did without warning, affected me

seriously, for I knew if she escaped from my influence at this time, I

should certainly lose her forever; for the gentleman concerning whom

we had quarrelled, was a much better match for her than I, and almost

equally in love. However, her father, who had always been my friend,

did not look upon this same gentleman's advantages with as favorable

an eye as she did, and when he heard I was in the house, he came

hurrying into my presence, with excitement written in every line of

his fine face.



"Ah, Dick, my boy," he exclaimed joyfully, "how opportune this is! I

was wishing you would come, for, do you know, Appleby has taken

passage on board the same steamer as Dora, and if he and she cross

together, they will certainly come to an understanding, and that will

not be fair to you, or pleasing to me; and I do not care who knows

it!"



I gave him one look and sank, quite overwhelmed, into the seat nearest

me. Appleby was the name of my rival, and I quite agreed with her

father that the tete-a-tetes afforded by an ocean voyage would

surely put an end to the hopes which I had so long and secretly

cherished.



"Does she know he is going? Did she encourage him?" I stammered.



But the old man answered genially: "Oh, she knows, but I cannot say

anything positive about her having encouraged him. The fact is, Dick,

she still holds a soft place in her heart for you, and if you were

going to be of the party--"



"Well?"



"I think you would come off conqueror yet."



"Then I will be of the party," I cried. "It is only six now, and I can

be in New York by seven. That gives me five hours before midnight,

time enough in which to arrange my plans, see Richter, and make

everything ready for sailing in the morning."



"Dick, you are a trump!" exclaimed the gratified father. "You have a

spirit I like, and if Dora does not like it too, then I am mistaken in

her good sense. But can you leave your patients?"



"Just now I have but one patient who is in anything like a critical

condition," I replied, "and her case Richter understands almost as

well as I do myself. I will have to see her this evening of course and

explain, but there is time for that if I go now. The steamer sails at

nine?"



"Precisely."



"Do not tell Dora that I expect to be there; let her be surprised.

Dear girl, she is quite well, I hope?"



"Yes, very well; only going over with her aunt to do some shopping. A

poor outlook for a struggling physician, you think. Well, I don't know

about that; she is just the kind of a girl to go from one extreme to

another. If she once loves you she will not care any longer about

Paris fashions."



"She shall love me," I cried, and left him in a great hurry, to catch

the first train for Hoboken.



It seemed wild, this scheme, but I determined to pursue it. I loved

Dora too much to lose her, and if three weeks' absence would procure

me the happiness of my life, why should I hesitate to avail myself of

the proffered opportunity. I rode on air as the express I had taken

shot from station to station, and by the time I had arrived at

Christopher Street Ferry my plans were all laid and my time disposed

of till midnight.



It was therefore with no laggard step I hurried to my office, nor was

it with any ordinary feelings of impatience that I found Richter out;

for this was not his usual hour for absenting himself and I had much

to tell him and many advices to give. It was the first balk I had

received and I was fuming over it, when I saw what looked like a

package of books lying on the table before me, and though it was

addressed to my partner, I was about to take it up, when I heard my

name uttered in a tremulous tone, and turning, saw a man standing in

the doorway, who, the moment I met his eye, advanced into the room and

said:



"O doctor, I have been waiting for you an hour. Mrs. Warner has been

taken very bad, sir, and she prays that you will not delay a moment

before coming to her. It is something serious I fear, and she may have

died already, for she would have no one else but you, and it is now an

hour since I left her."



"And who are you?" I asked, for though I knew Mrs. Warner well--she is

the patient to whom I have already referred--I did not know her

messenger.



"I am a servant in the house where she was taken ill."



"Then she is not at home?"



"No, sir, she is in Second Avenue."



"I am very sorry," I began, "but I have not the time--"



But he interrupted eagerly: "There is a carriage at the door; we

thought you might not have your phaeton ready."



I had noticed the carriage.



"Very well," said I. "I will go, but first let me write a line--"



"O sir," the man broke in pleadingly, "do not wait for anything. She

is really very bad, and I heard her calling for you as I ran out of

the house."



"She had her voice then?" I ventured, somewhat distrustful of the

whole thing and yet not knowing how to refuse the man, especially as

it was absolutely necessary for me to see Mrs. Warner that night and

get her consent to my departure before I could think of making further

plans.



So, leaving word for Richter to be sure and wait for me if he came

home before I did, I signified to Mrs. Warner's messenger that I was

ready to go with him, and immediately took a seat in the carriage

which had been provided for me. The man at once jumped up on the box

beside the driver, and before I could close the carriage door we were

off, riding rapidly down Seventh Avenue.



As we went the thought came, "What if Mrs. Warner will not let me

off!" But I dismissed the fear at once, for this patient of mine is an

extremely unselfish woman, and if she were not too ill to grasp the

situation, would certainly sympathize with the strait I was in and

consent to accept Richter's services in place of my own, especially as

she knows and trusts him.



When the carriage stopped it was already dark and I could distinguish

little of the house I entered, save that it was large and old and did

not look like an establishment where a man servant would be likely to

be kept.



"Is Mrs. Warner here?" I asked of the man who was slowly getting down

from the box.



"Yes, sir," he answered quickly; and I was about to ring the bell

before me, when the door opened and a young German girl, courtesying

slightly, welcomed me in, saying:



"Mrs. Warner is up-stairs, sir; in the front room, if you please."



Not doubting her, but greatly astonished at the barren aspect of the

place I was in, I stumbled up the faintly lighted stairs before me and

entered the great front room. It was empty, but through an open door

at the other end I heard a voice saying: "He has come, madam"; and

anxious to see my patient, whose presence in this desolate house I

found it harder and harder to understand, I stepped into the room

where she presumably lay.



Alas! for my temerity in doing so; for no sooner had I crossed the

threshold than the door by which I had entered closed with a click

unlike any I had ever heard before, and when I turned to see what it

meant, another click came from the opposite side of the room, and I

perceived, with a benumbed sense of wonder, that the one person whose

somewhat shadowy figure I had encountered on entering had vanished

from the place, and that I was shut up alone in a room without visible

means of egress.



This was startling, and hard to believe at first, but after I had

tried the door by which I had entered and found it securely locked,

and then bounding to the other side of the room, tried the opposite

one with the same result, I could not but acknowledge I was caught.

What did it mean? Caught, and I was in haste, mad haste. Filling the

room with my cries, I shouted for help and a quick release, but my

efforts were naturally fruitless, and after exhausting myself in vain

I stood still and surveyed, with what equanimity was left me, the

appearance of the dreary place in which I had thus suddenly become

entrapped.





CHAPTER II.



It was a small square room, and I shall not soon forget with what a

foreboding shudder I observed that its four blank walls were literally

unbroken by a single window, for this told me that I was in no

communication with the street, and that it would be impossible for me

to summon help from the outside world. The single gas jet burning in a

fixture hanging from the ceiling was the only relief given to the eye

in the blank expanse of white wall that surrounded me; while as to

furniture, the room could boast of nothing more than an old-fashioned

black-walnut table and two chairs, the latter cushioned, but stiff in

the back and generally dilapidated in appearance. The only sign of

comfort about me was a tray that stood on the table, containing a

couple of bottles of wine and two glasses. The bottles were full and

the glasses clean, and to add to this appearance of hospitality a box

of cigars rested invitingly near, which I could not fail to perceive,

even at the first glance, were of the very best brand.



Astonished at these tokens of consideration for my welfare, and

confounded by the prospect which they offered of a lengthy stay in

this place, I gave another great shout; but to no better purpose than

before. Not a voice answered, and not a stir was heard in the house.

But there came from without the faint sound of suddenly moving wheels,

as if the carriage which I had left standing before the door had

slowly rolled away. If this were so, then was I indeed a prisoner,

while the moments so necessary to my plans, and perhaps to the

securing of my whole future happiness, were flying by like the wind.

As I realized this, and my own utter helplessness, I fell into one of

the chairs before me in a state of perfect despair. Not that any fears

for my life were disturbing me, though one in my situation might well

question if he would ever again breathe the open air from which he had

been so ingeniously lured. I did not in that first moment of utter

downheartedness so much as inquire the reason for the trick which had

been played upon me. No, my heart was full of Dora, and I was asking

myself if I were destined to lose her after all, and that through no

lack of effort on my part, but just because a party of thieves or

blackmailers had thought fit to play a game with my liberty.



It could not be; there must be some mistake about it; it was some

great joke, or I was the victim of a dream, or suffering from some

hideous nightmare. Why, only a half hour before I was in my own

office, among my own familiar belongings, and now--But, alas, it was

no delusion. Only four blank, whitewashed walls met my inquiring eyes,

and though I knocked and knocked again upon the two doors which

guarded me on either side, hollow echoes continued to be the only

answer I received.



Had the carriage then taken away the two persons I had seen in this

house, and was I indeed alone in its great emptiness? The thought made

me desperate, but notwithstanding this I was resolved to continue my

efforts, for I might be mistaken; there might yet be some being left

who would yield to my entreaties if they were backed by something

substantial.



Taking out my watch, I laid it on the table; it was just a quarter to

eight. Then I emptied my trousers pockets of whatever money they held,

and when all was heaped up before me, I could count but twelve

dollars, which, together with my studs and a seal ring which I wore,

seemed a paltry pittance with which to barter for the liberty of which

I had been robbed. But it was all I had with me, and I was willing to

part with it at once if only some one would unlock the door and let me

go. But how to make known my wishes even if there was any one to

listen to them? I had already called in vain, and there was no

bell--yes, there was; why had I not seen it before? There was a bell

and I sprang to ring it. But just as my hand fell on the cord, I heard

a gentle voice behind my back saying in good English, but with a

strong foreign accent:



"Put up your money, Mr. Atwater; we do not want your money, only your

society. Allow me to beg you to replace both watch and money."



Wheeling about in my double surprise at the presence of this intruder

and his unexpected acquaintance with my name, I encountered the

smiling glance of a middle-aged man of genteel appearance and

courteous manners. He was bowing almost to the ground, and was, as I

instantly detected, of German birth and education, a gentleman, and

not the blackleg I had every reason to expect to see.



"You have made a slight mistake," he was saying; "it is your society,

only your society, that we want."



Astonished at his appearance, and exceedingly irritated by his words,

I stepped back as he offered me my watch, and bluntly cried:



"If it is my society only that you want, you have certainly taken very

strange means to procure it. A thief could have set no neater trap,

and if it is money you want, state your sum and let me go, for my time

is valuable and my society likely to be unpleasant."



He gave a shrug with his shoulders that in no wise interfered with his

set smile.



"You choose to be facetious," he observed. "I have already remarked

that we have no use for your money. Will you sit down? Here is some

excellent wine, and if this brand of cigars does not suit you, I will

send for another."



"Send for the devil!" I cried, greatly exasperated. "What do you mean

by keeping me in this place against my will? Open that door and let me

out, or--"



I was ready to spring and he saw it. Smiling more atrociously than

ever, he slipped behind the table, and before I could reach him, had

quietly drawn a pistol, which he cocked before my eyes.



"You are excited," he remarked, with a suavity that nearly drove me

mad. "Now excitement is no aid to good company, and I am determined

that none but good company shall be in this room to-night. So if you

will be kind enough to calm yourself, Mr. Atwater, you and I may yet

enjoy ourselves, but if not--" the action he made was significant, and

I felt the cold sweat break out on my forehead through all the heat of

my indignation.



But I did not mean to show him that he had intimidated me.



"Excuse me," said I, "and put down your pistol. Though you are making

me lose irredeemable time, I will try and control myself enough to

give you an opportunity for explaining yourself. Why have you

entrapped me into this place?"



"I have already told you," said he, gently laying the pistol before

him, but within easy reach of his hand.



"But that is preposterous," I began, fast losing my self-control

again. "You do not know me, and if you did--"



"Pardon me, you see I know your name."



Yes, that was true, and the fact set me thinking. How did he know my

name? I did not know him, nor did I know this house, or any reason for

which I could have been beguiled into it. Was I the victim of a

conspiracy, or was the man mad? Looking at him very earnestly, I

declared:



"My name is Atwater, and so far you are right, but in learning that

much about me you must also have learned that I am neither rich nor

influential, nor of any special value to a blackmailer. Why choose me

out then for--your society? Why not choose some one who can--talk?"



"I find your conversation very interesting."



Baffled, exasperated almost beyond the power to restrain myself, I

shook my fist in his face, notwithstanding I saw his hand fly to his

pistol.



"Let me go!" I shrieked. "Let me go out of this place. I have

business, I tell you, important business which means everything to me,

and which, if I do not attend to it to-night, will be lost to me for

ever. Let me go, and I will so far reward you that I will speak to no

one of what has taken place here to-night, but go my ways, forgetful

of you, forgetful of this house, forgetful of all connected with it."



"You are very good," was his quiet reply, "but this wine has to be

drunk." And he calmly poured out a glass, while I drew back in

despair. "You do not drink wine?" he queried, holding up the glass he

had filled between himself and the light. "It is a pity, for it is of

most rare vintage. But perhaps you smoke?"



Sick and disgusted, I found a chair, and sat down in it. If the man

were crazy, there was certainly method in his madness. Besides, he

had not a crazy eye; there was calm calculation in it and not a little

good-nature. Did he simply want to detain me, and if so, did he have a

motive it would pay me to fathom before I exerted myself further to

insure my release? Answering the wave he made me with his hand by

reaching out for the bottle and filling myself a glass, I forced

myself to speak more affably as I remarked:



"If the wine must be drunk, we had better be about it, as you cannot

mean to detain me more than an hour, whatever reason you may have for

wishing my society."



He looked at me inquiringly before answering, then tossing off his

glass, he remarked:



"I am sorry, but in an hour a man can scarcely make the acquaintance

of another man's exterior."



"Then you mean--"



"To know you thoroughly, if you will be so good; I may never have the

opportunity again."



He must be mad; nothing else but mania could account for such words

and such actions; and yet, if mad, why was he allowed to enter my

presence? The man who brought me here, the woman who received me at

the door, had not been mad.



"And I must stay here--" I began.



"Till I am quite satisfied. I am afraid that will take till morning."



I gave a cry of despair, and then in my utter desperation spoke up to

him as I would to a man of feeling:



"You don't know what you are doing; you don't know what I shall suffer

by any such cruel detention. This night is not like other nights to

me. This is a special night in my life, and I need it, I need it, I

tell you, to spend as I will. The woman I love"--it seemed horrible to

speak of her in this place, but I was wild at my helplessness, and

madly hoped I might awake some answering chord in a breast which could

not be void of all feeling or he would not have that benevolent look

in his eye--"the woman I love," I repeated, "sails for Europe

to-morrow. We have quarrelled, but she still cares for me, and if I

can sail on the same steamer, we will yet make up and be happy."



"At what time does this steamer start?"



"At nine in the morning."



"Well, you shall leave this house at eight. If you go directly to the

steamer you will be in time."



"But--but," I panted, "I have made no arrangements. I shall have to go

to my lodgings, write letters, get money. I ought to be there at this

moment. Have you no mercy on a man who never did you wrong, and only

asks to quit you and forget the precious hour you have made him lose?"



"I am sorry," he said, "it is certainly quite unfortunate, but the

door will not be opened before eight. There is really no one in the

house to unlock it."



"And do you mean to say," I cried aghast, "that you could not open

that door if you would, that you are locked in here as well as I, and

that I must remain here till morning, no matter how I feel or you

feel?"



"Will you not take a cigar?" he asked.



Then I began to see how useless it was to struggle, and visions of

Dora leaning on the steamer rail with that serpent whispering soft

entreaties in her ear came rushing before me, till I could have wept

in my jealous chagrin.



"It is cruel, base, devilish," I began. "If you had the excuse of

wanting money, and took this method of wringing my all from me, I

could have patience, but to entrap and keep me here for nothing, when

my whole future happiness is trembling in the balance, is the work of

a fiend and--" I made a sudden pause, for a strange idea had struck

me.





CHAPTER III.



What if this man, these men and this woman, were in league with him

whose rivalry I feared, and whom I had intended to supplant on the

morrow. It was a wild surmise, but was it any wilder than to believe I

was held here for a mere whim, a freak, a joke, as this bowing,

smiling man before me would have me believe?



Rising in fresh excitement, I struck my hand on the table. "You want

to keep me from going on the steamer," I cried. "That other wretch who

loves her has paid you--"



But that other wretch could not know that I was meditating any such

unusual scheme, as following him without a full day's warning. I

thought of this even before I had finished my sentence, and did not

need the blank astonishment in the face of the man before me to

convince me that I had given utterance to a foolish accusation. "It

would have been some sort of a motive for your actions," I humbly

added, as I sank back from my hostile attitude; "now you have none."



I thought he bestowed upon me a look of quiet pity, but if so he soon

hid it with his uplifted glass.



"Forget the girl," said he; "I know of a dozen just as pretty."



I was too indignant to answer.



"Women are the bane of life," he now sententiously exclaimed. "They

are ever intruding themselves between a man and his comfort, as for

instance just now between yourself and this good wine."



I caught up the bottle in sheer desperation.



"Don't talk of them," I cried, "and I will try and drink. I almost

wish there was poison in the glass. My death here might bring

punishment upon you."



He shook his head, totally unmoved by my passion.



"We deal punishment, not receive it. It would not worry me in the

least to leave you lying here upon the floor."



I did not believe this, but I did not stop to weigh the question

then; I was too much struck by a word he had used.



"Deal punishment?" I repeated. "Are you punishing me? Is that why I am

here?"



He laughed and held out his glass to mine.



"You enjoy being sarcastic," he observed. "Well, it gives a spice to

conversation, I own. Talk is apt to be dull without it."



For reply I struck the glass from his hand; it fell and shivered, and

he looked for the moment really distressed.



"I had rather you had struck me," he remarked, "for I have an answer

for an injury like that; but for a broken glass--" He sighed and

looked dolefully at the pieces on the floor.



Mortified and somewhat ashamed, I put down my own glass.



"You should not have exasperated me," I cried, and walked away beyond

temptation, to the other side of the room.



His spirits had received a dampener, but in a few minutes he seized

upon a cigar and began smoking; as the wreaths curled over his head he

began to talk, and this time it was on subjects totally foreign to

myself and even to himself. It was good talk; that I recognized,

though I hardly listened to what he said. I was asking myself what

time it had now got to be, and what was the meaning of my

incarceration, till my brain became weary and I could scarcely

distinguish the topic he discussed. But he kept on for all my seeming,

and indeed real, indifference, kept on hour after hour in a monologue

he endeavored to make interesting, and which probably would have been

so if the time and occasion had been fit for my enjoying it. As it

was, I had no ear for his choicest phrases, his subtlest criticisms,

or his most philosophic disquisitions. I was wrapped up in self and my

cruel disappointment, and when in a certain access of frenzy I leaped

to my feet and took a look at the watch still lying on the table, and

saw it was four o'clock in the morning, I gave a bound of final

despair, and throwing myself on the floor, gave myself up to the heavy

sleep that mercifully came to relieve me.



I was roused by feeling a touch on my breast. Clapping my hand to the

spot where I had felt the intruding hand, I discovered that my watch

had been returned to my pocket. Drawing it out I first looked at it

and then cast my eyes quickly about the room. There was no one with

me, and the doors stood open between me and the hall. It was eight

o'clock, as my watch had just told me.



That I rushed from the house and took the shortest road to the

steamer, goes without saying. I could not cross the ocean with Dora,

but I might yet see her and tell her how near I came to giving her my

company on that long voyage which now would only serve to further the

ends of my rival. But when, after torturing delays on cars and

ferry-boats, and incredible efforts to pierce a throng that was

equally determined not to be pierced, I at last reached the wharf, it

was to behold her, just as I had fancied in my wildest moments,

leaning on a rail of the ship and listening, while she abstractedly

waved her hand to some friends below, to the words of the man who had

never looked so handsome to me or so odious as at this moment of his

unconscious triumph. Her father was near her, and from his eager

attitude and rapidly wandering gaze I saw that he was watching for me.

At last he spied me struggling aboard, and immediately his face

lighted up in a way which made me wish he had not thought it necessary

to wait for my anticipated meeting with his daughter.



"Ah, Dick, you are late," he began, effusively, as I put foot on deck.



But I waved him back and went at once to Dora.



"Forgive me, pardon me," I incoherently said, as her sweet eyes rose

in startled pleasure to mine. "I would have brought you flowers, but I

meant to sail with you, Dora, I tried to--but wretches, villains,

prevented it and--and--"



"Oh, it does not matter," she said, and then blushed, probably because

the words sounded unkind, "I mean--"



But she could not say what she meant, for just then the bell rang for

all visitors to leave, and her father came forward, evidently thinking

all was right between us, smiled benignantly in her face, gave her a

kiss and me a wink and disappeared in the crowd that was now rapidly

going ashore.



I felt that I must follow, but I gave her one look and one squeeze of

the hand, and then as I saw her glances wander to his face, I groaned

in spirit, stammered some words of choking sorrow and was gone, before

her embarrassment would let her speak words, which I knew would only

add to my grief and make this hasty parting unendurable.



The look of amazement and chagrin with which her father met my

reappearance on the dock can easily be imagined.



"Why, Dick," he exclaimed, "aren't you going after all? I thought I

could rely on you. Where's your pluck, lad? Scared off by a frown? I

wouldn't have believed it, Dick. What if she does frown to-day; she

will smile to-morrow."



I shook my head; I could not tell him just then that it was not

through any lack of pluck on my part that I had failed him.



When I left the dock I went straight to a restaurant, for I was faint

as well as miserable. But my cup of coffee choked me and the rolls and

eggs were more than I could face. Rising impatiently, I went out. Was

any one more wretched than I that morning and could any one nourish a

more bitter grievance? As I strode towards my lodgings I chewed the

cud of my disappointment till my wrongs loomed up like mountains and

I was seized by a spirit of revenge. Should I let such an interference

as I had received go unpunished? No, if the wretch who had detained me

was not used to punishment he should receive a specimen of it now and

from a man who was no longer a prisoner, and who once aroused did not

easily forego his purposes. Turning aside from my former destination,

I went immediately to a police-station and when I had entered my

complaint was astonished to see that all the officials had grouped

about me and were listening to my words with the most startled

interest.



"Was the man who came for you a German?" one asked.



I said "Yes."



"And the man who stood guardian over you and entertained you with wine

and cigars, was not he a German too?"



I nodded acquiescence and they at once began to whisper together; then

one of them advanced to me and said:



"You have not been home, I understand; you had better come."



Astonished by his manner I endeavored to inquire what he meant, but he

drew me away, and not till we were within a stone's throw of my office

did he say, "You must prepare yourself for a shock. The impertinences

you suffered from last night were unpleasant no doubt, but if you had

been allowed to return home, you might not now be deploring them in

comparative peace and safety."



"What do you mean?"



"That your partner was not as fortunate as yourself. Look up at the

house; what do you see there?"



A crowd was what I saw first, but he made me look higher, and then I

perceived that the windows of my room, of our room, were shattered and

blackened and that part of the casement of one had been blown out.



"A fire!" I shrieked. "Poor Richter was smoking--"



"No, he was not smoking. He had no time for a smoke. An infernal

machine burst in that room last night and your friend was its wretched

victim."



I never knew why my friend's life was made a sacrifice to the revenge

of his fellow-countrymen. Though we had been intimate in the year we

had been together, he had never talked to me of his country and I had

never seen him in company with one of his own nation. But that he was

the victim of some political revenge was apparent, for though it

proved impossible to find the man who had detained me, the house was

found and ransacked, and amongst other secret things was discovered

the model of the machine which had been introduced into our room, and

which had proved so fatal to the man it was addressed to. Why men who

were so relentless in their purposes towards him should have taken

such pains to keep me from sharing his fate, is one of those anomalies

in human nature which now and then awake our astonishment. If I had

not lost Dora through my detention at their hands I should look back

upon that evening with sensations of thankfulness. As it is, I

sometimes question if it would not have been better if they had let me

take my chances.



* * * * *



Have I lost Dora? From a letter I received to-day I begin to think

not.