A Deformed Idol

Front matter

a BY JAMES J. MORAN AUTHOR OF "THE DISAFI'EARANCE OF JACK ARNOLD," "THE DUNFERRY RISIN',' "THE FOUR-LEAVED SHAMROCK," "FORSAKEN," ETC. LONDON DIGBY, LONG & CO., PUBLISHERS 18 BOUVERIE STREET, FLEET STREET, E.C. CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE I. "AN AIR OF MYSTERY" ... I II. THE MYSTERY DEEPENS . . . 1 5 III. I MEET HER FATHER ... 24 IV. IN THE GLOAMING .... 36 V. THE MYSTERY REVEALED . . . 52 VI. A SHORT CHAPTER .... 65 VII. "THEN KEEP ME ALWAYS" . . 69 VIII. THE CRUCIAL MOMENT . . . 75 IX. LILY'S LETTER .... 82 X. THE LAST GLIMPSE . . . .91 XI. GONE ...... 99 XII. TOM COOKE'S ADVICE . . . I IO XIII. I AM TAKEN FOR A BRIDEGROOM . . 119 XIV. A NEW ACQUAINTANCE . . .126 XV. CONFIDENCES . . . . I42 XVI. BACHELOR LIFE . . . . 1 52 XVII. A CHANGE IN THE CURRENT . . 162 XVIII. DEAD SEA FRUIT .... 169 XIX. A HAPPY EVENING . . . . 176 XX.

AN EXPLANATION .... 188 XXI. HAROLD HOOPER, Q.C . . .201 XXII. WHIMS OF WOMAN-KIND . . . 2l6 XXIII. A STORMY INTERVIEW . . . 227 XXIV. A RECONCILIATION . . . .241 XXV. THE BALL ..... 248 XXVI. THE END OF THE BALL . . . 260 XXVII. A WINTER OF TORTURE . . . 267 XXVIII. A NEW PROJECT AND NEW HOPES . . 277 I CONTEXTS. PAGE CHAP. XXIX. EN ROUTE! ..... 285 XXX. A SERIES OF DISAPPOINTMENTS . . 297 XXXI. VIENNA'S CHIEF ATTRACTION . . 305 XXXII. CRUSHED HOPES .... 316 XXXIII. A HOPELESS SEARCH . . . 323 XXXIV. A CLUE ..... 333 XXXV. THE SILVER LINING . . . 338 XXXVI. THE FALL OF THE CURTAIN . . 347 XXXVII. BY WAY OF

Epilogue

Chapter I

" AN AIR OF MYSTERY." " Furnished apartments in select locality. Would suit single gentleman of retired disposition. Apply to Mrs. Rogers, 6 Maiden Street." " That would suit me nicely," I thought, when, having run my eye down the " Apartments Vacant " column, I lighted upon this advertisement, and read it over a few times in succession. " ' Select locality' — just the thing. ' Would suit single gentle man of retired disposition ' — if Mrs. Rogers had known me all her lifetime, she could not have de scribed me better. But where is Maiden Street ? I've not heard of it before." Looking up a map of the city, I found that Maiden Street branched off another street famed for its quietness and respectability, and that it would be comparatively near the place of my daily A labours. So I lost no time in driving to No. 6 Maiden Street.

It was indeed a "select and retired" locality, if one might judge by the stately, many-storied residences, all so much alike, that stretched along, not a few of them bearing the legend " To Let " on their windows. Mrs. Rogers was thin, elderly, and excessively polite — in fact, quite an ideal landlady. She con ducted me to the third storey, and ushered me into a very comfortable suite of apartments, with only one window looking into the street. I approached the window, and found that it commanded a very limited view — merely the brown front of the opposite house meeting my gaze. Even the street below could only be discerned by craning one's neck at the top of the window and looking down. " Certainly, there is nothing here to distract one's gaze," I thought. Mrs. Rogers then entered into several particulars.

She had no children — she said nothing about a husband, and to this day I have never learned whether she had a husband in the house, whether she was a " grass " widow, or a widow altogether. The ground floor was occupied partly by herself and partly by a business gentleman who dined out ; the second floor contained two elderly ladies ; and she would be glad to have myself in the third, if I liked the situation sufficiently. Of course it was a very quiet place for a young gentleman, but, — she looked at me as if to say, " You do not seem to be a very wild young man." I explained in answer to her look, that I was a literary man, and that quiet was just what I desired. Then terms were agreed upon, and that evening I was duly installed as Mrs. Rogers' third-floor lodger. Before a week, I found myself quite at home here.

I had regular work in a publishing firm in the business part of the city, which necessitated my attendance there for a few hours every day. I was an author as well, and my evenings were occupied in writing. I found it very pleasant, when my office work was over, to walk home to my quiet quarters, have a good dinner, and enjoy a cigar afterwards in the easy-chair by the window, while I arranged my thoughts for the evening's work. There were no harrowing street noises to distract my attention ; nothing in the brown front opposite, as I gazed vacantly upon it, to interfere with the arrangement of my ideas. Tom Cooke, a free-and-easy chum of mine, called to see me one evening shortly after my installation in my new quarters. " Welcome, Tom ! How are you ? " I asked, as I pushed aside a heap of papers, and rose to receive him.

" How am I ? Quite out of puff at present, I assure you, after trotting up two flights of stairs to find you out. Why don't you go and live in the clouds at once ? " asked Tom, as he flung his hat and gloves on the table, and sat down in the easy chair by the window. " Any rule about smoking on the premises ? " he continued, as he pulled out his cigar-case. " None whatever. In fact, I'm just going to blow a cloud myself," said I, taking a seat by the window also. " What a magnificent prospect ! " laughed Tom, as he looked through the window. " Was it in answer to an advertisement you scented out this back-of -god-speed place ? " " Yes." " Among the attractions therein mentioned, I suppose there was something like this : ' Beautiful prospect from the front window, over thirty-five feet long, embracing a third-storey window opposite, wherein an interesting young female plies the busy needle.' Who is she.

Bob ? " " I don't know. I haven't seen her before," I an swered, as I looked at the window opposite, and discerned, half-hidden by the curtains, the outline of a young lady in a white dress, who appeared to be, indeed, engaged in needle-work. " Well, I must say," said Tom, languidly, as he blew a whiff from his cigar, " that whoever is re sponsible for the construction of your cranium omitted to add the bump of curiosity. You are here almost a week, and you did not know till this moment that there is a young lady within a dozen yards of you, on whose beauty you may feast un observed." " How do you know she's a beauty ? " " Because my romantic instinct so assures me. Why, old fellow, there isn't a particle of romance in your twenty-five-year-old carcase." " Not enough to assure me that a female whom I can't see distinctly is a beauty.

Anyhow, not being endowed with the bump of curiosity, I don't care whether she's a beauty or not." " I think a litterateur like you, who sometimes dabbles in fiction, should lose no opportunity of studying human nature." " I flatter myself that I know enough of human nature to keep me going." " Not female human nature, my dear boy. It is so intricate a piece of business that, like playing the violin, it is never thoroughly learned. Now, if I were a writer of fiction, I'd seek that young lady's acquaintance immediately, and take her measure for a novel." " And probably find a lady with a red nose and a cast in her eye," I laughed. " Or worse still, one of your orthodox fashionable belles whose shallow mind never rises above the trivialities of dress and flirtation." " Robert Brown," said Tom, with mock severity, " you're a woman-hater !

If you don't reform, you'll live and die a forlorn old bachelor." " Which, bad as it is, would be a preferable fate to that of the husband of the erst-while society belle, who can't make a rice-pudding without a cookery-book, and spoils it even then. But look here, Tom, I'm no woman-hater. I've got an ideal woman, and whenever I meet her, I'll make as complete a fool of myself as any love-sick swain going — yourself, for instance." " Thank you," said Tom, gravely. " I've got no ideal, thank heaven, but just take 'em as I find 'em. Rest assured, Bob, you'll realise when it's too late that your ideal does not exist on this old globe, in this fag-end of the nineteenth century. Then you'll lament that you did not realise it in time. Descend from your lofty pedestal, old fellow, or you'll get left."

There was silence for a few moments as I puffed away at my cigar, and Tom kept gazing intently at the window opposite. " She has left down her work, whatever it is, and is pulling back the curtain. Good heavens, what a face ! " he cried with sudden excitement. " Look, Bob ! Now, didn't my instinct assure me aright ? " I pulled my chair close to the window and looked across, more to oblige my companion than through curiosity. But, phlegmatic as I usually am, I confess I was startled out of myself by the face of the lady opposite. She was strikingly beautiful — a perfect blonde — with golden hair that fell in waves over her shoulders. Her face was faultlessly regular ; and her eyes, as well as we could discern, were large, well-opened, and of a deep blue. But it was not those natural advan tages alone that chained my attention ; for, as the reader may already judge, I am not so susceptible to mere physical beauty.

It was the air of utter dejection, of melancholy lassitude, that pervaded her whole person. She reclined in a large easy chair, her cheek resting on a lily-white hand, and her large eyes gazing through the window — the sash of which she had pulled up — with a vacant stare. She seemed to take no note of any external object, her graceful pose never varied ; not a muscle of her face moved, as Tom and myself (forgetting all politeness, I am afraid) still watched and noted every feature with eager interest. How long I gazed I know not, but I was at length aroused by a whispered remark from Tom. " How like a beautiful statue — a masterpiece of one of the old sculptors, she seems ! " he mur mured, never taking his eyes from her. " And what an appearance of utter ennui she wears ! By Jove, Bob, I've seen many beautiful women, but there is something about that girl that I've never seen in anyone before."

" There is an air of mute sorrow," said I, a little more warmly than my wont, " but it only adds an interest to her charms. If that girl were in a gay mood, and laughing heartily, as some ladies do at your sallies, Tom, she would not appear to half so much advantage as she does now. I wonder who she is." Tom turned from the window, and laughed softly. " The bump of curiosity is developing," he re marked. " Have you found your ideal, Bob ? " " No, but I've found a study. I am convinced there is something in that lady which would repay one for making her acquaintance." " I think so, most emphatically," said Tom, turning again, and examining her as critically as he would a beautiful picture. " There is an air of " AN AIR OF MYSTERY. 9 mystery in the whole thing, I must say. Look at those magnificent eyes — they have never even twitched, as far as I can see, since — '' The young lady must have felt by some magnetic influence that she was being watched, for the large eyes slowly turned until they rested upon us ; and then, with an expression of an mistakable pain, she pulled down the window, drew across the cur tains, and was lost to our gaze.

" Vanished, by Jove ! " said Tom. " Yes, and serve us right, too," said I, a little pained at being discovered. " What a pair of rude ignoramuses she must take us to be ! " " I have a theory," said Tom, "which, if true, will do away with her thinking anything of the sort." " You are always theorising. What is your latest, may I ask ? " " That the interesting female opposite is either an imbecile or a monomaniac," said Tom, coolly light ing another cigar. " I tell you I am really interested in that lady," I said, seriously, "and I don't want any joking upon the matter." " But I am really serious, Bob," he said, gravely. " In the course of my professional career, I have met many cases of monomania in the most beautiful women. Everything, in this case, points to the correctness of my theory. Her appearance of world-weariness and dejection — so different from what you would expect to see in one so young, beautiful, and in such good circumstances — points to the existence of some mental malady."

" Nonsense," said I, trying to laugh carelessly. " Ten to one she is the gayest flirt of her sex, and her temporary dejection this evening is the result of some silly lover's quarrel." " But I have other and stronger grounds for my theory. The fact of her sitting at the third-storey window, so that she cannot be seen from the street, or in fact from anywhere except this window, shows that she wishes to escape observation — a likely symptom of monomania ; or it may be that she is confined there against her will." I should mention that Tom was a barrister of high repute and extensive practice, and his reasoning certainly convinced me somewhat. I was about to ask for some further information regarding monomania, of which I knew very little, when Mrs. Rogers came in to lay the table for tea. I invited Tom to have a cup, and he readily acquiesced.

" Better ask your landlady who is the party liv ing opposite," whispered Tom, as Mrs. Rogers entered with the teapot. " If any one can solve the mystery, she can." " Mrs. Rogers," I asked, as she was about to leave the room, " do you know who are living in the house directly opposite ? " "I don't know, sir, indeed," she answered, her hand on the door. " It's only occupied about a month, and it was vacant for a long time before then. The gentleman who took it came from abroad, I believe — from Spain, or France, or Europe, or somewhere." Mrs. Rogers was sometimes hazy in her geo graphy. " What sort of man is he ? " I asked " He's a stout, middle-aged man, with big red whiskers, and he's very cross-looking." " By Jove ! I know him by appearance. I've met him on this street. Immense red whiskers ?

" " The very same, sir. He goes in and out very often." "Is there anyone besides himself living in the house ? " I asked, reddening a little in spite of my self. " Is there a — hem ! — a lady in the house ? " " No, sir, not that I know of. Leastways, I've never seen anyone go in or out but himself and the two foreign servants." Tom and I looked blankly at each other, and Mis. Rogers, finding that she was not questioned any further, retired. " Well, what do you think of that, Tom ? " I in quired. " The lady has been there a month, and Mrs. Rogers has not seen her, while the foreign gentleman goes in and out alone." " I've got another theory," said Tom, as he quietly sipped his tea. "Look here," I observed, "it seems to me you're piling on your theories too quickly. Just as I am beginning to incline to the monomania theory, you knock it on the head by a new one."

" But this one does not knock the former on the head, my dear fellow. It's simply an alternative theory. ' You pays your sixpence, and takes your choice,' you know." " Well, let me hear it." "Just this; that the young lady is the red whiskered party's wife, and that she is in a state of voluntarj* or involuntary imprisonment, the usual concomitant of an ill-fated marriage. I've seen many cases of that nature also. A lovely youno* girl is forced to marry some odious old fellow before she is old enough to know her own mind, and as years pass, and she comes to realise her position, she sinks into hopeless apathy, or eats her heart out in despair. Rest assured, the red-whiskered party is either her keeper or her husband or both." " He is a ferocious-looking individual, at any rate. I do not generally take much notice of passers-by, but his appearance impressed me forc ibly every time I saw him.

God help his young wife, if she be such ! Still, Cooke, I am as un willing to believe your second theory as your first. Would it not be a good joke if both of us had been cudgelling our brains all the evening over an affair that contains no mystery at all ? " " All the same," said Tom, with a serio-comic look, "you seem more interested in this lady than I have ever seen you in any specimen of female humanity before." " Well, I acknowledge I am. What then ? " " Then you naturally wish to disbelieve both my theories, as either would place the hapless lady out side the pale of your exceedingly warm interest." I made no reply, and Tom rose, laughing. " Good-night, old boy," he said, drawing on his gloves ; " I am leaving to-morrow on the winter circuit, and probably won't see you for a few months."

" Good-bye, Tom. I hope when I see you again to be able to say that I've disproved your theories." " Well, I hope so, both for the lady's sake and yours. You're hard hit at last, Brown." " Nonsense." " Nonsense yourself ! I have a third and last theory which at least is quite evident — that you're a ' done Brown.' " " I knew you wouldn't go without perpetrating a pun," I called after him as he ran gaily down the stairs. " Pooh," said I aloud when I was alone. " ' Hard hit ' — what nonsense ! Just because I showed a little more interest than usual in that girl. Now to forget it all, and do a good night's work." But the remembrance of that girl with the great sad eyes, and the mysterious circumstances sur rounding her, could not be " pooh "-ed away or forgotten at will. For the first time in many years, I found that I could not collect my thoughts sufficiently for the work in hand.

Large blue eyes and ferocious red whiskers mingled in my thoughts, and when bed-time came, the paper before me was as blank as when I had sat down to it.

Chapter II. The Mystery Deepens

During the whole of the next day, I found my thoughts dwelling irresistibly on the strange un known. It was quite a new state of mind with me — to be so concerned about anyone ; and I angrily rebelled against it. " What foolishness," I said several times to my self in the course of the day, " to take such an interest in one of whom I know nothing, who may be an imbecile, or another man's wife. 1 will conquer this silly feeling ! I will sit at my window as usual this evening, and will not cast even a single glance at the window opposite." And that evening, as I sat down to enjoy my usual post-prandial smoke, I stared defiantly at anything, everything, only not at the opposite window — for ten minutes, that is; and then my curiosity conquered my resolution, and I cast a fleeting glance at the window.

My heart throbbed quickly, for there she was ! Her window was not J5 opened, as the evening was rather gusty ; but she reclined in the same easy-chair, and in the self -same pose, as if she had not changed her position since the previous evening. Concealed behind my own curtain, I gazed for a full hour, and marvelled more and more at the pensive, vacant stare of those large, sad eyes. I might have gazed longer, indeed, but the darkness of the short winter evening came between us, and she was lost to my sight. I kept looking still, thinking that I might see her light a lamp, but no light appeared. With my curiosity un satisfied, and my interest heightened, I lit my own lamp and sat down to my work. And thus the winter passed, without my arriving any nearer to the solution of the mystery. Every evening I sat at my own window in the same way, and watched until night came between us.

She was always in the same attitude ; always gazing into vacancy in the same listless way. And what was equally strange, I never saw any light in her room after nightfall hid her from my view. Did she sit all night in the darkness ? I wondered. Though I had laughed at Tom Cooke's theories the first evening I saw her, I found myself multiplying them a thousand-fold. Every day I started a new theory ; every night I found my self weaving little romances, in which she was the hapless heroine ; and the man with the ferocious red whiskers, the villain of the plot. I could have solved the mystery at once by making inquiries about her ; but great as was my anxiety, I shrank from doing so, leaving the unravelling of it to time or chance. I never mentioned the matter even to my dearest friends, feeling a new sensitiveness of their ridicule.

Dear reader, is it your opinion that I was in love then ? I do not know myself, never having ex perienced the tender passion before. During that winter, I often asked myself the same question, and strove to analyse my feelings in this fashion : — " Can this be love ? Is it possible that a person may fall in love with a total stranger, to whom he has never spoken, and of whom he knows nothing, save that she has a beautiful face, and that she always seems oppressed with some secret sorrow ? No ! Love is a higher, nobler feeling, that must be called forth by personal intimacy, by a communion of tastes, and by a perfect knowledge of the mind and disposition of her we love. I am interested fascinated — but I am not in love." A deep and subtle analysis, you would say ; still not a satis factory one.

As the winter gave way to spring, I had an ad venture which heightened the mystery, and in- B creased my curiosity tenfold. I took a long walk into the country every evening now, to get away from the temptation of gazing at the fair unknown. As I was returning one beautifully mild evening, I spied a little pony and " box-trap " before me, in a rather dangerous predicament. The pony had evidently dragged the trap and its only occupant — a young lady — into a soft trench by the roadside. One of the wheels was stuck in the trench, the other was on the hard road, and the trap was turned half over. The young lady, who had evidently been too frightened to jump out, remained seated in the trap, and was encouraging the pony to struggle out by a liberal and rather frantic use of the whip. I hastened to render my assistance as quickly as possible, and seized the pony's head.

" Oh, thank you, sir," said the occupant, tremulously. I looked at her reassuringly, and to my utter as tonishment, I encountered the frightened looks of the mysterious young lady who was the constant sub ject of my thoughts ! I am afraid that in my amaze ment I behaved very foolishly indeed, for I stood gazing at her, my heart palpitating, and the blood rushing to my face, instead of rendering my assistance. For the moment I did not think of her predica ment, but of the fact that two of my latest theories regarding her had been rudely shattered. One had been, that she was kept in close confinement by the red-whiskered man ; the other, that she was a deaf mute. The fact of her being out alone dissipated the first ; and her addressing me (in such a silvery voice too) did away with the second.

" Will you be good enough to help him out ? " she asked ; those large eyes opening a little wider as she saw my inaction. " Certainly ; of — of course," I stammered, moving towards her and tendering my hand. " If — if you get out, I shall be able to get him out of this more easily, and you will be saved a jolting." She, to my utter surprise, declined my proffered assistance, and drew away her hand. " Can you not get him out as I am ? " she asked, rather testily. Thoroughly abashed, I withdrew to the pony's head again, and after some struggling and jolting I succeeded in getting " him " out on the hard road. I then looked at the lady. She was deathly pale, and her lips were compressed, as if in agony. " Can you drive home, do you think ? " I inquired, anxiously. " I — I think I can," she faltered.

" I am going to the city ; to your own street, in fact," I said, eagerly, "and if you would permit me — " " Oh, thank you. Get in. I needed no second command, but jumped into the trap, and we clattered off. How I blessed my good luck ! After months of theorising, doubt, and speculation, here I was — in the same trap with the object of it all. " Fate has acted in my behalf," I thought, " and the rest is in my own hands. Now to cultivate her acquaintance." As the pony trotted smoothly along, my fair companion recovered her self-possession, and turned those mournful eyes upon me. " You said you were going to the same street ? what street ? " " Maiden Street." " And how do you know I live there ? " she in quired, tempering her direct query with a little smile. " I have often seen you," I responded, as gallantly as I could.

" And once seen, you are not easily for—" " I don't want compliments," she said in a testy tone. " Would you kindly tell me — how did you see me ? " " From my window. It is directly opposite yours." " Oh, you are one of the young men who stared so rudely at me one evening a few months ago ? " " Yes, and I must apologise for our rudeness," I answered, a little hurt by the plain way in which she spoke. " But you would excuse us if you knew how strongly interested we were." I must have blundered sadly in my effort to convey a delicate compliment, for a look of pain crossed her face. I could have kicked myself when I saw how I had wounded her. " And I thought that I was safe from vulgar observation, at least, there," she murmured, wearily, and more in a tone of soliloquy than to me. " And have you been in that room ever since, sir ?

" " Yes, I saw you nearly every evening from my window." " You must think it very foolish of me to drive out alone this evening," she said, changing from the testy tone to a half apologetic one. " The fact is, pa insisted on sending William — the footman — with me for fear of an accident. But I longed so much for even a half-hour's freedom, that I dropped William when I got outside the city, and told him to wait there till I came back. Then I drove away alone. It was very silly of me, to be sure, but I could not resist the temptation to be alone." " If the action was so silly as you think," I said, smiling, " there would be a great many silly young ladies in the world. I know dozens of them who drive out alone every day." " Oh, of course, for ordinary young ladies it is not silly," she said, mournfully.