Chapter 24

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_ CHAPTER XXIV Harry Kendal threw back his dark, handsome head with a gesture of disdain and looked at the girl. "I do not know of any reason why you should warn me, above all other men, that it is dangerous to cross Miss Holt's path," he said. "Almost any young man will flirt with a pretty girl when he finds her so very willing. She understood that it was only a flirtation; but when I met your little friend Dorothy, of course all that nonsense with Nadine ceased." "Nadine did not call it a flirtation," returned the girl, gravely. "You might call it that. She thought of it differently, I am sure." "Where is Jessie Staples?" he asked, abruptly, to change the embarrassing subject. "She, too, has left the bindery," was the unexpected reply. "There have been great changes among the people in this book-bindery within the last few months. A young man connected with the place had quite a sum of money left him, and Jessie Staples was a great favorite with this young man's mother, so at their invitation Jessie went to live with them." Finding that she had nothing more to tell him, Kendal soon after took his departure. He was desperate as he walked along the street. "What in the name of Heaven shall I do?" he cried. "One day of the fortnight has already passed, and I have not even the slightest clew to Dorothy's whereabouts." And in that hour in which he realized that she was indeed lost to him he knew how well he actually loved the girl. Iris' fickleness had killed his mad infatuation at one blow, and, man-like, his heart returned at once to its old allegiance. Now that he knew that it was only a question of the merest chance of ever finding Dorothy, his very soul seemed to grow wild with anxiety. Suddenly a thought born of desperation occurred to him--why not consult a fortune-teller as a last resort? It just flashed across his brain, an advertisement he had read and laughed over in one of the New York papers a few days before: "Madame ----, seventh daughter of the seventh daughter, reveals to those who wish to consult her all the main incidents of their past, present, and future life; brings together the hearts of those who are suffering from the pangs of lovers' quarrels, though the whole wide earth should separate them; indicates the whereabouts of missing ones, though they should be hidden as deeply and securely from sight as the bowels of the earth. The madame can with ease secure for you the love of any person whom you may choose to win, put each and every person in the way of making fabulous fortunes in the shortest possible space of time, and all this for the small sum of fifty cents. Madame can be found, between the hours of nine and twelve in the forenoon, one and six in the afternoon, and from seven until eleven in the evening, by those who wish to consult her marvelous powers, on the fourth floor of the last tenement house on Hester Street. Visitors will please take note that Madame's consultation studio is in the rear of the building. A candle lights the way." By dint of much perseverance Kendal found the place. Taking the candle, he groped his way through the long, narrow, grimy passage, and found himself at length standing before Room 106, as the advertisement had indicated. His loud, impatient knock was answered, after some little delay, by a tall figure hooded and cloaked, the face almost concealed by a long, thick veil that was thrown about the head, and which reached almost to the feet. In a black-gloved hand this strange apparition held a lighted candle. "I trust I have found the right place," said Kendal. "I am in search of Madame Morlacci, the fortune-teller." At the sound of the deep, rich, mellow voice, the figure started back as though it had been struck a sudden blow, the black-shrouded hand that held the candle shook as if from palsy. "Come in," replied a muffled voice, that sounded like nothing human, it was so weird. Kendal stepped fearlessly into the room, the corners of which were in deepest gloom, which the flickering rays of the candle could not penetrate. "Well," said Kendal, impatiently, "I should be grateful to commence the preliminaries of this fortune-telling business at your earliest convenience, if you please, madam; my time is somewhat limited." Kendal drew forth his pocket-book, took out a bank-bill and handed it to the strange creature; but, to his intense surprise, she flung it back almost in his face. "I can tell you all you wish to know without a fee," cried the hoarse, muffled voice, which somehow made every drop of blood in Kendal's veins run cold as he heard it. "That would not be very profitable to you, I am sure, madame," he said, wonderingly. "That makes no difference to you," was the almost rude answer. He felt quite disconcerted; he hardly knew what to say next. This certainly was an odd contretemps, to say the least. "You are here to learn the whereabouts of--a woman?" she whispered, in a deep, uncanny voice. "Is it not so?" "By Heaven! you are quite right," cried Kendal, in amazement, quite startled out of his usual politeness. This woman had never laid eyes on him before, he told himself. Now, how, in the name of all that was wonderful, could she have known this? He had sneered at fortune-telling all his whole life through; now he began to wonder if there was not something in it, after all. "This woman, who is young, and by some called beautiful, will be your evil genius!" she hissed. "You wronged her through your fickle-mindedness, and wrecked her young life." "Great God!" he cried, "are you woman or devil, or a combination of both? But go on--go on!" he cried, excitedly. "I see you know all my past. There is no use in my attempting to hide anything from you. But tell me, where shall I find this young woman of whom you speak? I must track her down." A laugh that was horrible to hear broke from the lips of the veiled woman opposite him. "That you will never be able to do!" she cried, fiercely. "Though she may cross your path at will, you might as well hunt for a particular grain of sand along the sea-shore, a needle in a haystack, a special blade of grass in a whole field. You may recognize this fact, and abide by it. But, hark you! listen to what I have to say: The fates have decreed that your heart shall be wrung as you have wrung hers--pang for pang!" "Who and what are you," he cried, "who talk to me in this way? You act more like a vengeful spirit than a woman unconcerned in my affairs. Who and what are you, anyhow?" "I tell you only what I see," was the muttered response. "See where?" demanded Kendal in agitation. "That is not for you to know." "But I shall--I will know!" he cried, furiously. "There is something underneath all this trumpery. I am not a man to be trifled with in this fashion, I can tell you, with your fortune-telling nonsense--humbuggery!" "Then, pray, what brings you here? what is your object in coming?" asked the other, with a covert sneer. "To hear what lies you could trump up," replied Kendal boldly. "Our interview is ended," said the veiled figure, rising and pointing her long arm toward the door. He knew that he must temporize with her if he would find out Dorothy's whereabouts, which he was beginning to believe she might find out for him. "Will you pardon me?" he asked, humbling himself. "I--I must know more." "You have heard all that I have to say, Harry Kendal!" she cried. Who was this creature who knew him--aye, knew his name, his most secret affairs? He must--he would know. With a quick bound he cleared the space which divided them, and in a trice he had grasped her wrists firmly and torn the veil from her face. This was followed by a mighty cry. _

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