UNEXPECTED MEETINGS
Christine De Ruyter had long contemplated a visit to the new world. She was familiar with the history of the Dutch West India Company, a political movement organized under cover of finding a passage to Cathay, to destroy the results of Spanish conquest in America.
No doubt, love of discovery and of trade also stimulated the Dutch in making explorations. In the vessel "Half Moon" they sailed up the Hudson, and after building several forts, they finally established themselves in New Netherlands. Peter Minuit for a trifle bought from the Indians the whole of Manhattan Island. In locating on Manhattan Island, the Dutch secretly believed that they had secured the oyster while the English settlements further north and south were the two shells only. The development of almost three centuries and the supremacy of New York to-day, as the new world metropolis, verifies the sound sense of the Dutch.
Christine was alive to the important part which her countrymen had early played across the Atlantic. Her mother had died, and Christine still unmarried, controlled both her time and a goodly inheritance. She resolved to visit her sister Fredrika, whose husband was agent in New York of a famous German line of vessels.
En route from Holland to New York she spent two weeks with friends in London, and on Regent Street replenished her wardrobe, enjoyed Irving and Terry in their latest play, attended an exciting Cambridge-Oxford boat-race on the Thames, and with a great crowd went wild with delight at the English races at Epsom Downs.
Saturday at 9:40 A.M. at the Waterloo Station several friends saw Christine off for America on the special train, the Eagle Express, of the South Western Railway, which makes the journey of 79 miles to Southampton in one hour and forty minutes.
At Southampton the passengers were transferred on the new express dock, direct from the train to the steamers, which are berthed alongside. By this route passengers escape exposure to weather on tenders and landing stage, and avoid all delays at ports of call, and waiting for the tides to cross the bar.
Promptly at 12 o'clock, hawsers and gangways vanishing, the great steamer moved down the bay, the fertile Isle of Wight in sight. Officers made note of the time as the Needles were passed, as the runs of the steamers are taken between the Needles and Sandy Hook. It was a bright breezy afternoon and after lunch the passengers lounged on the decks, or in the smoke room; some inspected their rooms, some read the latest French or English novel, and others in groups gossiped, or walked the decks to sharpen appetite.
The second steward, of necessity a born diplomat, had succeeded in convincing most who were at lunch that he had given them favored seats, if not all at the Captain's table, then at the table of the first officer, a handsome man, or at the table with the witty doctor.
Christine did not appear at lunch, as she was busy in her stateroom. She had given careful instructions that one of her trunks should be sent at once to her room. An hour before dinner there appeared on the promenade deck a beautiful young woman dressed in black, who attracted attention and no little comment. She wore a dress of Henrietta cloth, and cape trimmed with black crepe and grosgrained ribbons in bows with long ends. Her tiny hat with narrow band of white crepe was of the Marie Stuart style; her gloves were undressed kid, her handkerchief had black border, and her silk parasol was draped in black.
Hers was the same pretty face and blue eyes that had won Alfonso's heart. She supposed him dead; her dress of mourning was not for him, but for her mother, whom she idolized. At first Christine hesitated about wearing black on the journey, but she soon learned that it increased her charms, and that it gave protection from annoyance. Many supposed she was a young widow. So thought a handsome naval officer whom she had met in London. When Christine returned to her room, she found that a messenger boy had brought her his card, with compliments, and a request that she occupy a seat at his table for the voyage. With a black jacket on her arm, Christine was conducted to her seat at dinner by the chief steward. She wore a plain black skirt and waist of black and white, with black belt and jet buckle.
An up-to-date liner is a sumptuous hotel afloat. The safety, speed, and comfort of the modern steamer does not destroy but rather enhances the romance of ocean voyage. The handsome young officer and pretty Christine, as they promenaded the decks, added effect to the passing show. Her mourning costume gradually yielded to outing suits of violet tints with white collar and cuffs, and a simple black sailor's cap with white cord for band.
Artist that Christine was, and lover of the ocean, she and the officer watched the sea change from a transient green to a light blue and back again, then to a deep blue when the sun was hidden in a cloud, then, when the fogs were encountered, to a cold grey.
Christine took great interest in the easy navigation of the steamer; she watched the officers take observations, and verify the ship's run. Frequently she was seen with the young officer on the bridge, he pointing out the lighthouse on the dangerous Scilly Islands, the last sight of old England off Land's End, she enjoying the long swell and white crested billows, as the shelter of the British coast was left behind.
A charming first night aboard ship it was, the moon full, the sky picturesque, the sea dark, except where the steamer and her screws churned it white; at the bow, showers and spray of phosphorus, and at the stern, rippling eddies and a long path of phosphorus and white foam.
Christine wished she could transfer to canvas the swift steamer, as she felt it in her soul, powerful as a giant and graceful as a woman; at the mast-head an electric star, red and green lights on either side, long rows of tremulous bulbs of light from numerous portholes; the officers on the bridge with night glass in hand, walking to and fro, dark figures of sailors at the bow and in the crow's nest, all eyes and ears. "All's well" lulls to sleep the after-dinner loungers in chairs along the deck, while brave men and fair women keep step to entrancing music.
With a week of favorable weather, and unprecedented speed the record out was won; officers, sailors, passengers, all were jubilant. On Pier 14, North River, Fredrika and her husband met Christine, and drove to their fine home overlooking the Central Park.
Alfonso Harris had come on to New York to spend a week of pleasure; already he had secured his ticket for Amsterdam via Antwerp by the Red Star Line. He was prepared to keep his promise to Christine. "To match gold with gold!"
In his rounds among the artists he happened to step into the Art Student's League, and there learned that his old artist-chum, Leo, was in New York, and stopping at the Plaza Hotel. At once he took cab, and, surely enough, there on the hotel register was the name Leo Colonna, Rome. Alfonso sent up his card, and the waiter soon returned with the reply, "The marquis will see Mr. Harris at once in his rooms." It is needless to say that the marquis was both shocked and delighted to see alive a friend whom he supposed long ago dead.
After dinner Alfonso and Leo drove to their old club, and as ever talked and confided in each other. Alfonso told the marquis the romantic story of his life, of his pecuniary success, and that he should sail in a few days to wed Christine, if possible.
The marquis hesitated in his reply, as if in doubt whether to proceed or not. Observing this, Alfonso said, "Speak freely, tell me what you were thinking about."
"Nothing, Alfonso, only a report I heard at the club last night."
"What report, marquis?"
"A report or story concerning a beautiful widow, who had just arrived from Amsterdam. From the minute description given—she had fair face, blue eyes, fleecy hair and loved art—I suspected that the woman in black might be Christine De Ruyter."
"You surprise me, Leo, but what was the report?"
"Alfonso, pardon me, I have said too much already."
"No, go on and tell me all."
"Alfonso, since the report is concerning a woman's character, my lips should be sealed, and would be, except you my friend are the most interested party. The club story is that a handsome young officer, who left his newly wedded wife in Bristol, England, was so much enamored of the charming widow aboard ship that suspicions were aroused, and in fact confirmed, by an additional report that valuable diamonds had been sent by the same officer from Tiffany's to the lady, who is stopping somewhere on Central Park. There, Alfonso, I have given you the story and the whole may be true or false."
It was now Alfonso's turn to be shocked; he could not believe what the marquis had told him. Next day he visited the office of the American Line, found that Christine De Ruyter was a passenger on the last steamer, and the purser gave him her New York address. Then the marquis volunteered to call, in Alfonso's interests, upon Miss De Ruyter who seemed glad to see him, and was amazed with the story which he had to tell, not only of himself, and his good fortune, but that of Alfonso. That the latter was alive and wealthy was news almost too good to believe.
The marquis reported to Alfonso that Christine was overjoyed to have a bygone mystery so fortunately cleared up, and that she sent him an urgent invitation to call at once.
Christine congratulated herself over her good luck at the very threshold of the new world. "Strange romance, indeed, it would be," she mused to herself, "if, after having refused the poor artist, he having gained riches should prove loyal, and lay his heart and fortune at my feet! Would I reject him? No, indeed! He has gold now." Thus musing to herself before the mirror, she gave final touches to her toilet, and stepped down into her sister's sumptuous parlor to wait for a lover, restored from the depths of the sea.
Promptly at 9 o'clock Alfonso was ushered into Fredrika's parlor. For a second, Christine stood fixed and pale, for Alfonso it really was, and she had believed him dead; then extending her hand she gave him greeting. For a full hour Alfonso and Christine talked, each telling much of what had transpired in the intervening years. Alfonso said he was quite as much surprised to find that she was still unmarried, as she seemed surprised that he was still alive.
"Alfonso, I have waited long for you," Christine replied.
"Ah, yes, Christine, but have you been true all these years?"
As Alfonso spoke these words, he sat with Christine's hand in his own, looking inquiringly into her blue eyes for her answer. Her face flushed and she was speechless.
Alfonso, dropping her hand, said in a kindly voice, "For years I have kept pure and sought to be worthy of you, and fortune has smiled upon me; I could now match gold with gold, but when I demand purity for purity your silence and your blushes condemn you, and I must bid you a final farewell."
Christine could not answer, and as Alfonso left the house, she fell weeping upon the sofa, where her sister Fredrika found her, long past midnight. The terrible sorrow of that evening remained forever a mystery to Fredrika.
It was 10 o'clock next morning when the marquis called upon Alfonso Harris at the Hotel Holland. He found him busy answering important letters from the coast. The marquis was not long in detecting that Alfonso lacked his usual buoyancy of spirits, and so rightly concluded that the meeting with Christine the night before had resulted unfavorably.
Alfonso explained all that transpired, and the two artists, who had flattered themselves that they knew women well, admitted to each other their keen disappointment in Christine's character. Both lighted cigars, and for a moment or two unconsciously smoked vigorously, as if still in doubt as to their unsatisfactory conclusions.
Soon Alfonso said, "Leo, how about your own former love, Rosie Ricci? To meet Rosie again was possibly the motive that prompted you to leave your estate in Italy."
"Yes, Alfonso, I loved Rosie, as I once frankly stated to your sister on the ocean, but in a moment of peevishness she returned the engagement tokens, and the lovers' quarrel resulted in separation. But after the death of Lucille I found the smouldering fires of the old love for Rosie again easily fanned into a flame, so I crossed the sea in search of my dear country-woman."
"And did you find her!"
"Yes, Alfonso, that is, all that was left of the vivacious, happy songster, as we once knew her. Her new world surroundings proved disastrous."
"How so?"
"Look, here is a picture in water color, that tells the story." Saying this the Marquis slowly removed a white paper from a small sketch which he had made the week before. It was a picture in the morgue on the East River, with its half hundred corpses, waiting recognition or burial in the Potter's Field. Upon a cold marble slab lay the body of a young girl, her shapely hands across her breast. Alfonso recognized Rosie's sweet face and golden tresses that artists had raved over.
The marquis in sad tones added a few words of explanation. "The senator who educated Rosie proved a villain. When she acted as Juliet at the Capitol, fashionable society gave hearty approval of her rare abilities. Rosie's genius, like a shooting star, flashed across the sky and then shot into oblivion."
A few days afterwards, Alfonso on the pier with his white handkerchief waved adieu to Leo who had resolved to wed art in sunny Italy. Sad memories decided Alfonso to leave New York at once. For a short time he was inclined to give up a new purpose, and return to his own family at Harrisville, but the law of equity controlled his heart, he journeyed back to the Pacific Coast, and again approached the Yosemite Valley.
Seated again on Inspiration Point, he gazed long and earnestly into the gorge below. He could discern neither smoke nor moving forms. All had changed; not the peaks, or domes, or wonderful waterfalls; all these remained the same. But where were Red Cloud and kind-hearted Mariposa? Alfonso's own race now occupied the valley for pleasure and for gain.
Mariposa might not be of his own race, but she had a noble heart. Education had put her in touch with civilization, and she was as pure as the snow of the Sierras. He wondered if she ever thought of him. He remembered that, when he rode away, her face was turned toward the Bridal Veil Falls. Did she thus intend to say, "I love you?"
At midnight, as the moon rose above the forest, the tall pines whispered of Mariposa, of wild flowers she was wont to gather, of journeys made to highest peaks, of weeks of watching and waiting, and of the burial of Red Cloud at the foot of an ancient sequoia; then the language of the breezes among the pines became indistinct, and Alfonso, half-asleep, half-awake, saw approaching a white figure. Two dark eyes full of tears, gazed into his face, at first with a startled look, and then with a gleam of joy and trust.
Alfonso exclaimed, "Mariposa!" He sought to clasp her in his arms, but the graceful figure vanished, and the pines seemed to whisper, "Alfonso, I go to join the braves in the happy hunting grounds beyond the setting sun. You will wed the fairest of your people. Adieu."
When Alfonso awoke, the ring of beaten gold was gone, where, he knew not. The tourist-coach was rumbling down the mountain road, and he joined it. After an inspection of his mines, he sadly left the Sierras for San Francisco.
The prophetic words of Mariposa, whispered among the pines, proved true. Alfonso again met Gertrude's best friend, beautiful Mrs. Eastlake, now a young widow, and later he married her, making their home on Knob Hill, the most fashionable quarter of the city by the Golden Gate.