CHAPTER V.
THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER.
Sudden as a thunderbolt from a clear sky was the change that came over the gay party of skaters and the applauding spectators as they echoed the loud, horrified shriek of Viola crashing through the thin ice and disappearing into the depths of the river below.
The faces but a moment ago so gay and laughing, paled with grief and terror, and a terrible panic arose, all the skaters pressing forward toward the hole in the ice, the crowd on the shore also venturing out pell-mell, till the crystal sheet began to tremble with their heavy weight. Some fell down, and were trampled in the mad rush of others, and a dreadful loss of life seemed imminent, when all at once there rang out, high over every other sound, a loud, thrilling, masculine voice, crying authoritatively:
“Go back, all of you! Do you not feel the ice trembling? Directly it will break with your weight, and hundreds be drowned! Be warned, and return to the shore, leaving only such men as will assist in saving the young lady!”
The exodus for the shore began as suddenly as it had rushed the other way just now, reason being excited in the startled mass of surging people. And they were none too quick, for the ice began to crack ominously before it was cleared of all save Professor Desha and a few other men, foremost among them the tall stranger whose voice of command had driven back the terror-stricken mob.
This man had evidently been simply a spectator, for he wore no skates, but he was rapidly sliding toward the scene of the accident, and following him at some distance was Desha, whose speed had been greatly retarded by the hysterical clinging of his partner, Miss Hyer, whom he could not shake off till he thrust her into the hands of another man, crying, as he darted away:
“For God’s sake, take care of her! I must save Miss Van Lew!”
Heaven alone knew the frenzy of his thoughts as he skated swiftly toward the middle of the river, reckless of aught save that he should save Viola from drowning.
But the stranger who had routed the crowd was before him. He threw off his coat and dropped down flat on the broken ice, peering carefully down into the water.
The next minute he dived over the ragged, splintered edge, and disappeared from view, while the sight of such gallant daring evoked a swelling cry of admiration from the shore, men cheering to the echo, women and children bursting into tears, for there seemed little chance of either life being saved from the deadly current beneath the ice.
Questions ran from lip to lip.
“Who is the splendid fellow, anyway?”
But no one could answer that question.
Every one knew directly who the girl was—Miss Van Lew, the beautiful heiress, daughter of the chief of an important bureau—but no one there had ever seen the young hero before.
He was handsome as a king, fine, and soldierly looking, with a ringing voice of command; but not a soul knew his name, though many a silent prayer went up that he might be saved, together with the beautiful girl for whom he had risked his life.
Professor Desha and three others now came in for the next round of cheers as they reached the fatal spot, and cautiously prostrated themselves on the ice to gaze down into the depths.
They raised their voices then in shouts of joy, for the sight they saw filled their hearts with gladness.
The icy current had not swept away the victims, as they dreaded. There was the hero keeping himself up in the water by a terrific exercise of skill and strength, while he supported on one arm the limp form of Viola, whose pallid face and closed eyes looked like death.
“Courage! courage!” they cried to him, and reached eager arms to their aid, first taking out Viola, and then her gallant rescuer, who gasped, hoarsely:
“You were not a minute too soon. It was so freezing cold in the water I could not have sustained myself long with such a dead weight on my arm, and the current rushing so fast!”
“You are a hero, my dear fellow!” cried Desha, admiringly, as they set out across the ice, bearing Viola’s limp form, fearing that death had already claimed the beautiful creature for his own.
A physician was fortunately on the spot, and placing her in a carriage, accompanied by Mrs. Wellford and Professor Desha, he took her home.
When others turned to do a like kindness to the gallant rescuer, he had disappeared.
“What has become of him?” they cried; and several answered at once:
“He just beckoned a cab, jumped in, and was driven away, refusing to answer any questions.”
And strange to say, not one in that crowd knew his name or anything about him. He was quite strange to them all. And the reporters, in graphically describing the affair for the evening papers, could only refer to him as “the handsome and mysterious rescuer of Miss Van Lew from a watery grave, the unknown hero,” etc., while earnestly requesting him to announce himself to a curious and admiring public.
Later on Viola’s father appeared in print, thanking the unknown savior of his daughter’s life, and begging the favor of his acquaintance; but no reply came to any of these overtures—the man’s identity remained as deeply hidden as if he had sunk forever under the swirling waves of the deep river from which he had rescued Viola.
Meanwhile, our heroine being taken home and resuscitated with difficulty from her unconscious condition, was quite ill for a week, from the shock and wetting she had received.
She knew nothing of the stranger who had snatched her back to life as she was sinking a second time beneath the cold waves, for she was unconscious when he grasped her; but as she began to convalesce, and heard from Aunt Edwina the story of her rescue, she became greatly interested in her unknown savior.
“Oh, how stupid it was in everybody not to find out his name! I shall never be happy till I know him and can thank him for saving my life!” she cried, eagerly.
Wise Aunt Edwina presently began to grow uneasy over her niece’s anxiety about the handsome unknown. She said to herself:
“Come; this will not do. If she ever finds him out she will be falling in love with him, the silly, romantic child, and as like as not, he may be some handsome ne’er-do-well not fit for her to speak to, so I will disenchant her if I can.”
And the next time Viola began to dilate on her anxiety to know her rescuer, she cleared her throat, the dear, shy old lady, and observed, gently:
“My dear, I wouldn’t harp too much on my rescuer if I were you. I have a shrewd suspicion why he does not disclose himself.”
“What reason could he have, dear Aunt Edwina?”
“Well, then, every one who has described him calls him tall and dark—they always dwell particularly on the dark—so maybe—mind, I only say maybe—he was one of those handsome young mulatto men.”
Viola’s eyes flashed disapprobation, and she exclaimed:
“But that is no reason he should hide himself—he was a hero all the same. And you know papa would reward him handsomely if he would accept it.”
“Probably he does not need it, or perhaps he is married and doesn’t wish to make his wife jealous by letting her know he risked his life to save a pretty young girl,” pursued Aunt Edwina, relentlessly throwing cold water on Viola’s romance.
Viola pouted indignantly and dropped the subject, for dread of ridicule was her weak point, as her relative well knew.
At the end of a week she received a tender love letter from Florian, written during the days on ship-board and mailed at Queenstown. It was so fond, and couched in such beautiful phrases, interspersed with love poems, that it warmed Viola’s heart, that had not wandered to him often in his absence, being distracted by her illness and thoughts of the unknown savior of her life.
“Dear fellow, how much he loves me, and how distracted he will be when I write him all that has happened to me since he went away!” she thought; and not to spare him the sensation, she wrote the next day a full account of it, not forgetting the handsome stranger, of whom she said:
“I do so long to know him; but, after all, perhaps it is better not, for I am so romantic I might fall in love with him and forget all about you, you know. But that is only fun, for of course I could never care for any one else as I do for you, dear Florian.”
She actually believed this herself, and smiled as she reread it, thinking:
“How it will please him to read those words!”
They were the only words of love in the letter, for she had so much news to tell, including this item:
“You will be glad to hear that I like your goody-goody friend much better than I did when you were here. He has been very kind and attentive, sending to inquire about me every day, and yesterday sent beautiful flowers and a kind note, regretting so much it was not he who had saved my life instead of a stranger, and saying he would have been first to the rescue but for that aggravating Minnie Hyer clinging to him in hysterics and holding him back, till he actually pushed her into another man’s arms and escaped to assist me. You see, I am answering your letter right away, Florian, though I am propped up with pillows in bed; but I knew you would be anxious to hear from me and interested in—everything.”
When this entertaining letter reached Florian at Carlsbad, where he had found his father very low but still alive, the poor fellow was indeed almost distracted at hearing of his sweetheart’s narrow escape from death. He longed passionately, impatiently, to fly back to her side; but it was impossible to desert his sorrowing mother and slowly dying father.
“Oh, my darling, my darling, if only you would have come with me!” he groaned, as he read and reread the dear letter, hungering for words of tenderness of which he found so few.
It dawned on him presently that half her letter had been devoted to Professor Desha and her unknown rescuer.
“Confound them both!” he muttered, jealously, crossing out with pencil all the offending lines, and leaving only what referred to herself.