The Varieties was crowded that night, and an admirable play was on the stage; but my thoughts were incessantly wandering back to Mars, to his strange behavior, and to Bella Grayson and her possible connection with his changed manner. Then, too, I was worried about Harrod's theory,—that the boy was ill. All things considered, I could pay very little attention to what was going on, either in the audience or on the stage. Our seats were in the front row of the dress-circle, a little to the right of the centre of the house; and during the intermission between the first and second acts Kitty and Turpin had been keeping up an incessant chatter, though so low-toned and semi-confidential that I heard nothing of what was said. The house was very full, as I say, and many gentlemen were standing in the side aisles over the proscenium boxes. Others were swarming about the outer row of dress-circle seats. Others still were seated on the steps leading down into the parquet. The curtain rose upon the second act, and Kitty, sitting next to me, with Turpin on her other side, drew back and glanced one minute up in my face. All animation, life, sparkle, and saucy triumph she looked; there was a mischievous challenge in her laughing eyes as they met mine, then wandered off to the stage. Another moment and I turned to her to whisper some comment upon the costume worn by one of the actresses and—how can I describe the change that had come over her face? Pale, startled, yes, frightened. She was staring across the parquet towards a group of men standing in the outer aisle. Following her eyes I too looked, and there, glaring at our party, with a strange, wild, uncanny expression on his face, was Frank Amory.
For an instant nothing was said. Then, involuntarily, I half rose. His eyes met mine, and, without a sign of recognition, he dropped back in the throng and disappeared. "Did you see him?" I exclaimed to Harrod. "Watch! See where he goes! It is Amory, and something is wrong."
The colonel looked at me in startled wonderment, but a glance at Kitty's face seemed to bring him confirmation of my statement. I rose and looked about in my excitement and anxiety, but an indignant "Down in front!" from some half-dozen mouths in rear brought me back to seat and senses. Not until the close of the act could I get out. Then, followed by Harrod, I worked my way into the vestibule, searched the corridors, the bar-room, the main stairway, and the broad entrance. No sign of him. Several infantry officers were standing there, but, in answer to my appeal, said they had seen nothing of Lieutenant Amory; but at the gate the door-keeper remembered a young officer going out in the middle of the second act and declining a return check. I determined to go at once to his lodgings. Harrod would stay and look after Kitty and Turpin.
In half an hour I had reached the warehouse. A sleepy sentinel told me that the lieutenant was not there. He occupied a room "over beyant," in a large frame boarding-house. Ringing the bell, a colored servant answered. Would he show me to Lieutenant Amory's room? He would, and we went up the main stairway and out on a back gallery to one of those little ten by six boxes, without which no New Orleans boarding-place is complete. No answer to our knock, but the door was unlocked, and I entered and turned up the light. There stood his trunk, open. Papers and letters were strewn on the bureau, and among them, almost the first to catch my eye, was a dainty envelope addressed in that graceful, unmistakable hand to Lieutenant Frank Amory at Sandbrook, and forwarded thence to New Orleans. He had had another letter, then, from Bella.
In answer to inquiries, the servant said that Mr. Amory had come in "lookin' mighty tired" late in the afternoon; had taken a bath, dressed, and gone out again without saying a word to anybody, and had not been back since. Telling him he might go, I decided to await Amory's return. I knew not where to search for him.
It was then late. The bells of the churches over on Camp Street and Lafayette Square were chiming ten o'clock. All below was very quiet. The distant roar of wheels down towards Canal Street, and the tinkle of the mule-cars were the only sounds that struck upon the ear. I felt strangely worried and depressed, and sought for something with which to occupy my thoughts and keep me from brooding. Books there were none, for Mars had had no time for reading since his arrival; paper, envelopes, some open letters were on the bureau with her envelope, but the letter it had contained was gone. Tossing them over with impatient hand, I came upon two envelopes addressed in his vigorous hand; one to his mother, the other to Miss Isabel R. Grayson, care of Hon. H. C. Grayson, Syracuse, New York,—further confirmation of my theory. Then there were some scraps of paper on which he had been scribbling; and on one, written perhaps a dozen times, was the name "Kittie." That was his way, then, of spelling it.
An hour passed by. Eleven o'clock came, and no Amory. I could stand it no longer. Once more I went out on Magazine Street, and over to the warehouse. This time a corporal of the guard met me and seemed to know me.
"No, sir. The lieutenant hasn't been in all night, sir, and it isn't his way at all. He may be over at headquarters. Shall I send, sir?"
No. I decided to go myself.
Late as it was, a broad glare of light shone out from the upper windows of the handsome brown-stone residence, occupied at the time by the commanding general as the offices of himself and the staff. The lower hall was open. I entered and went up-stairs to the first open door. One or two officers in undress uniform were lounging about; and, seeing me, Colonel Newhall sprang up and came hastily forward, inviting me to enter. I inquired at once for Amory, and briefly stated that we feared he was not well. This brought to his feet the junior aide-de-camp whom we had seen galloping down Chartres Street the previous night.