Under the Big Dipper

by Desiderius George Dery

He blamed himself for his absence, thinking that the accident, perhaps, might not have occurred had he gone with his father on that trip to the western mines. Then he remembered that it would have been impossible for him to get to New York from Brindisi until three days after the accident, and felt relieved.

Brindisi? Ah, yes— Where was the Count? He was afraid the old man was no better or he would have sent word. “I shall not see you again, my son,” he had said on parting. Were the words to be prophetic? If he should die, what would become of Helène? Who would take care of her? Who will take care of her? He repeated the question so often that he suddenly found the clicking of the train’s wheels over the rail-joints keeping time to them. Who will take care of her? Who will take care of her? It was as if they were reminding him of the greater duty he had left unfulfilled—the duty he owed to his own heart’s promptings.

Why had he not taken her with him? She would have been so tenderly cared for by his mother and by sister Ruth. And he had left her—with no friends to protect her, with no one near to whom she could turn in her loneliness or distress!

And what if her father died? Who would tell her the sad news? How would she be able to bear up should she hear of it in the cold words of a telegram? Thank heaven, he had Tyler to help him. He would provide for that, at any rate.

Should he write to her from London and offer her his heart and hand? He began thinking of the possible outcome of such an action on his part. If he did write, was there not the danger that she might refuse him without her father’s consent? And suppose he heard in the meantime that Count Rondell was dead, how could he dare to plead his own cause at a time of such distress? Surely her heart and mind would be closed to him, then! What a quandary he was in!

Thinking thus, he lost himself in a tangle of his own weaving. It seemed as if he were beset by worry and anxiety from all sides. Look which way he would, he found illness, trouble and portending disaster there. Of what value to him his wealth and education in this present predicament? He was up against it, as he put it to himself.

What had Tyler, his father’s old friend and experienced man of the world, what had he said to him? “Never forget, my boy, that not one of us can escape the rules of life as the world lays them down. The very restraint of the conditions is salutary, aye, even for the freedom of choice we occasionally must exercise. Our rights would cease to be rights were it not at the price of the corresponding duties. If a man thinks he can cheat life—evade the rules—he’ll find he is only cheating himself.”

Duties? Ah, yes, Tyler was right. His duty must come first—and he owed that to his father and to his anxious mother. If the Comtesse Helène could not bear up before that test—why—he must lose her. He rose excitedly and raised the window. The night air rushing in cooled his hot head. He stood for some moments breathing in deep gulps of it as if it were allaying a great thirst, staring stonily into the darkness.

By God, no! He would never lose her. The window closed with a crash and he threw himself once more on the cushions. Never, for an instant, would he doubt her. It was up to him—everything was up to him. He must be a man—or he was not deserving of her. And she, oh, she was worth the winning! Thus determined, he slept heavily and awoke the next morning to the refreshing sounds of the Bavarian country life.

All journeys have an end and in time Morton arrived at the Hotel Cecil in London. Here he found his mail awaiting him. A cable from home confirmed the one he had received in Vienna. They were glad he was soon to sail. His father’s condition remained unchanged. The telegram from Brindisi from the doctor was a shock. It read: “Our friend died on November twelfth, conscious to the last, of acute uremia and heart failure. Body in vault. Property all sealed, your agent in possession. Wire or write further instructions. Detailed letter mailed you Mont Cenis mail, reach you seventeenth.”