Under the Big Dipper

by Desiderius George Dery

The answer came: “Party left for place not given. Intends to remain hidden for some time. Is well. Promises to write in good time. Copy mailed. My advice not to worry. Family all well.”

There was nothing to do now but to wait. His fears, it is true, were allayed, but how long would it he before he would hear from her again? And what should he do meanwhile? On referring his perplexity to Tyler, that sensible man suggested that he should take a trip around Germany and look up his old haunts. He decided to do this.

As there was now nothing which should keep McCormick in Weimar, he sent him home, there to await further orders. He himself went to Bonn, his Alma Mater, and from there to Munich, where he renewed his acquaintance with an assistant professor of philosophy, whom he found happily married. This last visit did him great good. The peaceful home of his old tutor, where he stayed a few days, acted beneficially on his nerves and gave him a taste of genuine happiness which lasted him for many days.

But his restlessness returned. He could not reconcile himself to patient waiting. His thoughts of Helène, who was never entirely out of his mind, were charged with anxiety about her welfare. She was so inexperienced, so young, so beautiful that he felt she would never be able to fight her way alone. He knew how cruel the world could be to one of her sensitive nature.

Obeying an irresistible impulse he suddenly took a train for Vienna. It was there he had last seen Helène. He stayed at the Bristol and idled his time wandering aimlessly round the city pleasing himself with the memories the place recalled. The son of Dan Morton the pioneer was no longer the hard-headed man of business. He had become nature’s child—the young male longing for his mate. His mother was right; there was more of the idealistic Randolphs than of the practical Mortons in him. At the same time, his training made him chafe because he could not accomplish what he had set his mind on so determinedly. Then the humor of the situation struck him and he laughed aloud. It was a saving grace of a laugh; for it brought back his common sense.

That evening, for the first time in many a day, he dressed and went to the opera. He listened to “Romeo and Julietta,” played by the splendid company of the Imperial Court. He had an entrancing time. Juliet was Helène and he Romeo. If only some kind-hearted fairy could have whispered to him that the same strains which were moving him to so exquisite a response would, later, stir her heart strings in like wise! But fairies have been banished from our sophisticated world. Only children see them and hold communion with them now.

From Vienna Morton went to Berlin and spent a few days with the Tylers. They were glad to see him looking so well and seeming more contented. “Youth is a wonderful gift,” thought the old diplomatist, while his wife could not resist saying to her husband: “What a pity the girl is so silly.”

At last the long-looked-for letter arrived. John read and reread it a dozen times, devouring every word and examining each single sentence for some hint for which his heart asked. He saw nothing to make him anxious, but he realized now that he must respect her resolutions. He gave up all further inquiries and search and returned to New York, quietly resolved and happily content to wait her own sweet pleasure. The fates would be kind to him, he was sure.

When Morton returned to America, he found that his mother and sister had gone South. He was not sorry they were away, since it left him free to give his entire thoughts and energies to the business—work, downright hard work was the best medicine for a mind distracted as his was. With Morton-like enthusiasm he plunged into the maelstrom of the many interests of his vast estates. He was at the office from morning until, often, late in the evening, consulting, directing, financing and operating. He took to the game like a duck to water, and found a new interest in its many-sided activities, and a new enjoyment in meeting the men who were playing the game either with him or against him. He was a king ruling a mighty empire, the safety and integrity of which depended largely on his wise judgment and decisive action. The experience ripened him.

It was during this period that a letter came from Mr. Tyler informing him that the Comtesse’s maid, Josephine, had heard from her aunt, Anna Schreiber, in Altenberg, giving important news concerning her mistress. It appeared that Helène, after leaving the Weimar Court, had stayed with her old nurse for some weeks in the quiet little suburb. Helène had exacted a promise from her nurse not to disclose her whereabouts; but now that she had suddenly left her, Anna had written to her niece to know if the Comtesse had returned to Weimar. Tyler had immediately gone to Altenberg to find out further details. He learned from Mrs. Schreiber that Helène had left a note stating that she was going to Munich; but on inquiry at the railway station he was told that no ticket for Munich had been sold on the day Helène had left. He concluded by assuring Morton that he would let him know if he learned anything of importance.