One by one their fellows have been sapped and swept away by the resistless tide of commerce, until these ancient dwellings, stubbornly contesting a position already lost, now rear their sepulchral brown-stone fronts in stiff and solitary grandeur—huge sarcophagi in a busy mart.
One of these houses stands well back from the street line, the traditional backyard of the ordinary New York dwelling having been sacrificed, in this instance, to make room for a tiny garden, which is separated from the street by a tall spiked iron railing, behind which grows an arborvitæ hedge. The former serves as a defence against the marauding of the irrepressible metropolitan gamin; while the latter confers upon the occupants of the garden a semblance of protection from the curious gaze of the passers-by.
This property, having been the subject of an interminable lawsuit, had remained for many years unoccupied, and was even beginning to be regarded by some of the neighbors as haunted, when at last it was bought by Doctor Murdock, a wealthy widower with an only daughter. For some months masons and carpenters were at work; and then, one day, the new occupants entered into possession.
The Murdocks lived quietly but luxuriously, like people accustomed to wealth. They had their horses and carriages, their house at Lenox and at Newport, and their yacht. Their circle of acquaintances was large, and included not only the fashionable set, but also a scientific, literary and artistic set. For Doctor Murdock was a chemist of national reputation, a member of several scientific bodies, and a man of great intelligence and broad culture.
On this particular New Year's morning, Doctor Murdock was seated in his study, apparently absorbed in reading the daily papers, a pile of which lay upon his table. His occupation might perhaps more accurately be described as skimming the daily papers; for each journal in turn was subjected to a rapid scrutiny, and only a few columns seemed occasionally to interest the reader.
There was no haste visible in the Doctor's actions, each one of which appeared to be performed with the coolness and deliberation of a man who is not the slave of time; and yet, so systematic were they, that, all lost motion being avoided, every operation was rapidly completed.
In a short time the pile of newspapers had been disposed of, and the Doctor, lighting a choice cigar, leaned back in his comfortable armchair and placidly puffed the wreathes of fragrant smoke ceilingward. He was apparently satisfied with the world and with himself, this calm, passionless man. And yet a sharp observer would have noted an almost imperceptible furrow between the eyes, which might perhaps have indicated only the healthy mental activity of an ordinary man; but which, in one given so little to outward manifestation of feeling as Doctor Murdock, might also betoken more or less serious annoyance or displeasure.
While the chemist sat in this pensive attitude, there was a rustle of skirts outside, and presently there came a gentle knock at the door of the study.
"Come in!" said Murdock, removing the cigar from his lips.
The door opened, admitting a tall and beautiful young girl, evidently not long out of her teens.