Just then the tinkling of a bell was heard in the distance; a few moments later a servant appeared with a card. Before Leonie could step forward, Owen had already secured the card and as the man again noiselessly withdrew he cast a quick glance at the name inscribed thereon,
“‘Wilson Porter!’ Your name, fair lady, has lately often enough been coupled with this one, and as Wilson Porter is neither a fool nor a knave, to the best of my knowledge, I am sorry for him. He deserves a better fate than to be drawn in by a woman of the Leonie Hunter stamp. The immaculate woman who could hurl such withering scorn on an unfortunate sister really ought not to throw stones as she herself is the inmate of a glass house.”
He turned and left her standing there, and as he opened the door to pass out he lifted his hat to Wilson Porter who had come to conduct Leonie to Mrs. Van Gorden’s reception.
For days and weeks Owen kept up an incessant search for the missing girl but no trace could be found of her whereabouts. His face became haggard, his manner nervous and restless. Sleep fled his eyes, and as summer gave way to autumn, followed by dreary winter, the conviction slowly forced itself upon the mind of the lonely and embittered man that his dream of bliss had ended.
Never in all this time had he seen Leonie. His life with her had been a miserable failure and he never wished to see the dark passionate face again. And in reality Leonie cared very little for the doings of her truant husband. Now as before she queened it in society. As a matter of course it was accepted that Wilson Porter on all occasions should be her escort. The society world had become accustomed to that fact; there was no longer anything new and strange about it.
But if Leonie cared little, Owen cared still less, and as on the clear frosty night of Christmas eve the clanging of the merry bells were calling the orthodox masses both rich and poor to commemorate the birthnight of a world’s redeemer, he stood watching the surging masses with a scornful smile curling the finely chiseled lips, he murmured:
“I wonder how much Christian love and charity has done to make the world better. Bah! nothing but cupidity, sordid lust for gain, fill the hearts of one class, whilst superstition, prejudice and ignorance rule the other. The one class rivets the chains; the other hugs them. O how beautiful the world might be if poor groveling humanity would but be natural. Of all things under the sun possessed of life and motion the human family alone is taught it is wrong to be natural, that it is right to outrage nature’s laws, even though death be the penalty.
“I wonder if, in all New York to night, there is one who is more wretchedly poor and desolate than I am, with my millions? Of what use are they to me? They cannot buy me happiness.”
The heart-sick man paced the streets until they were wholly deserted. A restless spirit kept him on the move until the bells of the Christmas morn proclaimed “Peace upon earth, good will to men.” Again the scornful smile curved his lips as he whispered: “Where is it? O, where is this chanted peace?
As he was beginning to feel tired and was about to return to his hotel his attention was attracted by the movements of a man a short distance in advance of him who was staggering along the street as if intoxicated. Impelled by some strange fascination Owen followed, never for a moment taking his eyes off the figure in advance. The reeling man soon came to Riverside drive, and thence to the Park which he entered and passed through the winding paths down to the river’s edge. His movements became more and more suspicious. Owen quickened his steps almost to a run and just as he was on the verge of taking the fatal leap he reached the side of the stranger, and hastily grasping him by the arm he quickly drew him back. The man reeled and almost fell from the force of the impelling motion. When he regained his equilibrium he turned his white and stern face upon Owen who dared to interfere with his actions.