him. He was now engaged in drawing out the necessary memorials and
statements, under the instructions of my aunt. Her object in sending for
me was to inquire if I objected to making fair copies of the rough drafts
thus produced. In the present stage of the affair, she was unwilling to
take the clerks at the office into her confidence. As a matter of course,
I followed Mr. Hartrey's example, and duly subordinated my own opinions
to my aunt's convenience.
On the next day, she paid her promised visit to poor Jack.
The bag which she had committed to his care was returned to her without
the slightest injury. Naturally enough, she welcomed this circumstance as
offering a new encouragement to the design that she had in view. Mad Jack
could not only understand a responsibility, but could prove himself
worthy of it. The superintendent smiled, and said, in his finely ironical
way, "I never denied, madam, that Jack was cunning."
From that date, my aunt's venturesome enterprise advanced towards
completion with a rapidity that astonished us.
Applying, in the first instance, to the friend of her late husband,
holding a position in the Royal Household, she was met once more by the
inevitable objections to her design. She vainly pleaded that her purpose
was to try the experiment modestly in the one pitiable case of Jack
Straw, and that she would willingly leave any further development of her
husband's humane project to persons better qualified to encounter dangers
and difficulties than herself. The only concession that she could obtain
was an appointment for a second interview, in the presence of a gentleman
whose opinion it would be important to consult. He was one of the
physicians attached to the Court, and he was known to be a man of liberal
views in his profession. Mrs. Wagner would do well, in her own interests,
to be guided by his disinterested advice.
Keeping this second appointment, my aunt provided herself with a special
means of persuasion in the shape of her husband's diary, containing his
unfinished notes on the treatment of insanity by moral influence.
As she had anticipated, the physician invited to advise her was readier
to read the notes than to listen to her own imperfect explanation of the
object in view. He was strongly impressed by the novelty and good sense
of the ideas that her husband advocated, and was candid enough openly to
acknowledge it. But he, too, protested against any attempt on the part of
a woman to carry out any part of the proposed reform, even on the
smallest scale. Exasperated by these new remonstrances, my aunt's
patience gave way. Refusing to submit herself to the physician's advice,
she argued the question boldly from her own point of view. The discussion
was at its height, when the door of the room was suddenly opened from
without. A lady in walking-costume appeared, with two ladies in
attendance on her. The two gentlemen started to their feet, and whispered
to my aunt, "The Princess!"
This was the exalted personage whom the superintendent at Bethlehem had
been too discreet to describe more particularly as a daughter of George
the Third. Passing the door on her way to the Palace-gardens, the
Princess had heard the contending voices, and the name of Jack distinctly
pronounced in a woman's tones. Inheriting unusually vigorous impulses of
curiosity from her august father, her Highness opened the door and joined
the party without ceremony.
"What are you quarreling about?" inquired the Princess. "And who is this
lady?"
Mrs. Wagner was presented, to answer for herself. She made the best of
the golden opportunity that had fallen into her hands. The Princess was
first astonished, then interested, then converted to my aunt's view of
the case. In the monotonous routine of Court life, here was a romantic
adventure in which even the King's daughter could take some share. Her
Highness quoted Boadicea, Queen Elizabeth, and Joan of Arc, as women who
had matched the men on their own ground--and complimented Mrs. Wagner as
a heroine of the same type.
"You are a fine creature," said the Princess, "and you may trust to me to
help you with all my heart. Come to my apartments tomorrow at this
time--and tell poor Jack that I have not forgotten him."
Assailed by Royal influence, all the technical obstacles that lawyers,
doctors, and governors could raise to the liberation of Jack Straw were
set aside by an ingenious appeal to the letter of the law, originating in
a suggestion made by the Princess herself.
"It lies in a nutshell, my dear," said her Highness to my aunt. "They
tell me I broke the rules when I insisted on having Jack admitted to the
Hospital. Now, your late husband was one of the governors; and you are
his sole executor. Very good. As your husband's representative, complain
of the violation of the rules, and insist on the discharge of Jack. He
occupies a place which ought to be filled by an educated patient in a
higher rank of life. Oh, never mind me! I shall express my regret for
disregarding the regulations--and, to prove my sincerity, I shall consent
to the poor creature's dismissal, and assume the whole responsibility of
providing for him myself. There is the way out of our difficulty. Take
it--and you shall have Jack whenever you want him."
In three weeks from that time, the "dangerous lunatic" was free (as our
friend the lawyer put it) to "murder Mrs. Wagner, and to burn the house
down."
How my aunt's perilous experiment was conducted--in what particulars it
succeeded and in what particulars it failed--I am unable to state as an
eyewitness, owing to my absence at the time. This curious portion of the
narrative will be found related by Jack himself, on a page still to come.
In the meanwhile, the course of events compels me to revert to the
circumstances which led to my departure from London.
While Mrs. Wagner was still in attendance at the palace, a letter reached
her from Mr. Keller, stating the necessity of increasing the number of
clerks at the Frankfort branch of our business. Closely occupied as she
then was, she found time to provide me with those instructions to her
German partners, preparing them for the coming employment of women in
their office, to which she had first alluded when the lawyer and I had
our interview with her after the reading of the will.
"The cause of the women," she said to me, "must not suffer because I
happen to be just now devoted to the cause of poor Jack. Go at once to
Frankfort, David. I have written enough to prepare my partners there for
a change in the administration of the office, and to defer for the
present the proposed enlargement of our staff of clerks. The rest you can
yourself explain from your own knowledge of the plans that I have in
contemplation. Start on your journey as soon as possible--and understand
that you are to say No positively, if Fritz proposes to accompany you. He
is not to leave London without the express permission of his father."
Fritz did propose to accompany me, the moment he heard of my journey. I
must own that I thought the circumstances excused him.
On the previous evening, we had consulted the German newspapers at the
coffee-house, and had found news from Wurzburg which quite overwhelmed my
excitable friend.
Being called upon to deliver their judgment, the authorities presiding at
the legal inquiry into the violation of the seals and the loss of the
medicine-chest failed to agree in opinion, and thus brought the
investigation to a most unsatisfactory end. The moral effect of this
division among the magistrates was unquestionably to cast a slur on the
reputation of Widow Fontaine. She was not pronounced to be guilty--but
she was also not declared to be innocent. Feeling, no doubt, that her
position among her neighbors had now become unendurable, she and her
daughter had left Wurzburg. The newspaper narrative added that their
departure had been privately accomplished. No information could be
obtained of the place of their retreat.
But for this last circumstance, I believe Fritz would have insisted on
traveling with me. Ignorant of what direction to begin the search for
Minna and her mother, he consented to leave me to look for traces of them
in Germany, while he remained behind to inquire at the different foreign
hotels, on the chance that they might have taken refuge in London.
The next morning I started for Frankfort.
My spirits were high as I left the shores of England. I had a young man's
hearty and natural enjoyment of change. Besides, it flattered my
self-esteem to feel that I was my aunt's business-representative; and I
was almost equally proud to be Fritz's confidential friend. Never could
any poor human creature have been a more innocent instrument of mischief
in the hands of Destiny than I was, on that fatal journey. The day was
dark, when the old weary way of traveling brought me at last to
Frankfort. The unseen prospect, at the moment when I stepped out of the
mail-post-carriage, was darker still.
CHAPTER IX
I had just given a porter the necessary directions for taking my
portmanteau to Mr. Keller's house, when I heard a woman's voice behind me
phrase, the office of letters to be left till called for.
The voice was delightfully fresh and sweet, with an undertone of sadness,
which made it additionally interesting. I did what most other young men
in my place would have done--I looked round directly.
Yes! the promise of the voice was abundantly kept by the person. She was
quite a young girl, modest and ladylike; a little pale and careworn, poor
thing, as if her experience of life had its sad side already. Her face
was animated by soft sensitive eyes--the figure supple and slight, the
dress of the plainest material, but so neatly made and so perfectly worn
that I should have doubted her being a German girl, if I had not heard
the purely South-German accent in which she put her question. It was
answered, briefly and civilly, by the conductor of the post-carriage in
which I had traveled. But, at that hour, the old court-yard of the
post-office was thronged with people arriving and departing, meeting
their friends and posting their letters. The girl was evidently not used
to crowds. She was nervous and confused. After advancing a few steps in
the direction pointed out to her, she stopped in bewilderment, hustled by
busy people, and evidently in doubt already about which way she was to
turn next.
If I had followed the strict line of duty, I suppose I should have turned
my steps in the direction of Mr. Keller's house. I followed my instincts
instead, and offered my services to the young lady. Blame the laws of
Nature and the attraction between the sexes. Don't blame me.
"I heard you asking for the post-office," I said. "Will you allow me to
show you the way?"
She looked at me, and hesitated. I felt that I was paying the double
penalty of being a young man, and of being perhaps a little too eager as
well.
"Forgive me for venturing to speak to you," I pleaded. "It is not very
pleasant for a young lady to find herself alone in such a crowded place
as this. I only ask permission to make myself of some trifling use to
you."
She looked at me again, and altered her first opinion.
"You are very kind, sir; I will thankfully accept your assistance."
"May I offer you my arm?"
She declined this proposal--with perfect amiability, however. "Thank you,
sir, I will follow you, if you please."
I pushed my way through the crowd, with the charming stranger close at my
heels. Arrived at the post-office, I drew aside to let her make her own
inquiries. Would she mention her name? No; she handed in a passport, and
asked if there was a letter waiting for the person named in it. The
letter was found; but was not immediately delivered. As well as I could
understand, the postage had been insufficiently paid, and the customary
double-rate was due. The young lady searched in the pocket of her
dress--a cry of alarm escaped her. "Oh!" she exclaimed, "I have lost my
purse, and the letter is so important!"
It occurred to me immediately that she had had her pocket picked by some
thief in the crowd. The clerk thought so too. He looked at the clock.
"You must be quick about it if you return for the letter," he said, "the
office closes in ten minutes."
She clasped her hands in despair. "It's more than ten minutes' walk," she
said, "before I can get home."
I immediately offered to lend her the money. "It is such a very small
sum," I reminded her, "that it would be absurd to consider yourself under
any obligation to me.
Between her eagerness to get possession of the letter, and her doubt of
the propriety of accepting my offer, she looked sadly embarrassed, poor
soul.
"You are very good to me," she said confusedly; "but I am afraid it might
not be quite right in me to borrow money of a stranger, however little it
may be. And, even if I did venture, how am I----?" She looked at me
shyly, and shrank from finishing the sentence.
"How are you to pay it back?" I suggested.
"Yes, sir"
"Oh, it's not worth the trouble of paying back. Give it to the first poor
person you meet with to-morrow." I said this, with the intention of
reconciling her to the loan of the money. It had exactly the contrary
effect on this singularly delicate and scrupulous girl. She drew back a
"No, I couldn't do that," she said. "I could only accept your kindness,
if----" She stopped again. The clerk looked once more at the clock. "Make
up your mind, Miss, before it's too late."
In her terror of not getting the letter that day, she spoke out plainly
at last. "Will you kindly tell me, sir, to what address I can return the
money when I get home?"
I paid for the letter first, and then answered the question.
"If you will be so good as to send it to Mr. Keller's house----"
Before I could add the name of the street, her pale face suddenly
flushed. "Oh!" she exclaimed impulsively, "do you know Mr. Keller?"
A presentiment of the truth occurred to my mind for the first time.
"Yes," I said; "and his son Fritz too."
She trembled; the color that had risen in her face left it instantly; she
looked away from me with a pained, humiliated expression. Doubt was no
longer possible. The charming stranger was Fritz's sweetheart--and
"Jezebel's Daughter."
My respect for the young lady forbade me to attempt any concealment of
the discovery that I had made. I said at once, "I believe I have the
honor of speaking to Miss Minna Fontaine?"
She looked at me in wonder, not unmixed with distrust.
"How do you know who I am?" she asked.
"I can easily tell you, Miss Minna. I am David Glenney, nephew of Mrs.
Wagner, of London. Fritz is staying in her house, and he and I have
talked about you by the hour together."
The poor girl's face, so pale and sad the moment before, became radiant
with happiness. "Oh!" she cried innocently, "has Fritz not forgotten me?"
Even at this distance of time, my memory recalls her lovely dark eyes
riveted in breathless interest on my face, as I spoke of Fritz's love and
devotion, and told her that she was still the one dear image in his
thoughts by day, in his dreams by night. All her shyness vanished. She
impulsively gave me her hand. "How can I be grateful enough to the good
angel who has brought us together!" she exclaimed. "If we were not in the
street, I do believe, Mr. David, I should go down on my knees to thank
you! You have made me the happiest girl living." Her voice suddenly
failed her; she drew her veil down. "Don't mind me," she said; "I can't
help crying for joy."
Shall I confess what my emotions were? For the moment, I forgot my own
little love affair in England--and envied Fritz from the bottom of my
heart.
The chance-passengers in the street began to pause and look at us. I
offered Minna my arm, and asked permission to attend her on the way home.
"I should like it," she answered, with a friendly frankness that charmed
me. "But you are expected at Mr. Keller's--you must go there first."
"May I call and see you to-morrow?" I persisted, "and save you the
trouble of sending my money to Mr. Keller's?"
She lifted her veil and smiled at me brightly through her tears. "Yes,"
she said; "come to-morrow and be introduced to my mother. Oh! how glad my
dear mother will be to see you, when I tell her what has happened! I am a
selfish wretch; I have not borne my sorrow and suspense as I ought; I
have made her miserable about me, because I was miserable about Fritz.
It's all over now. Thank you again and again. There is our address on
that card. No, no, we must say good-bye till to-morrow. My mother is
waiting for her letter; and Mr. Keller is wondering what has become of
you." She pressed my hand warmly and left me.
On my way alone to Mr. Keller's house, I was not quite satisfied with
myself. The fear occurred to me that I might have spoken about Fritz a
little too freely, and might have excited hopes which could never be
realized. The contemplation of the doubtful future began to oppress my
mind. Minna might have reason to regret that she had ever met with me.
I was received by Mr. Keller with truly German cordiality. He and his
partner Mr. Engelman--one a widower, the other an old bachelor --lived
together in the ancient building, in Main Street, near the river, which
served for house and for offices alike.
The two old gentlemen offered the completest personal contrast
imaginable. Mr. Keller was lean, tall, and wiry--a man of considerable
attainments beyond the limits of his business, capable (when his hot