Further Adventures of Quincy Adams Sawyer and Mason Corner Folks Part 38

and every comfort and convenience that money could supply had been hers.

Her mental disquietude had produced the physical relapse. She had been so confident of the truth of her dreams, and that some power, she knew not what, but which she trusted implicitly, would lead her to her husband, that her disappointment was more than her strained nervous system could bear.

After a week's rest, although unable to rise, she called Babette to her bedside. "I wish to send word to my aunt in England but I do not feel able to sit up and write. I will dictate, you can write, and I will sign it."

Then Babette wrote:

"MY DEAR AUNT ELLA: Confession, they say, is good for the soul. My body is weak to-day and so Babette is writing my confession. I have been to Sicily and all over the southern part of Italy, but no success has come to me. If Quincy had been in one of those orange or lemon groves he could not have lived there for so many years; the work is too hard, and he was never used to manual labour. So, as soon as I am able, I am coming home. I will never trouble you with any more dreams. I believe, as you do, that they are products of imagination. I am not sick, only tired out, and naturally, at first, very much disheartened. I shall be with you very soon, never more to leave you." ALICE.

"P. S. As soon as I am able to take a drive I am going to view the attractions of this city--which Babette says is even more beautiful than Paris. I must see 'The Beautiful Blue Danube,' and I must hear Johann Strauss's orchestra. They will be the only happy memories of my fruitless journey."

CHAPTER XXIV

"WE THREE"

Nothing marred the pleasure of the trip on the _Gallia_ and young Quincy and Tom could not have been happier than they were when the great steamer made its way up the Mersey towards its Liverpool pier.

A few hours only in the great bustling city and then they were off to find the house in which Tom's father was born and lived. It was near Chester, that modernized reminder of the old Roman days, and on their way to Fernborough Hall.

They found it uninhabited. The thatched roof was full of holes and the interior showed the devastation that wind and water had worked. Tall weeds filled the little garden and the general effect was dismal indeed.

"It won't do to take Dad a picture of this old shanty," said Tom.

"Perhaps we can find a house that looks like it," Quincy suggested.

They had no difficulty in doing that, for the same architectural plan, if the design be worthy the name, had plainly been followed in the construction of many cottages. They found one with the roof covered with moss and a garden full of old-fas.h.i.+oned flowers, and several views were taken with Quincy's camera.

"It's cheating in one way," said Tom, "but it would break Dad's heart to see a picture of his old home as it really is--so we'll show him one as it ought to be."

"And as it shall be," said Quincy. "It won't cost much to fix it up, all but the moss, and that will come on it in time. You get a man, Tom, find out the cost of renovating the house, and I'll pay the bill. So will the sense of untruthfulness be removed from our sensitive feelings."

This was quickly arranged, for work, with the pay in advance, was a delectable possession in those parts.

When they reached Fernborough Hall, and Quincy was told of the search on which his mother had started out, he pretended to agree with his aunt that it was useless, and the height of folly, but from that moment hope sprang up within him, that, by some miracle, his father was still alive.

He did not confide his hopes to Aunt Ella, and gave her no inkling of the real reason for his trip to Europe.

"It would make me very happy to know that my father was living," he said, "but after so long a time it seems foolish to think it, does it not? When do you expect mother home, Aunt Ella?"

"The letter was written a month ago from Vienna, but, unfortunately, she did not give her address. If she were well, she should have been here before this. I have an idea that she may have gone to Switzerland on her way home, and charmed by its scenery, or forced by her weak condition, has remained there. Stay here for a week with your friend, and perhaps some word will come."

"No, Auntie," said Quincy, "Tom and I will run over to Vienna, and if we don't find her we will push on to William Tell's republic. We will write you often--Tom one day and I the next."

"I have often wondered," said Quincy to Tom two days later as they were on the cars speeding to Vienna--"I have often wondered," he repeated, "how my mother could let me go away and stay away from her for fourteen long years. That she loves me, her letters show plainly. She says often that I am all she has in the world, but she never sent for me to come and see her nor did she ever come to see me. How do you explain it, Tom?"

"Very easily. That disaster at sea and the loss of your father has given her a horror of the ocean which she cannot overcome. She fears to trust herself or one she loves to its mercies again. Perhaps we can't understand her feelings, but you must respect them."

"I do," replied Quincy. "I have never doubted her love for me, and your theory, perhaps, explains her failure to manifest her love more forcibly."

On the train they made a most agreeable acquaintance and regretted their inability to accept his invitation to visit him. His name was Louis Wallingford. He was an American, born in Missouri. He had been a reporter, then editor. His pa.s.sion was music and he had forsaken a literary life for that of a musician. He had joined an orchestra much in demand at private parties given by the wealthy residents of St. Louis.

At one of these, he had become infatuated with the daughter of a railroad magnate who counted his wealth by millions. A poor violinist, he knew it was useless to ask her father for his daughter's hand. The young lady's mother was dead. The father died suddenly of apoplexy, and Miss Edith Winser came into possession of the millions. Then he had spoken and been accepted. Conscious that her husband, talented as he was, would not be accepted, without a hard struggle, by the upper cla.s.s, they decided to live in Europe.

He had found a deserted chateau on the borders of Lake Maggiore. Money bought it, and money had transformed it into an earthly Paradise. The building, of white marble, was adapted for cla.s.sic treatment, and Greek and Roman art were symbolized therein.

The chateau contained a large music room and a miniature theatre in which Mr. Wallingford's musical compositions and operas were performed.

"I have just come from Paris," said Mr. Wallingford, "where I have made arrangements for six concerts by my orchestra which will play many of my own pieces. Can you not be in Paris in a month and hear them?"

"Tell him your story," whispered Tom to Quincy, and he did so.

Mr. Wallingford was deeply interested.

"If you find both your father and mother, they deserve another honeymoon. Bring them to Vertano and in the joys of the present we will make them forget the sorrows of the past."

"I am afraid," said Quincy, "that such good fortune would be more than miraculous."

"Come with your mother and friend then," said Mr. Wallingford as he left them to change cars.

They went to the Hotel Metropole in Vienna. Quincy consulted his guide book.

"Everybody lives in apartment houses in Vienna, so this book says. The question is, in which one shall we find my mother and her maid?"

"All we can do," said Tom, "is to plug away every day. Keep a-going, keep asking questions, keep our eyes and ears open, and keep up our courage."

"Your plan is certainly 'for keeps,' as we children used to say. Come along. Your plan is adopted. Have you written Lady Fernborough? 'Tis your turn."

Many days of fruitless travel and the young men began to despair of success. Quincy was debating with himself whether it would not be better to give up the search for his mother, and follow up the clue about his father. He felt that every day was precious.

"I have an idea, Quincy," Tom said one morning. "Perhaps your mother is quite sick and has gone to a public hospital or a private one of some kind."

"That's a fine idea, Tom. We'll begin on them after breakfast."

The sharp reports of gun shots and the softer cracking of pistols were heard.

"What's that?" cried Quincy.

"Some men are on a strike. They had trouble with the police last night and this morning's paper says the strikers have thrown up barricades.

Probably the police and soldiers are trying to dislodge them."

The firing continued, and from their windows the soldiers and people could be seen moving towards the scene of disturbance.

"Let's go out and see what is going on," said Quincy.

"Let's stay in and keep out of trouble," was Tom's reply. "It is the innocent bystander who always gets shot."

"I'm going down to the office to find out about it," and Quincy took his hat and left the room.