His Hearts Queen | Page 5

two patients
in Hughes street, and instantly his mind reverted to the initials engraved
upon the unknown girl's music-roll.
"V. D. H.," he said, musingly, as his eyes rested upon the name Violet
Draper Huntington in the advertisement. "That is my pretty patient,
poor child! and now we will have your friends looking after you and
relieving that poor overworked woman before another twelve hours
pass."
He showed the advertisement to Mrs. Richardson upon his arrival at the
house, and she agreed with him that her lovely charge must be the Miss
Huntington referred to in the paper.
The girl continued to be in a very critical state. She was burning with
fever, was unconscious of her surroundings, was constantly calling
upon "Belle" and "Wilhelm" to "help her--to save her."
"She is not so well," the physician said, gravely, as he felt the bounding
pulse, "her fever is increasing. I shall go at once to Auburn avenue and
inform her relatives of her condition."

CHAPTER II.
V. D. H. IS CLAIMED BY HER FRIENDS.
Doctor Norton easily found the residence of Violet Huntington's friends
on Auburn avenue, and as he mounted the massive granite steps and
rang the bell of the handsome house he read the name of Mencke on the
silver door-plate.
"Aha! Germans," mused the physician, "wealthy people, too, I judge."
A trim servant in white cap and apron answered his summons, and,
upon inquiring for Mrs. Mencke, he was invited to enter.
He was ushered into a handsome drawing-room, where, upon every
hand, evidence of wealth met his eye, and after giving his card to the
girl, he sat down to await the appearance of the lady of the house.
She did not tax his patience long; the "M. D." upon his card had
evidently impressed Mrs. Mencke with the belief that the physician had
come to bring her some tidings of the beautiful girl who had so
strangely disappeared from her home a few days previous. She came
into the room presently, followed by a man whom Doctor Norton
surmised to be her husband.
Mrs. Mencke was a large, rather fine-looking woman of perhaps thirty
years. Her bearing was proud and self-possessed, and, while there was
a somewhat anxious expression on her face, she nevertheless impressed
the kind-hearted doctor as a person of selfish nature, and lacking in
womanly sympathy.
Her husband was a portly man, dark-complexioned, and German in
appearance. There was a cunning, rather sinister expression on his face;
he had small, black eyes, and a full, shaggy beard, while a pompous
swagger in his bearing betrayed an arrogant disposition and excessive
pride of purse.
"Doctor Norton," Mrs. Mencke began, without waiting for him to state

the errand that had brought him there, "have you come to bring me
news of my sister? Was she in that fatal car--is she injured--dead?"
"If my surmises are correct, and Miss Violet Huntington is your sister, I
can give you tidings of her," Doctor Norton returned.
"Yes, yes; that is her name," Mrs. Mencke interposed.
"Then I am happy to tell you that a young lady of perhaps seventeen or
eighteen years was rescued."
"Rescued!" cried Mrs. Mencke, eagerly. "William," turning to her
husband, "do you hear? How was she rescued?"
"Perhaps I should not have spoken with quite so much confidence,"
corrected the doctor. "But the young lady to whom I refer had with her
a music-roll upon the clasp of which the letters 'V. D. H.' were
engraved."
"That must have been Violet," said Mrs. Mencke. "She went to the city
that afternoon to take her music lesson at four o'clock."
"Then she was saved by a young man--a Mr. Wallace Richardson--in
the recent accident on the inclined plane. Mr. Richardson was severely
injured, but he has been able to give an account of how he prevented
the young lady from being dashed to pieces like many of the other
victims," Doctor Norton returned.
He then proceeded to relate what Wallace had told him had occurred
during those few horrible moments when that ill-fated car was plunging
at such a fearful rate toward its doom.
Mrs. Mencke appeared to be greatly affected by the thrilling account;
but her phlegmatic husband listened to the recital with a stolidity which
betrayed either a strange indifference or a wonderful control over his
nerves and sympathies.
"Oh! it is the most wonderful thing in the world that she was not killed

outright," Mrs. Mencke remarked, with a shiver of horror, "and we
have been very anxious. You say that she is seriously ill?" she
questioned, in conclusion.
"Yes; the shock to her system has been a serious one, madame," the
physician replied, "and, although there is not a scratch nor a bruise
upon her, she is very ill and delirious at the