New Temperance Tales. No. 1: The Son of My Friend | Page 6

condition!' And he was not the only one!"
We were silent after that. Our hearts were so heavy that we could not
talk. It was near daylight before I slept, and then my dreams were of so
wild and strange a character that slumber was brief and unrefreshing.
The light came dimly in through half-drawn curtains on the next
morning when a servant knocked at my door.
"What is wanted?" I asked.
"Did Mr. Albert Martindale sleep here last night?"
I sprang from my bed, strangely agitated, and partly opening the
chamber door, said, in a voice whose unsteadiness I could not control,
"Why do you ask, Katy? Who wants to know?"
"Mrs. Martindale has sent to inquire. The girl says he didn't come home
last night."
"Tell her that he left our house about two o'clock," I replied; and
shutting the chamber door, staggered back to the bed and fell across it,
all my strength gone for the moment.
"Send her word to inquire at one of the police stations," said my
husband, bitterly.
I did not answer, but lay in a half stupor, under the influence of
benumbing mental pain. After a while I arose, and, looking out, saw
everything clothed in a white mantle, and the snow falling in large
flakes, heavily but silently, through the still air. How the sight chilled
me. That the air was piercing cold, I knew by the delicate
frost-pencilings all over the window panes.
After breakfast, I sent to Mrs. Martindale a note of inquiry about Albert.
A verbal answer came from the distracted mother, saying that he was
still absent, and that inquiry of the police had failed to bring any
intelligence in regard to him. It was still hoped that he had gone home

with some friend, and would return during the day.
Steadily the snow continued to fall, and as the wind had risen since
morning, it drifted heavily. By ten o'clock it was many inches deep, and
there was no sign of abatement. My suspense and fear were so
oppressive that, in spite of the storm, I dressed myself and went out to
call on my friend. I found her in her chamber, looking very pale, and
calmer than I had hoped to find her. But the calmness I soon saw to be
a congelation of feeling. Fear of the worst had frozen the wild waves
into stillness.
"God knows best," she said, in a voice so sad that its tones ached
through my heart. "We are all in His hands. Pray for me, Agnes, that I
may have strength. If He does not give me strength, I shall die."
I shivered; for both in voice and look were signs of wavering reason. I
tried to comfort her with suggestions as to where Albert might be. "No
doubt," I said, "he went home with a friend, and we may look any
moment for his return. Why should the absence of a few hours so alarm
you?"
There was a stony glare in her eyes as she shook her head silently. She
arose, and walking to the window, stood for several minutes looking
out upon the snow. I watched her closely. She was motionless as
marble. After awhile I saw a quick shudder run through her frame.
Then she turned and came slowly back to the lounge from which she
had risen, and lay down quietly, shutting her eyes. Oh, the still anguish
of that pale, pinched face! Shall I ever be able to draw a veil over its
image in my mind?
Suddenly she started up. Her ear had caught the sound of the street bell
which had just been rung. She went hurriedly to the chamber door,
opened it, and stood out in the upper hall, listening.
"Who is it?" she asked, in a hoarse, eager under tone, as a servant came
up after answering the bell.
"Mrs. Gordon's man. He called to ask if we'd heard anything from Mr.

Albert yet."
Mrs. Martindale came back into her chamber with a whiter face and
unsteady steps, not replying. The servant stood looking after her with a
countenance in which doubt and pity were mingled; then turned and
went down stairs.
I did not go home until evening. All day the snow fell drearily, and the
wind sighed and moaned along the streets, or shrieked painfully across
sharp angles, or rattled with wild, impatience the loose shutters that
obstructed its way. Every hour had its breathless suspense or nervous
excitement. Messengers came and went perpetually. As the news of
Albert's prolonged absence spread among his friends and the friends of
the family, the circle of search and inquiry became larger and the
suspense greater. To prevent the almost continual ringing of the bell, it
was muffled, and a servant