New Temperance Tales. No. 1: The Son of My Friend | Page 7

stationed by the door to receive or answer
all who came.
Night dropped down, shutting in with a strange suddenness, as some
heavier clouds darkened the west. Up to this period not a single item of
intelligence from the absent one had been gained since, as related by
one of the young Gordons, he parted from him between two and three
o'clock in the morning, and saw him take his way down one of the
streets, not far from his home, leading to the river. It was snowing fast
at the time, and the ground was already well covered. Closer
questioning of the young man revealed the fact that Albert Martindale
was, at the time, so much intoxicated that he could not walk steadily.
"I looked after him," said Gordon, "as he left me, and saw him stagger
from side to side; but in a few moments the snow and darkness hid him
from sight. He was not far from home, and would, I had no doubt, find
his way there."
Nothing beyond this was ascertained on the first day of his absence. I
went home soon after dark, leaving Mrs. Martindale with other friends.
The anguish I was suffering no words can tell. Not such anguish as
pierced the mother's heart; but, in one degree sharper, in that guilt and
responsibility were on my conscience.

Three days went by. He had vanished and left no sign! The whole
police of the city sought for him, but in vain. Their theory was that he
had missed his home, and wandered on towards the docks, where he
had been robbed and murdered and his body cast into the river. He had
on his person a valuable gold watch, and a diamond pin worth over two
hundred dollars--sufficient temptation for robbery and murder if his
unsteady feet had chanced to bear him into that part of the city lying
near the river.
All hope of finding Albert alive was abandoned after a week's
agonizing suspense, and Mr. Martindale offered a reward of five
hundred dollars for the recovery of his son's body. Stimulated by this
offer, hundreds of boatmen began the search up and down the rivers
and along the shores of the bay, leaving no point unvisited where the
body might have been borne by the tides. But over large portions of this
field ice had formed on the surface, closing up many small bays and
indentations of the land. There were hundreds of places into any one of
which the body might have floated, and where it must remain until the
warm airs of spring set the water free again. The search was fruitless.
Mrs. Martindale, meantime, had lapsed into a state of dull indifference
to everything but her great sorrow. That absorbed her whole mental life.
It was the house in which her soul dwelt, the chamber of affliction
wherein she lived, and moved, and had her being--so darkly draped that
no light came in through the windows. Very still and passionless she
sat here, refusing to be comforted.
Forced by duty, yet dreading always to look into her face, that seemed
full of accusations, I went often to see my friend. It was very plain that,
in her mind, I was an accessory to her son's death. Not after the first
few days did I venture to offer a word of comfort; for such words from
my lips seemed as mockery. They faltered on my tongue.
One day I called and the servant took up my name. On returning to the
parlor, she said that Mrs. Martindale did not feel very well, and wished
to be excused. The servant's manner confirmed my instant suspicion. I
had looked for this; yet was not the pang it gave me less acute for the
anticipation? Was I not the instrumental cause of a great calamity that

had wrecked her dearest hope in life? And how could she bear to see
my face?
I went home very heavy-hearted. My husband tried to comfort me with
words that had no balm for either his troubled heart or mine. The great
fact of our having put the cup of confusion to that young man's lips,
and sent him forth at midnight in no condition to find his way home,
stood out too sharply defined for any self-delusion.
I did not venture to the house of my friend again. She had dropped a
curtain between us, and I said, "It shall be a wall of separation."
Not until spring opened was the body of Albert Martindale recovered.
It was found floating in the dock, at the end of the street down which
young Gordon saw him go with unsteady steps in the darkness and
storm on that night of sorrow. His watch was in his pocket, the