Dorian Part 22

Dorian's heart gave a bound when he saw the name. Carlia was not a common name, and the handwriting was familiar. But why Davis? He examined the signature closely. The girl, unexperienced in the art of subterfuge, had started to write her name, and had gotten to the D in Duke, when the thought of disguise had come to her. Yes; there was an unusual break between that first letter and the rest of the name. Carlia had been here. He was on the right track, thank the Lord!

Dorian enquired of the hotel clerk if he remembered the lady. Did he know anything about her? No; that was so long ago. His people came and went. That was all. But Carlia had been here. That much was certain.

Here was at least a fixed point in the sea of nothingness from which he could work. His wearied and confused mind could at least come back to that name in the hotel register.

He began a systematic search of the town. First he visited the small business section, but without results. Then he took up the residential district, systematically, so that he would not miss any. One afternoon he knocked on the door of what appeared to be one of the best residences. After a short wait, the door was opened by a girl, highly painted but lightly clad, who smiled at the handsome young fellow and bade him come in. He stepped into the hall and was shown into what seemed to be a parlor, though the parlors he had known had not smelled so of stale tobacco smoke. He made his usual inquiry. No; no such girl was here, she was sorry, but--the words which came from the carmine lips of the girl so startled Dorian that he stood, hat in hand, staring at her, and shocked beyond expression. He know, of course, that evil houses existed especially in mining towns, inhabited by corrupt women, but this was the first time he had ever been in such a place. When he realized where he was, a real terror seized him, and with unceremonious haste he got out and away, the girl's laughter of derision ringing in his ears.

Dorian was unnerved. He went back to his room, his thoughts in a whirl, his apprehensions sinking to gloomy depths. What if Carlia should be in such a place? A cold sweat of suffering broke over him before he could drive away the thought. But at last he did get rid of it. His mind cleared again, and he set out determined to continued the search.

However, he went no more into the houses by the invitation of inmates of doubtful character, but made his inquiries at the open door.

Then it occurred to Dorian that Carlia, being a country bred girl and accustomed to work about farm houses, might apply to some of the adjacent farms down in the valley below the town for work. The whole country lay under deep snow, but the roads were well broken. Dorian walked out to a number of the farms and made enquiries. At the third house he was met by a pleasant faced, elderly woman who listened attentively to what he said, and then invited him in. When they were both seated, she asked him his name. Dorian told her.

"And why are you interested in this girl?" she continued.

"Has she been here?" he asked eagerly.

"Never mind. You answer my question."

Dorian explained as much as he thought proper, but the woman still appeared suspicious.

"Are you her brother?"

"No."

"Her young man?"

"Not exactly; only a dear friend."

"Well, you look all right, but looks are deceivin'." The woman tried to be very severe with him, but somehow she did not succeed very well. She looked quite motherly as she sat with her folded hands in her ample lap and a shrewd look in her face. Dorian gained courage to say:

"I believe you know something about the girl I am seeking. Tell me."

"You haven't told me the name of the girl you are looking for."

"Her name is Carlia Duke."

"That isn't what she called herself."

"Oh, then you do know."

"This girl was Carlia Davis."

"Yes--is she here!"

"No."

"Do you know where she is?"

"No, I don't."

Dorian's hopes fell. "But tell me what you know about her--you know something."

"It was the latter part of August when she came to us. She had walked from town, an' she said she was wanting a place to work. As she was used to farm life, she preferred to work at a country home, she said."

"Was she a dark-haired, rosy-cheeked girl?"

"Her hair was dark, but there was no roses in her cheeks. There might have been once. I was glad to say yes to her for I needed help bad. Of course, it was strange, this girl comin' from the city a' wanting to work in the country. It's usually the other way."

"Yes; I suppose so."

"So I was a little suspicious."

"Of what?"

"That she hadn't come to work at all; though I'll say that she did her best. I tried to prevent her, but she worked right up to the last."

"To the last? I don't understand?"

"Don't you know that she was to be sick? That she came here to be sick?"

"To be sick?" Dorian was genuinely at loss to understand.

"At first I called her a cheat, and threatened to send her away; but the poor child pleaded so to stay that I hadn't the heart to turn her out.

She had no where to go, she was a long way from home, an' so I let her stay, an' we did the best for her."

Dorian, in the simplicity of his mind, did not yet realize what the woman was talking about. He let her continue.

"We had one of the best doctors in the city 'tend her, an' I did the nursing myself which I consider was as good as any of the new-fangled trained nurses can do; but the poor girl had been under a strain so long that the baby died soon after it was born."

"The baby?" gasped Dorian.

"Yes," went on the woman, all unconsciously that the listener had not fully understood. "Yes, it didn't live long, which, I suppose, in such cases, is a blessing."

Dorian stared at the woman, then in a dazed way, he looked about the plain farm-house furnishings, some details of which strangely impressed him. The woman went on talking, which seemed easy for her, now she had fairly started; but Dorian did not hear all she said. One big fact was forcing itself into his brain, to the exclusion of all minor realities.

"She left a month ago," Dorian heard the woman say when again he was in a condition to listen. "We did our best to get her to stay, for we had become fond of her. Somehow, she got the notion that the scoundrel who had betrayed her had found her hiding place, an' she was afraid. So she left."

"Where did she go? Did she tell you?"

"No; she wouldn't say. The fact is, she didn't know herself. I'm sure of that. She just seemed anxious to hide herself again. Poor girl." The woman wiped a tear away with the corner of her ap.r.o.n.

Dorian arose, thanked her, and went out. He looked about the snow-covered earth and the clouds which threatened storm. He walked on up to the road back to the town. He was benumbed, but not with cold. He went into his room, and, although it was mid-afternoon, he did not go out any more that day. He sat supinely on his bed. He paced the floor.

He looked without seeing out of the window at the pa.s.sing crowds. He could not think at all clearly. His whole being was in an uproar of confusion. The hours pa.s.sed. Night came on with its blaze of lights in the streets. What could he do now? What should he do now?

"Oh, G.o.d, help me," he prayed, "help me to order my thoughts, tell me what to do."

If ever in his life Dorian had need of help from higher power, it was now.