The sun had not been up long when I reached the spring, and found the little boys already busy with their long-handled dippers. I gulped down a glass of the water, which is a bad mixture of soda and Epsom salts, and was strolling over the grounds, thinking how pleasant ‘twould be to have even little Miss Finnock along with me, when the rattling of the circular railway caught my ear and I walked towards it. A gentleman and lady were riding in the car, who riveted my attention at once. The gentleman was strikingly handsome. A snow white Panama hat, whose flexible brim, bending up before the current of air, showed a high, white forehead, and black eyes so piercing in their glance that I involuntarily shrank back as they whirled past me. A very heavy moustache, parted in the middle, fell on each side of his lip like a stream of ink; a graceful, massive frame, yet a small hand turning the crank of the car and a small foot with high instep rested on the edge. This much I saw as they rattled by, and strange to say, so full of admiration was I for the man that it was not till they were coming around again that I noticed the lady, who was much the handsomer of the two. She was clad in a blue morning robe, whose ample folds floated gracefully out from the side of the car. One tiny gloved hand rested playfully on the flying crank, while the other held in her lap the broad straw hat she had taken off. Her eyes were as black as her companion’s, but were soft and gentle in their expression; her hair, superbly massive in its loose folds, was as black as a raven’s wing, and fell in wavy profusion far below her waist. These were the general outlines of her features, for I could not see her face distinctly, so swift was the speed of the car. But even that glimpse had thrilled me, and an indefinable something in the face seemed to speak familiarly to my heart, and awaken wild, vague visions of something forgotten—perhaps the memories of previous existence, as Plato calls them.

“Have I seen her in my dreams?” I murmured, “or is she the star of my destiny which intuition thus reveals, that her beauty should so thrill me?”

A romantic youth, fresh from college, on the lookout for adventures, with a very large fund of admiration, on which beauty could check at sight; is it a wonder I was in love a second after this bright vision of loveliness floated by?

I waited for them to come round again, but I saw the car stop on the other side, and hurried through the crowd only to see them enter a gold mounted phÆton, drawn by a splendid pair of blood bays, the driver and footman in liveries almost too gorgeous for Republican America.

“May the Fates grant he may only be a brother! They look alike,” I muttered, as I walked back to the hotel.

I sought for them in vain during the day around the hotel, though I thought once I saw the black moustache behind the green baize door of the billiard room, but, on entering, I could not find it.

That afternoon Mrs. Marshman and party came up from Albany, and took rooms also at the Union. How cordial was Miss Finnock in her manner towards me! and how long she let her hand remain in mine when I shook hands with her! Poor, little cold hand! I felt as if I was pressing a frog with five legs!

The ladies were too much fatigued to go to the dance that night, so Finnock and I walked across to Congress Hall after tea. I told him of the wonderful beauty I had seen in the morning, and asked if he could not contrive to get an introduction for us.

“Oh, yes,” he said, carelessly, “presyume so; she’s the same Monte wrote me about. Devilish pretty, rich, and so forth. Engaged to that fellow, Monte says. Pious old couple to take care of her. But yonder’s Monte now.”

He carried me up to a throng of foppish young men who were lounging on the steps of the hotel. They spoke, after Finnock’s introduction, with a cool kind of condescension that irritated, and, to a certain extent, humiliated me. While in my heart I despised them for their foppish uselessness, yet I felt they somewhat looked down upon me as being from the country, and I desired their attention and consideration more than I did the esteem of the most prominent gentlemen of my acquaintance; such is pride!

“Why, Finnock, where the devil did you spring from?” said Monte, a tall, languid fellow, with dark red hair, roached up in curling puffs on each side of the central division; somewhat lighter whiskers flowing in long wisps from each ear to the corner of his mouth, while his short chin, shaved clean, imparted an angry bull dog expression that required all the languor of his weak eyes and single eye-glass to soften. “I thought you were going across the pond?”

“No, not yet,” said Finnock, carelessly, “the old man swears that stocks are too low to think of Europe. I told him I didn’t care, I would either take three M’s for Europe next winter or two for the Springs and Newport.”

“Say, Finn.,” continued Monte, “have you heard about Sedley?”

“No, anything bad?”

“Rather! got a lift from Lola, took the blues, and went into the jungle.”

“‘D the tiger hurt him?”

“A little—fifteen hundred or so. He left next morning, and I expect has committed suicide.”

“Who the deuce is Lola?” asked Finnock.

“She’s the rage now—prettier than Venus and richer than Plutus himself. Don’t you remember my writing you about her?”

“Ah, yes, I do remember,” said Finnock, “but where is she from, Monte?”

“The devil knows,” said that gentleman. “I found her here when I came and as all the first ladies were jealous and angry, and all the best fellows in love with her, I went in without questioning her previous history.”

“Sed. was euchred badly,” put in a bloated young man, with protruding bleared eyes and very red nose; “held a good hand, too, but played his cards badly and lost. They say he went a five hundred diamond ring, but she sent it back.”

“That was hard on him; but, Monte!” said Finnock, “Smith and I want an introduction, cannot you present us?”

“Certainly,” said Monte, getting up from his chair, and shaking one leg at a time, to make his pants smooth, “but it’s useless, that black eyed fellow with her has it all his own way. She will waltz with no one else, pretends to be squeamish, but it is all because he will not let her. The devil take these old marching Lancers and trotting quadrilles; give me a soft hand and a trim waist, and my toe is at your service. Let’s have something to drink!”

All assented, and I followed them into the bar-room. I did not wish to drink, but my moral courage shrank from refusing before a throng of exquisites, who were just admitting me to their fellowship. Accordingly, when the others had called for juleps, cold punches and “straights,” I responded to Monte’s inquiry, by stating very faintly that I would take a sherry cobbler, believing that was the weakest drink I could name. Monte repeated the orders to Snyder, the bar man, with the injunction to make them strong, and we all stood around trying to keep up a desultory conversation, but watching, with more interest, the preparation of the beverages, as men always do at a bar.

Snyder, a large fat man, in his shirt sleeves, with a large diamond pin on his large bosom, and a heavy moustache on his heavy lip, who had been looking off vacantly while we delivered our orders, now started as if he suddenly remembered them, and calling an assistant, took down the bottles, put in the white hailed ice and sugar, the sprigs of mint, the slices of lemon, and set the dewy glasses on the counter. With a bow and a health we drank, and then Finnock swore we should have another round. This time I had weakened enough in my resolution to try a julep, and feeling a tinge of the old excitement coming over me, I asked, as we turned to leave the bar, the privilege of treating.

“Have you some good champagne—green seal or Verzenay—the best now?” I asked the barkeeper, assuming something of the bully in my tone.

“Not champagne at the bar!” said Monte, “that is sacred to the table.”

The barkeeper pointed us to a curtained apartment, and sent in the champagne and some biscuit.

We spent, perhaps, half an hour behind the curtain, and when we came forth I felt as if I was again at Frank’s party. Though the others had, perhaps, imbibed more than I, yet it had not affected them so sensibly, and, muddled as was my brain, I saw they were enjoying my condition.

They proposed that we have a peep at the Tiger, and I agreed very readily, having a faint idea that we were going to a zoological exhibition.

The zoological garden proved to be a brilliantly lighted room, redolent of cigars and full of tables, around which were grouped eager, anxious faces. I had never gambled in my life, but felt compelled to show my contempt for money by staking a few dollars on a game or two. I soon lost something over a hundred, and was getting more and more reckless, to the extent of much larger stakes, when Monte proposed to leave, saying to one of his companions, in an undertone, which I, however, heard:

“That will do for to-night, not too much at a time.”

Monte proposed to take us over to the ball room and introduce us to Lola, the sensation, but I objected that I was not in evening dress. Monte swore I was fit for Buckingham Palace, and dragged me along to the room. Our party was very noisy as we entered the ball room, and several gentlemen moved away from our group in apparent disgust. The brilliancy of the scene dazzled and confused me, and I stood staring stupidly about, holding to Monte’s arm for support. The floor was full of dancers, who were circling in a spirited Mazourka.

“There she is, Smith!” exclaimed Monte, “isn’t she superb?”

Just in front of us was the belle of the season—my unknown beauty of the circular railway, floating gracefully in the embrace of the black moustache.

Her hair was now caught up in a magnificent coil, and its black folds were adorned with a beautiful spray of pearls. Her eyes—and oh! how melting and tender was their look—splendid in their depth of expression, were turned up to the face of her partner, and her form, perfect in its outlines, reposed with easy confidence in his arms. Her arm, round, smooth and dazzling, was shown in fine relief against the black cloth of his coat, and her neck, white as snow, tapered exquisitely from her bare, dimpled shoulders to the shading of her hair.

How my heart throbbed with admiration as she passed me; and again that strange memory of a dream of her face came over me!

Again they came around, and her full face was turned toward me. Heavens, can it be? yes, there, on that lovely arm, just above the tinted kid, a serpent in Etruscan gold wound its coils up the flesh, and I knew it was Carlotta.

“Monte!” I said, grasping his arm tightly, “that’s C’lotta; I know her, I raised her. Lem’me go and speak to her!”

“Wait, Smith, don’t be a fool!” he said, impatiently shaking me off, and making his way across the room, as the music had now ceased.

I turned to the others of our party and kept repeating, “That’s our C’lotta, I know her ‘s well ‘s I want to. She knows me soon ‘s she sees me.”

An elderly gentleman, who had been much annoyed by our noise, and who had been looking very steadily at us for several minutes, now got up from his seat and approached. I looked at him now for the first time, and oh, shade of Hamlet! I recognized my father. The most fervent wish of my heart was that there might be a Samson underneath that floor with his hands already on the pillars.

He did not smile as I pressed his hand, but said, “Come, go with me up to our room, John.”

His presence, and my chagrin and surprise did one good thing—it effectually sobered me.

As we walked out of the room he left me for a moment, and when he rejoined me a lady was on his arm—my mother. There was as much sorrow as joy in her kiss, and we proceeded in silence to their rooms. I took the proffered seat, and no one spoke for some time; then mother burst into tears and said:

“Oh, my child! my child! you have almost broken my heart. To think that I left you such a pure, noble boy, and return to meet you drunk, and in a disorderly crowd. Oh, John, how cruelly you have deceived us!”

I threw myself on my knees, as I used to do when a child, and buried my face in her lap.

“Mother,” I said, humbly, “I have not deceived you; let me explain.”

“My son,” said she, “there can be no explanation. I saw you intoxicated myself; and even now you are under the influence of liquor.”

Her last words somewhat nettled me, and I resumed my seat, saying as I did so:

“I am entirely sober, madam;” which, indeed, was the truth, for all the fumes and effects of the liquor I had taken departed instantly from me on the discovery of my parents. Father, who had been regarding me with much pity, now spoke:

“Do not be too hard on him, Mary; perhaps this is his first offence.”

“It is, it is,” I said, gratefully; then suddenly remembering, I said, candidly: “No, I will confess I was under the influence of wine once before this,” and I told of Frank’s party. With that exception this was my first time, and I promised that it should be the last.

They both seemed mollified, and seeing that I was really not under the influence of liquor, they gradually fell into conversation with me, and we forgot all unpleasantness in our mutual inquiries about each other’s health, and a general hash of all that had occurred since we parted. The evening wore on, and I commenced to make preparation for my departure; I had just taken my hat when a rustling was heard in the corridor, a musical “Good night!” and Carlotta came in, holding up her satin trail with its shower of lace. She started back on seeing a stranger in the room, but the next instant, as I rose to meet her, she dropped her skirt, and, holding out both hands, exclaimed:

“John! dear brother!” and putting up her rosy lips she kissed me, then stood looking at me with earnest happiness in her glance, as if she was really glad to meet me. What a joyous feeling there was in my heart! An hour or two before I had coveted just the honor of an introduction, now I had pressed her hand and kissed her! There was a delightful surprise, too, about the kiss, that made it all the more thrilling. We had never been very intimate, though living in the same house, and while confiding many secrets to each other as children, as I have told, yet there was always a shadow of reserve between us, and it was only by observing, at a distance, the beautiful depth of her character, I had learned to love her. After a three years’ residence in Europe I had expected to find her haughty, vain and supercilious, and had rather dreaded the meeting; but now I found that the flattery and adulation she had received, instead of turning her head, had only conferred the insight of experience, and made her own heart more earnest and true.

These thoughts of her ran rapidly through my mind as I gazed at the beautiful, brilliant woman that had bloomed from the lovely child, whose image I had cherished since we had parted.

We sat down with father and mother, and as we all had much to say, there were not many seconds that escaped unfreighted with a word. Carlotta seemed much more ready to listen to me, though, than to talk, and instead of telling what she had seen and done seemed intensely interested in my dull affairs.

Father asked her if she were not going back to the ball room.

“Oh, dear, no,” she said, drawing off her gloves, “I had much rather stay here and talk with John; beside, I am tired. I had a long sail on the lake to-day, and drove out with Cousin Herrara this afternoon. Please unfasten my bracelet,” and she extended her arm to me.

As I took her soft white arm in my hand can you wonder that I pretended to be awkward, that I might prolong the undoing of it?

“Apropos of the ball, John,” she said, while I was fumbling at the bracelet, “Mr. Monte asked the privilege of introducing two friends, Mr. Finnock and Mr. Smith. Did he refer to you?”

I told her he did, and what a romantic fervor I felt after I had seen her at the railway, and she and father rallied me on losing it as soon as I found her out, and mother helped me to deny it, and we were all so pleasant together we forgot the lapse of time. Looking at my watch and finding it nearly day, I bade them good night, and went to my room.

Like a child with a new toy, I felt a continual surprise and delight that the brilliant belle of the Springs was my Carlotta. Mine? The thought of Cousin Herrara placed a very large mark of interrogation after that word. As all indications pointed to the fact that she was his, and would ere long leave our home, the question came to me, bitterly: Can I give her up?