The front door opened, and Mr. Van Rensselaer walked in. His face was
white, for he had not slept well. In a dream his dead wife had stood
before him and seemed to be taking him to task about her child, the
daughter who left her father’s house but a few hours before. He had
gone out for the morning mail, hoping to get rid of the phantoms that
pursued his steps, but his head was throbbing.
How much he had heard of what they had been saying, they did not know.
He stood before them white and stern-looking, glancing from one to the
other of the two in the dim parlor.
"Where is my daughter?" he asked.
"She is gone, Mr. Van Rensselaer," answered Charles pitifully. "I have
searched for her all night long. I hoped she was here."
"Gone?" repeated the father in a strange, far-away voice; then he
wavered for an instant, and fell at their feet, as if dead. The
accusations of his own heart had reached their mark. The iron will
yielded at last to the finger of God.
They carried him to his bed and called the doctor. Confusion reigned in
the house. The old doctor shook his head and called it apoplexy. Mr.
Van Rensselaer was still living, and might linger for some time, but it
would be a living death.
And so, while he lay upon his bed, breathing, but dead to the world
about him, they made what plans they could to find his daughter.
Charles’s father came in sadly, reporting no success in the search.
They started out once more after a brief rest.
Mrs. Van Rensselaer was in no condition to help them now. She had her
hands full, poor woman. One thing had been spared her: her husband did
not know her part in the disappearance of his daughter. Perhaps he
might never need to know; yet as she went about ministering to that
silent, living dead, whom she had loved beyond anything earthly, her
heart was full of bitterness and fear.
The months that followed were terrible to Charles. After a few days of
keeping the matter quiet and hoping they would find her by themselves,
they made the disappearance public, and the whole countryside joined in
the search.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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