“My route to Italy was rather a roundabout one. Instead of running down to Marseilles and so on via Civita Vecchia to Rome, I set off eastwards, and crossed Germany, passing through Cologne, Frankfort-on-the-Main, and Nuremberg; thence I proceeded to Leipzig, and at length brought up in Dresden. It was my intention to go from there southwards through Switzerland to Venice, and thus to make my approach to the Eternal City.
“Dresden, however, detained me longer than I had expected. It was in August that I reached it: there were not many people in town, but I was delighted with the Gallery, with the picturesque sweep of the river, and with the green shade and good music of the Grosser Garten. There were several charming drives, too, in the neighbourhood; and as for the beer, it was really a revelation to a man who had never known anything less heavy and solid than Allsopp’s pale ale.
“I had put up at the Hotel de Saxe, a broadsided old building on one side of a large irregular ‘platz,’ called, I believe, the Neumarkt. My landlord, who was a young gentleman of great personal attractions, interested himself a good deal about my amusements; and one day he happened to ask me whether I had visited a region known as Saxon Switzerland. This, it appeared, was a mountainous district some twenty miles up the Elbe, in which was solved the problem of putting the greatest amount of romantic picturesqueness into the smallest possible compass. It was a land of savage rocks, wild precipices, and profound gorges, conveniently grouped within the limits of a good day’s tramp. It comprised all the sublime and startling features of your Yellowstone Valley in California with an area about equal to the summit of one of the table bluffs in that region.
“I packed my valise for a sojourn of two or three days among these pocket Alps, put my diamonds in that secure inner pocket, and took a droschkey for the railway station. The trip to Schandau (the principal village of Saxon Switzerland) can also be made by steamer; but after discussing the pros and cons of rival routes with my host of the hotel the evening previous, I had decided to go by rail, which provides nearly half as much pretty scenery as the river road, and takes up less than a fourth as much time. I alighted at the station door somewhat late, and having given my trunk in charge to a porter, was hurrying to get my ticket, when my attention was caught by a young lady, who was standing on the platform in an attitude that bespoke suspense and anxiety. Her veil was down, but from the slender elegance of her figure and the harmonious perfection of her costume, I could not doubt that her face was beautiful. Evidently she was not a German; had she been a thought less tastefully dressed, I should have said she was an English girl; as it was, she might be either an Austrian or an American. Even then, I rather inclined to the latter hypothesis.
“She appeared to be entirely alone; but she was scanning with ill-concealed eagerness the crowd that was entering the station, as if in search of a familiar face. When her glance fell upon me, I fancied that she took an impulsive step in my direction; but she checked herself immediately, and looked away. While I was hastily debating within myself whether or not it would be ‘the thing’ for me to go up and ask her if she needed any assistance, I saw a dientsman, or carrier, come up the steps, and taking off his cap, deliver her a note. She tore it nervously open, threw back her veil impatiently, and ran her eyes over the contents. Beautiful she was, indeed! My anticipations had been behind the truth on that score. Such strange, mystical, dark eyes underneath level black eyebrows I had never seen. But just then there was an expression of dismay and distress in them that made me half forget to remember their fascination.
“She now addressed the carrier, seemingly in broken German, for he evidently did not well understand her, and the answer he made appeared to increase her embarrassment. Her slender foot tapped the stone pavement; she read the note once more, crushed it up in her hand, and then her arms fell listlessly at her sides with an air almost of despair. She looked this way and that helplessly.
“By this time several persons besides myself had observed her bewilderment, and I thought I perceived that a certain fat old Jew, wearing a number of glittering rings and a very massive watch-chain, was inclined to take advantage of it. This decided me on my course of action: I came quickly forward, as if I had just caught sight of her, and lifting my hat with an air of respectful acquaintanceship, I said in French:
“‘If mademoiselle will permit me, I may perhaps be of some use.’
“Her veil, either accidentally or of design, dropped again over her face as she turned it towards me. I knew that she was scrutinising me with a woman’s intuitive insight, and I tried to look as guileless and respectful as I am sure I felt. In a moment she asked:
“‘Monsieur est-il Fran?ais?’
“‘I’m an Englishman,’ I answered, blushing a little, I dare say, at her implied criticism of my imperfect accent.
“‘Oh, I am glad! I, too, am almost English — I am American. But I don’t know how I can be helped, really!’
“‘Some friend has missed an appointment ——?’
“‘Yes, indeed! Oh dear! it’s worse than that. It’s my father.’
“‘You were going by the train ——’
“‘There has been some stupid mistake. I’m sure I don’t know what I shall do. We had arranged to start at ten o’clock this morning, and I started first, because I wanted to do some shopping on the way down. I understood that we were to rendezvous here. But he did not come at ten, and I sent a dientsman to the hotel; and now he has brought word from the hotel-keeper that papa started by the ten o’clock steamboat. I had not understood that it was to be the steamboat, you see; and I’m left here all alone.’
“‘But if you took the next train, you would still arrive two or three hours before him; that is — may I ask where you were going?’
“‘Oh, I think Schandau is the name of the place.’
“‘Schandau? Oh, then it’s all right. There is a train starts immediately.’
“‘Yes — but — no; I’m afraid I can’t do that.’
“I was puzzled. ‘Perhaps you would like to telegraph him to come back here for you?’
“‘I don’t know where to telegraph, so that he would get it; besides —— But, excuse me, sir. You are very kind; but I won’t trouble you with my affairs. I dare say I shall get on very well.’
“She turned away with a slight bow; but she was so evidently nonplussed, that I determined to make another effort to gain her confidence. There was not much time to lose; the first bell was already ringing.
“‘I am going on to Schandau,’ I said. ‘If you like, I will send you back to your hotel in a droschkey; and when I get to Schandau, I will hunt up your father and tell him the mistake he has made. Here is my card.’
“She looked at it, and her manner at once changed. A half-repressed smile glimmered on her face. I felt that we were on a right footing at last, though I could not at the time understand how it had happened.
“‘I will confess to you, Mr. Gainsborough,’ she said, glancing up at me with a charming trustfulness in her manner. ‘My papa is so forgetful. We were not coming back to Dresden. After Schandau we were going on to Prague; and he has gone off with all our luggage, and — and he has left me without even any money to buy my ticket! At least, I did have enough, but I spent it all in my shopping.’
“This cleared up matters at once. ‘How stupid of me not to have seen it all before!’ I exclaimed. ‘Now, we have just time to get the train,’ I hurried her on with me as I spoke, bought our tickets in the twinkling of an eye, and without waiting for the change, convoyed her rapidly across the platform, and, with the assistance of a guard, we found ourselves safely ensconced in a first-class carriage just as the train moved off. My beautiful companion, breathless, smiling, and yet seemingly a little frightened, sank back on the cushions, and felt for the fan at her girdle. I wished to give her plenty of time to recover her composure, and to feel assured that I had no intention of taking undue advantage of our position; so, having arranged the windows to suit her convenience, I betook myself to the other end of the carriage, and diligently stared at the prospect for fully five minutes. Nature could endure no more, and at the end of that time I was fain to change my posture. I stole a glance at my fair American. She, too, was absorbed in the prospect on her side, which consisted at the moment of a perpendicular cutting about ten feet distant from her window. Her attitude as she sat there was the perfection of feminine grace. Her left hand, loosely holding the fan, drooped on her lap; her sleeve, slightly pushed up, revealed the lovely curve of her arm and wrist. I am a particular admirer of beautiful wrists and hands, and here I saw my ideal. How exquisitely the glove fitted! and how artistically the colour harmonised with the rest of her costume! The other little hand supported her chin: I could just see the rounded outline of her small cheek, and the movement of the dark eyelash projecting beyond it. Beneath her hat the black hair turned in a careless coil, and charming little downy curls nestled in the nape of her neck. She was a thorough brunette, pale, and yet pervaded with warm colour. Beneath the skirt of her crisp dress peeped the pointed toe of an ineffable little boot, which occasionally lifted itself and tapped the floor softly. Suddenly, in the midst of my admiring inspection, she turned round upon me, and our eyes met. There was an instant’s constraint, and then we both laughed, and the constraint passed away, not to return.
“‘I was going to ask you,’ said I, ‘whether you wouldn’t prefer sitting on this side. You will find the river better worth looking at than that stone wall.’
“‘I am under your orders, sir, for the present; you put me here; and now, if you tell me I am to go elsewhere, I shall obey.’
“She rose as she spoke; the jolting of the carriage caused her to lose her balance; I held out my hand to assist her, and so she tottered across and seated herself opposite me.
“‘Now are you satisfied?’ she asked demurely, folding her hands in her lap, and sending a flash into me from those mystical eyes.
“‘Yes, indeed, if you are. Did you ever travel this way before?’
“‘If you mean, alone with a gentleman I never met before — no!’
“‘Oh, what I meant was ——’
“‘I know — I was only making fun. Yes, I believe I was in this part of the country once, when I was a very little girl; that was before I went to the Convent, you know.’
“‘To the Convent?’
“She gave a charming impromptu laugh. ‘I wasn’t quite a nun — I don’t want to make you believe that! Only I was brought up in a convent near Paris; educated there, as many young ladies are. I was there seven years — wasn’t that long? and I only got out a little while ago.’
“‘It must have been awfully dull.’
“‘Oh, I liked it in a sort of way; they were very kind to me there; but then I didn’t know how pleasant it was outside! You would never believe how delightful the world is, if you were only told about it. My papa used to tell me about it sometimes; and he is a great traveller — he has been everywhere. But I didn’t realise it until I saw for myself.’
“‘Have you been to America since leaving the Convent?’
“‘Oh yes. I went to New York, and saw my cousins there. Papa went with me, but he came back to Paris first, and I followed later. I met him again in Paris only a week ago. He will be surprised to see you here, Mr. Gainsborough. What a funny way you have chosen to go from Paris to Rome — through Dresden!’
“‘Yes, I— but, by-the-bye, how did you know I was going to Rome? and why will your papa be surprised ——?’
“Again she laughed, and regarded me with so delightfully mischievous a glance that I felt convinced I must in some way be making a fool of myself. What did it all mean? I bit my lip, and the colour came into my face from provocation at my own evident thick-headedness.
“‘If you had only waited a little longer in Paris,’ she continued, still smiling enigmatically, ‘perhaps we might have met in a more regular way, and perhaps, then, you would have let me have had a look at your — diamonds!’
“My diamonds! That explained the mystery in a flash.
“‘Is your father Mr. Birchmore?’
“‘I am Miss Birchmore, if you please, sir. You never asked me for my card, and I didn’t like to force it on you. It was so kind of you to take me on trust, without making sure that I was all right first. I thought Englishmen were more cautious and reserved.’
“I could now join in the laugh against myself with full appreciation of the excellence of the jest. Mr. Birchmore, then, had been a married man after all. Of course he was; why had I not before remarked the strong family likeness between him and his daughter? Take her on trust, forsooth! How I longed to retort that I was ready to take her for better for worse, then and there, if she would have me. If she were a fair specimen of American girls, what a nation of houris they must be, indeed! But, then, they were not all brought up in French convents. It was that that added to Miss Birchmore the last irresistible charm. That it was that gave her that na?veté, that innocent frankness, that unconscious freedom. And this lovely creature had actually known me, by report, before we met. Her father had told her of me, and evidently he had not given me a bad character. And this accounted for the favourable change in her manner when she saw my card. Well, it was altogether delightful; I had been guided by a happy destiny; thank fortune I had so conducted myself as at least not to prejudice Miss Birchmore against me. Verily, good manners are never thrown away; and, moreover, I prided myself (as I fancy most gentlemen do) on my ability to detect a true lady at a glance.
“We now resumed our conversation on a still more confidential footing than heretofore. Miss Birchmore related many amusing anecdotes of her late experience in New York, as well as of her earlier days in the Convent, and even some passages of her child-life previous to the latter epoch. I observed, however, that ever and anon she would check herself, seeming to pass over certain passages in her history in silence; and this reminded me of the similar behaviour which I had noted in her father. That secret — that mystery, whatever it was, that weighed upon him — had cast its shadow over her young heart likewise. Honestly did I sympathise with her unknown trouble, and ardently did I long — all vulgar curiosity aside — to have the knowledge of it imparted to me. Few calamities are so heavy as that, by earnest and friendly help, they may not be lightened. What could it be? In vain I asked myself that question. Here was this lovely girl, in the first fresh bloom of existence, just beginning to taste, with eager uncloyed palate, all the sweet joys and novelties of life — health, youth, a happy temperament, and ample wealth ranked on her side; and yet this bitterness of a misfortune, not by rights her own, must needs communicate its blighting influence to her! It was tragical to think of. Yes, ever and anon I could mark its traces in her vivid face and winning bearing. A passing gloom of sadness in those wonderful eyes; a quiver of apprehension about the lips; an involuntary gesture of nervousness or lassitude; many trifling signs, scarcely perceptible, perhaps, to a regard less keen and watchful than mine had already become. Already? — but time in an acquaintance like this is not to be measured by hours or minutes. It is a trite saying, and yet how true, that those who are under the influence of a strong emotion may live years in a few heart-beats.
“‘Please — oh, please don’t look so solemn, Mr. Gainsborough! What has happened? I should think, to look at you, that you had been robbed of your diamonds at the very least?’
“‘No; they are safe enough,’ said I, calling up as cheerful a tone and aspect as I could muster, and putting my hand over the inner pocket as I spoke. ‘Are you fond of diamonds?’
“‘Oh, did you ever hear of a girl who wasn’t? I think there is nothing so beautiful. Papa has a great many, but he says I mustn’t wear them until after I am married. Isn’t that hard?’
“‘But perhaps you think of being married before long?’ I inquired, with positively a jealous throb at my heart.
“‘No; that’s the trouble; I know I shall never be married.’ These words were uttered in a lower and graver tone, and once more I thought I could discern the flitting traces of that mysterious melancholy. But she brightened up when I said:
“‘Well, he won’t object to your seeing my diamonds, at any rate; not even to your putting them on, perhaps!’
“‘Just for a minute — may I? that will be splendid! Papa says that some of them are the finest he ever saw.’
“‘For longer than a minute, Miss Birchmore, if you are willing — I mean if he ——’ What did I mean, pray? Was I going to make an offer of my hand, heart, and diamonds, on less than an hour’s acquaintance, in a railway carriage? and was I going to forget that the diamonds did not belong to me at all, but to my respected mother, who would probably see me cut off with a shilling before granting me the disposal of them? Luckily for my self-possession and self-respect, the train drew up just then at the station known as Krippen, on the bank of the river immediately opposite Schandau. The guard opened the door; we alighted, and the first person we saw was Mr. Birchmore, and close behind him a short, ungainly, beetle-browed fellow, a valet or footman apparently, with a campstool, an umbrella, and a small basket of fruit on his arm.