and feebly made with his fingers the sign of the letter which had played such a part in the story of his life.  Even at that instant the light left his eyes, and something like a veil seemed drawn over them.  With the instinctive energy which possesses every one when there is a chance of saving human life, we redoubled our efforts to restore the patient to consciousness.  But while we strove to feed the flame with some of our own vitality, it flickered and went out, leaving the hue of ashes where the rosy tinge of life had been.  His heart was paralyzed.

As I turned away, my eye caught the surgeon’s incision, which was now plainly visible on the left shoulder.  The cut was in the form of the letter Y.

[2] Century Magazine, March, 1883.

THE END OF NEW YORK.[3]

BY PARK BENJAMIN.

INTRODUCTORY.

THE WAR CLOUD.

Towards dusk on the afternoon of Monday, December 5th, 1881, the French steamer “Canada,” from Havre, arrived at her pier in New York City.  Among the passengers was a tall, dark, rather fine-looking man, of about middle-age.  After the usual examination of his baggage by the Custom House officials had been made, this person, accompanied by a lady, took a hack at the entrance of the pier, and was driven to the Fifth Avenue Hotel.  The initials on the luggage strapped on the rear of the vehicle were M.B.

In conversing with the driver the gentleman—­for his appearance and bearing fully indicated his right to the title—­spoke English, though somewhat imperfectly; with the lady he talked in sonorous Castilian.

Apparently, no one bestowed any particular notice upon the pair.  They were two foreigners out of the great throng of foreigners which lands daily in the metropolis; they were Spaniards and reasonably well-to-do, seeing that they came over in the saloon, and not in the steerage.

The names registered at the hotel were Manuel Blanco and wife.

Late during the following evening the lady personally came to the office seemingly in great distress.  An interpreter being procured, it was learned that Senor Blanco, in response to a visiting-card sent to his room, had left the apartment shortly after breakfast that morning, and had not since returned.

The lady explained that he had no business affairs in New York, and that they were merely resting in the city for a few days to recover from the effects of the ocean voyage, before going to Charleston, S.C., their destination.

The clerk in the office simply knew that a stranger had called and sent a card to Senor Blanco, and that the two, after meeting, had left the hotel together.

The anxiety of Senora Blanco was evidently excessive.  She rejected such commonplace reasons as that her husband might have lost his way, or that some unlooked-for business matters had claimed his attention.