One Of Twins
A Letter found among the Papers of the late Mortimer BarrYou ask me if in my experience as one of a pair of twins I ever observedanything unaccountable by the natural laws with which we haveacquaintance. As to that you shall judge; perhaps we have not allacquaintance with the same natural laws. You may know some that I donot, and what is to me unaccountable may be very clear to you.You knew my brother John -- that is, you knew him when you knewthat I was not present; but neither you nor, I believe, any human beingcould distinguish between him and me if we chose to seem alike. Ourparents could not; ours is the only instance of which I have anyknowledge of so close resemblance as that. I speak of my brother John,but I am not at all sure that his name was not Henry and mine John. Wewere regularly christened, but afterward, in the very act of tattooingus with small distinguishing marks, the operator lost his reckoning; andalthough I bear upon my forearm a small 'H' and he bore a 'J,' it is byno means certain that the letters ought not to have been transposed.During our boyhood our parents tried to distinguish us more obviously byour clothing and other simple devices, but we would so frequentlyexchange suits and otherwise circumvent the enemy that they abandonedall such ineffectual attempts, and during all the years that we livedtogether at home everybody recognized the difficulty of the situationand made the best of it by calling us both 'Jehnry.' I have oftenwondered at my father's forbearance in not branding us conspicuouslyupon our unworthy brows, but as we were tolerably good boys and used ourpower of embarrassment and annoyance with commendable moderation, weescaped the iron. My father was, in fact, a singularly good-natured man,and I think quietly enjoyed Nature's practical joke.Soon after we had come to California, and settled at San Jose(where the only good fortune that awaited us was our meeting with sokind a friend as you), the family, as you know, was broken up by thedeath of both my parents in the same week. My father died insolvent, andthe homestead was sacrificed to pay his debts. My sisters returned torelatives in the East, but owing to your kindness John and I, thentwenty-two years of age, obtained employment in San Francisco, indifferent quarters of the town. Circumstances did not permit us to livetogether, and we saw each other infrequently, sometimes not oftener thanonce a week. As we had few acquaintances in common, the fact of ourextraordinary likeness was little known. I come now to the matter ofyour inquiry.One day soon after we had come to this city I was walking downMarket Street late in the afternoon, when I was accosted by awell-dressed man of middle age, who after greeting me cordially said:'Stevens, I know, of course, that you do not go out much, but I havetold my wife about you, and she would be glad to see you at the house. Ihave a notion, too, that my girls are worth knowing. Suppose you comeout to-morrow at six and dine with us, en famille; and then if theladies can't amuse you afterward I'll stand in with a few games ofbilliards.'This was said with so bright a smile and so engaging a manner thatI had not the heart to refuse, and although I had never seen the man inmy life I promptly replied: 'You are very good, sir, and it will give megreat pleasure to accept the invitation. Please present my complimentsto Mrs. Margovan and ask her to expect me.'With a shake of the hand and a pleasant parting word the man passedon. That he had mistaken me for my brother was plain enough. That was anerror to which I was accustomed and which it was not my habit to rectifyunless the matter seemed important. But how had I known that this man'sname was Margovan? It certainly is not a name that one would apply to aman at random, with a probability that it would be right. In point offact, the name was as strange to me as the man.The next morning I hastened to where my brother was employed andmet him coming out of the office with a number of bills that he was tocollect. I told him how I had 'committed' him and added that if hedidn't care to keep the engagement I should be delighted to continue theimpersonation.'That's queer,' he said thoughtfully. 'Margovan is the only man inthe office here whom I know well and like. When he came in this morningand we had passed the usual greetings some singular impulse prompted meto say: "Oh, I beg your pardon, Mr. Margovan, but I neglected to askyour address." I got the address, but what under the sun I was to dowith it, I did not know until now. It's good of you to offer to take theconsequence of your impudence, but I'll eat that dinner myself, if youplease.'He ate a number of dinners at the same place -- more than were goodfor him, I may add without disparaging their quality; for he fell inlove with Miss Margovan, proposed marriage to her and was heartlesslyaccepted.Several weeks after I had been informed of the engagement, butbefore it had been convenient for me to make the acquaintance of theyoung woman and her family, I met one day on Kearney Street a handsomebut somewhat dissipated-looking man whom something prompted me to followand watch, which I did without any scruple whatever. He turned up GearyStreet and followed it until he came to Union Square. There he looked athis watch, then entered the square. He loitered about the paths for sometime, evidently waiting for some one. Presently he was joined by afashionably dressed and beautiful young woman and the two walked away upStockton Street, I following. I now felt the necessity of extremecaution, for although the girl was a stranger it seemed to me that shewould recognize me at a glance. They made several turns from one streetto another and finally, after both had taken a hasty look all about --which I narrowly evaded by stepping into a doorway -- they entered ahouse of which I do not care to state the location. Its location wasbetter than its character.I protest that my action in playing the spy upon these twostrangers was without assignable motive. It was one of which I might ormight not be ashamed, according to my estimate of the character of theperson finding it out. As an essential part of a narrative educed byyour question it is related here without hesitancy or shame.A week later John took me to the house of his prospectivefather-in-law, and in Miss Margovan, as you have already surmised, butto my profound astonishment, I recognized the heroine of thatdiscreditable adventure. A gloriously beautiful heroine of adiscreditable adventure I must in justice admit that she was; but thatfact has only this importance: her beauty was such a surprise to me thatit cast a doubt upon her identity with the young woman I had seenbefore; how could the marvellous fascination of her face have failed tostrike me at that time? But no -- there was no possibility of error; thedifference was due to costume, light and general surroundings.John and I passed the evening at the house, enduring, with thefortitude of long experience, such delicate enough banter as ourlikeness naturally suggested. When the young lady and I were left alonefor a few minutes I looked her squarely in the face and said with suddengravity:'You, too, Miss Margovan, have a double: I saw her last Tuesdayafternoon in Union Square.'She trained her great grey eyes upon me for a moment, but herglance was a trifle less steady than my own and she withdrew it, fixingit on the tip of her shoe.'Was she very like me?' she asked, with an indifference which Ithought a little overdone.'So like,' said I, 'that I greatly admired her, and being unwillingto lose sight of her I confess that I followed her until -- MissMargovan, are you sure that you understand?'She was now pale, but entirely calm. She again raised her eyes tomine, with a look that did not falter.'What do you wish me to do?' she asked. 'You need not fear to nameyour terms. I accept them.'It was plain, even in the brief time given me for reflection, thatin dealing with this girl ordinary methods would not do, and ordinaryexactions were needless.'Miss Margovan,' I said, doubtless with something of the compassionin my voice that I had in my heart, 'it is impossible not to think youthe victim of some horrible compulsion. Rather than impose newembarrassments upon you I would prefer to aid you to regain your freedom.'She shook her head, sadly and hopelessly, and I continued, withagitation:'Your beauty unnerves me. I am disarmed by your frankness and yourdistress. If you are free to act upon conscience you will, I believe, dowhat you conceive to be best; if you are not -- well, Heaven help usall! You have nothing to fear from me but such opposition to thismarriage as I can try to justify on -- on other grounds.'These were not my exact words, but that was the sense of them, asnearly as my sudden and conflicting emotions permitted me to express it.I rose and left her without another look at her, met the others as theyre-entered the room and said, as calmly as I could: 'I have been biddingMiss Margovan good evening; it is later than I thought.'John decided to go with me. In the street he asked if I hadobserved anything singular in Julia's manner.'I thought her ill,' I replied; 'that is why I left.' Nothing morewas said.The next evening I came late to my lodgings. The events of theprevious evening had made me nervous and ill; I had tried to cure myselfand attain to clear thinking by walking in the open air, but I wasoppressed with a horrible presentiment of evil -- a presentiment which Icould not formulate. It was a chill, foggy night; my clothing and hairwere damp and I shook with cold. In my dressing-gown and slippers beforea blazing grate of coals I was even more uncomfortable. I no longershivered but shuddered -- there is a difference. The dread of someimpending calamity was so strong and dispiriting that I tried to driveit away by inviting a real sorrow -- tried to dispel the conception of aterrible future by substituting the memory of a painful past. I recalledthe death of my parents and endeavoured to fix my mind upon the last sadscenes at their bedsides and their graves. It all seemed vague andunreal, as having occurred ages ago and to another person. Suddenly,striking through my thought and parting it as a tense cord is parted bythe stroke of steel -- I can think of no other comparison -- I heard asharp cry as of one in mortal agony! The voice was that of my brotherand seemed to come from the street outside my window. I sprang to thewindow and threw it open. A street lamp directly opposite threw a wanand ghastly light upon the wet pavement and the fronts of the houses. Asingle policeman, with upturned collar, was leaning against a gatepost,quietly smoking a cigar. No one else was in sight. I closed the windowand pulled down the shade, seated myself before the fire and tried tofix my mind upon my surroundings. By way of assisting, by performance ofsome familiar act, I looked at my watch; it marked half-past eleven.Again I heard that awful cry! It seemed in the room -- at my side. I wasfrightened and for some moments had not the power to move. A few minuteslater -- I have no recollection of the intermediate time -- I foundmyself hurrying along an unfamiliar street as fast as I could walk. Idid not know where I was, nor whither I was going, but presently sprangup the steps of a house before which were two or three carriages and inwhich were moving lights and a subdued confusion of voices. It was thehouse of Mr. Margovan.You know, good friend, what had occurred there. In one chamber layJulia Margovan, hours dead by poison; in another John Stevens, bleedingfrom a pistol wound in the chest, inflicted by his own hand. As I burstinto the room; pushed aside the physicians and laid my hand upon hisforehead he unclosed his eyes, stared blankly, closed them slowly anddied without a sign.I knew no more until six weeks afterwards, when I had been nursedback to life by your own saintly wife in your own beautiful home. All ofthat you know, but what you do not know is this -- which, however, hasno bearing upon the subject of your psychological researches -- at leastnot upon that branch of them in which, with a delicacy and considerationall your own, you have asked for less assistance than I think I havegiven you:One moonlight night several years afterward I was passing throughUnion Square. The hour was late and the square deserted. Certainmemories of the past naturally came into my mind as I came to the spotwhere I had once witnessed that fateful assignation, and with thatunaccountable perversity which prompts us to dwell upon thoughts of themost painful character I seated myself upon one of the benches toindulge them. A man entered the square and came along the walk towardme. His hands were clasped behind him, his head was bowed; he seemed toobserve nothing. As he approached the shadow in which I sat I recognizedhim as the man whom I had seen meet Julia Margovan years before at thatspot. But he was terribly altered -- grey, worn and haggard. Dissipationand vice were in evidence in every look; illness was no less apparent.His clothing was in disorder, his hair fell across his forehead in aderangement which was at once uncanny, and picturesque. He looked fitterfor restraint than liberty -- the restraint of a hospital.With no defined purpose I rose and confronted him. He raised hishead and looked me full in the face. I have no words to describe theghastly change that came over his own; it was a look of unspeakableterror -- he thought himself eye to eye with a ghost. But he was acourageous man. 'Damn you, John Stevens!' he cried, and lifting histrembling arm he dashed his fist feebly at my face and fell headlongupon the gravel as I walked away.Somebody found him there, stone-dead. Nothing more is known of him,not even his name. To know of a man that he is dead should be enough.
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