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Title: The House in the Mist

Author: Anna Katharine Green

Release date: August 30, 2006 [eBook #19147]
                Most recently updated: September 14, 2006

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Sam Whitehead, Suzanne Shell and the Online
        Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOUSE IN THE MIST ***




Produced by Sam Whitehead, Suzanne Shell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net







THE
HOUSE IN THE MIST

_By_

ANNA KATHARINE GREEN

Author of
The Millionaire Baby
The Amethyst Box
The Filigree Ball, etc., etc.

NEW YORK
THE NEW YORK BOOK CO.
1913

COPYRIGHT 1905
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY

       *     *     *     *     *

APRIL




THE HOUSE IN THE MIST

I

AN OPEN DOOR


It was a night to drive any man indoors. Not only was the darkness
impenetrable, but the raw mist enveloping hill and valley made the open
road anything but desirable to a belated wayfarer like myself.

Being young, untrammeled, and naturally indifferent to danger, I was not
averse to adventure; and having my fortune to make, was always on the
lookout for El Dorado, which, to ardent souls, lies ever beyond the next
turning. Consequently, when I saw a light shimmering through the mist at
my right, I resolved to make for it and the shelter it so opportunely
offered.

But I did not realize then, as I do now, that shelter does not necessarily
imply refuge, or I might not have undertaken this adventure with so light
a heart. Yet, who knows? The impulses of an unfettered spirit lean toward
daring, and youth, as I have said, seeks the strange, the unknown and,
sometimes, the terrible.

My path toward this light was by no means an easy one. After confused
wanderings through tangled hedges, and a struggle with obstacles of
whose nature I received the most curious impression in the surrounding
murk, I arrived in front of a long, low building which, to my
astonishment, I found standing with doors and windows open to the
pervading mist, save for one square casement through which the light
shone from a row of candles placed on a long mahogany table.

The quiet and seeming emptiness of this odd and picturesque building
made me pause. I am not much affected by visible danger, but this silent
room, with its air of sinister expectancy, struck me most unpleasantly,
and I was about to reconsider my first impulse and withdraw again to the
road, when a second look, thrown back upon the comfortable interior I
was leaving, convinced me of my folly and sent me straight toward the
door which stood so invitingly open.

But half-way up the path, my progress was again stayed by the sight of a
man issuing from the house I had so rashly looked upon as devoid of all
human presence. He seemed in haste and, at the moment my eye first fell
on him, was engaged in replacing his watch in his pocket.

But he did not shut the door behind him, which I thought odd, especially
as his final glance had been a backward one, and seemed to take in all
the appointments of the place he was so hurriedly leaving.

As we met, he raised his hat. This likewise struck me as peculiar, for
the deference he displayed was more marked than that usually bestowed on
strangers, while his lack of surprise at an encounter more or less
startling in such a mist was calculated to puzzle an ordinary man like
myself. Indeed, he was so little impressed by my presence there that he
was for passing me without a word or any other hint of good fellowship,
save the bow of which I have spoken. But this did not suit me. I was
hungry, cold, and eager for creature comforts, and the house before me
gave forth not only heat, but a savory odor which in itself was an
invitation hard to ignore. I therefore accosted the man.

"Will bed and supper be provided me here?" I asked. "I am tired out with
a long tramp over the hills, and hungry enough to pay anything in
reason--"

I stopped, for the man had disappeared. He had not paused at my appeal
and the mist had swallowed him. But at the break in my sentence, his
voice came back in good-natured tones and I heard:

"Supper will be ready at nine, and there are beds for all. Enter, sir;
you are the first to arrive, but the others can not be far behind."

A queer greeting, certainly. But when I strove to question him as to its
meaning, his voice returned to me from such a distance that I doubted if
my words had reached him with any more distinctness than his answer
reached me.

"Well!" thought I, "it isn't as if a lodging had been denied me. He
invited me to enter, and enter I will."

The house, to which I now naturally directed a glance of much more
careful scrutiny than before, was no ordinary farm-building, but a
rambling old mansion, made conspicuously larger here and there by
jutting porches and more than one convenient lean-to. Though furnished,
warmed and lighted with candles, as I have previously described, it had
about it an air of disuse which made me feel myself an intruder, in
spite of the welcome I had received. But I was not in a position to
stand upon ceremony, and ere long I found myself inside the great room
and before the blazing logs whose glow had lighted up the doorway and
added its own attraction to the other allurements of the inviting place.

Though the open door made a draft which was anything but pleasant, I did
not feel like closing it, and was astonished to observe the effect of
the mist through the square thus left open to the night. It was not an
agreeable one, and, instinctively turning my back upon that quarter of
the room, I let my eyes roam over the wainscoted walls and the odd
pieces of furniture which gave such an air of old-fashioned richness to
the place. As nothing of the kind had ever fallen under my eyes before,
I should have thoroughly enjoyed this opportunity of gratifying my taste
for the curious and the beautiful, if the quaint old chairs I saw
standing about me on every side had not all been empty. But the solitude
of the place, so much more oppressive than the solitude of the road I
had left, struck cold to my heart, and I missed the cheer rightfully
belonging to such attractive surroundings. Suddenly I bethought me of
the many other apartments likely to be found in so spacious a dwelling,
and, going to the nearest door, I opened it and called out for the
master of the house. But only an echo came back, and, returning to the
fire, I sat down before the cheering blaze, in quiet acceptance of a
situation too lonely for comfort, yet not without a certain piquant
interest for a man of free mind and adventurous disposition like myself.

After all, if supper was to be served at nine, someone must be expected
to eat it: I should surely not be left much longer without companions.

Meanwhile ample amusement awaited me in the contemplation of a picture
which, next to the large fireplace, was the most prominent object in the
room. This picture was a portrait, and a remarkable one. The countenance
it portrayed was both characteristic and forcible, and so interested me
that in studying it I quite forgot both hunger and weariness. Indeed its
effect upon me was such that, after gazing at it uninterruptedly for a
few minutes, I discovered that its various features--the narrow eyes in
which a hint of craft gave a strange gleam to their native intelligence;
the steadfast chin, strong as the rock of the hills I had wearily
tramped all day; the cunning wrinkles which yet did not interfere with
a latent great-heartedness that made the face as attractive as it was
puzzling--had so established themselves in my mind that I continued to
see them before me whichever way I turned, and found it impossible to
shake off their influence even after I had resolutely set my mind in
another direction by endeavoring to recall what I knew of the town into
which I had strayed.

I had come from Scranton and was now, according to my best judgment, in
one of those rural districts of western Pennsylvania which breed such
strange and sturdy characters. But of this special neighborhood, its
inhabitants and its industries, I knew nothing nor was likely to, so
long as I remained in the solitude I have endeavored to describe.

But these impressions and these thoughts--if thoughts they were--presently
received a check. A loud "Halloo" rose from somewhere in the mist, followed
by a string of muttered imprecations, which convinced me that the person
now attempting to approach the house was encountering some of the many
difficulties which had beset me in the same undertaking a few minutes
before.

I therefore raised my voice and shouted out, "Here! this way!" after
which I sat still and awaited developments.

There was a huge clock in one of the corners, whose loud tick filled up
every interval of silence. By this clock it was just ten minutes to
eight when two gentlemen (I should say men, and coarse men at that)
crossed the open threshold and entered the house.

Their appearance was more or less noteworthy--unpleasantly so, I am
obliged to add. One was red-faced and obese, the other was tall, thin
and wiry and showed as many seams in his face as a blighted apple.
Neither of the two had anything to recommend him either in appearance or
address, save a certain veneer of polite assumption as transparent as it
was offensive. As I listened to the forced sallies of the one and the
hollow laugh of the other, I was glad that I was large of frame and
strong of arm and used to all kinds of men and--brutes.

As these two new-comers seemed no more astonished at my presence than
the man I had met at the gate, I checked the question which
instinctively rose to my lips and with a simple bow,--responded to by a
more or less familiar nod from either,--accepted the situation with all
the _sang-froid_ the occasion seemed to demand. Perhaps this was wise,
perhaps it was not; there was little opportunity to judge, for the start
they both gave as they encountered the eyes of the picture before
mentioned drew my attention to a consideration of the different ways in
which men, however similar in other respects, express sudden and
unlooked-for emotion. The big man simply allowed his astonishment,
dread, or whatever the feeling was which moved him, to ooze forth in a
cold and deathly perspiration which robbed his cheeks of color and cast
a bluish shadow over his narrow and retreating temples; while the thin
and waspish man, caught in the same trap (for trap I saw it was),
shouted aloud in his ill-timed mirth, the false and cruel character of
which would have made me shudder, if all expression of feeling on my
part had not been held in check by the interest I immediately
experienced in the display of open bravado with which, in another
moment, these two tried to carry off their mutual embarrassment.

"Good likeness, eh?" laughed the seamy-faced man. "Quite an idea, that!
Makes him one of us again! Well, he's welcome--in oils. Can't say much
to us from canvas, eh?" And the rafters above him vibrated, as his
violent efforts at joviality went up in loud and louder assertion from
his thin throat.

A nudge from the other's elbow stopped him and I saw them both cast
half-lowering, half-inquisitive glances in my direction.

"One of the Witherspoon boys?" queried one.

"Perhaps," snarled the other. "I never saw but one of them. There are
five, aren't there? Eustace believed in marrying off his gals young."

"Damn him, yes. And he'd have married them off younger if he had known
how numbers were going to count some day among the Westonhaughs." And
he laughed again in a way I should certainly have felt it my business to
resent, if my indignation as well as the ill-timed allusions which had
called it forth had not been put to an end by a fresh arrival through
the veiling mist which hung like a shroud at the doorway.

This time it was for me to experience a shock of something like fear.
Yet the personage who called up this unlooked-for sensation in my
naturally hardy nature was old and, to all appearance, harmless from
disability, if not from good will. His form was bent over upon itself
like a bow; and only from the glances he shot from his upturned eyes was
the fact made evident that a redoubtable nature, full of force and
malignity, had just brought its quota of evil into a room already
overflowing with dangerous and menacing passions.

As this old wretch, either from the feebleness of age or from the
infirmity I have mentioned, had great difficulty in walking, he had
brought with him a small boy, whose business it was to direct his
tottering steps as best he could.

But once settled in his chair, he drove away this boy with his pointed
oak stick, and with some harsh words about caring for the horse and
being on time in the morning, he sent him out into the mist. As this
little shivering and pathetic figure vanished, the old man drew, with
gasp and haw, a number of deep breaths which shook his bent back and did
their share, no doubt, in restoring his own disturbed circulation. Then,
with a sinister twist which brought his pointed chin and twinkling eyes
again into view, he remarked:

"Haven't ye a word for kinsman Luke, you two? It isn't often I get out
among ye. Shakee, nephew! Shakee, Hector! And now who's the boy in the
window? My eyes aren't what they used to be, but he don't seem to favor
the Westonhaughs over-much. One of Salmon's four grandchildren, think
'e? Or a shoot from Eustace's gnarled old trunk? His gals all married
Americans, and one of them, I've been told, was a yellow-haired giant
like this fellow."

As this description pointed directly toward me, I was about to venture a
response on my own account, when my attention, as well as theirs, was
freshly attracted by a loud "Whoa!" at the gate, followed by the hasty
but assured entrance of a dapper, wizen, but perfectly preserved little
old gentleman with a bag in his hand. Looking askance with eyes that
were like two beads, first at the two men who were now elbowing each
other for the best place before the fire, and then at the revolting
figure in the chair, he bestowed his greeting, which consisted of an
elaborate bow, not on them, but upon the picture hanging so
conspicuously on the open wall before him; and then, taking me within
the scope of his quick, circling glance, cried out with an assumption of
great cordiality:

"Good evening, gentlemen; good evening one, good evening all. Nothing
like being on the tick. I'm sorry the night has turned out so badly.
Some may find it too thick for travel. That would be bad, eh? very
bad--for _them_."

As none of the men he openly addressed saw fit to answer, save by the
hitch of a shoulder or a leer quickly suppressed, I kept silent also.
But this reticence, marked as it was, did not seem to offend the
new-comer. Shaking the wet from the umbrella he held, he stood the
dripping article up in a corner and then came and placed his feet on the
fender. To do this he had to crowd between the two men already occupying
the best part of the hearth. But he showed no concern at incommoding
them, and bore their cross looks and threatening gestures with
professional equanimity.

"You know me?" he now unexpectedly snapped, bestowing another look over
his shoulder at that oppressive figure in the chair. (Did I say that I
had risen when the latter sat?) "I'm no Westonhaugh, I; nor yet a
Witherspoon nor a Clapsaddle. I'm only Smead, the lawyer. Mr. Anthony
Westonhaugh's lawyer," he repeated, with another glance of recognition
in the direction of the picture. "I drew up his last will and testament,
and, until all of his wishes have been duly carried out, am entitled by
the terms of that will to be regarded both legally and socially as his
representative. This you all know, but it is my way to make everything
clear as I proceed. A lawyer's trick, no doubt. I do not pretend to be
entirely exempt from such."

A grumble from the large man, who seemed to have been disturbed in some
absorbing calculation he was carrying on, mingled with a few muttered
words of forced acknowledgment from the restless old sinner in the
chair, made it unnecessary for me to reply, even if the last comer had
given me the opportunity.

"It's getting late!" he cried, with an easy garrulity rather amusing,
under the circumstances. "Two more trains came in as I left the depot.
If old Phil was on hand with his wagon, several more members of this
interesting family may be here before the clock strikes; if not, the
assemblage is like to be small. Too small," I heard him grumble a minute
after, under his breath.

"I wish it were a matter of one," spoke up the big man, striking his
breast in a way to make it perfectly apparent whom he meant by that word
_one_. And having (if I may judge by the mingled laugh and growl of his
companions) thus shown his hand both figuratively and literally, he
relapsed into the calculation which seemed to absorb all of his
unoccupied moments.

"Generous, very!" commented the lawyer in a murmur which was more than
audible. "Pity that sentiments of such broad benevolence should go
unrewarded."

This, because at that very instant wheels were heard in front, also a
jangle of voices, in some controversy about fares, which promised
anything but a pleasing addition to the already none too desirable
company.

"I suppose that's sister Janet," snarled out the one addressed as
Hector. There was no love in his voice, despite the relationship hinted
at, and I awaited the entrance of this woman with some curiosity.

But her appearance, heralded by many a puff and pant which the damp air
exaggerated in a prodigious way, did not seem to warrant the interest I
had shown in it. As she stepped into the room, I saw only a big frowsy
woman, who had attempted to make a show with a new silk dress and a hat
in the latest fashion, but who had lamentably failed, owing to the
slouchiness of her figure and some misadventure by which her hat had
been set awry on her head and her usual complacency destroyed. Later, I
noted that her down-looking eyes had a false twinkle in them, and that,
commonplace as she looked, she was one to steer clear of in times of
necessity and distress.

She, too, evidently expected to find the door open and people assembled,
but she had not anticipated being confronted by the portrait on the
wall, and cringed in an unpleasant way as she stumbled by it into one of
the ill-lighted corners.

The old man, who had doubtless caught the rustle of her dress as she
passed him, emitted one short sentence.

"Almost late," said he.

Her answer was a sputter of words.

"It's the fault of that driver," she complained. "If he had taken one
drop more at the half-way house, I might really not have got here at
all. That would not have inconvenienced _you_. But oh! what a grudge I
would have owed that skinflint brother of ours"--here she shook her fist
at the picture--"for making our good luck depend upon our arrival within
two short strokes of the clock!"

"There are several to come yet," blandly observed the lawyer. But before
the words were well out of his mouth, we all became aware of a new
presence--a woman, whose somber grace and quiet bearing gave distinction
to her unobtrusive entrance, and caused a feeling of something like awe
to follow the first sight of her cold features and deep, heavily-fringed
eyes. But this soon passed in the more human sentiment awakened by the
soft pleading which infused her gaze with a touching femininity. She
wore a long loose garment which fell without a fold from chin to foot,
and in her arms she seemed to carry something.

Never before had I seen so beautiful a woman. As I was contemplating
her, with respect but yet with a masculine intentness I could not quite
suppress, two or three other persons came in. And now I began to notice
that the eyes of all these people turned mainly one way, and that was
toward the clock. Another small circumstance likewise drew my attention.
Whenever any one entered,--and there were one or two additional arrivals
during the five minutes preceding the striking of the hour,--a frown
settled for an instant on every brow, giving to each and all a similar
look, for the interpretation of which I lacked the key. Yet not on every
brow either. There was one which remained undisturbed and showed only a
grand patience.

As the hands of the big clock neared the point of eight, a furtive
smile appeared on more than one face; and when the hour rang out, a sigh
of satisfaction swept through the room, to which the little old lawyer
responded with a worldly-wise grunt, as he moved from his place and
proceeded to the door.

This he had scarcely shut when a chorus of voices rose from without.
Three or four lingerers had pushed their way as far as the gate, only to
see the door of the house shut in their faces.

"Too late!" growled old man Luke from between the locks of his long
beard.

"Too late!" shrieked the woman who had come so near being late herself.

"Too late!" smoothly acquiesced the lawyer, locking and bolting the door
with a deft and assured hand.

But the four or five persons who thus found themselves barred out did
not accept without a struggle the decision of the more fortunate ones
assembled within. More than one hand began pounding on the door, and we
could hear cries of, "The train was behind time!" "Your clock is fast!"
"You are cheating us; you want it all for yourselves!" "We will have the
law on you!" and other bitter adjurations unintelligible to me from my
ignorance of the circumstances which called them forth.

But the wary old lawyer simply shook his head and answered nothing;
whereat a murmur of gratification rose from within, and a howl of almost
frenzied dismay from without, which latter presently received point from
a startling vision which now appeared at the casement where the lights
burned. A man's face looked in, and behind it, that of a woman, so wild
and maddened by some sort of heart-break that I found my sympathies
aroused in spite of the glare of evil passions which made both of these
countenances something less than human.

But the lawyer met the stare of these four eyes with a quiet chuckle,
which found its echo in the ill-advised mirth of those about him; and
moving over to the window where they still peered in, he drew together
the two heavy shutters which hitherto had stood back against the wall,
and, fastening them with a bar, shut out the sight of this despair, if
he could not shut out the protests which ever and anon were shouted
through the key-hole.

Meanwhile, one form had sat through this whole incident without a
gesture; and on the quiet brow, from which I could not keep my eyes, no
shadows appeared save the perpetual one of native melancholy, which was
at once the source of its attraction and the secret of its power.

Into what sort of gathering had I stumbled? And why did I prefer to
await developments rather than ask the simplest question of any one
about me?

Meantime the lawyer had proceeded to make certain preparations. With the
help of one or two willing hands, he had drawn the great table into the
middle of the room and, having seen the candles restored to their
places, began to open his small bag and take from it a roll of paper and
several flat documents. Laying the latter in the center of the table
and slowly unrolling the former, he consulted, with his foxy eyes, the
faces surrounding him, and smiled with secret malevolence, as he noted
that every chair and every form were turned away from the picture before
which he had bent with such obvious courtesy, on entering. I alone stood
erect, and this possibly was why a gleam of curiosity was noticeable in
his glance, as he ended his scrutiny of my countenance and bent his gaze
again upon the paper he held.

"Heavens!" thought I. "What shall I answer this man if he asks me why I
continued to remain in a spot where I have so little business." The
impulse came to go. But such was the effect of this strange convocation
of persons, at night and in a mist which was itself a nightmare, that I
failed to take action and remained riveted to my place, while Mr. Smead
consulted his roll and finally asked in a business-like tone, quite
unlike his previous sarcastic speech, the names of those whom he had the
pleasure of seeing before him.

The old man in the chair spoke up first.

"Luke Westonhaugh," he announced.

"Very good!" responded the lawyer.

"Hector Westonhaugh," came from the thin man.

A nod and a look toward the next.

"John Westonhaugh."

"Nephew?" asked the lawyer.

"Yes."

"Go on, and be quick; supper will be ready at nine."

"Eunice Westonhaugh," spoke up a soft voice.

I felt my heart bound as if some inner echo responded to that name.

"Daughter of whom?"

"Hudson Westonhaugh," she gently faltered. "My father is dead--died last
night;--I am his only heir."

A grumble of dissatisfaction and a glint of unrelieved hate came from
the doubled-up figure, whose malevolence had so revolted me.

But the lawyer was not to be shaken.

"Very good! It is fortunate you trusted your feet rather than the
train. And now you! What is your name?"

He was looking, not at me as I had at first feared, but at the man next
to me, a slim but slippery youth, whose small red eyes made me shudder.

"William Witherspoon."

"Barbara's son?"

"Yes."

"Where are your brothers?"

"One of them, I think, is outside"--here he laughed;--"the other
is--_sick_."

The way he uttered this word made me set him down as one to be
especially wary of when he smiled. But then I had already passed
judgment on him at my first view.

"And you, madam?"--this to the large, dowdy woman with the uncertain
eye, a contrast to the young and melancholy Eunice.

"Janet Clapsaddle," she replied, waddling hungrily forward and getting
unpleasantly near the speaker, for he moved off as she approached, and
took his stand in the clear place at the head of the table.

"Very good, Mistress Clapsaddle. You were a Westonhaugh, I believe?"

"You _believe_, sneak-faced hypocrite that you are!" she blurted out. "I
don't understand your lawyer ways. I like plain speaking myself. Don't
you know me, and Luke and Hector, and--and most of us indeed, except
that puny, white-faced girl yonder, whom, having been brought up on the
other side of the Ridge, we have none of us seen since she was a
screaming baby in Hildegarde's arms. And the young gentleman over
there,"--here she indicated me--"who shows so little likeness to the
rest of the family. He will have to make it pretty plain who his father
was before we shall feel like acknowledging him, either as the son of
one of Eustace's girls, or a chip from brother Salmon's hard old block."

As this caused all eyes to turn upon me, even _hers_, I smiled as I
stepped forward. The lawyer did not return that smile.

"What is your name?" he asked shortly and sharply, as if he distrusted
me.

"Hugh Austin," was my quiet reply.

"There is no such name on the list," snapped old Smead, with an
authoritative gesture toward those who seemed anxious to enter a
protest.

"Probably not," I returned, "for I am neither a Witherspoon, a
Westonhaugh nor a Clapsaddle. I am merely a chance wayfarer passing
through the town on my way west. I thought this house was a tavern, or
at least a place I could lodge in. The man I met in the doorway told me
as much, and so I am here. If my company is not agreeable, or if you
wish this room to yourselves, let me go into the kitchen. I promise not
to meddle with the supper, hungry as I am. Or perhaps you wish me to
join the crowd outside; it seems to be increasing."

"No, no," came from all parts of the room. "Don't let the door be
opened. Nothing could keep Lemuel and his crowd out if they once got
foot over the threshold."

The lawyer rubbed his chin. He seemed to be in some sort of quandary.
First he scrutinized me from under his shaggy brows with a sharp gleam
of suspicion; then his features softened and, with a side glance at the
young woman who called herself Eunice, (perhaps, because she was worth
looking at, perhaps because she had partly risen at my words), he
slipped toward a door I had before observed in the wainscoting on the
left of the mantelpiece, and softly opened it upon what looked like a
narrow staircase.

"We can not let you go out," said he; "and we can not let you have a
finger in our viands before the hour comes for serving them; so if you
will be so good as to follow this staircase to the top, you will find it
ends in a room comfortable enough for the wayfarer you call yourself. In
that room you can rest till the way is clear for you to continue your
travels. Better, we can not do for you. This house is not a tavern, but
the somewhat valuable property of--" He turned with a bow and smile, as
every one there drew a deep breath; but no one ventured to end that
sentence.

I would have given all my future prospects (which, by the way, were not
very great) to remain in that room. The oddity of the situation; the
mystery of the occurrence; the suspense I saw in every face; the
eagerness of the cries I heard redoubled from time to time outside; the
malevolence but poorly disguised in the old lawyer's countenance; and,
above all, the presence of that noble-looking woman, which was the one
off-set to the general tone of villainy with which the room was charged,
filled me with curiosity, if I might call it by no other name, that made
my acquiescence in the demand thus made upon me positively heroic. But
there seemed no other course for me to follow, and with a last lingering
glance at the genial fire and a quick look about me, which happily
encountered hers, I stooped my head to suit the low and narrow doorway
opened for my accommodation, and instantly found myself in darkness. The
door had been immediately closed by the lawyer's impatient hand.




II

WITH MY EAR TO THE WAINSCOTING


No move more unwise could have been made by the old lawyer,--that is, if
his intention had been to rid himself of an unwelcome witness. For,
finding myself thrust thus suddenly from the scene, I naturally stood
still instead of mounting the stairs, and, by standing still, discovered
that though shut from sight I was not from sound. Distinctly through the
panel of the door, which was much thinner, no doubt, than the old fox
imagined, I heard one of the men present shout out:

"Well, that makes the number less by _one_!"

The murmur which followed this remark came plainly to my ears, and,
greatly rejoicing over what I considered my good luck, I settled myself
on the lowest step of the stairs in the hope of catching some word
which would reveal to me the mystery of this scene.

It was not long in coming. Old Smead had now his audience before him in
good shape, and his next words were of a character to make evident the
purpose of this meeting.

"Heirs of Anthony Westonhaugh, deceased," he began in a sing-song voice
strangely unmusical, "I congratulate you upon your good fortune at being
at this especial moment on the inner rather than outer side of your
amiable relative's front door. His will, which you have assembled to
hear read, is well known to you. By it his whole property--(not so large
as some of you might wish, but yet a goodly property for farmers like
yourselves)--is to be divided this night, share and share alike, among
such of his relatives as have found it convenient to be present here
between the strokes of half-past seven and eight. If some of our friends
have failed us through sloth, sickness or the misfortune of mistaking
the road, they have our sympathy, but they can not have _his dollars_."

"Can not have his dollars!" echoed a rasping voice which, from its
smothered sound, probably came from the bearded lips of the old
reprobate in the chair.

The lawyer waited for one or two other repetitions of this phrase (a
phrase which, for some unimaginable reason, seemed to give him an odd
sort of pleasure), then he went on with greater distinctness and a
certain sly emphasis, chilling in effect but very professional:

"Ladies and gentlemen: Shall I read this will?"

"No, no! The division! the division! Tell us what we are to have!" rose
in a shout about him.

There was a pause. I could imagine the sharp eyes of the lawyer
traveling from face to face as each thus gave voice to his cupidity, and
the thin curl of his lips as he remarked in a slow tantalizing way:

"There was more in the old man's clutches than you think."

A gasp of greed shook the partition against which my ear was pressed.
Some one must have drawn up against the wainscoting since my departure
from the room. I found myself wondering which of them it was. Meantime
old Smead was having his say, with the smoothness of a man who perfectly
understands what is required of him.

"Mr. Westonhaugh would not have put you to so much trouble or had you
wait so long if he had not expected to reward you amply. There are
shares in this bag which are worth thousands instead of hundreds. Now,
now! stop that! hands off! hands off! there are calculations to make
first. How many of you are there? Count up, some of you."

"Nine!" called out a voice with such rapacious eagerness that the word
was almost unintelligible.

"Nine." How slowly the old knave spoke! What pleasure he seemed to take
in the suspense he purposely made as exasperating as possible!

"Well, if each one gets his share, he may count himself richer by two
hundred thousand dollars than when he came in here to-night."

Two hundred thousand dollars! They had expected no more than thirty.
Surprise made them speechless,--that is, for a moment; then a
pandemonium of hurrahs, shrieks and loud-voiced enthusiasm made the room
ring, till wonder seized them again, and a sudden silence fell, through
which I caught a far-off wail of grief from the disappointed ones
without, which, heard in the dark and narrow place in which I was
confined, had a peculiarly weird and desolate effect.

Perhaps it likewise was heard by some of the fortunate ones within!
Perhaps one head, to mark which, in this moment of universal elation, I
would have given a year from my life, turned toward the dark without, in
recognition of the despair thus piteously voiced; but if so, no token of
the same came to me, and I could but hope that she had shown, by some
such movement, the natural sympathy of her sex.

Meanwhile the lawyer was addressing the company in his smoothest and
most sarcastic tones.

"Mr. Westonhaugh was a wise man, a very wise man," he droned. "He
foresaw what your pleasure would be, and left a letter for you. But
before I read it, before I invite you to the board he ordered to be
spread for you in honor of this happy occasion, there is one appeal he
bade me make to those I should find assembled here. As you know, he was
not personally acquainted with all the children and grandchildren of his
many brothers and sisters. Salmon's sons, for instance, were perfect
strangers to him, and all those boys and girls of the Evans' branch have
never been long enough this side of the mountains for him to know their
names, much less their temper or their lives. Yet his heirs--or such was
his wish, his great wish--must be honest men, righteous in their
dealings, and of stainless lives. If therefore, any one among you feels
that for reasons he need not state, he has no right to accept his share
of Anthony Westonhaugh's bounty, then that person is requested to
withdraw before this letter to his heirs is read."

Withdraw? Was the man a fool? _Withdraw?_--these cormorants! these
suckers of blood! these harpies and vultures! I laughed as I imagined
sneaking Hector, malicious Luke or brutal John responding to this naïve
appeal, and then found myself wondering why no echo of my mirth came
from the men themselves. They must have seen much more plainly than I
did the ludicrousness of their weak old kinsman's demand; yet Luke was
still; Hector was still; and even John, and the three or four others I
have mentioned gave forth no audible token of disdain or surprise. I was
asking myself what sentiment of awe or fear restrained these selfish
souls, when I became conscious of a movement within, which presently
resolved itself into a departing foot-step.

Some conscience there had been awakened. Some one was crossing the floor
toward the door. Who? I waited in anxious expectancy for the word which
was to enlighten me. Happily it came soon, and from the old lawyer's
lips.

"You do not feel yourself worthy?" he queried, in tones I had not heard
from him before. "Why? What have you done that you should forego an
inheritance to which these others feel themselves honestly entitled?"

The voice which answered gave both my mind and heart a shock. It was
_she_ who had risen at this call. _She_, the only true-faced person
there!

Anxiously I listened for her reply. Alas! it was one of action rather
than speech. As I afterward heard, she simply opened her long cloak and
showed a little infant slumbering in her arms.

"This is my reason," said she. "I have sinned in the eyes of the world,
therefore I can not take my share of Uncle Anthony's money. I did not
know he exacted an unblemished record from those he expected to enrich,
or I would not have come."

The sob which followed these last words showed at what a cost she thus
renounced a fortune of which she, of all present, perhaps, stood in the
greatest need; but there was no lingering in her step; and to me, who
understood her fault only through the faint sound of infantile wailing
which accompanied her departure, there was a nobility in her action
which raised her in an instant to an almost ideal height of unselfish
virtue.

Perhaps they felt this, too. Perhaps even these hardened men and the
more than hardened woman whose presence was in itself a blight,
recognized heroism when they saw it; for when the lawyer, with a certain
obvious reluctance, laid his hand on the bolts of the door with the
remark: "This is not my work, you know; I am but following out
instructions very minutely given me," the smothered growls and grunts
which rose in reply lacked the venom which had been infused into all
their previous comments.

"I think our friends out there are far enough withdrawn, by this time,
for us to hazard the opening of the door," the lawyer now remarked.
"Madam, I hope you will speedily find your way to some comfortable
shelter."

Then the door opened, and after a moment, closed again in a silence
which at least was respectful. Yet I warrant there was not a soul
remaining who had not already figured in his mind to what extent his own
fortune had been increased by the failure of one of their number to
inherit.

As for me, my whole interest in the affair was at an end, and I was only
anxious to find my way to where this desolate woman faced the mist with
her unfed baby in her arms.




III

A LIFE DRAMA


But to reach this wanderer, it was first necessary for me to escape from
the house. This proved simple enough. The up-stairs room toward which I
rushed had a window overlooking one of the many lean-tos already
mentioned. This window was fastened, but I had no difficulty in
unlocking it or in finding my way to the ground from the top of the
lean-to. But once again on terra-firma, I discovered that the mist was
now so thick that it had all the effect of a fog at sea. It was icy cold
as well, and clung about me so that I presently began to shudder most
violently, and, strong man though I was, wish myself back in the little
attic bedroom from which I had climbed in search of one in more unhappy
case than myself.

But these feelings did not cause me to return. If I found the night
cold, she must find it bitter. If desolation oppressed my naturally
hopeful spirit, must it not be more overwhelming yet to one whose
memories were sad and whose future was doubtful? And the child! What
infant could live in an air like this! Edging away from the house, I
called out her name, but no answer came back. The persons whom we had
heard flitting in restless longing about the house a few moments before
had left in rage and she, possibly, with them. Yet I could not imagine
her joining herself to people of their stamp. There had been a
solitariness in her aspect which seemed to forbid any such
companionship. Whatever her story, at least she had nothing in common
with the two ill-favored persons whose faces I had seen looking in at
the casement. No; I should find her alone, but where? Certainly the ring
of mist, surrounding me at that moment, offered me little prospect of
finding her anywhere, either easily or soon.

Again I raised my voice, and again I failed to meet with response.
Then, fearing to leave the house lest I should be quite lost amid the
fences and brush lying between it and the road, I began to feel my way
along the walls, calling softly now, instead of loudly, so anxious was I
not to miss any chance of carrying comfort, if not succor, to the woman
I was seeking. But the night gave back no sound, and when I came to the
open door of a shed, I welcomed the refuge it offered and stepped in. I
was, of course, confronted by darkness,--a different darkness from that
without, blanket-like and impenetrable. But when after a moment of
intense listening I heard a soft sound as of weariful breathing, I was
seized anew by hope, and, feeling in my pocket for my match-box, I made
a light and looked around.

My intuitions had not deceived me; she was there. Sitting on the floor
with her cheek pressed against the wall, she revealed to my eager
scrutiny only the outlines of her pure, pale profile; but in those
outlines and on those pure, pale features, I saw such an abandonment of
hope, mingled with such quiet endurance, that my whole soul melted
before it, and it was with difficulty I managed to say:

"Pardon! I do not wish to intrude; but I am shut out of the house also;
and the night is raw and cold. Can I do nothing for your comfort or
for--for the child's?"

She turned toward me and I saw a tremulous gleam of pleasure disturb the
somber stillness of her face; then the match went out in my hand, and we
were again in complete darkness. But the little wail, which at the same
instant rose from between her arms, filled up the pause, as her sweet
"Hush!" filled my heart.

"I am used to the cold," came in another moment from the place where she
crouched. "It is the child--she is hungry; and I--I walked
here--feeling, hoping that, as my father's heir, I might partake in some
slight measure of Uncle Anthony's money. Though my father cast me out
before he died, and I have neither home nor money, I do not complain. I
forfeited all when--" another wail, another gentle "hush!"--then
silence.

I lit another match. "Look in my face!" I prayed. "I am a stranger, and
you would be showing only proper prudence not to trust me. But I
overheard your words when you withdrew from the room where your fortune
lay; and I honor you, madam. If food can be got for your little one, I
will get it."

I caught sight of the convulsive clasp with which she drew to her breast
the tiny bundle she held, then darkness fell again.

"A little bread," she entreated; "a little milk--ah, baby, baby, hush!"

"But where can I get it?" I cried. "They are at table inside. I hear
them shouting over their good cheer. But perhaps there are neighbors
near by; do you know?"

"There are no neighbors," she replied. "What is got must be got here. I
know a way to the kitchen; I used to visit Uncle Anthony when a little
child; if you have the courage--"

I laughed. This token of confidence seemed to reassure her. I heard her
move; possibly she stood up.

"In the further corner of this shed," said she, "there used to be a
trap, connecting this floor with an underground passage-way. A ladder
stood against the trap, and the small cellar at the foot communicated by
means of an iron-bound door with the large one under the house. Eighteen
years ago the wood of that door was old; now it should be rotten. If you
have the strength--"

"I will make the effort and see," said I. "But when I am in the cellar,
what then?"

"Follow the wall to the right; you will come to a stone staircase. As
this staircase has no railing, be careful in ascending it. At the top
you will find a door; it leads into a pantry adjoining the kitchen. Some
one will be in that pantry. Some one will give you a bite for the child;
and when she is quieted and the sun has risen, I will go away. It is my
duty to do so. My uncle was always upright, if cold. He was perfectly
justified in exacting rectitude in his heirs."

I might have rejoined by asking if she detected rectitude in the faces
of the greedy throng she had left behind her with the guardian of this
estate; but I did not. I was too intent upon following out her
directions. Lighting another match, I sought the trap. Alas! it was
burdened with a pile of sticks and rubbish which looked as if they had
lain there for years. As these had to be removed in total darkness, it
took me some time. But once this debris had been scattered and thrown
aside, I had no difficulty in finding the trap and, as the ladder was
still there, I was soon on the cellar-bottom. When, by the reassuring
shout I gave, she knew that I had advanced thus far, she spoke, and her
voice had a soft and thrilling sound.

"Do not forget your own needs," she said. "We two are not so hungry that
we can not wait for you to take a mouthful. I will sing to the baby.
Good-by."

These ten minutes we had spent together had made us friends. The warmth,
the strength which this discovery brought, gave to my arm a force that
made that old oak door go down before me in three vigorous pushes.

Had the eight fortunate ones above not been indulging in a noisy
celebration of their good luck, they must have heard the clatter of this
door when it fell. But good eating, good drink, and the prospect of an
immediate fortune far beyond their wildest dreams, made all ears deaf;
and no pause occurred in the shouts of laughter and the hum of
good-fellowship which sifted down between the beams supporting the house
above my head. Consequently little or no courage was required for the
completion of my adventure; and before long I came upon the staircase
and the door leading from its top into the pantry. The next minute I was
in front of that door.

But here a surprise awaited me. The noise which had hitherto been loud
now became deafening, and I realized that, contrary to Eunice
Westonhaugh's expectation, the supper had been spread in the kitchen and
that I was likely to run amuck of the whole despicable crowd in any
effort I might make to get a bite for the famished baby.

I therefore naturally hesitated to push open the door, fearing to draw
attention to myself; and when I did succeed in lifting the latch and
making a small crack, I was so astonished by the sudden lull in the
general babble, that I drew hastily back and was for descending the
stairs in sudden retreat.

But I was prevented from carrying out this cowardly impulse, by catching
the sound of the lawyer's voice, addressing the assembled guests.

"You have eaten and you have drunk," he was saying; "you are therefore
ready for the final toast. Brothers, nephews--heirs all of Anthony
Westonhaugh, I rise to propose the name of your generous benefactor,
who, if spirits walk this earth, must certainly be with us to-night."

A grumble from more than one throat and an uneasy hitch from such
shoulders as I could see through my narrow vantage-hole testified to the
rather doubtful pleasure with which this suggestion was received. But
the lawyer's tones lost none of their animation as he went on to say:

"The bottle, from which your glasses are to be replenished for this
final draft, he has himself provided. So anxious was he that it should
be of the very best and altogether worthy of the occasion it is to
celebrate, that he gave into my charge, almost with his dying breath,
this key, telling me that it would unlock a cupboard here in which he
had placed a bottle of wine of the very rarest vintage. This is the key,
and yonder, if I do not mistake, is the cupboard."

They had already quaffed a dozen toasts. Perhaps this was why they
accepted this proposition in a sort of panting silence, which remained
unbroken while the lawyer crossed the floor, unlocked the cupboard and
brought out before them a bottle which he held up before their eyes with
a simulated glee almost saturnine.

"Isn't that a bottle to make your eyes dance? The very cobwebs on it are
eloquent. And see! look at this label. Tokay, friends, real Tokay! How
many of you ever had the opportunity of drinking real Tokay before?"

A long deep sigh from a half-dozen throats in which some strong but
hitherto repressed passion, totally incomprehensible to me, found sudden
vent, rose in one simultaneous sound from about that table, and I heard
one jocular voice sing out:

"Pass it around, Smead. I'll drink to Uncle Anthony out of that bottle
till there isn't a drop left to tell what was in it!"

But the lawyer was in no hurry.

"You have forgotten the letter, for the hearing of which you are called
together. Mr. Anthony Westonhaugh left behind him a letter. The time is
now come for reading it."

As I heard these words and realized that the final toast was to be
delayed and that some few moments must yet elapse before the room would
be cleared and an opportunity given me for obtaining what I needed for
the famishing mother and child, I felt such impatience with the fact
and so much anxiety as to the condition of those I had left behind me
that I questioned whether it would not be better for me to return to
them empty-handed than to leave them so long without the comfort of my
presence, when the fascination of the scene again seized me and I found
myself lingering to mark its conclusion with an avidity which can only
be explained by my sudden and intense consciousness of what it all might
mean to her whose witness I had thus inadvertently become.

The careful lawyer began by quoting the injunction with which this
letter had been put in his hands. "'When they are warm with food and
wine, but not too warm,'--thus his adjuration ran, 'then let them hear
my first and only words to them.' I know you are eager for these words.
Folk so honest, so convinced of their own purity and uprightness that
they can stand unmoved while the youngest and most helpless among them
withdraws her claim to wealth and independence rather than share an
unmerited bounty, such folk, I say, must be eager, must be anxious to
know why they have been made the legatees of so great a fortune, under
the easy conditions and amid such slight restrictions as have been
imposed upon them by their munificent kinsman."

"I had rather go on drinking toasts," babbled one thick voice.

"I had rather finish my figuring," growled another, in whose grating
tones no echo remained of Hector Westonhaugh's formerly honeyed voice.
"I am making out a list of stock--"

"Blast your stock! that is, if you mean horses and cows!" screamed a
third. "I'm going in for city life. With less money than we have got,
Andreas Amsberger got to be alderman--"

"Alderman!" sneered the whole pack; and the tumult became general. "If
more of us had been sick," called out one; "or if Uncle Luke, say, had
tripped into the ditch instead of on the edge of it, the fellows who
came safe through might have had anything they wanted, even to the
governorship of the state or--or--"

"Silence!" came in commanding tones from the lawyer, who had begun to
let his disgust appear, perhaps because he held under his thumb the
bottle upon which all eyes were now lovingly centered; so lovingly,
indeed, that I ventured to increase, in the smallest perceptible degree,
the crack by means of which I was myself an interested, if unseen,
participator in this scene.

A sight of Smead, and a partial glimpse of old Luke's covetous profile,
rewarded this small act of daring on my part. The lawyer was standing;
all the rest were sitting. Perhaps he alone retained sufficient
steadiness to stand; for I observed by the control he exercised over
this herd of self-seekers, that he alone had not touched the cup which
had so freely gone about among the others. The woman was hidden from me,
but the change in her voice, when by any chance I heard it, convinced me
that she had not disdained the toasts drunk by her brothers and
nephews.

"Silence!" the lawyer reiterated, "or I will smash this bottle on the
hearth." He raised it in one threatening hand and every man there seemed
to tremble, while old Luke put out his long fingers with an entreaty
that ill became them. "You want to hear the letter?" old Smead called
out. "I thought so."

Putting the bottle down again, but still keeping one hand upon it, he
drew a folded paper from his breast. "This," said he, "contains the
final injunctions of Anthony Westonhaugh. You will listen, all of you;
listen till I am done; or I will not only smash this bottle before your
eyes, but I will keep for ever buried in my breast the whereabouts of
certain drafts and bonds in which, as his heirs, you possess the
greatest interest. Nobody but myself knows where these papers can be
found."

Whether this was so, or whether the threat was an empty one thrown out
by this subtile old schemer for the purpose of safeguarding his life
from their possible hate and impatience, it answered his end with these
semi-intoxicated men, and secured him the silence he demanded. Breaking
open the seal of the envelope he held, he showed them the folded sheet
which it contained, with the remark:

"I have had nothing to do with the writing of this letter. It is in Mr.
Westonhaugh's own hand, and he was not even so good as to communicate to
me the nature of its contents. I was bidden to read it to such as should
be here assembled under the provisos mentioned in his will; and as you
are now in a condition to listen, I will proceed with my task as
required."

This was my time for leaving, but a certain brooding terror, latent in
the air, held me chained to the spot, listening with my ears, but
receiving the full sense of what was read from the expression of old
Luke's face, which was probably more plainly visible to me than to those
who sat beside him. For, being bent almost into a bow, as I have said,
his forehead came within an inch of touching his plate, and one had to
look under his arms, as I did, to catch the workings of his evil mouth,
as old Smead gave forth, in his professional sing-song, the following
words from his departed client:

"Brothers, nephews and heirs! Though the earth has lain upon my breast a
month, I am with you here to-night."

A snort from old Luke's snarling lips; and a stir--not a comfortable
one--in the jostling crowd, whose shaking arms and clawing hands I could
see projecting here and there over the board.

"My presence at this feast--a presence which, if unseen, can not be
unfelt, may bring you more pain than pleasure. But if so, it matters
little. You are my natural heirs and I have left you my money; why, when
so little love has characterized our intercourse, must be evident to
such of my brothers as can recall their youth and the promise our father
exacted from us on the day we set foot in this new land.

"There were nine of us in those days: Luke, Salmon, Barbara, Hector,
Eustace, Janet, Hudson, William and myself; and all save one were
promising, in appearance at least. But our father knew his offspring,
and when we stood, an alien and miserable band in front of Castle
Garden, at the foot of the great city whose immensity struck terror to
our hearts, he drew all our hands together and made us swear by the soul
of our mother, whose body we had left in the sea, that we would keep the
bond of brotherhood intact, and share with mutual confidence whatever
good fortune this untried country might hold in store for us. You were
strong and your voices rang out loudly. Mine was faint, for I was
weak--so weak that my hand had to be held in place by my sister Barbara.
But my oath has never lost its hold upon my heart, while yours--answer
how you have kept it, Luke; or you, Janet; or you Hector, of the smooth
tongue and vicious heart; or you, or you, who, from one stock, recognize
but one law: the law of cold-blooded selfishness which seeks its own in
face of all oaths and at the cost of another man's heart-break.

"This I say to such as know my story. But lest there be one amongst you
who has not heard from parent or uncle the true tale of him who has
brought you all under one roof to-night, I will repeat it here in words,
that no man may fail to understand why I remembered my oath through life
and beyond death, yet stand above you an accusing spirit while you quaff
me toasts and count the gains my justice divides among you.

"I, as you all remember, was the weak one--the ne'er-do-weel. When all
of you were grown and had homes of your own, I still remained under the
family roof-tree, fed by our father's bounty and looking to our father's
justice for that share of his savings which he had promised to all
alike. When he died it came to me as it came to you; but I had married
before that day; married, not, like the rest of you, for what a wife
could bring, but for sentiment and true passion. This, in my case, meant
a loving wife, but a frail one; and while we lived a little while on the
patrimony left us, it was far too small to support us long without some
aid from our own hands; and our hands were feeble and could not work.
And so we fell into debt for rent and, ere long, for the commonest
necessities of life. In vain I struggled to redeem myself; the time of
my prosperity had not come and I only sank deeper and deeper into debt
and finally into indigence. A baby came. Our landlord was kind and
allowed us to stay for two weeks under the roof for whose protection we
could not pay; but at the end of that time we were asked to leave; and I
found myself on the road with a dying wife, a wailing infant, no money
in my purse and no power in my arm to earn any. Then when heart and hope
were both failing, I recalled that ancient oath and the six prosperous
homes scattered up and down the very highway on which I stood. I could
not leave my wife; the fever was in her veins and she could not bear me
out of her sight; so I put her on a horse, which a kind old neighbor was
willing to lend me, and holding her up with one hand, guided the horse
with the other, to the home of my brother Luke. He was a straight
enough fellow in those days--physically, I mean--and he looked able and
strong that morning, as he stood in the open doorway of his house,
gazing down at us as we halted before him in the roadway. But his temper
had grown greedy with the accumulation of a few dollars, and he shook
his head as he closed his door, saying he remembered no oath and that
spenders must expect to be beggars.

"Struck to the heart by a rebuff which meant prolongation of the
suffering I saw in my dear wife's eyes, I stretched up and kissed her
where she sat half-fainting on the horse; then I moved on. I came to
Barbara's home next. She had been a little mother to me once; that is,
she had fed and dressed me, and doled out blows and caresses, and taught
me to read and sing. But Barbara in her father's home and without
fortune was not the Barbara I saw on the threshold of the little cottage
she called her own. She heard my story; looked in the face of my wife
and turned her back. She had no place for idle folk in her little house;
if we would work she would feed us; but we must earn our supper or go
hungry to bed. I felt the trembling of my wife's frame where she leaned
against my arm, and kissing her again, led her on to Salmon's. Luke,
Hector, Janet, have you heard him tell of that vision at his gateway,
twenty-five years ago? He is not amongst you. For twelve years he has
lain beside our father in the churchyard, but his sons may be here, for
they were ever alert when gold was in sight or a full glass to be
drained. Ask _them_, ask John, whom I saw skulking behind his cousins at
the garden fence that day, what it was they saw as I drew rein under the
great tree which shadowed their father's doorstep.

"The sunshine had been pitiless that morning, and the head, for whose
rest in some loving shelter I would have bartered soul and body, had
fallen sidewise till it lay on my arm. Pressed to her breast was our
infant, whose little wail struck in pitifully as Salmon called out:
'What's to do here to-day!' Do you remember it, lads? or how you all
laughed, little and great, when I asked for a few weeks' stay under my
brother's roof till we could all get well and go about our tasks again?
_I_ remember. I, who am writing these words from the very mouth of the
tomb, _I_ remember; but I did not curse you. I only rode on to the next.
The way ran uphill now; and the sun which, since our last stop, had been
under a cloud, came out and blistered my wife's cheeks, already burning
red with fever. But I pressed my lips upon them, and led her on. With
each rebuff I gave her a kiss; and her smile, as her head pressed harder
and harder upon my arm now exerting all its strength to support her,
grew almost divine. But it vanished at my nephew Lemuel's.

"He was shearing sheep, and could give no time to company; and when,
late in the day, I drew rein at Janet's, and she said she was going to
have a dance and could not look after sick folk, the pallid lips failed
to return my despairing embrace; and in the terror which this brought me
I went down, in the gathering twilight, into the deep valley where
William raised his sheep and reckoned, day by day, the increase among
his pigs. Oh, the chill of that descent! Oh, the gloom of the gathering
shadows! As we neared the bottom and I heard a far-off voice shout out a
hoarse command, some instinct made me reach up for the last time and
bestow that faithful kiss, which was at once her consolation and my
prayer. My lips were cold with the terror of my soul, but they were not
so cold as the cheek they touched, and, shrieking in my misery and need,
I fell before William where he halted by the horse-trough and--He was
always a hard man, was William, and it was a shock to him, no doubt, to
see us standing in our anguish and necessity before him; but he raised
the whip in his hand and, when it fell, my arm fell with it and she
slipped from my grasp to the ground, and lay in a heap in the roadway.

"He was ashamed next minute and pointed to the house near-by. But I did
not carry her in, and she died in the roadway. Do you remember it,
Luke? Do you remember it, Lemuel?

"But it is not of this I complain at this hour, nor is it for this I ask
you to drink the toast I have prepared for you."

The looks, the writhings of old Luke and such others as I could now see
through the widening crack my hands unconsciously made in the doorway,
told me that the rack was at work in this room so lately given up to
revelry. Yet the mutterings, which from time to time came to my ears
from one sullen lip or another, did not rise into frightened imprecation
or even into any assertion of sorrow or contrition. It seemed as if some
suspense, common to all, held them speechless if not dumbly
apprehensive; and while the lawyer said nothing in recognition of this,
he could not have been quite blind to it, for he bestowed one curious
glance around the table before he proceeded with old Anthony's words.

Those words had now become short, sharp, and accusatory.

"My child lived; and what remained to me of human passion and longing
centered in his frail existence. I managed to earn enough for his eating
and housing, and in time I was almost happy again. This was while our
existence was a struggle; but when, with the discovery of latent powers
in my own mind, I began to find my place in the world and to earn money,
then your sudden interest in my boy taught me a new lesson in human
selfishness; but not, as yet, new fears. My nature was not one to grasp
ideas of evil, and the remembrance of that oath still remained to make
me lenient toward you.

"I let him see you; not much, not often, but yet often enough for him to
realize that he had uncles and cousins, or, if you like it better,
kindred. And how did you repay this confidence on my part? What hand had
ye in the removal of this small barrier to the fortune my own poor
health warranted you in looking upon, even in those early days, as your
own? To others' eyes it may appear, none; to mine, ye are one and all
his murderers, as certainly as all of you were the murderers of the
good physician hastening to his aid. For his illness was not a mortal
one. He would have been saved if the doctor had reached him; but a
precipice swallowed that good Samaritan, and only I, of all who looked
upon the footprints which harrowed up the road at this dangerous point,
knew whose shoes would fit those marks. God's providence, it was called,
and I let it pass for such; but it was a providence which cost me my boy
and made _you_ my heirs."

Silence as sullen in character as the men who found themselves thus
openly impeached had, for some minutes now, replaced the muttered
complaints which had accompanied the first portion of this denunciatory
letter. As the lawyer stopped to cast them another of those strange
looks, a gleam from old Luke's sidewise eyes startled the man next him,
who, shrugging a shoulder, passed the underhanded look on, till it had
circled the board and stopped with the man sitting opposite the crooked
sinner who had started it.

I began to have a wholesome dread of them all and was astonished to see
the lawyer drop his hand from the bottle, which to some degree offered
itself as a possible weapon. But he knew his audience better than I did.
Though the bottle was now free for any man's taking, not a hand trembled
toward it, nor was a single glass held out.

The lawyer, with an evil smile, went on with his relentless client's
story.

"Ye had killed my wife; ye had killed my son; but this was not enough.
Being lonesome in my great house, which was as much too large for me as
my fortune was, I had taken a child to replace the boy I had lost.
Remembering the cold blood running in the veins of those nearest me, I
chose a boy from alien stock and, for a while, knew contentment again.
But, as he developed and my affections strengthened, the possibility of
all my money going his way roused my brothers and sisters from the
complacency they had enjoyed since their road to fortune had been
secured by my son's death, and one day--can you recall it, Hudson? can
you recall it, Lemuel?--the boy was brought in from the mill and laid at
my feet, dead! He had stumbled amongst the great belts, but whose was
the voice which had startled him with a sudden 'Halloo!' Can you say,
Luke? Can you say, John? I can say in whose ear it was whispered that
three, if not more of you, were seen moving among the machinery that
fatal morning.

"Again, God's providence was said to have visited my house; and again
_ye_ were my heirs."

"Stop there!" broke in the harsh voice of Luke, who was gradually
growing livid under his long gray locks.

"Lies! lies!" shrieked Hector, gathering courage from his brother.

"Cut it all and give us the drink!" snarled one of the younger men, who
was less under the effect of liquor than the rest.

But a trembling voice muttered "Hush!" and the lawyer, whose eye had
grown steely under these comments, took advantage of the sudden silence
which had followed this last objurgation and went steadily on.

"Some men would have made a will and denounced you. I made a will, but
did not denounce you. _I_ am no breaker of oaths. More than this, I
learned a new trick. I, who hated all subtlety and looked upon craft as
the favorite weapon of the devil, learned to smile with my lips while my
heart was burning with hatred. Perhaps this was why you all began to
smile too, and joke me about certain losses I had sustained, by which
you meant the gains which had come to me. That these gains were many
times greater than you realized added to the sting of this good
fellowship, but I held my peace; and you began to have confidence in a
good-nature which nothing could shake. You even gave me a supper."

_A supper!_

What was there in these words to cause every man there to stop in
whatever movement he was making and stare, with wide-open eyes, intently
at the reader. He had spoken quietly; he had not even looked up, but
the silence which, for some minutes back, had begun to reign over that
tumultuous gathering, now became breathless, and the seams in Hector's
cheeks deepened to a bluish criss-cross.

"_You remember that supper?_"

As the words rang out again, I threw wide the door; I might have stalked
openly into their circle; not a man there would have noticed me.

"It was a memorable occasion," the lawyer read on with stoical
impassiveness. "There was not a brother lacking. Luke and Hudson and
William and Hector and Eustace's boys, as well as Eustace himself; Janet
too, and Salmon's Lemuel, and Barbara's son, who, even if his mother had
gone the way of all flesh, had so trained her black brood in the love of
the things of this world that I scarcely missed her when I looked about
among you all for the eight sturdy brothers and sisters who had joined
in one clasp and one oath, under the eye of the true-hearted immigrant,
our father. What I did miss was one true eye lifted to my glance; but I
did not show that I missed it; and so our peace was made and we
separated, you to wait for your inheritance, and I for the death which
was to secure it to you. For, when the cup passed round that night, you
each dropped into it a tear of repentance, and tears make bitter
drinking. I sickened as I quaffed and was never myself again, as you
know. Do you understand me, you cruel, crafty ones?"

Did they not! Heads quaking, throats gasping, teeth chattering--no
longer sitting--all risen, all looking with wild eyes for the door--was
it not apparent that they understood and only waited for one more word
to break away and flee the accursed house?

But that word lingered. Old Smead had now grown pale himself and read
with difficulty the lines which were to end this frightful scene. As I
saw the red gleam of terror shine out from his small eyes, I wondered if
he had been but the blind tool of his implacable client and was as
ignorant as those before him of what was to follow this heavy
arraignment. The dread with which he finally proceeded was too marked
for me to doubt the truth of this surmise. This is what he found himself
forced to read:

"There was a bottle reserved for me. It had a green label on it,--"

A shriek from every one there and a hurried look up and down at the
bottles standing on the table.

"A green label," the lawyer repeated, "and it made a goodly appearance
as it was set down before me. But you had no liking for wine with a
green label on the bottle. One by one you refused it, and when I rose to
quaff my final glass alone, every eye before me fell and did not lift
again until the glass was drained. I did not notice this then, but I see
it all now, just as I hear again the excuses you gave for not filling
your glasses as the bottle went round. One had drunk enough; one
suffered from qualms brought on by an unaccustomed indulgence in
oysters; one felt that wine good enough for me was too good for him,
and so on and so on. Not one to show frank eyes and drink with me as I
was ready to drink with him! Why? Because one and all of you knew what
was in that cup, and would not risk an inheritance so nearly within your
grasp."

"Lies! lies!" again shrieked the raucous voice of Luke, smothered by
terror; while oaths, shouts, imprecations, rang out in horrid tumult
from one end of the table to the other, till the lawyer's face, over
which a startling change was rapidly passing, drew the whole crowd
forward again in awful fascination, till they clung, speechless, arm in
arm, shoulder propping shoulder, while he gasped out in dismay equal to
their own, these last fatal words:

"That was at your board, my brothers; now you are at mine. You have
eaten my viands, drunk of my cup; and now, through the mouth of the one
man who has been true to me because therein lies his advantage, I offer
you a final glass. Will you drink it? I drank yours. By that old-time
oath which binds us to share each other's fortune, I ask you to share
this cup with me. _You will not?_"

"No, no, no!" shouted one after another.

"Then," the inexorable voice went on, a voice which to these miserable
souls was no longer that of the lawyer, but an issue from the grave they
had themselves dug for Anthony Westonhaugh, "know that your abstinence
comes too late; that you have already drunk the toast destined to end
your lives. The bottle which you must have missed from that board of
yours has been offered you again. A label is easily changed and--Luke,
John, Hector, I know you all so well--that bottle has been greedily
emptied by you; and while I, who sipped sparingly, lived three weeks,
you, who have drunk deep, _have not three hours before you, possibly not
three minutes_."

O, the wail of those lost souls as this last sentence issued in a final
pant of horror from the lawyer's quaking lips! Shrieks--howls--prayers
for mercy--groans to make the hair rise--and curses, at sound of which
I shut my ears in horror, only to open them again in dread as, with one
simultaneous impulse, they flung themselves upon the lawyer who,
foreseeing this rush, had backed up against the wall.

He tried to stem the tide.

"I knew nothing of the poisoning," he protested. "That was not my reason
for declining the drink. I wished to preserve my senses--to carry out my
client's wishes. As God lives, I did not know he meant to carry his
revenge so far. Mercy! Mer--"

But the hands which clutched him were the hands of murderers, and the
lawyer's puny figure could not stand up against the avalanche of human
terror, relentless fury and mad vengeance which now rolled in upon it.
As I bounded to his relief he turned his ghastly face upon me. But the
way between us was blocked, and I was preparing myself to see him sink
before my eyes, when an unearthly shriek rose from behind us, and every
living soul in that mass of struggling humanity paused, set and
staring, with stiffened limbs and eyes fixed, not on him, not on me, but
on one of their own number, the only woman amongst them, Janet
Clapsaddle, who, with clutching hands clawing her breast, was reeling in
solitary agony in her place beside the board. As they looked she fell,
and lay with upturned face and staring eyes, in whose glassy depths the
ill-fated ones who watched her could see mirrored their own impending
doom.

It was an awful moment. A groan, in which was concentrated the despair
of seven miserable souls, rose from that petrified band; then, man by
man, they separated and fell back, showing on each weak or wicked face
the particular passion which had driven them into crime and made them
the victims of this wholesale revenge. There had been some sort of bond
between them till the vision of death rose before each shrinking soul.
Shoulder to shoulder in crime, they fell apart as their doom approached;
and rushing, shrieking, each man for himself, they one and all sought
to escape by doors, windows or any outlet which promised release from
this fatal spot. One rushed by me--I do not know which one--and I felt
as if a flame from hell had licked me, his breath was so hot and the
moans he uttered so like the curses we imagine to blister the lips of
the lost. None of them saw me; they did not even detect the sliding form
of the lawyer crawling away before them to some place of egress of which
they had no knowledge; and, convinced that in this scene of death I
could play no part worthy of her who awaited me, I too rushed away and,
groping my way back through the cellar, sought the side of her who still
crouched in patient waiting against the dismal wall.




IV

THE FINAL SHOCK


Her baby had fallen asleep. I knew this by the faint, low sweetness of
her croon; and, shuddering with the horrors I had witnessed, horrors
which acquired a double force from the contrast presented by the peace
of this quiet spot and the hallowing influence of the sleeping
infant,--I threw myself down in the darkness at her feet, gasping out:

"Oh, thank God and your uncle's seeming harshness, that you have escaped
the doom which has overtaken those others! You and your babe are still
alive; while they--"

"What of them? What has happened to them? You are breathless, trembling;
you have brought no bread--"

"No, no. Food in this house means death. Your relatives gave food and
wine to your uncle at a supper; he, though now in his grave, has
returned the same to them. There was a bottle--"

I stopped, appalled. A shriek, muffled by distance but quivering with
the same note of death I had heard before, had gone up again from the
other side of the wall against which we were leaning.

"Oh!" she gasped; "and my father was at that supper! my father, who died
last night cursing the day he was born! We are an accursed race. I have
known it all my life; perhaps that was why I mistook passion for love;
and my baby--O God, have mercy! God have mercy!"

The plaintiveness of that cry, the awesomeness of what I had seen--of
what was going on at that moment almost within the reach of our
arms--the darkness, the desolation of our two souls, affected me as I
had never been affected in my whole life before. In the concentrated
experience of the last two hours I seemed to live years under this
woman's eyes; to know her as I did my own heart; to love her as I did my
own soul. No growth of feeling ever brought the ecstasy of that
moment's inspiration. With no sense of doing anything strange, with no
fear of being misunderstood, I reached out my hand and, touching hers
where it lay clasped about her infant, I said:

"We are two poor wayfarers. A rough road loses half its difficulties
when trodden by two. Shall we, then, fare on together--we and the little
child?"

She gave a sob; there was sorrow, longing, grief, hope, in its thrilling
low sound. As I recognized the latter emotion I drew her to my breast.
The child did not separate us.

"We shall be happy," I murmured, and her sigh seemed to answer a
delicious "Yes," when suddenly there came a shock to the partition
against which we leaned and, starting from my clasp, she cried:

"Our duty is in there. Shall we think of ourselves or even of each other
while these men, all relatives of mine, are dying on the other side of
this wall?"

Seizing my hand, she dragged me to the trap; but here I took the lead,
and helped her down the ladder. When I had her safely on the floor at
the foot, she passed in front of me again; but once up the steps and in
front of the kitchen door, I thrust her behind me, for one glance into
the room beyond had convinced me it was no place for her.

But she would not be held back. She crowded forward beside me, and
together we looked upon the wreck within. It was a never-to-be-forgotten
scene. The demon that was in those men had driven them to demolish
furniture, dishes, everything. In one heap lay what, an hour before, had
been an inviting board surrounded by rollicking and greedy guests. But
it was not upon this overthrow we stopped to look. It was upon something
that mingled with it, dominated it and made of this chaos only a setting
to awful death. Janet's face, in all its natural hideousness and
depravity, looked up from the floor beside this heap; and farther on,
the twisted figure of him they called Hector, with something more than
the seams of greedy longing round his wide, staring eyes and icy
temples. Two in this room! and on the threshold of the one beyond a
moaning third, who sank into eternal silence as we approached; and
before the fireplace in the great room, a horrible crescent that had
once been aged Luke, upon whom we had no sooner turned our backs than we
caught glimpses here and there of other prostrate forms which moved once
under our eyes and then moved no more.

One only still stood upright, and he was the man whose obtrusive figure
and sordid expression had so revolted me in the beginning. There was no
color now in his flabby and heavily fallen cheeks. The eyes, in whose
false sheen I had seen so much of evil, were glazed now, and his big and
burly frame shook the door it pressed against. He was staring at a small
slip of paper he held, and, from his anxious looks, appeared to miss
something which neither of us had power to supply. It was a spectacle to
make devils rejoice, and mortals fly aghast. But Eunice had a spirit
like an angel and drawing near him, she said:

"Is there anything I can do for you, Cousin John?"

He started, looked at her with the same blank gaze he had hitherto cast
at the wall; then some words formed on his working lips and we heard:

"I can not reckon; I was never good at figures; but if Luke is gone, and
William, and Hector, and Barbara's boy, and Janet,--_how much does that
leave for me?_"

He was answered almost the moment he spoke; but it was by other tongues
and in another world than this. As his body fell forward, I tore open
the door before which he had been standing, and, lifting the almost
fainting Eunice in my arms, I carried her out into the night. As I did
so, I caught a final glimpse of the pictured face I had found it so hard
to understand a couple of hours before. I understood it now.

A surprise awaited us as we turned toward the gate. The mist had lifted
and a keen but not unpleasant wind was driving from the north. Borne on
it, we heard voices. The village had emptied itself, probably at the
alarm given by the lawyer, and it was these good men and women whose
approach we heard. As we had nothing to fear from them, we went forward
to meet them. As we did so, three crouching figures rose from some
bushes we passed and ran scurrying before us through the gateway. They
were the late comers who had shown such despair at being shut out from
this fatal house, and who probably did not yet know the doom they had
escaped.

       *     *     *     *     *

There were lanterns in the hands of some of the men who now approached.
As we stopped before them, these lanterns were held up, and by the light
they gave we saw, first, the lawyer's frightened face, then the visages
of two men who seemed to be persons of some authority.

"What news?" faltered the lawyer, seeing by our faces that we knew the
worst.

"Bad," I returned; "the poison had lost none of its virulence by being
mixed so long with the wine."

"How many?" asked the man on his right anxiously.

"Eight," was my solemn reply.

"There were but eight," faltered the lawyer; "that means, then, all?"

"All," I repeated.

A murmur of horror rose, swelled, then died out in tumult as the crowd
swept on past us.

For a moment we stood watching these people; saw them pause before the
door we had left open behind us, then rush in, leaving a wail of terror
on the shuddering midnight air. When all was quiet again, Eunice laid
her hand upon my arm.

"Where shall we go?" she asked despairingly. "I do not know a house that
will open to me."

The answer to her question came from other lips than mine.

"I do not know one that will _not_," spoke up a voice behind our backs.
"Your withdrawal from the circle of heirs did not take from you your
rightful claim to an inheritance which, according to your uncle's will,
could be forfeited only by a failure to arrive at the place of
distribution within the hour set by the testator. As I see the matter
now, this appeal to the honesty of the persons so collected was a test
by which my unhappy client strove to save from the general fate such
members of his miserable family as fully recognized their sin and were
truly repentant."

It was Lawyer Smead. He had lingered behind the others to tell her this.
She was, then, no outcast, but rich, very rich; how rich I dared not
acknowledge to myself, lest a remembrance of the man who was the last to
perish in that house of death should return to make this calculation
hateful. It was a blow which struck deep, deeper than any either of us
had sustained that night. As we came to realize it, I stepped slowly
back, leaving her standing erect and tall in the middle of the roadway,
with her baby in her arms. But not for long; soon she was close at my
side murmuring softly:

"Two wayfarers still! Only, the road will be more difficult and the need
of companionship greater. Shall we fare on together, you, I--and the
little one?"




THE RUBY AND THE CALDRON


As there were two good men on duty that night, I did not see why I
should remain at my desk, even though there was an unusual stir created
in our small town by the grand ball given at The Evergreens.

But just as I was preparing to start for home, an imperative ring called
me to the telephone and I heard:

"Halloo! Is this the police-station?"

"It is."

"Well, then, a detective is wanted at once at The Evergreens. He can not
be too clever or too discreet. A valuable jewel has been lost, which
must be found before the guests disperse for home. Large reward if the
matter ends successfully and without too great publicity."

"May I ask who is speaking to me?"

"Mrs. Ashley."

It was the mistress of The Evergreens and giver of the ball.

"Madam, a man shall be sent at once. Where will you see him?"

"In the butler's pantry at the rear. Let him give his name as Jennings."

"Very good. Good-by."

"Good-by."

A pretty piece of work! Should I send Hendricks or should I send Hicks?
Hendricks was clever and Hicks discreet, but neither united both
qualifications in the measure demanded by the sensible and
quietly-resolved woman with whom I had just been talking. What
alternative remained? But one; I must go myself.

It was not late--not for a ball night, at least--and as half the town
had been invited to the dance, the streets were alive with carriages. I
was watching the blink of their lights through the fast falling snow
when my attention was drawn to a fact which struck me as peculiar. These
carriages were all coming my way instead of rolling in the direction of
The Evergreens. Had they been empty this would have needed no
explanation, but, as far as I could see, most of them were full, and
that, too, with loudly talking women and gesticulating men.

Something of a serious nature must have occurred at The Evergreens.
Rapidly I paced on and soon found myself before the great gates.

A crowd of vehicles of all descriptions blocked the entrance. None
seemed to be passing up the driveway; all stood clustered at the gates,
and as I drew nearer I perceived many an anxious head thrust forth from
their quickly opened doors and heard many an ejaculation of
disappointment as the short interchange of words went on between the
drivers of these various turnouts and a man drawn up in quiet resolution
before the unexpectedly barred entrance.

Slipping round to this man's side, I listened to what he was saying. It
was simple but very explicit.

"Mrs. Ashley asks everybody's pardon, but the ball can't go on
to-night. Something has happened which makes the reception of further
guests impossible. To-morrow evening she will be happy to see you all.
The dance is simply postponed."

This he had probably repeated forty times, and each time it had probably
been received with the same mixture of doubt and curiosity which now
held the lengthy procession in check.

Not wishing to attract attention, yet anxious to lose no time, I pressed
up still nearer, and, bending toward him from the shadow cast by a
convenient post, uttered the one word:

"Jennings."

Instantly he unlocked a small gate at his right. I passed in and, with
professional _sang-froid_, proceeded to take my way to the house through
the double row of evergreens bordering the semicircular approach.

As these trees stood very close together and were, besides, heavily
laden with fresh-fallen snow, I failed to catch a glimpse of the
building itself until I stood in front of it. Then I saw that it was
brilliantly lighted and gave evidence here and there of some festivity;
but the guests were too few for the effect to be very exhilarating and,
passing around to the rear, I sought the special entrance to which I had
been directed.

A heavy-browed porch, before which stood a caterer's wagon, led me to a
door which had every appearance of being the one I sought. Pushing it
open, I entered without ceremony, and speedily found myself in the midst
of twenty or more colored waiters and chattering housemaids. To one of
the former I addressed the question:

"Where is the butler's pantry? I am told that I shall find the lady of
the house there."

"Your name?" was the curt demand.

"Jennings."

"Follow me."

I was taken through narrow passages and across one or two store-rooms to
a small but well-lighted closet, where I was left, with the assurance
that Mrs. Ashley would presently join me. I had never seen this lady,
but I had often heard her spoken of as a woman of superior character and
admirable discretion.

She did not keep me waiting. In two minutes the door opened and this
fine, well-poised woman was telling her story in the straightforward
manner I so much admire and so seldom meet with.

The article lost was a large ruby of singular beauty and great
value--the property of Mrs. Burton, the senator's wife, in whose honor
this ball was given. It had not been lost in the house nor had it been
originally missed that evening. Mrs. Burton and herself had attended the
great foot-ball game in the afternoon, and it was on the college campus
that Mrs. Burton had first dropped her invaluable jewel. But a reward of
five hundred dollars having been at once offered to whoever should find
and restore it, a great search had followed, which ended in its being
picked up by one of the students and brought back as far as the great
step leading up to the front door, when it had again disappeared, and
in a way to rouse conjecture of the strangest and most puzzling
character.

The young man who had brought it thus far bore the name of John Deane,
and was a member of the senior class. He had been the first to detect
its sparkle in the grass, and those who were near enough to see his face
at that happy moment say that it expressed the utmost satisfaction at
his good luck.

"You see," said Mrs. Ashley, "he has a sweetheart, and five hundred
dollars looks like a fortune to a young man just starting life. But he
was weak enough to take this girl into his confidence; and on their way
here--for both were invited to the ball--he went so far as to pull it
out of his pocket and show it to her.

"They were admiring it together and vaunting its beauties to the young
lady friend who had accompanied them, when their carriage turned into
the driveway and they saw the lights of the house flashing before them.
Hastily restoring the jewel to the little bag he had made for it out of
the finger-end of an old glove,--a bag in which he assured me he had
been careful to keep it safely tied ever since picking it up on the
college green,--he thrust it back into his pocket and prepared to help
the ladies out. But just then a disturbance arose in front. A horse
which had been driven up was rearing in a way that threatened to
overturn the light buggy to which he was attached. As the occupants of
this buggy were ladies, and seemed to have no control over the plunging
beast, young Deane naturally sprang to the rescue. Bidding his own
ladies alight and make for the porch, he hurriedly ran forward and,
pausing in front of the maddened animal, waited for an opportunity to
seize him by the rein. He says that as he stood there facing the beast
with fixed eye and raised hand, he distinctly felt something strike or
touch his breast. But the sensation conveyed no meaning to him in his
excitement, and he did not think of it again till, the horse well in
hand and the two alarmed occupants of the buggy rescued, he turned to
see where his own ladies were, and beheld them looking down at him from
the midst of a circle of young people, drawn from the house by the
screaming of the women. Instantly a thought of the treasure he carried
recurred to his mind, and dropping the rein of the now quieted horse, he
put his hand to his pocket. The jewel was gone. He declares that for a
moment he felt as if he had been struck on the head by one of the hoofs
of the frantic horse he had just handled. But immediately the importance
of his loss and the necessity he felt for instant action restored him to
himself, and shouting aloud, 'I have dropped Mrs. Burton's ruby!' begged
every one to stand still while he made a search for it.

"This all occurred, as you must know, more than an hour and a half ago,
consequently before many of my guests had arrived. My son, who was one
of the few spectators gathered on the porch, tells me that there was
only one other carriage behind the one in which Mr. Deane had brought
his ladies. Both of these had stopped short of the stepping-stone, and
as the horse and buggy which had made all this trouble had by this time
been driven to the stable, nothing stood in the way of his search but
the rapidly accumulating snow which, if you remember, was falling very
thick and fast at the time.

"My son, who had rushed in for his overcoat, came running down with
offers to help him. So did some others. But, with an imploring gesture,
he begged to be allowed to conduct the search alone, the ground being in
such a state that the delicately-mounted jewel ran great risk of being
trodden into the snow and thus injured or lost. They humored him for a
moment, then, seeing that his efforts bade fair to be fruitless, my son
insisted upon joining him, and the two looked the ground over, inch by
inch, from the place where Mr. Deane had set foot to ground in alighting
from his carriage to the exact spot where he had stood when he had
finally seized hold of the horse. But no ruby. Then Harrison (that is
my son's name) sent for a broom and went over the place again, sweeping
aside the surface snow and examining carefully the ground beneath,--but
with no better results than before. No ruby could be found. My son came
to me panting. Mrs. Burton and myself stood awaiting him in a state of
suspense. Guests and fête were alike forgotten. We had heard that the
jewel had been found on the campus by one of the students and had been
brought back as far as the step in front and then lost again in some
unaccountable manner in the snow, and we hoped, nay expected from moment
to moment, that it would be brought in.

"When Harrison entered, then, pale, disheveled and shaking his head,
Mrs. Burton caught me by the hand, and I thought she would faint. For
this jewel is of far greater value to her than its mere worth in money,
though that is by no means small.

"It is a family jewel and was given to her by her husband under special
circumstances. He prizes it even more than she does, and he is not here
to counsel or assist her in this extremity. Besides, she was wearing it
in direct opposition to his expressed wishes. This I must tell you, to
show how imperative it is for us to recover it; also to account for the
large reward she is willing to pay. When he last looked at it he noticed
that the fastening was a trifle slack and, though he handed the trinket
back, he told her distinctly that she was not to wear it till it had
been either to Tiffany's or Starr's. But she considered it safe enough,
and put it on to please the boys, and lost it. Senator Burton is a hard
man and,--in short, the jewel must be found. I give you just one hour in
which to do it."

"But, madam--" I protested.

"I know," she put in, with a quick nod and a glance over her shoulder to
see if the door was shut. "I have not finished my story. Hearing what
Harrison had to say, I took action at once. I bade him call in the
guests, whom curiosity or interest still detained on the porch, and seat
them in a certain room which I designated to him. Then, after telling
him to send two men to the gates with orders to hold back all further
carriages from entering, and two others to shovel up and cart away to
the stable every particle of snow for ten feet each side of the front
step, I asked to see Mr. Deane. But here my son whispered something into
my ear, which it is my duty to repeat. It was to the effect that Mr.
Deane believed that the jewel had been taken from him; that he insisted,
in fact, that he had felt a hand touch his breast while he stood
awaiting an opportunity to seize the horse. 'Very good,' said I, 'we'll
remember that, too; but first see that my orders are carried out and
that all approaches to the grounds are guarded and no one allowed to
come in or go out without permission from me.'

"He left us, and I was turning to encourage Mrs. Burton when my
attention was caught by the eager face of a little friend of mine, who,
quite unknown to me, was sitting in one of the corners of the room. She
was studying my countenance in a sort of subdued anxiety, hardly
natural in one so young, and I was about to call her to my side and
question her when she made a sudden dive and vanished from the room.
Some impulse made me follow her. She is a conscientious little thing,
but timid as a hare, and though I saw she had something to say, it was
with difficulty I could make her speak. Only after the most solemn
assurances that her name should not be mentioned in the matter, would
she give me the following bit of information, which you may possibly
think throws another light upon the affair. It seems that she was
looking out of one of the front windows when Mr. Deane's carriage drove
up. She had been watching the antics of the horse attached to the buggy,
but as soon as she saw Mr. Deane going to the assistance of those in
danger, she let her eyes stray back to the ladies whom he had left
behind him in the carriage.

"She did not know these ladies, but their looks and gestures interested
her, and she watched them quite intently as they leaped to the ground
and made their way toward the porch. One went on quickly, and without
pause, to the step, but the other,--the one who came last,--did not do
this. She stopped a moment, perhaps to watch the horse in front, perhaps
to draw her cloak more closely about her, and when she again moved on,
it was with a start and a hurried glance at her feet, terminating in a
quick turn and a sudden stooping to the ground. When she again stood
upright, she had something in her hand which she thrust furtively into
her breast."

"How was this lady dressed?" I inquired.

"In a white cloak, with an edging of fur. I took pains to learn that,
too, and it was with some curiosity, I assure you, that I examined the
few guests who had now been admitted to the room I had so carefully
pointed out to my son. Two of them wore white cloaks, but one of these
was Mrs. Dalrymple, and I did not give her or her cloak a second
thought. The other was a tall, fine-looking girl, with an air and
bearing calculated to rouse admiration if she had not shown so very
plainly that she was in a state of inner perturbation. Though she tried
to look amiable and pleased, I saw that she had some care on her mind,
which, had she been Mr. Deane's _fiancée_, would have needed no
explanation; but as she was only Mr. Deane's _fiancée's_ friend, its
cause was not so apparent.

"The floor of the room, as I had happily remembered, was covered with
crash, and as I lifted each garment off--I allowed no maid to assist me
in this--I shook it well; ostensibly, because of the few flakes clinging
to it, really to see if anything could be shaken out of it. Of course, I
met with no success. I had not expected to, but it is my disposition to
be thorough. These wraps I saw all hung in an adjoining closet, the door
of which I locked,--here is the key,--after which I handed my guests
over to my son who led them into the drawing-room where they joined the
few others who had previously arrived, and went myself to telephone to
_you_."

I bowed and asked where the young people were now.

"Still in the drawing-room. I have ordered the musicians to play, and
consequently there is more or less dancing. But, of course, nothing can
remove the wet blanket which has fallen over us all,--nothing but the
finding of this jewel. Do you see your way to accomplishing this? We
are, from this very moment, at your disposal; only I pray that you will
make no more disturbance than is necessary, and, if possible, arouse no
suspicions you can not back up by facts. I dread a scandal almost as
much as I do sickness and death, and these young people--well, their
lives are all before them, and neither Mrs. Burton nor myself would wish
to throw the shadow of a false suspicion over the least of them."

I assured her that I sympathized with her scruples and would do my best
to recover the ruby without inflicting undue annoyance upon the
innocent. Then I inquired whether it was known that a detective had been
called in. She seemed to think it was suspected by some, if not by all.
At which my way seemed a trifle complicated.

We were about to proceed when another thought struck me.

"Madam, you have not said whether the carriage itself was searched."

"I forgot. Yes, the carriage was thoroughly overhauled, and before the
coachman left the box."

"Who did this overhauling?"

"My son. He would not trust any other hand than his own in a business of
this kind."

"One more question, madam. Was any one seen to approach Mr. Deane on the
carriage-drive prior to his assertion that the jewel was lost?"

"No. _And there were no tracks in the snow of any such person._ My son
looked."

And I would look, or so I decided within myself, but I said nothing; and
in silence we proceeded toward the drawing-room.

I had left my overcoat behind me, and always being well-dressed, I did
not present so bad an appearance. Still I was not in party attire and
naturally could not pass for a guest if I had wanted to, which I did
not. I felt that I must rely on insight in this case and on a certain
power I had always possessed of reading faces. That the case called for
just this species of intuition I was positive. Mrs. Burton's ruby was
within a hundred yards of us at this very moment, probably within a
hundred feet; but to lay hands on it and without scandal--well, that was
a problem calculated to rouse the interest of even an old police-officer
like myself.

A strain of music, desultory, however, and spiritless, like everything
else about the place that night, greeted us as Mrs. Ashley opened the
door leading directly into the large front hall.

Immediately a scene meant to be festive, but which was, in fact,
desolate, burst upon us. The lights, the flowers and the brilliant
appearance of such ladies as flitted into sight from the almost empty
parlors, were all suggestive of the cheer suitable to a great occasion;
but in spite of this, the effect was altogether melancholy, for the
hundreds who should have graced this scene, and for whom this
illumination had been made and these festoons hung, had been turned away
from the gates, and the few who felt they must remain, because their
hostess showed no disposition to let them go, wore any but holiday
faces, for all their forced smiles and pitiful attempts at nonchalance
and gaiety.

I scrutinized these faces carefully. I detected nothing in them but
annoyance at a situation which certainly was anything but pleasant.

Turning to Mrs. Ashley, I requested her to be kind enough to point out
her son, adding that I should be glad to have a moment's conversation
with him, also with Mr. Deane.

"Mr. Deane is in one of those small rooms over there. He is quite upset.
Not even Mrs. Burton can comfort him. My son--Oh, there is Harrison!"

A tall, fine-looking young man was crossing the hall. Mrs. Ashley called
him to her, and in another moment we were standing together in one of
the empty parlors.

I gave him my name and told him my business. Then I said:

"Your mother has allotted me an hour in which to find the valuable jewel
which has just been lost on these premises." Here I smiled. "She
evidently has great confidence in my ability. I must see that I do not
disappoint her."

All this time I was examining his face. It was a handsome one, as I have
said, but it had also a very candid expression; the eyes looked straight
into mine, and, while showing anxiety, betrayed no deeper emotion than
the occasion naturally called for.

"Have you any suggestions to offer? I understand that you were on the
ground almost as soon as Mr. Deane discovered his loss."

His eyes changed a trifle but did not swerve. Of course he had been
informed by his mother of the suspicious action of the young lady who
had been a member of that gentleman's party, and shrank, as any one in
his position would, from the responsibilities entailed by this
knowledge.

"No," said he. "We have done all we can. The next move must come from
you."

"There is one that will settle the matter in a moment," I assured him,
still with my eyes fixed scrutinizingly on his face,--"a universal
search, not of places, but of persons. But it is a harsh measure."

"A most disagreeable one," he emphasized, flushing. "Such an indignity
offered to guests would never be forgotten or forgiven."

"True, but if they offered to submit to this themselves?"

"They? How?"

"If _you_, the son of the house,--their host we may say,--should call
them together and, for your own satisfaction, empty out your pockets in
the sight of every one, don't you think that all the men, and possibly
all the women too--" (here I let my voice fall suggestively) "would be
glad to follow suit? It could be done in apparent joke."

He shook his head with a straightforward air, which raised him high in
my estimation.

"That would call for little but effrontery on my part," said he; "but
think what it would demand from these boys who came here for the sole
purpose of enjoying themselves. I will not so much as mention the
ladies."

"Yet one of the latter--"

"I know," he quietly acknowledged, growing restless for the first time.

I withdrew my eyes from his face. I had learned what I wished.
Personally he did not shrink from search, therefore the jewel was not in
his pockets. This left but two persons for suspicion to halt between.
But I disclosed nothing of my thoughts; I merely asked pardon for a
suggestion that, while pardonable in a man accustomed to handle crime
with ungloved hands, could not fail to prove offensive to a gentleman
like himself.

"We must move by means less open," I concluded. "It adds to our
difficulties, but that can not be helped. I should now like a glimpse of
Mr. Deane."

"Do you not wish to speak to him?"

"I should prefer a sight of his face first."

He led me across the hall and pointed through an open door. In the
center of a small room containing a table and some chairs, I perceived a
young man sitting, with fallen head and dejected air, staring at
vacancy. By his side, with hand laid on his, knelt a young girl,
striving in this gentle but speechless way to comfort him. It made a
pathetic picture. I drew Ashley away.

"I am disposed to believe in that young man," said I. "If he still has
the jewel, he would not try to carry off the situation in just this way.
He really looks broken-hearted."

"Oh, he is dreadfully cut up. If you could have seen how frantically he
searched for the stone, and the depression into which he fell when he
realized that it was not to be found, you would not doubt him for an
instant. What made you think he might still have the ruby?"

"Oh, we police officers think of everything. Then the fact that he
insists that something or some one touched his breast on the driveway
strikes me as a trifle suspicious. Your mother says that no second
person could have been there, or the snow would have given evidence of
it."

"Yes; I looked expressly. Of course, the drive itself was full of
hoof-marks and wheel-tracks, for several carriages had already passed
over it. Then there were all of Deane's footsteps, but no other man's,
as far as I could see."

"Yet he insists that he was touched or struck."

"Yes."

"With no one there to touch or strike him."

Mr. Ashley was silent.

"Let us step out and take a view of the place," I suggested. "I should
prefer doing this to questioning the young man in his present state of
mind." Then, as we turned to put on our coats, I asked with suitable
precaution: "Do you suppose that he has the same secret suspicions as
ourselves, and that it is to hide these he insists upon the jewel's
having been taken away from him at a point the ladies are known not to
have approached?"

Young Ashley bent somewhat startled eyes on mine.

"Nothing has been said to him of what Miss Peters saw Miss Glover do. I
could not bring myself to mention it. I have not even allowed myself to
believe--"

Here a fierce gust, blowing in from the door he had just opened, cut
short his words, and neither of us spoke again till we stood on the
exact spot in the driveway where the episode we were endeavoring to
understand had taken place.

"Oh," I cried as soon as I could look about me; "the mystery is
explained. Look at that bush, or perhaps you call it a shrub. If the
wind were blowing as freshly as it is now, and very probably it was, one
of those slender branches might easily be switched against his breast,
especially if he stood, as you say he did, close against this border."

"Well, I'm a fool. Only the other day I told the gardener that these
branches would need trimming in the spring, and yet I never so much as
thought of them when Mr. Deane spoke of something striking his breast."

As we turned back I made this remark:

"With this explanation of the one doubtful point in his otherwise
plausible account, we can credit his story as being in the main true,
which," I calmly added, "places him above suspicion and narrows our
inquiry down to _one_."

We had moved quickly and were now at the threshold of the door by which
we had come out.

"Mr. Ashley," I continued, "I shall have to ask you to add to your
former favors that of showing me the young lady in whom, from this
moment on, we are especially interested. If you can manage to let me see
her first without her seeing me, I shall be infinitely obliged to you."

"I do not know where she is. I shall have to search for her."

"I will wait by the hall door."

In a few minutes he returned to me. "Come," said he, and led me into
what I judged to be the library.

With a gesture toward one of the windows, he backed quickly out, leaving
me to face the situation alone. I was rather glad of this. Glancing in
the direction he had indicated, and perceiving the figure of a young
lady standing with her back to me on the farther side of a flowing lace
curtain, I took a few steps toward her, hoping that the movement would
cause her to turn. But it entirely failed to produce this effect, nor
did she give any sign that she noted the intrusion. This prevented me
from catching the glimpse of her face which I so desired, and obliged me
to confine myself to a study of her dress and attitude.

The former was very elegant, more elegant than the appearance of her two
friends had led me to expect. Though I am far from being an authority on
feminine toilets, I yet had experience enough to know that those
sweeping folds of spotless satin, with their festoons of lace and loops
of shiny trimming, which it would be folly for me to attempt to
describe, represented not only the best efforts of the dressmaker's art,
but very considerable means on the part of the woman wearing such a
gown. This was a discovery which altered the complexion of my thoughts
for a moment; for I had presupposed her a girl of humble means, willing
to sacrifice certain scruples to obtain a little extra money. This
imposing figure might be that of a millionaire's daughter; how then
could I associate her, even in my own mind, with theft? I decided that I
must see her face before giving answer to these doubts.

She did not seem inclined to turn. She had raised the shade from before
the wintry panes and was engaged in looking out. Her attitude was not
that of one simply enjoying a moment's respite from the dance. It was
rather that of an absorbed mind brooding upon what gave little or no
pleasure; and as I further gazed and noted the droop of her lovely
shoulders and the languor visible in her whole bearing, I began to
regard a glimpse of her features as imperative. Moving forward, I came
upon her suddenly.

"Excuse me, Miss Smith," I boldly exclaimed; then paused, for she had
turned instinctively and I had seen that for which I had risked this
daring move. "Your pardon," I hastily apologized. "I mistook you for
another young lady," and drew back with a low bow to let her pass, for I
saw that she thought only of escaping both me and the room.

And I did not wonder at this, for her eyes were streaming with tears,
and her face, which was doubtless a pretty one under ordinary
conditions, looked so distorted with distracting emotions that she was
no fit subject for any man's eye, let alone that of a hard-hearted
officer of the law on the look-out for the guilty hand which had just
appropriated a jewel worth anywhere from eight to ten thousand dollars.

Yet I was glad to see her weep, for only first offenders weep, and first
offenders are amenable to influence, especially if they have been led
into wrong by impulse and are weak rather than wicked.

Anxious to make no blunder, I resolved, before proceeding further, to
learn what I could of the character and antecedents of the suspected
one, and this from the only source which offered--Mr. Deane's affianced.

This young lady was a delicate girl, with a face like a flower.
Recognizing her sensitive nature, I approached her with the utmost
gentleness. Not seeking to disguise either the nature of my business or
my reasons for being in the house, since all this gave me authority, I
modulated my tone to suit her gentle spirit, and, above all, I showed
the utmost sympathy for her lover, whose rights in the reward had been
taken from him as certainly as the jewel had been taken from Mrs.
Burton. In this way I gained her confidence, and she was quite ready to
listen when I observed:

"There is a young lady here who seems to be in a state of even greater
trouble than Mr. Deane. Why is this? You brought her here. Is her
sympathy with Mr. Deane so great as to cause her to weep over his loss?"

"Frances? Oh, no. She likes Mr. Deane and she likes me, but not well
enough to cry over our misfortunes. I think she has some trouble of her
own."

"One that you can tell me?"

Her surprise was manifest.

"Why do you ask that? What interest have you (called in, as I
understand, to recover a stolen jewel) in Frances Glover's personal
difficulties?"

I saw that I must make my position perfectly plain.

"Only this. She was seen to pick up something from the driveway, where
no one else had succeeded in finding anything."

"She? When? Who saw her?"

"I can not answer all these questions at once," I smiled. "She was seen
to do this--no matter by whom,--during your passage from the carriage to
the stoop. As you preceded her, you naturally did not observe this
action, which was fortunate, perhaps, as you would scarcely have known
what to do or say about it."

"Yes I should," she retorted, with a most unexpected display of spirit.
"I should have asked her what she had found and I should have insisted
upon an answer. I love my friends, but I love the man I am to marry,
better." Here her voice fell and a most becoming blush suffused her
cheek.

"Quite right," I assented. "Now will you answer my former question? What
troubles Miss Glover? Can you tell me?"

"That I can not. I only know that she has been very silent ever since
she left the house. I thought her beautiful new dress would please her,
but it does not seem to. She has been unhappy and preoccupied all the
evening. She only roused a bit when Mr. Deane showed us the ruby and
said--Oh, I forgot!"

"What's that? What have you forgot?"

"What you said just now. I wouldn't add a word--"

"Pardon me!" I smilingly interrupted, looking as fatherly as I could,
"but you _have_ added this word and now you must tell me what it means.
You were going to say she showed interest in the extraordinary jewel
which Mr. Deane took from his pocket and--"

"In what he let fall about the expected reward. That is, she looked
eagerly at the ruby and sighed when he acknowledged that he expected it
to bring him five hundred dollars before midnight. But any girl of no
more means than she might do that. It would not be fair to lay too much
stress on a sigh."

"Is not Miss Glover wealthy? She wears a very expensive dress, I
observe."

"I know it and I have wondered a little at it, for her father is not
called very well off. But perhaps she bought it with her own money; I
know she has some; she is an artist in burnt wood."

I let the subject of Miss Glover's dress drop. I had heard enough to
satisfy me that my first theory was correct. This young woman,
beautifully dressed, and with a face from which the rounded lines of
early girlhood had not yet departed, held in her possession, probably
at this very moment, Mrs. Burton's magnificent jewel. But where? On her
person or hidden in some of her belongings? I remembered the cloak in
the closet and thought it wise to assure myself that the jewel was not
secreted in this garment, before I proceeded to extreme measures. Mrs.
Ashley, upon being consulted, agreed with me as to the desirability of
this, and presently I had this poor girl's cloak in my hands.

Did I find the ruby? No; but I found something else tucked away in an
inner pocket which struck me as bearing quite pointedly upon this case.
It was the bill--crumpled, soiled and tear-stained--of the dress whose
elegance had so surprised her friends and made me, for a short time,
regard her as the daughter of wealthy parents. An enormous bill, which
must have struck dismay to the soul of this self-supporting girl, who
probably had no idea of how a French dressmaker can foot up items. Four
hundred and fifty dollars! and for one gown! I declare I felt indignant
myself and could quite understand why she heaved that little sigh when
Mr. Deane spoke of the five hundred dollars he expected from Mrs.
Burton, and later, how she came to succumb to the temptation of making
the effort to secure this sum for herself when, in following the
latter's footsteps up the driveway, she stumbled upon this same jewel
fallen, as it were, from his pocket into her very hands. The impulse of
the moment was so strong and the consequences so little anticipated!

It is not at all probable that she foresaw he would shout aloud his loss
and draw the whole household out on the porch. Of course when he did
this, the feasibility of her project was gone, and I only wished that I
had been present and able to note her countenance, as, crowded in with
others on that windy porch, she watched the progress of the search,
which every moment made it not only less impossible for her to attempt
the restoration upon which the reward depended, but must have caused her
to feel, if she had been as well brought up as all indications showed,
that it was a dishonest act of which she had been guilty and that,
willing or not, she must look upon herself as a thief so long as she
held the jewel back from Mr. Deane or its rightful owner. But how face
the publicity of restoring it now, after this elaborate and painful
search, in which even the son of her hostess had taken part?

That would be to proclaim her guilt and thus effectually ruin her in the
eyes of everybody concerned. No, she would keep the compromising article
a little longer, in the hope of finding some opportunity of returning it
without risk to her good name. And so she allowed the search to proceed.

I have entered thus elaborately into the supposed condition of this
girl's mind on this critical evening, that you may understand why I felt
a certain sympathy for her, which forbade harsh measures. I was sure,
from the glimpse I had caught of her face, that she longed to be
relieved from the tension she was under, and that she would gladly rid
herself of this valuable jewel if she only knew how. This opportunity I
proposed to give her; and this is why, on returning the bill to its
place, I assumed such an air of relief on rejoining Mrs. Ashley.

She saw, and drew me aside.

"You have not found it!" she said.

"No," I returned, "but I am positive where it is."

"And where is that?"

"Over Miss Glover's uneasy heart."

Mrs. Ashley turned pale.

"Wait," said I; "I have a scheme for getting it hence without making her
shame public. Listen!" and I whispered a few words in her ear.

She surveyed me in amazement for a moment, then nodded, and her face
lighted up.

"You are certainly earning your reward," she declared; and summoning her
son, who was never far away from her side, she whispered her wishes. He
started, bowed and hurried from the room.

By this time my business in the house was well-known to all, and I could
not appear in hall or parlor without a great silence falling upon every
one present, followed by a breaking up of the only too small circle of
unhappy guests into agitated groups. But I appeared to see nothing of
all this till the proper moment, when, turning suddenly upon them all, I
cried out cheerfully, but with a certain deference I thought would
please them:

"Ladies and gentlemen: I have an interesting fact to announce. The snow
which was taken up from the driveway has been put to melt in the great
feed caldron over the stable fire. We expect to find the ruby at the
bottom, and Mrs. Ashley invites you to be present at its recovery. It
has now stopped snowing and she thought you might enjoy the excitement
of watching the water ladled out."

A dozen girls bounded forward.

"Oh, yes, what fun! where are our cloaks--our rubbers?"

Two only stood hesitating. One of these was Mr. Deane's lady love and
the other her friend, Miss Glover. The former, perhaps, secretly
wondered. The latter--but I dared not look long enough or closely enough
in her direction to judge just what her emotions were. Presently these,
too, stepped forward into the excited circle of young people, and were
met by the two maids who were bringing in their wraps. Amid the bustle
which now ensued, I caught sight of Mr. Deane's face peering from an
open doorway. It was all alive with hope. I also perceived a lady
looking down from the second story, who, I felt sure, was Mrs. Burton
herself. Evidently my confident tone had produced more effect than the
words themselves. Every one looked upon the jewel as already recovered
and regarded my invitation to the stable as a ruse by which I hoped to
restore universal good feeling by giving them all a share in my triumph.

All but one! Nothing could make Miss Glover look otherwise than anxious,
restless and unsettled, and though she followed in the wake of the
rest, it was with hidden face and lagging step, as if she recognized the
whole thing as a farce and doubted her own power to go through it
calmly.

"Ah, ha! my lady," thought I, "only be patient and you will see what I
shall do for you." And indeed I thought her eye brightened as we all
drew up around the huge caldron standing full of water over the stable
stove. As pains had already been taken to put out the fire in this
stove, the ladies were not afraid of injuring their dresses and
consequently crowded as close as their numbers would permit. Miss Glover
especially stood within reach of the brim, and as soon as I noted this,
I gave the signal which had been agreed upon between Mr. Ashley and
myself. Instantly the electric lights went out, leaving the place in
total darkness.

A scream from the girls, a burst of hilarious laughter from their
escorts, mingled with loud apologies from their seemingly mischievous
host, filled up the interval of darkness which I had insisted should not
be too soon curtailed; then the lights glowed as suddenly as they had
gone out, and while the glare was fresh on every face, I stole a glance
at Miss Glover to see if she had made good use of the opportunity just
accorded for ridding herself of the jewel by dropping it into the
caldron. If she had, both her troubles and mine were at an end; if she
had not, then I need feel no further scruple in approaching her with the
direct question I had hitherto found it so difficult to put.

She stood with both hands grasping her cloak which she had drawn tightly
about the rich folds of her new and expensive dress; but her eyes were
fixed straight before her with a soft light in their depths which made
her positively beautiful.

The jewel is in the pot, I inwardly decided, and ordered the two waiting
stablemen to step forward with their ladles. Quickly those ladles went
in, but before they could be lifted out dripping, half the ladies had
scurried back, afraid of injury to their pretty dresses. But they soon
sidled forward again, and watched with beaming eyes the slow but sure
emptying of the great caldron at whose bottom they anticipated finding
the lost jewel.

As the ladles were plunged deeper and deeper, the heads drew closer and
so great was the interest shown, that the busiest lips forgot to
chatter, and eyes, whose only business up till now had been to follow
with shy curiosity every motion made by their handsome young host, now
settled on the murky depths of the great pot whose bottom was almost in
sight.

As I heard the ladles strike this bottom, I instinctively withdrew a
step in anticipation of the loud hurrah which would naturally hail the
first sight of the lost ruby. Conceive, then, my chagrin, my bitter and
mortified disappointment, when, after one look at the broad surface of
the now exposed bottom, the one shout which rose was:

"_Nothing!_"

       *     *     *     *     *

I was so thoroughly put out that I did not wait to hear the loud
complaints which burst from every lip. Drawing Mr. Ashley aside (who,
by the way, seemed as much affected as myself by the turn affairs had
taken) I remarked to him that there was only one course left open to us.

"And what is that?"

"To ask Miss Glover to show me what she picked up from your driveway."

"And if she refuses?"

"To take her quietly with me to the station, where we have women who can
make sure that the ruby is not on her person."

Mr. Ashley made an involuntary gesture of strong repugnance.

"Let us pray that it will not come to that," he objected hoarsely. "Such
a fine figure of a girl! Did you notice how bright and happy she looked
when the lights sprang up? I declare she struck me as lovely."

"So she did me, and caused me to draw some erroneous conclusions. I
shall have to ask you to procure me an interview with her as soon as we
return to the house."

"She shall meet you in the library."

But when, a few minutes later, she joined me in the room just designated
and I had full opportunity for reading her countenance, I own that my
task became suddenly hateful to me. She was not far from my own
daughter's age and, had it not been for her furtive look of care,
appeared almost as blooming and bright. Would it ever come to pass that
a harsh man of the law would feel it his duty to speak to my Flora as I
must now speak to the young girl before me? The thought made me inwardly
recoil and it was in as gentle a manner as possible that I made my bow
and began with the following remark:

"I hope you will pardon me, Miss Glover--I am told that is your name. I
hate to disturb your pleasure--" (this with the tears of alarm and grief
rising in her eyes) "but you can tell me something which will greatly
simplify my task and possibly put matters in such shape that you and
your friends can be released to your homes."

"I?"

She stood before me with amazed eyes, the color rising in her cheeks. I
had to force my next words, which, out of consideration for her, I made
as direct as possible.

"Yes, miss. What was the article you were seen to pick up from the
driveway soon after leaving your carriage?"

She started, then stumbled backward, tripping in her long train.

"I pick up?" she murmured. Then with a blush, whether of anger or pride
I could not tell, she coldly answered: "Oh, that was something of my
own,--something I had just dropped. I had rather not tell you what it
was."

I scrutinized her closely. She met my eyes squarely, yet not with just
the clear light I should, remembering Flora, have been glad to see
there.

"I think it would be better for you to be entirely frank," said I. "It
was the only article known to have been picked up from the driveway
after Mr. Deane's loss of the ruby; and though we do not presume to say
that it was the ruby, yet the matter would look clearer to us all if
you would frankly state what this object was."

Her whole body seemed to collapse and she looked as if about to sink.

"Oh, where is Minnie? Where is Mr. Deane?" she moaned, turning and
staring at the door, as if she hoped they would fly to her aid. Then, in
a burst of indignation which I was fain to believe real, she turned on
me with the cry: "It was a bit of paper which I had thrust into the
bosom of my gown. It fell out--"

"Your dressmaker's bill?" I intimated.

She stared, laughed hysterically for a moment, then sank upon a near-by
sofa, sobbing spasmodically.

"Yes," she cried, after a moment; "my dressmaker's bill. You seem to
know all my affairs." Then suddenly, and with a startling impetuosity,
which drew her to her feet: "Are you going to tell everybody that? Are
you going to state publicly that Miss Glover brought an unpaid bill to
the party and that because Mr. Deane was unfortunate enough or careless
enough to drop and lose the jewel he was bringing to Mrs. Burton, she is
to be looked upon as a thief, because she stooped to pick up this bill
which had slipped inadvertently from its hiding-place? I shall die if
you do," she cried. "I shall die if it is already known," she pursued,
with increasing emotion. "Is it? Is it?"

Her passion was so great, so much greater than any likely to rise in a
breast wholly innocent, that I began to feel very sober.

"No one but Mrs. Ashley and possibly her son know about the bill," said
I, "and no one shall, if you will go with that lady to her room, and
make plain to her, in the only way you can, that the extremely valuable
article which has been lost to-night is not in your possession."

She threw up her arms with a scream. "Oh, what a horror! I can not! I
can not! Oh, I shall die of shame! My father! My mother!" And she burst
from the room like one distraught.

But in another moment she came cringing back. "I can not face them,"
she said. "They all believe it; they will always believe it unless I
submit--Oh, why did I ever come to this dreadful place? Why did I order
this hateful dress which I can never pay for and which, in spite of the
misery it has caused me, has failed to bring me the--" She did not
continue. She had caught my eye and seen there, perhaps, some evidence
of the pity I could not but experience for her. With a sudden change of
tone she advanced upon me with the appeal: "Save me from this
humiliation. I have not seen the ruby. I am as ignorant of its
whereabouts as--as Mr. Ashley himself. Won't you believe me? Won't they
be satisfied if I swear--"

I was really sorry for her. I began to think too that some dreadful
mistake had been made. Her manner seemed too ingenuous for guilt. Yet
where could that ruby be, if not with this young girl? Certainly, all
other possibilities had been exhausted, and her story of the bill, even
if accepted, would never quite exonerate her from secret suspicion
while that elusive jewel remained unfound.

"You give me no hope," she moaned. "I must go out before them all and
ask to have it proved that I am no thief. Oh, if God would have pity--"

"Or some one would find--Halloo! What's that?"

A shout had risen from the hall beyond.

She gasped and we both plunged forward. Mr. Ashley, still in his
overcoat, stood at the other end of the hall, and facing him were ranged
the whole line of young people whom I had left scattered about in the
various parlors. I thought he looked peculiar; certainly his appearance
differed from that of a quarter of an hour before, and when he glanced
our way and saw who was standing with me in the library doorway, his
voice took on a tone which made me doubt whether he was about to
announce good news or bad.

But his first word settled that question.

"Rejoice with me!" he cried. "_The ruby has been found!_ Do you want to
see the culprit?--for there is a culprit. We have him at the door;
shall we bring him in?"

"Yes, yes," cried several voices, among them that of Mr. Deane, who now
strode forward with beaming eyes and instinctively lifted hand. But some
of the ladies looked frightened, and Mr. Ashley, noting this, glanced
for encouragement toward us.

He seemed to find it in Miss Glover's eyes. She had quivered and nearly
fallen at that word _found_, but had drawn herself up by this time and
was awaiting his further action in a fever of relief and hope which
perhaps no one but myself could fully appreciate.

"A vile thief! A most unconscionable rascal!" vociferated Mr. Ashley.
"You must see him, mother; you must see him, ladies, else you will not
realize our good fortune. Open the door there and bring in the robber!"

At this command, uttered in ringing tones, the huge leaves of the great
front door swung slowly forward, revealing the sturdy forms of the two
stablemen holding down by main force the towering figure of--_a horse_!

The scream of astonishment which went up from all sides, united to Mr.
Ashley's shout of hilarity, caused the animal, unused, no doubt, to
drawing-rooms, to rear to the length of his bridle. At which Mr. Ashley
laughed again and gaily cried:

"Confound the fellow! Look at him, mother; look at him, ladies! Do you
not see guilt written on his brow? It is he who has made us all this
trouble. First, he must needs take umbrage at the two lights with which
we presumed to illuminate our porch; then, envying Mrs. Burton her ruby
and Mr. Deane his reward, seek to rob them both by grinding his hoofs
all over the snow of the driveway till he came upon the jewel which Mr.
Deane had dropped from his pocket, and taking it up in a ball of snow,
secrete it in his left hind shoe,--where it might be yet, if Mr.
Spencer--" here he bowed to a strange gentleman who at that moment
entered--"had not come himself for his daughters, and, going first to
the stable, found his horse so restless and seemingly lame--(there,
boys, you may take the wretch away now and harness him, but first hold
up that guilty left hind hoof for the ladies to see)--that he stooped to
examine him, and so came upon _this_."

Here the young gentleman brought forward his hand. In it was a
nondescript little wad, well soaked and shapeless; but, once he had
untied the kid, such a ray of rosy light burst from his outstretched
palm that I doubt if a single woman there noted the clatter of the
retiring beast or the heavy clang made by the two front doors as they
shut upon the _robber_. Eyes and tongues were too busy, and Mr. Ashley,
realizing, probably, that the interest of all present would remain, for
a few minutes at least, with this marvelous jewel so astonishingly
recovered, laid it, with many expressions of thankfulness, in Mrs.
Burton's now eagerly outstretched palm, and advancing toward us, paused
in front of Miss Glover and eagerly held out his hand.

"Congratulate me," he prayed. "All our troubles are over--Oh, what now!"

The poor young thing, in trying to smile, had turned as white as a
sheet. Before either of us could interpose an arm, she had slipped to
the floor in a dead faint. With a murmur of pity and possibly of inward
contrition, he stooped over her and together we carried her into the
library, where I left her in his care, confident, from certain
indications, that my presence would not be greatly missed by either of
them.

Whatever hope I may have had of reaping the reward offered by Mrs.
Ashley was now lost, but, in the satisfaction I experienced at finding
this young girl as innocent as my Flora, I did not greatly care.

Well, it all ended even more happily than may here appear. The horse not
putting in his claim to the reward, and Mr. Spencer repudiating all
right to it, it was paid in full to Mr. Deane, who went home in as
buoyant a state of mind as was possible to him after the great anxieties
of the preceding two hours. Miss Glover was sent back by the Ashleys in
their own carriage and I was told that Mr. Ashley declined to close the
carriage door upon her till she had promised to come again the
following night.

Anxious to make such amends as I personally could for my share in the
mortification to which she had been subjected, I visited her in the
morning, with the intention of offering a suggestion or two in regard to
that little bill. But she met my first advance with a radiant smile and
the glad exclamation:

"Oh, I have settled all that! I have just come from Madame Duprè's. I
told her that I had never imagined the dress could possibly cost more
than a hundred dollars, and I offered her that sum if she would take the
garment back. And she did, she did, and I shall never have to wear that
dreadful satin again."

I made a note of this dressmaker's name. She and I may have a bone to
pick some day. But I said nothing to Miss Glover. I merely exclaimed:

"And to-night?"

"Oh, I have an old spotted muslin which, with a few natural flowers,
will make me look festive enough. One does not need fine clothes when
one is--happy."

The dreamy far-off smile with which she finished the sentence was more
eloquent than words, and I was not surprised when some time later I read
of her engagement to Mr. Ashley.

But it was not till she could sign herself with his name that she told
me just what underlay the misery of that night. She had met Harrison
Ashley more than once before, and, though she did not say so, had
evidently conceived an admiration for him which made her especially
desirous of attracting and pleasing him. Not understanding the world
very well, certainly having very little knowledge of the tastes and
feelings of wealthy people, she conceived that the more brilliantly she
was attired the more likely she would be to please this rich young man.
So in a moment of weakness she decided to devote all her small savings
(a hundred dollars, as we know) to buying a gown such as she felt she
could appear in at his house without shame.

It came home, as dresses from French dressmakers are very apt to do,
just in time for her to put it on for the party. The bill came with it
and when she saw the amount--it was all itemized and she could find no
fault with anything but the summing up--she was so overwhelmed that she
nearly fainted. But she could not give up her ball; so she dressed
herself, and, being urged all the time to hurry, hardly stopped to give
one look at the new and splendid gown which had cost so much. The
bill--the incredible, the enormous bill--was all she could think of, and
the figures, which represented nearly her whole year's earnings, danced
constantly before her eyes. How to pay it--but she could not pay it, nor
could she ask her father to do so. She was ruined; but the ball, and Mr.
Ashley--these still awaited her; so presently she worked herself up to
some anticipation of enjoyment, and, having thrown on her cloak, was
turning down her light preparatory to departure, when her eye fell on
the bill lying open on her dresser.

It would never do to leave it there--never do to leave it anywhere in
her room. There were prying eyes in the house, and she was as ashamed of
that bill as she might have been of a contemplated theft. So she tucked
it in her corsage and went down to join her friends in the carriage.

The rest we know, all but one small detail which turned to gall whatever
enjoyment she was able to get out of the early evening. There was a
young girl present, dressed in a simple muslin gown. While looking at it
and inwardly contrasting it with her own splendor, Mr. Ashley passed by
with another gentleman and she heard him say:

"How much better young girls look in simple white than in the elaborate
silks only suitable for their mothers!"

Thoughtless words, possibly forgotten as soon as uttered, but they
sharply pierced this already sufficiently stricken and uneasy breast and
were the cause of the tears which had aroused my suspicion when I came
upon her in the library, standing with her face to the night.

But who can say whether, if the evening had been devoid of these
occurrences and no emotions of contrition and pity had been awakened in
her behalf in the breast of her chivalrous host, she would ever have
become Mrs. Ashley?




THE HERMIT OF ---- STREET

CHAPTER I

I COMMIT AN INDISCRETION


I should have kept my eyes for the many brilliant and interesting sights
constantly offered me. I might have done so, had I been ever eighteen,
or had I not come from the country.

I was visiting in a house where fashionable people made life a perpetual
holiday. Yet of all the pleasures which followed so rapidly, one upon
another, the greatest was the hour I spent in my window after the day's
dissipations were all over, watching a man's face, bending night after
night over a study-table in the lower room of the great house in our
rear.

Why did it affect me so? It was not a young face, but it was very
handsome, and it was enigmatic.

The day following my arrival in the city I had noticed the large house
in our rear, and had asked some questions about it. It had a peculiarly
secluded and secretive look. The windows were all shuttered and closed,
with the exception of the three on the lower floor and two others
directly over these. On the top story they were even boarded up, giving
to that portion of the house a blank and desolate air.

The grounds were separated from the street by a brick wall in our
direction; the line of separation was marked by a high iron fence, in
which I saw a gate.

The Vandykes, whom I had questioned on the matter, were very short in
their replies. But I learned this much. That the house belonged to one
of New York's oldest families. That its present owner was a widow of
great eccentricity of character, who, with her one child, a daughter,
unfortunately blind from birth, had taken up her abode in some foreign
country, where she thought her child's affliction would attract less
attention than in her native city.

The house had been closed to the extent I have mentioned, immediately
upon her departure, but had not been left entirely empty. Mr. Allison,
her man of business, had moved into it, and, being fully as eccentric as
herself, had contented himself for five years with a solitary life in
this dismal mansion, without friends, almost without acquaintances,
though he might have had unlimited society and any amount of attention,
his personal attractions being of a very uncommon order, and his talent
for business so pronounced, that he was already recognized at
thirty-five as one of the men to be afraid of in Wall Street. Of his
birth and connections little was known; he was called the Hermit of ----
Street.

I was not very well one day, and I had been left alone in the house.

At seven o'clock--how well I remember the hour!--I was sitting in my
window, waiting for the return of the Vandykes, and watching the face
which had now appeared at its usual place in the study. Suddenly my
attention was drawn from him to a window in the story over his head, by
the rapid blowing in and out of a curtain. As there was a lighted
gas-jet near by, I watched the gyrating muslin with apprehension, and
was shocked when, in another moment, I saw the flimsy folds give one
wild flap and flare up into a dangerous flame.

I dashed out of my room down-stairs, calling for the servants. But Lucy
was in the front area and Ellen above, and I was on the back porch and
in the garden before either of them responded.

Meanwhile, no movement was observable in the brooding figure of Mr.
Allison. I sprang through the gate and knocked with all my might on a
door which opened upon a side porch.

Confronting me with dilating eyes, he faltered slowly back till his
natural instincts of courtesy recalled him to himself, and he bowed,
when I found courage to cry:

"Fire! Your house is on fire! Up there, overhead!"

So intense were the feelings I saw aroused in him that I expected to see
him rush into the open air with loud cries for help. But instead, he
pushed the door to behind me, and locking me in, said, in a strange
tone:

"Don't call out, don't make any sound or outcry, and above all, don't
let any one in; I will fight the flames alone!" and seizing a lamp from
the study-table, he dashed from me toward a staircase I could see in the
distance.

Alas! it was a thrilling look--a look which no girl could sustain
without emotion; and spellbound under it, I stood in a maze, alone and
in utter darkness.

While my emotions were at their height a bell rang. It was the front
door-bell, and it meant the arrival of the engines.

As the bell rang a second time, a light broke on the staircase I was so
painfully watching, and Mr. Allison descended, lamp in hand, as he had
gone up.

What passed between him and the policeman whose voice I heard in the
hall, I do not know. I finally heard the front door close.

I must have met him with a pleading aspect, very much like that of a
frightened child, for his countenance changed as he approached me.

"My dear young lady, how can I thank you enough and how can I
sufficiently express my regret at having kept you a prisoner in this
blazing house?"

Had he stopped again? I was in such a state of inner perturbation that I
hardly knew whether he had ceased to speak or I to hear.

"May I ask whom I have the honor of addressing?" he asked, in a tone I
might better never have heard from his lips.

"I am Delight Hunter, a country girl, sir, visiting the Vandykes."

Then as my lips settled into a determined curve, he himself opened the
door, and bowing low, asked if I would accept his protection to the
gate.

Declining his offer with a wild shake of the head, I dashed from the
house and fled with an incomprehensible sense of relief back to that of
the Vandykes.

The servants, who had seen me rush toward Mr. Allison's, were still in
the yard watching for me. I did not vouchsafe them a word. I could
hardly formulate words in my own mind. A great love and a great dread
had seized upon me at once.




CHAPTER II

A STRANGE WEDDING BREAKFAST


Mr. Allison, who had never before been known to leave his books and
papers, not only called the next day to express his gratitude for what
he was pleased to style my invaluable warning, but came every day after.

After he became an habitué of the house, Mrs. Vandyke grew more
communicative in regard to him. Mrs. Ransome, the lady in whose house he
lived, had left her home very suddenly. He anticipated a like return;
so, ever since her departure, it had been his invariable custom to have
the table set for three, so that he might never be surprised by her
arrival. It had become a monomania with him. Never did he sit down
without there being enough before him for a small family, and as his
food was all brought in cooked from a neighboring restaurant, this
eccentricity of his was well known, and gave an added éclat to his
otherwise hermit-like habits. To my mind, it added an element of pathos
to his seclusion, and so affected me that one day I dared to remark to
him:

"You must have liked Mrs. Ransome very much, you are so faithful in your
remembrance of her."

I never presumed again to attack any of his foibles. He gave me first a
hard look, then an indulgent one, and finally managed to say, after a
moment of quiet hesitation:

"You allude to my custom of setting two chairs at the table to which
they may return at any minute? Miss Hunter, what I do in the loneliness
of that great house is not worth the gossip of those who surround you."

Flushing till I wished my curls would fall down and hide my cheeks, I
tried to stammer out some apology. But he drove it back with a
passionate word:

"You love me, Delight" (he was already pressing me in his arms), "you
love me or you would never have rushed so impetuously to warn me of my
danger that night. Make me the maddest, happiest man in all the world."

I hardly realized what I had done till I stood abashed before Mrs.
Vandyke, and told her I had engaged myself to marry Mr. Allison before
he went to Europe. Then it seemed I had done a very good thing. She
congratulated me heartily, and, seeing I had certain fear of taking my
aunt into my confidence, promised to sit down and write to her herself,
using every encomium she could think of to make this sudden marriage, on
my part, seem like the result of reason and wise forethought.

I had not, what every one else seemed to have, full confidence in this
man, and yet the thrall in which I was held by the dominating power of
his passion kept me from seeking that advice even from my own
intuitions, which might have led to my preservation. I was blind and
knew I was blind, yet rushed on headlong. I asked him no questions till
our wedding day.

We were married simply, but to the sound of wonderful music, in a
certain little church not far from ---- Street.

Mr. Allison had told me that it would be impossible for him to take me
out of the city at present. It was therefore to the house on ---- Street
we were driven.

In the hall stood the old serving man with whose appearance I was
already so familiar.

"Luncheon is served," he announced, with great formality; and then I saw
through an open door the glitter of china and glass, and realized I was
about to take my first meal with my husband.

The next moment I was before the board, which had been made as beautiful
as possible with flowers and the finest of dinner services. But the
table was set for four, two of whom could only be present in spirit.

I wondered if I were glad or sorry to see it--if I were pleased with his
loyalty to his absent employer, or disappointed that my presence had
not made everybody else forgotten. To be consistent, I should have
rejoiced at this evidence of sterling worth on his part; but girls are
not consistent--at least, brides of an hour are not--and I may have
pouted the least bit in the world as I pointed to the two places set as
elaborately as our own, and said with the daring which comes with the
rights of a wife:

"It would be a startling coincidence if Mrs. Ransome and her daughter
should return to-day. I fear I would not like it."

I was looking directly at him as I spoke, with a smile on my lips and my
hand on the back of my chair. But the jest I had expected in reply did
not come. Something in my tone or choice of topic jarred upon him, and
his answer was a simple wave of his hand toward Ambrose, who at once
relieved me of my bouquet, placing it in a tall glass at the side of my
plate.

"Now we will sit," said he.

I do not know how the meal would have passed had Ambrose not been
present. As it was, it was a rather formal affair, and would have been
slightly depressing, if I had not caught, now and then, flashing glances
from my husband's eye which assured me that he found as much to enchain
him in my presence as I did in his.




CHAPTER III

ONE BEAD FROM A NECKLACE


After supper Mr. Allison put before me a large book. "Amuse yourself
with these pictures," said he; "I have a little task to perform. After
it is done I will come again and sit with you."

"You are not going out," I cried, starting up.

"No," he smiled, "I am not going out."

I sank back and opened the book, but I did not look at the pictures.
Instead of that I listened to his steps moving about the house, rear and
front, and finally going up what seemed to be a servant's staircase, for
I could see the great front stairs from where I sat, and there was no
one on them.

But when he returned and sat down I said nothing. There was a little
thing I noted, however. His hands were trembling, and it was five
minutes before he met my inquiring look.

"I will not displease him with questions," I decided: "but I will find
my own way into those lofts above. I shall never be at rest till I do."

I had found a candle in my bedroom, and this I took to light me. But it
revealed nothing to me except a double row of unused rooms, with dust on
the handles of all the doors. I scrutinized them all; for, young as I
was, I had wit enough to see that if I could find one knob on which no
dust lay that would be the one my husband was accustomed to turn.

But every one showed tokens of not having been touched in years, and,
baffled in my search, I was about to retreat, when I remembered that the
house had four stories, and that I had not yet come upon the staircase
leading to the one above. A hurried search (for I was mortally afraid of
being surprised by my husband), revealed to me at last a distant door,
which had no dust on its knob. It lay at the bottom of a shut-in
staircase, and convinced that here was the place my husband was in the
habit of visiting, I carefully fingered the knob, which turned very
softly in my hand. But it did not open the door. There was a lock
visible just below, and that lock was fastened.

My first escapade was without visible results, but I was uneasy from
that hour. I imagined all sorts of things hidden beyond that closed
door.

I was walking one morning in the grounds that lay about the house, when
suddenly I felt something small but perceptibly hard strike my hat and
bound quickly off.

In another instant I started up. I had found a little thing like a
bullet wrapped up in paper; but it was no bullet; it was a bead, a large
gold bead, and on the paper which surrounded it were written these
words:

"Help from the passing stranger! I am Elizabeth Ransome, owner of the
house in which I have been imprisoned five years. Search for me in the
upper story. You will find me there with my blind daughter. He who
placed us here is below; beware his cunning."




CHAPTER IV

I LEARN HYPOCRISY


Even in that rush of confusing emotions I recognized one fact; that I
must not betray by look or word that I knew this dreadful secret.

So I went in, but went in slowly and with downcast eyes. The bead and
the paper I had dropped into my vinaigrette, which fortunately hung at
my side.

"Humphrey," I said, "when are we going to leave this house? I begin to
find it lonesome."

He was preparing to gather up his papers for his accustomed trip
down-town, but he stopped as I spoke, and looked at me curiously.

"You are pale," he remarked, "change and travel will benefit you.
Dearest, we will try to sail for Europe in a week."




CHAPTER V

THE STOLEN KEY


It became apparent even to my girlish mind, that, as the wife of the man
who had committed this great and inconceivable wrong, I was bound, not
only to make an immediate attempt to release the women he so
outrageously held imprisoned in their own house, but to release them so
that he should escape the opprobrium of his own act.

That I might have time to think, and that I might be saved, if but for
one day, contact with one it was almost my duty to hate, I came back to
him with the plea that I might spend the day with the Vandykes instead
of accompanying him down-town as usual. I think he was glad of the
freedom my absence offered him, for he gave me the permission I asked,
and in ten minutes I was in my old home. Mrs. Vandyke received me with
effusion. It was not the first time she had seen me since my marriage,
but it was the first time she had seen me alone.

"My dear!" she exclaimed, turning me about till my unwilling face met
the light, "is this the wild-wood lassie I gave into Mr. Allison's
keeping a week ago!"

"It is the house!" I excitedly gasped, "the empty, lonely, echoing
house! I am afraid in it, even with my husband. It gives me creepy
feelings, as if a murder had been committed in it."

She broke into a laugh; I hear the sound now, an honest, amused and
entirely reassuring laugh, that relieved me in one way and depressed me
in another.

I ventured on another attempt to clear up the mystery that was fast
stifling out my youth, love and hope. I professed to have an
extraordinary desire to see the city from the house-top. I had never
been any higher up than the third story of any house I had been in, and
could not, I told her, go any higher in the house in which I was then
living. Might I go up on her roof? Her eyes opened, but she was of an
amiable, inconsequent disposition and let me have my way without too
much opposition.

One glance at the spot I was most interested in, and I found myself too
dizzy to look further.

In the center of Mrs. Ransome's roof there was to be seen what I can
best describe as an extended cupola without windows. As there was no
other break visible in the roof, the top of this must have held the
skylight, which, being thus lifted many feet above the level of the
garret floor, would admit air and light enough to the boarded-up space
below, but would make any effort to be heard or seen, on the part of any
one secreted there, quite ineffectual.

The resolution I took was worthy of an older head and a more disciplined
heart. By means that were fair, or by means that were foul, I meant to
win my way into that boarded-up attic and see for myself if the words
hidden away in my vinaigrette were true. To do this openly would cause
a scandal I was yet too much under my husband's influence to risk;
while to do it secretly meant the obtaining of keys which I had every
reason to believe he kept hidden about his person. How was I to obtain
them? I saw no way, but that did not deter me from starting at once
down-town in the hope of being struck by some brilliant idea while
waiting for him in his office.

Was it instinct that suggested this, or was the hand of Providence in
all that I did at this time? I had no sooner seated myself in the little
room, where I had been accustomed to wait for him, than I saw what sent
the blood tinkling to my finger-tips in sudden hope. It was my husband's
vest hanging in one corner, the vest he had worn down-town that morning.
The day was warm and he had taken it off. If the key should be in it!

I had never done a mean or underhanded thing before in my life, but I
sprang at that vest without the least hesitation, and fingering it was
the lightest of touches, found in the smallest of inside pockets a key,
which instinct immediately told me was that of the door I had once
endeavored to pass.

Dropping the key into my pocket, I went back into the outer room, and
leaving word that I had remembered a little shopping which would take me
again up-town, I left the building and returned to ---- Street.

I was out of breath with suspense, as well as with my rapid movements,
when I reached the shut-in staircase and carefully unlocked its narrow
door. But by the time I had reached the fourth floor, and unlocked, with
the same key, the only other door that had a streak of light under it, I
had gained a certain degree of tense composure born of the desperate
nature of the occasion. The calmness with which I pushed open the door
proved this--a calmness which made the movement noiseless, which was the
reason, I suppose, why I was enabled to suppress the shriek that rose to
my lips as I saw that the room had occupants, and that my worst fears
were thus realized.

A woman was sitting, with her back to me, at a table, and before her,
with her face turned my way, was a young girl in whom, even at first
glance, I detected some likeness to myself. Was this why Mr. Allison's
countenance expressed so much agitation when he first saw me? The next
moment this latter lifted her head and looked directly at me, but with
no change in her mobile features; at which token of blindness I almost
fell on my knees, so conclusively did it prove that I was really looking
upon Mrs. Ransome and her daughter.

The mother, who had been directing her daughter's hands in some
needlework, felt that the latter's attention had been diverted.

"What is it, dear?" she asked, with an indescribable mellowness of
voice, whose tone thrilled me with a fresh and passionate pity.

"I thought I heard Mr. Allison come in, but he always knocks; besides,
it is not time for him yet." And she sighed.

That sigh went through my heart, rousing new feelings and deeper
terrors; but I had no time to indulge in them, for the mother turned at
the gasp which left my lips, and rising up, confronted me with an
amazement which left her without any ability to speak.

"Who is it, mother?" inquired the blind girl, herself rising and beaming
upon me with the sweetest of looks.

"Let me answer," I ventured softly. "I am Mr. Allison's wife. I have
come to see if there is anything I can do to make your stay here more
comfortable."

The look that passed over the mother's face warned me to venture no
further in the daughter's presence. Whatever that mother had suffered,
the daughter had experienced nothing but satisfied love and
companionship in these narrow precincts. Her rounded cheeks showed this,
and the indescribable atmosphere of peace and gladness which surrounded
her.

As I saw this, and realized the mother's life and the self-restraint
which had enabled her to accept the inevitable without raising a
complaint calculated to betray to the daughter that all was not as it
should be with them, I felt such a rush of awe sweep over me that some
of my fathomless emotion showed in my face; for Mrs. Ransome's own
countenance assumed a milder look, and advancing nearer, she pointed out
a room where we could speak apart. As I moved toward it she whispered a
few words in her daughter's ear, then she rejoined me.

"Oh, madame!" I murmured, "oh, madame! Show a poor girl what she can do
to restore you to your rights. The door is open and you can descend; but
that means----Oh, madame, I am filled with terror when I think what. He
may be in the hall now. He may have missed the key and returned. If only
you were out of the house!"

"My dear girl," she quietly replied, "we will be some day. You will see
to that, I know. I do not think I could stay here, now that I have seen
another face than his. But I do not want to go now, to-day. I want to
prepare Theresa for freedom; she has lived so long quietly with me that
I dread the shock and excitement of other voices and the pressure of
city sounds upon her delicate ears. I must train her for contact with
the world.

"But you won't forget me if I allow you to lock us in again? You will
come back and open the doors, and let me go down again through my old
halls into the room where my husband died; and if Mr. Allison
objects----My dear girl, you know now that he is an unscrupulous man,
that it is my money he begrudged me, and that he has used it and made
himself a rich man."

"I can not," I murmured, "I can not find courage to present the subject
to him so. I do not know my husband's mind. It is a fathomless abyss to
me. Let me think of some other way. Oh, madam! if you were out of the
house, and could then come----"

Suddenly, a thought struck me. "I can do it; I see the way to do it--a
way that will place you in a triumphant position and yet save him from
suspicion. He is weary of this care. He wants to be relieved of the
dreadful secret which anchors him to this house, and makes a hell of the
very spot in which he has fixed his love. Shall we under-take to do this
for him? Can you trust me if I promise to take an immediate impression
of this key, and have one made for myself, which shall insure my return
here?"

"My dear," she said, taking my head between her two trembling hands, "I
have never looked upon a sweeter face than my daughter's till I looked
upon yours to-day. If you bid me hope, I will hope, and if you bid me
trust, I will trust. The remembrance of this kiss will not let you
forget." And she embraced me in a warm and tender manner.

"I will write you," I murmured. "Some day look for a billet under the
door. It will tell you what to do; now I must go back to my husband."

When I reached the office, I was in a fainting condition, but all my
hopes revived again when I saw the vest still hanging where I had left
it, and heard my husband's voice singing cheerfully in the adjoining
room.




CHAPTER VI

WHILE OTHERS DANCED


A crowd in the ---- Street house was necessary to the quiet escape of
Mrs. Ransome and her daughter; so a crowd we must have, and how have a
crowd without giving a grand party?

I knew that this would be a shocking proposition to him; but I was
prepared to meet all objections; and when, with every nerve alert and
every charm exerted to its utmost, I sat down at his side that evening
to plead my cause, I knew by the sparkle of his eye and the softening of
the bitter lines that sometimes hardened his mouth, that the battle was
half won before I spoke, and that I should have my party whatever it
might cost him in mental stress and worry.

The next thing I did was to procure a facsimile of his key from the wax
impression I had taken of it in accordance with my promise to Mrs.
Ransome. Then I wrote her a letter, in which I gave her the minutest
directions as to her own movements on that important evening. After
which I gave myself up entirely to the business of the party.

Certain things I had insisted on. All the rooms were to be opened, even
those on the third floor; and I was to have a band to play in the hall.
He did not deny me anything. I think his judgment was asleep, or else he
was so taken up with the horrible problem presented by his desire to
leave the city and the existence of those obligations which made
departure an impossibility, that he failed to place due stress on
matters which, at another time, might very well seem to threaten the
disclosure of his dangerous secret.

At last the night came.

An entertainment given in this great house had aroused much interest.
Most of our invitations had been accepted, and the affair promised to
be brilliant. As a bride, I wore white, and when, at the moment of going
down-stairs, my husband suddenly clasped about my neck a rich necklace
of diamonds, I was seized by such a bitter sense of the contrast between
appearances and the awful reality underlying these festivities, that I
reeled in his arms, and had to employ all the arts which my dangerous
position had taught me, to quiet his alarm, and convince him that my
emotion sprang entirely from pleasure.

Meantime the orchestra was playing and the equipages were rolling up in
front. What he thought as the music filled the house and rose in
piercing melody to the very roof, I can not say. I thought how it was a
message of release to those weary and abused ones above; and, filled
with the sense of support which the presence of so many people in the
house gave me, I drew up my girlish figure in glad excitement and
prepared myself for the ordeal, visible and invisible, which awaited
me.

The next two hours form a blank in my memory. Standing under Mrs.
Ransome's picture (I would stand there), I received the congratulations
of the hundred or more people who were anxious to see Mr. Allison's
bride, and of the whole glittering pageant I remember only the whispered
words of Mrs. Vandyke as she passed with the rest:

"My dear, I take back what I said the other day about the effect of
marriage upon you. You are the most brilliant woman here, and Mr.
Allison the happiest of men."

This was an indication that all was going well. But what of the awful
morning hour that awaited us! Would that show him a happy man?

At last our guests were assembled, and I had an instant to myself.
Murmuring a prayer for courage, I slid from the room and ran up-stairs.
Here all was bustle also--a bustle I delighted in, for, with so many
people moving about, Mrs. Ransome and her daughter could pass out
without attracting more than a momentary attention.

Securing a bundle I had myself prepared, I glided up the second
staircase, and, after a moment's delay, succeeded in unlocking the door
and disappearing with my bundle into the fourth story. When I came down,
the key I had carried up was left behind me. The way for Mrs. Ransome's
escape lay open.

I do not think I had been gone ten minutes from the drawing-room. When I
returned there, it was to find the festivities at their height, and my
husband just on the point of missing me. The look which he directed
toward me pierced me to the heart; not that I was playing him false, for
I was risking life, love and the loss of everything I prized, to save
him from himself; but that his love for me should be so strong he could
forget the two tortured hearts above, in the admiration I had awakened
in the shallow people about us. But I smiled, as a woman on the rack
might smile if the safety of her loved ones depended on her courage,
and, nerving myself for the suspense of such a waiting as few of my
inexperience have ever been called upon to endure, I turned to a group
of ladies I saw near me and began to talk.

Happily, I did not have to chatter long; happily, Mrs. Ransome was quick
in her movements and exact in all she did, and, sooner than I expected,
sooner perhaps, than I was prepared for it, the man who attended the
front door came to my side and informed me that a lady wished to see
me--a lady who had just arrived from the steamer, and who said she was
the mistress of the house, Mrs. Ransome.

Mrs. Ransome! The name spread like wild-fire, but before any movement
was made, I had bounded, in laughing confusion, to my husband's side,
and, grasping him merrily by the arm, cried:

"Your expectations have come true. Mrs. Ransome has returned without
warning, and to-night she will partake of the supper you have always had
served for her."

The shock was as great, perhaps, as ever man received. I knew what it
was likely to be, and held him upright, with the seeming merriment in my
eyes which I did not allow to stray from his. He thought I was mad, then
he thought he was--then I recalled him to the dangers and exigencies of
the moment by saying, with forced naiveté:

"Shall I go and welcome her to this gathering in her own house, or will
you do the honors? She may not know me."

He moved, but as a statue might move, shot through and through with an
electric spark. I saw that I must act, rather than he, so uttering some
girlish sentence about the mice and cat, I glided away into the hall,
where Mrs. Ransome stood in the nondescript black coat and bonnet I had
provided her from her own wardrobe. She had slipped a few moments before
from the house with her daughter, whom she had placed in a carriage,
which I had ordered to wait for them directly in front of the lamp-post,
and had now re-entered as the mistress returning unexpectedly after a
departure of five years. All had been done as I had planned, and it
only remained to carry on the farce and prevent its developing into a
tragedy.

Rushing up to her, I told her who I was, and, as we were literally
surrounded in a moment, added such apologies for the merrymaking in
which she found us indulging as my wit suggested and the occasion seemed
to demand. Then I allowed her to speak.

Instantly she was the mistress of the house. Old-fashioned as her dress
was and changed as her figure must have been, she had that imposing
bearing which great misfortune, nobly borne, gives to some natures, and
feeling the eyes of many of her old friends upon her, she graciously
smiled and said that she was delighted to receive so public a welcome.
Then she took me by the hand.

"Do not worry, child," she said, "I have a daughter about your age,
which in itself would make me lenient toward one so young and pretty.
Where is your husband, dear? He has served me well in my absence, and I
should like to shake hands with him before I withdraw with my daughter,
to a hotel for the night."

I looked up; he was standing in the open doorway leading into the
drawing-room. He had recovered a semblance of composure, but the hand
fingering the inner pocket, where he kept his keys, showed in what a
tumult of surprise and doubt he had been thrown by this unaccountable
appearance of his prisoner in the open hall; and if to other eyes he
showed no more than the natural confusion of the moment, to me he had
the look of a secretly desperate man, alive to his danger, and only
holding himself in check in order to measure it.

At the mention she made of his name, he came mechanically forward, and,
taking her proffered hand, bowed over it. "Welcome," he murmured, in
strained tones; then, startled by the pressure of her fingers in his, he
glanced doubtfully up while she said:

"We will have no talk to-night, my faithful and careful friend, but
to-morrow you may come and see me at the ---- Hotel. You will find that
my return will not lessen your manifest happiness."

Then, as he began to tremble, she laid her hand on his arm, and I heard
her smilingly whisper: "You have too pretty a wife for me not to wish my
return to be a benefaction to her." And, with a smile to the crowd and
an admonition to those about her not to let the bride suffer from this
interruption, she disappeared through the great front door on the arm of
the man who for five years had held her prisoner in her own house. I
went back into the drawing-room, and the five minutes which elapsed
between that moment and that of his return were the most awful of my
life. When he came back I had aged ten years, yet all that time I was
laughing and talking.

He did not rejoin me immediately; he went up-stairs. I knew why; he had
gone to see if the door to the fourth floor had been unlocked or simply
broken down. When he came back he gave me one look. Did he suspect me? I
could not tell. After that, there was another blank in my memory to the
hour when the guests were all gone, the house all silent, and we stood
together in a little room, where I had at last discovered him, withdrawn
by himself, writing. There was a loaded pistol on the table. The paper
he had been writing was his will.

"Humphrey," said I, placing a finger on the pistol, "why is this?"

He gave me a look, a hungry, passionate look, then he grew as white as
the paper he had just subscribed with his name.

"I am ruined," he murmured. "I have made unwarrantable use of Mrs.
Ransome's money; her return has undone me. Delight, I love you, but I
can not face the future. You will be provided for--"

"Will I?" I put in softly, very softly, for my way was strewn with
pitfalls and precipices. "I do not think so, Humphrey. If the money you
have put away is not yours, my first care would be to restore it. Then
what would I have left? A dowry of odium and despair, and I am scarcely
eighteen."

"But--but--you do not understand, Delight. I have been a villain, a
worse villain than you think. The only thing in my life I have not to
blush for is my love for you. This is pure, even if it has been selfish.
I know it is pure, because I have begun to suffer. If I could tell
you--"

"Mrs. Ransome has already told me," said I. "Who do you think unlocked
the door of her retreat? I, Humphrey. I wanted to save you from
yourself, and she understands me. She will never reveal the secret of
the years she has passed overhead."

Would he hate me? Would he love me? Would he turn that fatal weapon on
me, or level it again toward his own breast? For a moment I could not
tell; then the white horror in his face broke up, and, giving me a look
I shall never forget till I die, he fell prostrate on his knees and
lowered his proud head before me.

I did not touch it, but from that moment the schooling of our two hearts
began, and, though I can never look upon my husband with the frank joy I
see in other women's faces, I have learned not to look upon him with
distrust, and to thank God I did not forsake him when desertion might
have meant the destruction of the one small seed of goodness which had
developed in his heart with the advent of a love for which nothing in
his whole previous life had prepared him.




=FAMOUS AUTHORS AND THEIR BOOKS INCLUDED IN THIS SERIES=

       *     *     *     *     *

=ECCENTRIC MR. CLARK=
      =By JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY=
      _Author of "An Old Sweetheart of Mine," etc._

=THE PRINCESS ELOPES=
      =By HAROLD MacGRATH=
      _Author of "The Man on the Box," etc._

=AS THE HEART PANTETH=
      =By HALLIE ERMINIE RIVES=
      _Author of "The Valiants of Virginia," etc._

=ROSALYNDE'S LOVERS=
      =By MAURICE THOMPSON=
      _Author of "Alice of Old Vincennes," etc._

=THE HOUSE IN THE MIST=
      =By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN=
      _Author of "The Leavenworth Case," etc._

=TROLLEY FOLLY=
      =By HENRY WALLACE PHILLIPS=
      _Author of "Red Saunders," etc._

=MOTORMANIACS=
      =By LLOYD OSBOURNE=
      _Author of "A Person of Some Importance," etc._

=THE FIFTH STRING=
      =By JOHN PHILIP SOUSA=
      _Author of "Pipetown Sandy," etc._

=CHIMES FROM A JESTER'S BELLS=
      =By ROBERT J. BURDETTE=
      _Author of "Old Time and Young Tom," etc._

=A GUEST AT THE LUDLOW=
      =By BILL NYE=
      _Author of "Baled Hay," etc._

=FOUR IN FAMILY=
      =By FLORIDA POPE SUMERWELL=

=A FOOL FOR LOVE=
      =By FRANCIS LYNDE=
      _Author of "The Grafters," etc._

Transcriber's Notes:

Page 150 "ever eighteen" left as in source ("had I been ever
eighteen, ...")

Page 158 "seculsion" changed to "seclusion"
("To my mind, it added an element of pathos to his seclusion, ...")

Page 168 "Vandkye" changed to "Vandyke"
("Mrs. Vandyke received me with effusion.")






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