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diff --git a/old/68153-0.txt b/old/68153-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index d3bb5f5..0000000 --- a/old/68153-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,12306 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The step on the stair, by Anna -Katharine Green - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The step on the stair - -Author: Anna Katharine Green - -Release Date: May 22, 2022 [eBook #68153] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Charlene Taylor, Shaun Mudd and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STEP ON THE STAIR *** - - - -[Illustration: - - A RUDE DRAWN DIAGRAM, LARGE ENOUGH TO BE SEEN FROM ALL PARTS OF THE - COURT ROOM, FELL INTO VIEW. - - _Page 146_] - - THE STEP ON - THE STAIR - - BY - - ANNA KATHARINE GREEN - - AUTHOR OF - “THE LEAVENWORTH CASE,” “THE FILIGREE BALL,” - “THE MYSTERY OF THE HASTY ARROW,” ETC. - - [Illustration] - - NEW YORK - DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY - 1923 - - COPYRIGHT 1923 - BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INC. - - - PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. BY - The Quinn & Boden Company - - BOOK MANUFACTURERS - RAHWAY NEW JERSEY - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - BOOK I THE THREE EDGARS 3 - - BOOK II HIDDEN 93 - - BOOK III WHICH OF US TWO? 191 - - BOOK IV LOVE 277 - - - - -_BOOK I_ - -THE THREE EDGARS - - -THE STEP ON THE STAIR - - -I - -I had turned the corner at Thirty-fifth Street and was halfway down the -block in my search for a number I had just taken from the telephone -book when my attention was suddenly diverted by the quick movements -and peculiar aspect of a man whom I saw plunging from the doorway of a -large office-building some fifty feet or so ahead of me. - -Though to all appearance in a desperate hurry to take the taxi-cab -waiting for him at the curb, he was so under the influence of some -other anxiety almost equally pressing that he stopped before he reached -it to give one searching look down the street which, to my amazement, -presently centered on myself. - -The man was a stranger to me, but evidently I was not so to him, for -his expression changed at once as our eyes met and, without waiting -for me to advance, he stepped hastily towards me, saying as we came -together: - -“Mr. Bartholomew, is it not?” - -I bowed. He had spoken my name. - -“I have been waiting for you many interminable minutes,” he hurriedly -continued. “I have had bad news from home--a child hurt--and must go at -once. So, if you will pardon the informality, I will hand over to you -here and now the letter about which I telephoned you, together with a -key which I am assured you will find very useful. I am sorry I cannot -stop for further explanations; but you will pardon me, I know. You can -have nothing to ask which will not keep till to-morrow?” - -“No; but--” - -I got no further, something in my tone or something in my look seemed -to alarm him for he took an immediate advantage of my hesitation to -repeat anxiously: - -“You are Mr. Bartholomew, are you not? Edgar Quenton Bartholomew?” - -I smiled a polite acquiescence and, taking a card from my pocketbook, -handed it to him. - -He gave it one glance and passed it back. The name corresponded exactly -with the one he had just uttered. - -With a muttered apology and a hasty nod, he turned and fairly ran to -the waiting taxi-cab. Had he looked back-- - -But he did not, and I had the doubtful satisfaction of seeing him ride -off before I could summon my wits or pocket the articles which had been -so unceremoniously thrust upon me. - -For what had seemed so right to him seemed anything but right to me. -I was Edgar Q. Bartholomew without question, but I was very sure that -I was not the Edgar Quenton Bartholomew he thought he was addressing. -This I had more than suspected when he first accosted me. But when, -after consulting my card, he handed me the letter and its accompanying -parcel, all doubt vanished. He had given into my keeping articles meant -for another man. - -_And I knew the man._ - -Yet I had let this stranger go without an attempt to rid him of his -misapprehension. Had seen him hasten away to his injured child without -uttering the one word which would have saved him from an error the -consequences of which no one, not even myself, could at that moment -foresee. - -Why did I do this? I call myself a gentleman; moreover I believe myself -to be universally considered as such. Why, then-- - -Let events tell. Follow my next move and look for explanations later. - -The man who had accosted me was a lawyer by the name of Miller. Of that -I felt assured. Also that he had been coming from his own office when -he first rushed into view. Of that office I should be glad to have a -momentary glimpse; also I should certainly be much more composed in -mind and ready to meet the possible results of my inexcusable action -if I knew whether or not the man for whom I had been taken--the other -Edgar Q. Bartholomew, would come for that letter and parcel of which I -had myself become the guilty possessor. - -The first matter could be settled in no time. The directory just inside -the building from which I had seen Mr. Miller emerge would give me the -number of his office. But to determine just how I might satisfy myself -on the other point was not so easy. To take up my stand somewhere in -the vicinity--in a doorway, let us say--from which I could watch all -who entered the building in which I had located Mr. Miller’s office -seemed the natural and moreover the safest way. For the passers-by were -many and I could easily slip amongst them and so disappear from view if -by chance I perceived the other man of my name approaching. Whereas, -if once inside, I should find it difficult to avoid him in case of an -encounter. - -Policy called for a watch from the street, but who listens to policy -at the age of twenty-three; and after a moment or two of indecision, I -hurried forward and, entering the building, was soon at a door on the -third floor bearing the name of - - JOHN E. MILLER - - ATTORNEY AT LAW - -Satisfied from the results of my short meeting with Mr. Miller in the -street below that he neither knew my person nor that of the other -Bartholomew (strange as this latter may seem when one considers the -character of the business linking them together), I felt that I had no -reason to fear being recognized by any of his clerks; and taking the -knob of the door in hand, I boldly sought to enter. But I found the -door locked, nor did I receive any response to my knock. Evidently Mr. -Miller kept no clerks or they had all left the building when he did. - -Annoyed as I was at the mischance, for I had really hoped to come upon -some one there of sufficient responsibility to be of assistance to me -in my perplexity, I yet derived some gratification from the thought -that when the other Bartholomew came, he would meet with the same -disappointment. - -But would he come? There seemed to be the best of reasons why he -should. The appointment made for him by Mr. Miller was one, which, -judging from what had just taken place between that gentleman and -myself, was of too great importance to be heedlessly ignored. Perhaps -in another moment--at the next stop of the elevator--I should behold -his gay and careless figure step into sight within twenty feet of -me. Did I wish him to find me standing in hesitation before the -lawyer’s closed door? No, anything but that, especially as I was by -no means sure what I might be led into doing if we thus came eye to -eye. The letter in my pocket--the key of whose usefulness I had been -assured--was it or was it not in me to hand them over without a fuller -knowledge of what I might lose in doing so? - -Honestly, I did not know. I should have to see his face--the far from -handsome face which nevertheless won all hearts as mine had never done, -good-looking though I was said to be even by those who liked me least. -If that face wore a smile--I had reason to dread that smile--I might -waver and succumb to its peculiar fascination. If on the contrary its -expression was dubious or betrayed an undue anxiety, the temptation -to leave him in ignorance of what I held would be great and I should -probably pass the coming night in secret debate with my own conscience -over the untoward situation in which I found myself, himself and one -other thus unexpectedly involved. - -It would be no more than just, or so I blindly decided as I hastily -withdrew into a short hall which providentially opened just opposite -the spot where I stood lingering in my indecision. - -It was an unnecessary precaution. Strangers and strangers only met my -eye as I gazed in anxious scrutiny at the various persons hurrying by -in every direction. - -Five minutes--ten went by--and still a rush of strangers, none of whom -paused even for a moment at Mr. Miller’s door. - -Should I waste any more time on such an uncertainty, or should I linger -a little while longer in the hope that the other Quenton Bartholomew -would yet turn up? I was not surprised at his being late. If ever a man -was a slave to his own temperament, that man was he, and what would -make most of us hasten, often caused him a needless delay. - -I would wait ten, fifteen minutes longer; for petty as the wish may -seem to you who as yet have been given no clew to my motives or my -reason for them, I felt that it would be a solace for many a bitter -hour in the past if I might be the secret witness of this man’s -disappointment at having through some freak or a culpable indifference -as to time, missed the interview which might mean everything to him. - -I should not have to use my eyes to take all this in; hearing would be -sufficient. But then if he should chance to turn and glance my way he -would not need to see my face in order to recognize me; and the ensuing -conversation would not be without its embarrassments for the one hiding -the other’s booty in his breast. - -No, I would go, notwithstanding the uncertainty it would leave in my -mind; and impetuously wheeling about, I was on the point of carrying -out this purpose when I noticed for the first time that there was an -opening at the extreme end of this short hall, leading to a staircase -running down to the one beneath. - -This offered me an advantage of which I was not slow to avail myself. -Slipping from the open hall on to the platform heading this staircase, -I listened without further fear of being seen for any movement which -might take place at door 322. - -But without results. Though I remained where I was for a full half -hour, I heard nothing which betrayed the near-by presence of the man -for whom I waited. If a step seemed to halt before the office-door upon -which my attention was centered it went speedily on. He whom I half -hoped, half dreaded to see failed to appear. - -Why should I have expected anything different? Was he not always -himself and no other? _He_ keep an appointment?--remember that time is -money to most men if not to his own easy self? Hardly, if some present -whim, or promising diversion stood in the way. Yet business of this -nature, involving--But there! what did it involve? That I did not -know--could not know till what lay concealed in my pocket should open -up its secrets. My heart jumped at the thought. I was not indifferent -if he was. If I left the building now, the letter containing these -secrets would have to go with me. The idea of leaving it in the hands -of a third party, be he who he may, was an intolerable one. For this -night at least, it must remain in my keeping. Perhaps on the morrow I -should see my way to some other disposition of the same. At all events, -such an opportunity to end a great perplexity seldom comes to any man. -I should be a fool to let it slip without a due balancing of the pros -and cons incident to all serious dilemmas. - -So thinking, I left the building and in twenty minutes was closeted -with my problem in a room I had taken that morning at the Marie -Antoinette. - -For hours I busied myself with it, in an effort to determine whether -I should open the letter bearing my name but which I was certain was -not intended for me, or to let it lie untampered with till I could -communicate with the man who had a legal right to it. - -It was not the simple question that it seems. Read on, and I think you -will ultimately agree with me that I was right in giving the matter -some thought before yielding to the instinctive impulse of an honest -man. - - -II - -My uncle, Edgar Quenton Bartholomew, was a man in a thousand. In -everything he was remarkable. Physically little short of a giant, but -handsome as few are handsome, he had a mind and heart measuring up to -his other advantages. - -Had fortune placed him differently--had he lived where talent is -recognized and a man’s faculties are given full play--he might have -been numbered among the country’s greatest instead of being the boast -of a small town which only half appreciated the personality it so -ignorantly exalted. His early life, even his middle age I leave to your -imagination. It is of his latter days I would speak; days full of a -quiet tragedy for which the hitherto even tenor of his life had poorly -prepared him. - -Though I was one of the only two male relatives left to him, I had -grown to manhood before Fate brought us face to face and his troubles -as well as mine began. I was the son of his next younger brother and -had been brought up abroad where my father had married. I was given my -uncle’s name but this led to little beyond an acknowledgment of our -relationship in the shape of a generous gift each year on my birthday, -until by the death of my mother who had outlived my father twenty -years, I was left free to follow my natural spirit of adventure and to -make the acquaintance of one whom I had been brought up to consider as -a man of unbounded wealth and decided consequence. - -That in doing this I was to quit a safe and quiet life, and enter upon -personal hazard and many a disturbing problem, I little realized. -But had it been given me to foresee this I probably would have taken -passage just the same and perhaps with even more youthful gusto. Have I -not said that my temperament was naturally adventurous? - -I arrived in New York, had my three weeks of pleasure in town, then -started north for the small city from which my uncle’s letters had -invariably been post-marked. I had not advised him of my coming. With -the unconscious egotism of youth I wanted to surprise him and his -lovely young daughter about whom I had had many a dream. - -Edgar Quenton Bartholomew sending up his card to Edgar Quenton -Bartholomew tickled my fancy. I had forgotten or rather ignored the -fact that there was still another of our name, the son of a yet younger -brother whom I had not seen and of whom I had heard so little that he -was really a negligible factor in the plans I had laid out for myself. - -This third Edgar was still a negligible factor when on reaching C---- -I stepped from the train and made my way into the station where I -proposed to get some information as to the location of my uncle’s home. -It was while thus engaged that I was startled and almost thrown off -my balance by seeing in the hand of a liveried chauffeur awaiting his -turn at the ticket office, a large gripsack bearing the initials E. Q. -B.--which you will remember were not only mine but those of my unknown -cousin. - -There was but one conclusion to be drawn from this circumstance. My -uncle’s second namesake--the nephew who possibly lived with him--was on -the point of leaving town; and whether I welcomed the fact or not, must -at that very moment be somewhere in the crowd surrounding me or on the -platform outside. - -More startled than gratified by this discovery, I impulsively reversed -the bag I was carrying so as to effectively conceal from view the -initials which gave away my own identity. - -Why? Most any other man in my position would have rejoiced at such an -opportunity to make himself known to one so closely allied to himself -before the fast coming train had carried him away. But I had my own -conception of how and where my introduction to my American relatives -should take place. It had been my dream for weeks, and I was in no mood -to see it changed simply because my uncle’s second namesake chose to -take a journey just as I was entering the town. He was young and I was -young; we could both afford to wait. It was not about his image that my -fancies lingered. - -Here the crowd of outgoing passengers caught me up and I was soon on -the outside platform looking about, though with a feeling of inner -revulsion of which I should have been ashamed and was not, for the -face and figure of a young man answering to my preconceived idea of -what my famous uncle’s nephew should be. But I saw no one near or far -with whom I could associate in any way the initials I have mentioned, -and relieved in mind that the hurrying minutes left me no time for -further effort in this direction, I was searching for some one to whom -I might properly address my inquiries, when I heard a deep voice from -somewhere over my head remark to the chauffeur whom I now saw standing -directly in front of me, “Is everything all right? Train on time?” and -turned, realizing in an instant upon whom my gaze would fall. Tones so -deliberate and so rich with the mellowness of years never could have -come from a young man’s throat. It was my uncle, and not my cousin, who -stood at my back awaiting the coming train. One glance at his face and -figure made any other conclusion impossible. - -Here then, in the hurry of departure from town where I had foolishly -looked upon him as a fixture, our meeting was to come off. The surprise -I had planned had turned into an embarrassment for myself. Instead of -a fit setting such as I had often imagined (how the dream came back to -me at that incongruous moment! The grand old parlor, of the elegance -of which strange stories had come to my ears--my waiting figure, -expectant, with eyes on the door opening to admit uncle and cousin, he -stately but kind, she curious but shy)--instead of all this, with its -glamour of hope and uncertainty, a station platform, with but three -minutes in which to state my claim and receive his welcome. - -Could any circumstances have been more prejudicial to my high hopes? -Yet must I make my attempt. If I let this opportunity slip, I might -never have another. Who knows! He might be going away for weeks, -perhaps for months. Danger lurks in long delays. I dared not remain -silent. - -Meantime, I had been taking in his imposing personality. Though -anticipating much, I found myself in no wise disappointed. He was all -and more than my fancy had painted. If the grandeur of his proportions -aroused a feeling of awe, the geniality of his expression softened that -feeling into one of a more pleasing nature. He was gifted with the -power to win as well as to command; and as I noted this and yielded to -an influence such as never before had entered my life, the hardihood -with which I had contemplated this meeting received a shock; and a -warmth to which my breast was more or less a stranger took the place of -the pretense with which I had expected to carry off a situation I was -hardly experienced enough in social amenities to handle with suitable -propriety. - -While this new and unusual feeling lightened my heart and made it easy -for my lips to smile, I touched him lightly on the arm (for he was not -noticing me at all), and quietly spoke his name. - -Now I am by no means a short man, but at the sound of my voice he -looked down and meeting the glance of a stranger, nodded and waited for -me to speak, which I did with the least circumlocution possible. - -Begging him to pardon me for intruding myself upon him at such a -moment, I smilingly remarked: - -“From the initials I see on the bag in the hand of your chauffeur, -I judge that you will not be devoid of all interest in mine, if -only because they are so strangely familiar to you.” And with a -repetition of my smile which sprang quite unbidden at his look of quick -astonishment, I turned my own bag about and let him see the E. Q. B. -hitherto hidden from view. - -He gave a start, and laying his hand on my shoulder, gazed at me for -a moment with an earnestness I would have found it hard to meet five -minutes before, and then drew me slightly aside with the remark: - -“You are James’ son?” - -I nodded. - -“You have crossed the ocean and found your way here to see me?” - -I nodded again; words did not come with their usual alacrity. - -“I do not see your father in your face.” - -“No, I favor my mother.” - -“She must have been a handsome woman.” - -I flushed, not with displeasure, but because I had hoped that he would -find something of himself or at least of his family in my personal -traits. - -“She was the belle of her village, when my father married her,” I -nevertheless answered. “She died six weeks ago. That is why I am here; -to make your acquaintance and that of my two cousins who up till now -have been little more than names to me.” - -“I am glad to see you,”--and though the rumble of the approaching train -was every moment becoming more audible, he made no move, unless the -gesture with which he summoned his chauffeur could be called one. “I -was going to Albany, but that city won’t run away, while I am not so -sure that you will not, if I left you thus unceremoniously at the first -moment of our acquaintance. Bliss, take us back home and tell Wealthy -to order the fatted calf.” Then, with a merry glance my way, “We shall -have to do our celebrating in peaceful contemplation of each other’s -enjoyment. Both Edgar and Orpha are away. But do not be concerned. -A man of my build can do wonders in an emergency; and so, I have no -doubt, can you. Together, we should be able to make the occasion a -memorable one.” - -The laugh with which I replied was gay with hope. No premonition of -mischief or of any deeper evil disturbed that first exhilaration. We -were like boys. He sixty-seven and I twenty-three. - -It is an hour I love to look back upon. - - -III - -I had always been told that my uncle’s home was one of unusual -magnificence but placed in such an undesirable quarter of the city as -to occasion surprise that so much money should have been lavished in -embellishing a site which in itself was comparatively worthless. And -yet while I was thus in a measure prepared for what I was to see, I -found the magnificence of the house as well as the unattractiveness of -the surroundings much greater than anything my imagination had presumed -to picture. - -The fact that this man of many millions lived not only in the business -section but in the least prosperous portion of it was what I noted -first. I could hardly believe that the street we entered was his -street until I saw that its name was the one to which our letters had -been uniformly addressed. Old fashioned houses, all decent but of the -humbler sort, with here and there a sprinkling of shops, lined the way -which led up to the huge area of park and dwelling which owned him for -its master. Beyond, more street and rows of even humbler dwellings. -Why, the choice of this spot for a palace? I tried to keep this -question out of my countenance, as we turned into the driveway, and the -beauties of the Bartholomew home burst upon me. - -I shall find it a difficult house to describe. It is so absolutely the -product of a dominant mind bound by no architectural conventions that a -mere observer like myself could only wonder, admire and remain silent. - -It is built of stone with a curious admixture of wood at one end for -which there seems to be no artistic reason. However, one forgets this -when once the picturesque effect of the whole mass has seized upon -the imagination. To what this effect is due I have never been able to -decide. Perhaps the exact proportion of part to part may explain it, or -the peculiar grouping of its many chimneys each of individual design, -or more likely still, the way its separate roofs slope into each other, -insuring a continuous line of beauty. Whatever the cause, the result is -as pleasing as it is startling, and with this expression of delight in -its general features, I will proceed to give such details of its scope -and arrangement as are necessary to a full understanding of my story. - -Approached by a double driveway, its great door of entrance opened into -what I afterwards found to be a covered court taking the place of an -ordinary hall. - -Beyond this court, with its elaborate dome of glass sparkling in the -sunlight, rose the main façade with its two projecting wings flanking -the court on either side; the one on the right to the height of three -stories and the one on the left to two, thus leaving to view in the -latter case a row of mullioned windows in line with the façade already -mentioned. - -It was here that wood became predominate, allowing a display of -ornamentation, beautiful in itself, but oddly out of keeping with the -adjoining stone-work. - -Hemming this all in, but not too closely, was a group of wonderful old -trees concealing, as I afterwards learned, stables and a collection of -outhouses. The whole worthy of its owner and like him in its generous -proportions, its unconventionality and a sense of something elusive and -perplexing, suggestive of mystery, which same may or may not have been -in the builder’s mind when he fashioned this strange structure in his -dreams. - -Uncle was watching me. Evidently I was not as successful in hiding -my feelings as I had supposed. As we stepped from the auto on to the -platform leading to the front door--which I noticed as a minor detail, -was being held open to us by a man in waiting quite in baronial -style--he remarked: - -“You have many fine homes in England, but none I dare say, built on -the same model as this. There is a reason for the eccentricities you -notice. Not all of this house is new. A certain portion dates back a -hundred years. I did not wish to demolish this; so the new part, such -as you see it, had to be fashioned around it. But you will find it a -home both comfortable and hospitable. Welcome to Quenton Court.” - -Here he ushered me inside. - -Was I prepared for what I saw? - -Hardly. I had looked for splendor but not for such a dream of beauty as -recalled the wonders of old Granada. - -Moorish pillars! Moorish arches in a continuous colonnade extending -around three sides of the large square! Above, a dome of amber-tinted -glass through which the sunbeams of a cloudless day poured down upon -a central fountain tossing aloft its bejeweled sprays from a miracle -of carven stonework. Encircling the last a tesselated pavement covered -with rugs such as I had never seen in my limited experience of -interior furnishings. No couches, no moveables of any sort here, but -color--color everywhere, not glaring, but harmonized to an exquisite -degree. Through the arches on either side highly appointed rooms could -be seen; but to one entering from the front, all that met the eye was -the fountain at play backed by a flight of marble steps curving up to a -gallery which, like the steps themselves, supported a screen pierced by -arches and cut to the fineness of lace-work. - -And it was enough; artistry could go no further. - -“You like it?” - -The hearty tone called me from my dreams. - -“There is but one thing lacking,” I smiled; “the figure of my cousin -Orpha descending those wonderful stairs.” - -For an instant his eyes narrowed. Then he assumed what was probably -his business air and said kindly enough but in a way to stop all -questioning: - -“Orpha is in the Berkshires.” Then laughingly, as we proceeded to enter -one of the rooms, “Orpha does look well coming down those stairs.” - -She was not mentioned again between us for many days, and then only -casually. Yet his heart was full of her. I knew this from the way he -talked about her to others. - - -IV - -I was given a spacious apartment on the third story. It was here that -my uncle had his suite and, as I was afterwards told, my cousin Edgar -also whenever he chose to make use of it, which was not very often. -Mine overlooked the grounds on the east side of the building, and was -approached from the main staircase by a winding passage-way, and from -a rear one by a dozen narrow steps down which I was lucky never to -fall. The second story I soon learned was devoted to Orpha and the many -guests she was in the habit of entertaining. In her absence, all the -rooms on this floor remained closed. During my whole stay I failed to -see a single one of its many doors opened. - -I met my uncle at table and in the library opening off the court and -for a week we got on beautifully together. He seemed to enjoy my -companionship and to welcome every effort on my part towards mutual -trust and understanding. But the next week saw us no further advanced -either in confidence or warmth of affection, and this notwithstanding -an ever increasing regard on my part both for his character and -attainments. Was the fault, then, in me that he was not able to give me -the full response I so ardently desired? Or was it that the strength -of his attachment for the second bearer of his name was such as to -preclude too hearty a reception of one who might possibly look upon -himself as possessing a corresponding claim upon his consideration? - -I tried to flatter myself that this and not any real lack in myself -was the cause of the slight but quite perceptible break in our mutual -understanding. For whenever my cousin’s name came up, which was -oftener than was altogether pleasing to me, the light in my uncle’s -eye brightened and the richness in his tone grew more marked. Yet -when I once ventured to ask him if my cousin had any special bent -or predominate taste, he turned sharply aside, with the carefully -modulated remark: - -“If he has, neither he nor ourselves have ever been able as yet to -discover it.” - -But he loved him; of that I grew more and more assured as I noted that -there was not a room in the great mansion, no, nor a nook, so far as I -could see, without a picture of him somewhere on desk, table or mantel. -There was even one in my room. Photographs all, but taken at different -times of his life from childhood up, and framed every one with that -careful taste and lavishness of expense which we only bestow on what is -most precious. - -I spent a great deal of time studying these pictures. I may have been -seen doing so and I may not, having no premonition as to what was in -store for me. My interest in them sprang from a different source than -a casual onlooker would be apt to conjecture. I was searching for -what gave him such a hold on the affections of every sort of person -with whom he came in contact. There was no beauty in his countenance -nor in so far as I could judge from the various poses in which these -photographs had been taken, any distinction in his build or bearing. -His expression even lacked that haunting quality which sometimes -makes an otherwise ordinary countenance unforgettable. Yet during the -fortnight of my first stay under my uncle’s roof I never heard this -cousin of mine mentioned in the house or out of it, that I did not -observe that quiet illumination of the features on the part of the one -speaking which betrays lively admiration if not love. - -Was I generous enough to be glad of the favor so unconsciously shown -him by those who knew him best? I fear I must acknowledge to the -contrary in spite of the prejudice it may arouse against me. For I -mean to be frank in these pages and to present myself as I am, faults -and all, that you may rate at their full value the difficulties which -afterwards beset me. - -I was not pleased to find my cousin, unknown quantity though he was, -held so firmly in my uncle’s regard, especially as--but here let me cry -a moment’s halt while I speak of one who, if hitherto simply alluded -to, was much in my thoughts through these half pleasant, half trying -days of my early introduction into this family. Orpha did not return, -nor was I so happy as to come across her picture anywhere in the house; -which, considering the many that were to be seen of Edgar, struck me -as extremely odd till I heard that there was a wonderful full length -portrait of her in Uncle’s study, which fact afforded an explanation, -perhaps, of why I was never asked to accompany him there. - -This reticence of his concerning one who must be exceptionally dear to -him, taken with the assurances I received from more than one source -of the many delightful qualities distinguishing this heiress to many -millions, roused in me a curiosity which I saw no immediate prospect of -satisfying. - -Her father would not talk of her and as soon as I was really convinced -that this was no passing whim but a positive determination on his part, -I encouraged no one else to do so, out of a feeling of loyalty upon -which I fear I prided myself a little too much. For the better part -of my stay, then, she held her place in my imagination as a romantic -mystery which some day it would be given me to solve. At present she -was away on a visit, but visits are not interminable and when she did -come back her father would not be able to keep her shut away from all -eyes as he did her picture. But the complacency with which I looked -forward to this event received a shock when one morning, while still in -my room, I overheard a couple of sentences which passed between two of -the maids as they went tripping down the walk under my open window. - -One was to the effect that their young mistress was to have been home -the previous week but for some reason had changed her plans. - -“Or her father changed them for her,” laughed a merry voice. “The -handsome cousin might put the other out.” - -“Oh, no, don’t you think it,” was the quick retort. “No one could put -our Mr. Edgar out.” - -That was all. Mere servants’ gossip, but it set me thinking, and -the more I brooded over it, the more deeply I flushed in shame and -dissatisfaction. What if there were some truth in these idle words! -What if I were keeping my young cousin from her home! What if this -were the secret of that slight decrease in cordiality which my uncle -had shown or I felt that he had shown me these last few days. It -might well be so, if he had already planned as these chattering girls -had intimated in the few sentences I had overheard, a match between -his child and his best known, best loved nephew. The pang of extreme -dissatisfaction which this thought brought me roused my good sense and -sent me to bed that night in a state of self-derision which should have -made a man of me. Certainly it was not without some effect, for early -the next morning I sought an interview with my uncle in which I thanked -him for his hospitality and announced my intention of speedily bidding -him good-by as I had come to this country to stay and must be on the -look-out for a suitable situation. - -He looked pleased; commended me, and gave me half his morning in a -discussion of my capabilities and the best plan for utilizing them. -When I left him the next day, it was with a feeling of gratitude -strangely mingled with sentiments not quite so worthy. He had made me -understand without words or any display of coldness that I had come too -late upon the scene to alter in any manner his intentions towards his -youngest nephew. I should have his aid and sympathy to a reasonable -degree but beyond that I need hope for little more unless I should -prove myself a man of exceptional probity and talent which same I -perceived very plainly he did not in the least expect. - -Nor did I blame him. - -And so ends the first act of my little drama. You must acknowledge -that it gives small promise of a second one of more or less dramatic -intensity. - - -V - -Two months from that day I was given a desk of my own in a brokerage -office in New York city and as the saying is was soon making good. This -favorable start in the world of finance I owed entirely to my uncle, -without whose influence, and I dare say, without whose money, I could -never have got so far in so short a space of time. Was I pleased with -my good fortune? Was I even properly grateful for the prospects it -offered? In my heart of hearts I suppose I was. But visions would come -of the free and easy life of the man I envied, beloved if not approved -and looking forward to a continuance of these joys without the sting of -doubt to mar his outlook. I had seen my uncle several times but not my -cousins. They had remained in C----, happy, as I could well believe, in -each other’s companionship. - -With this conviction in mind it was certainly wise to forget them. But -I was never wise, and moreover I was a very selfish man in those days, -as you have already discovered--selfish and self-centered. Was I to -remain so? You will have to read further to find out. - -Thus things were, when suddenly and without the least warning, a -startling change took place in my life and social condition. It -happened in this wise. I was dining at a restaurant which I habitually -patronized, and being alone, which was my wont also, I was amusing -myself by imagining that the young man seated at a neighboring table -and also alone was my cousin. Though only a part of his profile was -visible, there was that in his general outline highly suggestive of -the man whose photographs I had so carefully studied. What might -not happen if it were really he! My imagination was hard at work, -when he impetuously rose and faced me, and I saw that I had made no -mistake; that the two Bartholomews, Edgar Quentons both, were at last -confronting each other; and that he as surely recognized me as I did -him. - -In another moment we had shaken hands and I was acknowledging to -myself that a man does not need to have exceptionally good looks to be -absolutely pleasing. Though quite assured that he did not cherish any -very amiable feelings towards myself, one would never have known it -from his smile or from the seemingly spontaneous warmth with which he -introduced himself and laughingly added: - -“I was told that I should be sure to find you here. I have been -entrusted with a message from those at home.” - -I motioned him to sit down beside me, which he did with sufficient -grace. Then before I could speak, he burst out in a matter-of-fact tone: - -“We are to have a ball. You are to come.” His hand was already -fumbling in one of his pockets. “Here is the formal invitation. Uncle -thought--in fact we both thought--that you would be more likely to -accept it if it were accompanied by some preliminary acquaintance -between us two. Say, cousin, I think it is quite fortunate that you are -a dark man and I a light one; for people can now say the dark Mr. E. Q. -Bartholomew or the light one, which will quite preclude any mistakes -being made.” - -I laughed, so did he, but there was an easy confidence in his laugh -which was not in mine. Somehow his remark did not please me. Nor do -I flatter myself that the impression I made upon him was any too -favorable. - -But we continued outwardly cordial. Likewise, I accepted the invitation -he had taken so long a trip to deliver and would have offered him a -bed in my bachelor apartment had he not already informed me that it was -his intention to return home that night. - -“Uncle did not seem quite as well as usual this morning,” he explained, -“and Orpha made me promise to come back at once. Just a trifling -indisposition,” he continued, a little carelessly. “He has always been -so robust that the slightest change in him is a source of worry to his -devoted daughter.” - -It was the first time he had mentioned her, and I may have betrayed -my interest, carefully as I sought to hide it; for his smile took on -meaning as he lightly remarked: - -“This ball is in celebration of an event you will be the first to -congratulate me upon when you see our pretty cousin.” - -“I am told that she is more than pretty; that she is very lovely,” I -observed somewhat coldly. - -His gesture was eloquent; yet to me his manner was not that of a -supremely happy man. Nor did I like the way he looked me over when we -parted as we did after a half hour of desultory conversation. But then -it would have been hard for me to find him wholly agreeable after the -announcement he had just made, little reason as I had to concern myself -over a marriage between one long ago chosen for that honor and a woman -I had not even seen. - - -VI - -Whether I was not over and above eager to attend this ball or whether -I was really the victim of several mischances which delayed me over -more than one train, I did not arrive in C---- till the entertainment -at Quenton Court was in full swing. This I knew from the animation -observable in the streets leading to my uncle’s home, and in the music -I heard as I entered the gate which, for no reason good enough to -mention, I had approached on foot. - -But though fond of dancing and quite used to scenes of this nature, I -felt little or no chagrin over the hour or two of pleasure thus lost. -The night was long and I should probably see all, if not too much, of -a celebration in which I seemed likely to play an altogether secondary -part. Which shows how little we know of what really confronts us; upon -what thresholds we stand,--or to use another simile,--how sudden may be -the tide which slips us from our moorings. - -I had barely stepped from under the awning into the vestibule guarding -the side entrance, when I found myself face to face with my uncle’s -butler. He was an undemonstrative man but there was something in his -countenance as he drew me aside, which disturbed, if it did not alarm -me. - -“I have been waiting for you, sir,” he said in a tone of suppressed -haste. “Mr. Bartholomew wishes to have a few words with you before you -enter the ball-room. Will you go straight up to his room?” - -“Most assuredly,” I replied, bounding up the narrow staircase used on -such occasions. - -He did not follow me. I knew the house and the exact location of my -uncle’s room. But imperative as my duty was to hasten there without the -least delay, a strong temptation came and I lingered on the way for how -many minutes I never knew. - -The cause was this. The room in which I had rid myself of my great-coat -and hat was on the opposite side of the hall from the stair-case -running up to the third story. In crossing over to it the lure of the -brilliant scene below drew me to the gallery overlooking the court -where most of the dancing was taking place. - -Once there, I stopped to look, and looking once, I looked again and yet -again, and with this last look, my life with its selfish wishes and -sordid plans took a turn from which it has never swerved from that day -to this. - -There is but one factor in life potent enough to work a miracle of this -nature. - -Love! - -I had seen the woman who was to make or unmake me; the only one who had -ever roused in me anything more than a pleasing emotion. - -It was no mere fancy. Fancy does not remold a man in a moment. Fancy -has its ups and downs, its hot minutes and its cold. This was a steady -inspiration; an enlargement of the soul such as I had hitherto been a -stranger to, and which I knew then, as plainly as I do now, would serve -to make my happiness or my misery as Fortune lent her aid or passed me -coldly by. - -I have called her a woman, but she was hardly that yet. Just a girl -rejoicing in the dance. Had she been older I should not have had the -temerity to associate her in this blind fashion with my future. But -young and care free--a blossom opening to the sun--what wonder that I -put no curb on my imagination, but watched her every step and every -smile with a delight in which self if assertive triumphed more in its -power to give than in its expectation of reward. - -It was a wonderful five minutes to come into any man’s life and -the experience must have left its impress upon me even if at this -culminating point of high feeling I had gone my way to see her face no -more. - -But Fate was in an impish mood that night. While I still lingered, -watching her swaying figure as it floated in and out of the pillared -arcade, the whirl of the dance brought her face to face with me, and -whether from the attraction of my fixed gaze or from one of those -chances which make or mar life, she raised her eyes to the latticed -gallery and our glances met. - -Was it possible--could it be--that hers rested for an instant longer -on mine than the occasion naturally called for? I blushed as I found -myself cherishing the thought,--I who had never blushed in all my -memory before--and forced myself to look elsewhere and to listen with -attention to the music just then rising in a bewildering crash. - -I have taken time to relate this, but the minutes of my lingering could -not have been many. However, as I have already acknowledged, I have -never known the sum of them, and when, at last, struck by a sudden pang -of remembrance, I started back from the gallery-railing and made my way -up a second flight of stairs to my uncle’s room, I was still so lost -to the realities of life that it was with a distinct sense of shock I -heard the sound of my own knock on my uncle’s door. - -But that threshold once passed, all thought of self--I will not say of -her--vanished in a great confusion. For my uncle, as I saw him now, had -little in common with my uncle as I saw him last. - -Sitting with face turned my way but with head lowered on his breast -and all force gone from his great body, he had the appearance of a -very sick man or of one engulfed beyond his own control in human -misery. Which of the two was it? Sickness I could understand; even the -prostration, under some insidious disease, of so powerful a physical -organism as that of the once strong man before me. But misery, no; -not while my own heart beat so high and the very walls shook with the -thrum, thrum of the violin and cello. It was too incongruous. - -But if sickness, why did I find him, the master of so many hearts, -alone in his room looking for help from one who was little more than a -stranger to him? It must be misery, and Edgar, my cousin, the cause. -For who but he could inflict a pang capable of working such havoc as -this in our uncle’s inflexible nature. Nor was I wrong; for when at -some movement I made he lifted his head and our eyes met, he asked -abruptly and without any word of welcome, this question: - -“Have you seen Edgar? Does he know that you are here?” - -I shook my head, in secret wonder that I had given him a thought since -setting foot in the house. - -“I have had no opportunity of seeing him,” I hastened to explain. “He -is doubtless with the dancers.” - -“Is he with the dancers?” It was said somewhat bitterly; but not in a -way which called for reply. Then with feverish abruptness, “Sit down, I -want to talk to you.” - -I took the first chair which offered and as I did so, became aware of a -hitherto unobserved presence at the farther end of the room. He was not -alone, then, it seemed. Some one was keeping watch. Who? I was soon to -know for he turned almost immediately in the direction I have named and -in a tone as far removed as possible from the ringing one to which I -was accustomed, he spoke the name of Wealthy, saying, as a middle-aged -woman came forward, that he would like to be alone for a little while -with this nephew who was such a stranger. - -She passed me in going out--a wholesome, kindly looking woman whom I -faintly remembered to have seen once or twice during my former visit. -As she stopped to lift the portière guarding the passage-way leading -to the door, she cast me a glance over her shoulder. It was full of -anxious doubt. - -I answered it with a nod of understanding, then turned to my uncle -whose countenance was now lit with a purpose which made it more -familiar. - -“I shall not waste words.” Thus he began. “I have been a strong man, -but that day is over. I can even foresee my end. But it is not of that -I wish to speak now. Quenton--” - -It was the first time he had used this name in addressing me and I -greeted it with a smile, recognizing immediately how it would not only -prevent confusion in the household but give me here and elsewhere an -individual standing. - -He saw I was pleased and so spoke the name again but this time with a -gravity which secured my earnest attention. - -“Quenton, (I am glad you like the name) I will not ask you to excuse my -abruptness. My condition demands it. Do you think you could ever love -my daughter, your cousin Orpha?” - -I was too amazed--too shaken in body and soul to answer him. This, -within fifteen minutes of an experience which had sealed my emotions -from all thought of love save for the one woman who had awakened -my indifferent nature to the real meaning of love. An hour before, -my heart would have leaped at the question. Now it was cold and -unresponsive as stone. - -“You do not answer.” - -It was not harshly said but very anxiously. - -“I--I thought,” was my feeble reply, “that Edgar, my cousin, was to -have that happiness. That this dance--this ball--was in celebration of -an engagement between them. Surely I was given to understand this.” - -“By him?” - -I nodded; the room was whirling about me. - -“Did he tell you like a man in love?” - -I flushed. What a question from him to me! How could I answer it? I had -no objection now to Edgar marrying her; but how could I be true to my -uncle or to myself, and answer this question affirmatively. - -“Your countenance speaks for you,” he declared, and dropped the subject -with the remark, “There will be no such announcement to-night. If -Edgar’s hopes appear to stand in the way of any you might naturally -cherish, you may eliminate them from your thoughts. And so I ask again, -do you think you could love my Orpha; really love her for herself and -not for her fortune? Love her as if she were the one woman in the world -for you?” - -He had grown easier; the flush and sparkle of health were returning to -his countenance. It smote my heart to say him nay; yet how could I be -worthy of _her_ if I misled him for an instant in so important a matter. - -“Uncle,” I cried, “you forget that I have never seen my cousin Orpha. -But even if I had and found her to be all that the most exacting heart -could desire, I could not give her my love; for that has gone out to -another--and irrevocably if I know my own nature.” - -He laughed, snapping his finger and thumb, in his recovered spirits. -“_That_,” he sung out, “for any other love when you have once seen -Orpha! I had forgotten that I kept her from you when you were here -before. You see I am not the man I was. But I may find myself again -if--” He paused, tried to rise, a strange light suddenly illuminating -his countenance. “Come with me,” he said, taking the arm I hastened to -hold out to him. - -Steadying myself, for I quickly divined his purpose, I led him toward -the door he had indicated by a quick gesture. It was that of his -so-called den from which I had always been excluded--the small room -opening off his larger one, containing, as I had been told, Orpha’s -portrait. - -“So,” thought I to myself, “shut from me when my heart was free to -love, to be shown now when all my being is filled with another.” It was -the beginning of a series of ironies which, while I recognized them as -such, did not cause me a moment of indecision. No, though his laugh was -yet ringing in my ears. - -“Open,” he cried, as we reached the door. “But wait. Go back and -put out all the lights. I can stand alone. And now,” as I did his -bidding, marveling at the strength of his purpose which did not shun a -theatrical effect to insure its success, “return and give me your hand -that I may lead you to the spot where I wish you to stand.” - -What could I do but obey? Tremulous with sympathy, but resolved, as -before, not to succumb to the allurement he was evidently preparing for -me, I yielded myself to his wishes and let him put me where he would in -the darkness of that small chamber. A click and-- - -You have guessed it. In the sudden burst of light, I saw before me in -glorious portraiture the vision of her with whom my mind was filled. - -The idol of my thoughts was she, whose father had just asked me if I -could love her enough to marry her. - - -VII - -I had never until now considered myself as a man of sentiment. -Indeed, a few hours before I would have scoffed at the thought that -any surprise, however dear, could have occasioned in me a display of -emotion. - -But that moment was too much for me. As the face and form of her whom -to see was to love, started into view before me with a vividness almost -of a living presence, springs were touched within my breast which I had -never known existed there, and my eyes moistened and my heart leapt -in thankfulness that the appeal of so exquisite a womanhood had found -response in my indifferent nature. - -For in the portrait there was to be seen a sweetness drawn from deeper -sources than that which had bewitched me in the smile of the dancer: a -richness of promise in pose and look which satisfied the reason as well -as charmed the eye. I had not done ill in choosing such a one as this -to lavish love upon. - -“Ha, my boy, what did I say?” The words came from my uncle and I felt -the pressure of his hand on my arm. “This is no common admiration I -see; it is something deeper, bigger. So you have forgotten the other -already? My little girl has put out all lesser lights.” - -“There is no other. She is the one, she only.” - -And I told him my story. - -He listened, gaining strength with every word I uttered. - -“So for a mere hope which might never have developed, you were ready to -give up a fortune,” was all he said. - -“It was not that which troubled me,” was my reply, uttered in all -candor. “It was the thought that I must disappoint you in a matter you -seem to have taken to heart.” - -“Yes, yes,” he muttered as if to himself. - -And I stood wondering, lost in surprise at this change in his wishes -and asking myself over and over as I turned on the lights and helped -him back to his easy chair in the big room, what had occasioned this -change, and whether it would be a permanent one or pass with the -possible hallucinations of his present fevered condition. - -To clear up this point and make sure that I should not be led to play -the fool in a situation of such unexpected difficulty, I ventured to -ask him what he wished me to do now--whether I should remain where I -was or go down and make my young cousin’s acquaintance. - -“She seemed very happy,” I assured him. “Evidently she does not know -that you are upstairs and ill.” - -“I do not want her to know it. Not till a half hour before supper-time. -Then she may come up. I will allow you to carry her this message; but -she must come up alone.” - -“Shall I call Wealthy?” I asked, for his temporary excitement was fast -giving away to a renewed lassitude. - -“She will come when you are gone. She must not know what has been said -here to-night. No one must know. Promise me, Quenton.” - -“No one shall know.” I was as anxious as he for silence. How could I -face her, or return Edgar’s handshake if my secret were known to either? - -“Go, then; Orpha will be wondering where you are. Naturally, she is -curious. If you ever win her love, be gentle with her. She is used to -gentleness.” - -“If I ever win her love,” I returned with some solemnity, “I will -remember this hour and what I owe to you.” - -He made a slight gesture and taking it for dismissal I turned to go. - -But the sigh I heard drew me back. - -“Is there nothing I can do for you before I go?” - -“Keep _him_ below if you have the wit to do it. I do not feel as if I -could see him to-night. But no hints; no cousinly innuendoes. Remember -that you have no knowledge of any displeasure I may feel. I can trust -you?” - -“Implicitly in this.” - -He made another gesture and I opened the door. - -“And don’t forget that I am to see Orpha half an hour before supper.” -In another moment he was on his feet. “How? What?” he cried, his face, -his voice, his whole appearance changed. - -And I knew why. Edgar was in the hall; Edgar was coming our way and in -haste; he was almost running. - -“Uncle!” was on his lips; and in another instant he was in the room. -“I heard you were ill,” he cried, passing by me without ceremony and -flinging himself on his knees at the sick man’s side. - -I did not stay to mark the other’s reception of this outburst. There -could be but one. Loving Edgar as he did in spite of any displeasure -he may have felt he could not but yield to the charm of his voice -and manner never perhaps more fully exercised than now. I was myself -affected by it and from that moment understood why he had got such a -hold on that great heart and why any dereliction of his or fancied -slight should have produced such an overwhelming effect. To-morrow -would see him the favored heir again; and with this belief and in this -mood I went below. - - -VIII - -I have thought many times since that I was fortunate rather than -otherwise to have received this decided set-back to my hopes before I -came into the presence of my lovely young cousin. It at least served to -steady me and give to our first meeting a wholesome restraint which it -might have lacked if no shadowing doubt had fallen upon my spirits. As -it was, there was a moment of self-consciousness, as our hands touched, -which made the instant a thrilling one. That she should show surprise -at identifying me, her cousin from a far-off land, with a stranger who -half an hour before had held her gaze from the gallery above, was to -be expected. But any hope that her falling lids and tremulous smile -meant more than this was a folly of which I hope I was not guilty. Had -I not just seen Edgar under circumstances which showed the power he -possessed over the hearts of men? What then must it be over the hearts -of women! Orpha could not help but love him and I had been a madman to -suppose that even with the encouragement of her father I could dream -for a moment of supplanting him in her affections. To emphasize the -effect of this conclusion I recalled what I had heard said by one of -the two servant-maids who had had countless opportunities of seeing him -and Orpha together, “Oh, nobody could put our Mr. Edgar out” and calmed -myself into a decent composure of mind and manner, for which she seemed -grateful. Why, I did not dare ask myself. - -A few minutes later we were whirling in the dance. - -I will not dwell on that dance or on the many introductions which -followed. The welcome accorded me was a cordial one and had I been free -to make full use of my opportunities I might have made a more lasting -impression upon my uncle’s friends. But my mind was diverted by my -anxiety as to what was going on in the room above, and the question -of how soon, if at all, Edgar would reappear upon the scene. It was -sufficiently evident from the expression of those about me that his -absence had been noted, and I could not keep my eyes from the gallery -through which he must pass on his way down. - -At last he came into view, but too far back in the gallery for me to -determine whether he came as conqueror or conquered from our uncle’s -room. Nor was I given a chance to form any immediate conclusion on this -important matter, though I passed him more than once in the dance into -which he had thrown himself with a fervor which might have most any -sentiment for its basis. - -But fortune favored me later and in a way I was far from expecting. -Having some difficulty in finding my partner for the coming dance, I -strolled into one of the smaller rooms leading, as I knew, to a certain -favorite nook in the conservatory. On the wall at my left was a mirror -and chancing to glance that way, I paused and went no further. - -For reflected there, from the hidden nook of which I have spoken, I saw -Edgar’s face and figure at a moment when the soul speaks rather than -the body, thus leaving its choicest secret no longer to surmise. - -He was bending to assist a young lady to rise from the seat which they -had evidently been occupying together. But the courtesy was that of -love and of love at its highest pitch--love at the brink of fate, of -loss, of wordless despair. There was no mistaking his look, the grasp -of his hand, the trembling of his whole body; and as I muttered to -myself, “This is a farewell,” my heart stood still in my breast and my -mind lost itself for the instant in infinite confusion. - -For the lady was not Orpha, but a tall superb brunette whose -countenance was a mirror of his in its tenderness and desolation. -Was this the cause of Uncle’s sudden reversal of opinion as to the -desirability of a union between the two cousins? Had some unexpected -discovery of the state of Edgar’s feelings towards another woman, -wrought such a change in his own that he could ask me, me, whether I -could love his daughter warmly enough to marry her? If so, I could -easily understand the passion with which he had watched the effect of -this question upon the only other man whom his pride of blood would -allow him to consider as the heir of his hard gotten fortune. - -All this was plain enough to me now, but what drove me backward from -that mirror and into a spot where I could regain some hold upon myself -was the certainty which these conclusions brought of the end of my -hopes. - -For the scene of which I had just been the inadvertent witness was one -of renunciation. Edgar had yielded to his uncle’s exactions and if I -were not mistaken in him as well as in my uncle, the announcement would -yet be made for which this ball had been given. - -How was I to bear it knowing what I did and loving her as I did! How -were any of us to endure a situation which left a sting in every -heart? It was for Orpha only to dance on untroubled. She had seen -nothing--heard nothing to disturb her joy. Might never hear or see -anything if we were all true to her and conscientiously masked our -unhappiness and despair. Edgar would play his part,--would have to with -Uncle’s eye upon him; and Uncle himself-- - -This inner mention of his name brought me up standing. I owed a duty to -that uncle. He had entrusted me with a message. The time to deliver it -had come. Orpha must be told and at once that her father wished to see -her in his room upstairs. For what purpose he had not said nor was it -for me to conjecture. All that I had to do was to fulfill his request. -I was glad that I had no choice in the matter. - -Leaving my quiet corner I reëntered the court where the dance was at -its height. Round and round in a mystic circle the joyous couples -swept, to a tune entrancing in melody and rhythm. From their midst the -fountain sent up its spray of dazzling drops a-glitter with the colors -flashed upon them from the half hidden lights overhead. A fairy scene -to the eye of untroubled youth; but to me a maddening one, masking the -grief of many hearts with its show of pleasure. - -What Orpha thought of me as I finally came upon her at the end of the -dance, I have often wondered. She appeared startled, possibly because I -was looking anything but natural myself. But she smiled in response to -my greeting, only to grow sober again, as I quietly informed her that -her father was a trifle indisposed and would be glad to see her for a -few minutes in his own room. - -“Papa, ill? I don’t understand,” she murmured. “He is never ill.” Then -suddenly, “Where is Edgar?” - -The question as she uttered it struck me keenly. However I managed to -reply in a purposely careless tone: - -“In the library, I think, where they are practicing some new steps. -Shall I take you to him?” - -She shook her head, but accepted my arm after a show of hesitation -quite unconscious I was sure. “No, I will go right up.” - -Without further words I led her to the foot of the great staircase. As -she withdrew her arm from mine she turned her face towards me. Its look -of trouble smote sorely on my heart. - -“Shall I go up with you?” I asked. - -She shook her head as before, and with a strange wavering smile I found -it hard to interpret, sped lightly upward. - -A few minutes later I had located my missing partner and was dancing -with seeming gayety; but almost lost my step as Edgar brushed by me -with a girl whom I had not seen before on his arm. He was as pale as -a man well could be who was not ill and though his lips wore a forced -smile the girl was doing all the talking. - -What was in the air? What would the next half hour bring to him--to -me--to all of us? - -I tried to do my duty by my partner, but it was not easy and I hardly -think she carried away a very favorable impression of me. When -released, I sought to hide myself behind a wall of flowering shrubs -as near the foot of the stairs as possible. Much can be read from the -human countenance, and if I could catch a glimpse of Orpha’s face as -she rejoined her guests, some of my doubts might be confirmed or, as I -secretly hoped, eliminated. - -That Edgar had the same idea was soon apparent; for the first figure -I saw approaching the stairs was his, and while he did not go up, he -took his stand where he would be sure to see her the moment she became -visible in the gallery. - -There was, however, a reason for this, aside from any personal anxiety -he may have had. They two, as acting host and hostess, were to lead the -procession to the supper-room. - -I was to take in a Miss Barton and while I kept this young lady in -sight, I remained where I was, watching Edgar and those empty stairs -for the coming of that fairy figure whose aspect might reveal my future -fate. Nothing could be so important as this hoped-for freeing of my -mind from its heavy doubts. - -Fortunately I had not long to wait. She presently appeared, and with -my first view of her face, doubt became certainty in my bewildered -mind. For she came with a joyful rush, and there was but one thing -which could so wing her feet and give such breeziness to her every -movement. The desire of her heart was still hers. Nothing that her -father had said had robbed her of that. Then as Edgar advanced, I -perceived that her feelings were complex and quite evenly balanced -between opposite emotions. Happiness lay before her, but so did -trouble, and I could not feel at ease until I knew just what this -trouble was. Then I remembered; she had found her father ill. That was -certainly enough to account for the secret care battling with her joy. -And so all was clear again to my mind. But not to my heart. For by the -way Edgar received her and the quiet manner in which they interchanged -a few words, I saw that they understood each other. That was what -disturbed me and gave to my hopes their final blow. _They understood -each other._ - -Whenever I think of the next half hour it is with astonishment that I -can remember so little of it. I probably spoke and answered questions -and conducted myself on the whole as a gentleman is expected to do on -a festive occasion. But I have no memory of it--none whatever. When I -came to myself, the supper was half over and the merriment, to which -I had probably added my full quota, at its height. With quick glances -here and there I took in the whole situation, and from that moment on -was quite conscious of how frequently my attention wandered from my -ingenuous little partner to where Orpha sat with Edgar, lovely as youth -and happiness could make her, but with never a look for me, much as I -longed for it. - -That he should fail to see and appreciate this loveliness, was no -longer a matter of surprise to me who had seen him under the complete -domination of his secret passion for Miss Colfax. But the fear that -others might note it and wonder, was strong within me. For while he -offered her no slight, his glances like mine would seek the face of the -woman he loved, who to my amazement occupied the seat at his right. -What a juxtaposition for him! But she did not seem to be affected by -it, but chatted and smiled with a composure startling to see in one -who to my unhappy knowledge had just passed through one of the really -great crises in life. How could she look just that way, smile just -that way, with a breaking heart beneath her silks and laces? It was -incomprehensible to me till I suddenly awoke to the fact that I was -smiling too and quite broadly at some remark made by my friendly little -partner. - -Meantime the moment was approaching which I was anticipating with so -much dread. If the announcement of Edgar and Orpha’s engagement was -to be made, it would be during, or immediately after, the dessert -and that was on the point of being served. Edgar, I could see was -nerving himself for the ordeal, and as Orpha’s eyes sought her plate, -I prepared myself to hear what would end my evanescent dream and take -away all charm from life. - - -IX - -“_Friends!_” - -Was that Edgar speaking? Surely this was not his voice I heard. - -But it was. Through the mist which had suddenly clouded everything in -that long room, I could see him standing at his full height, with his -glass held high in hand. - -The hush was instantaneous. This seemed to unnerve him for I saw a -drop or two of wine escape from that overfilled glass. But he quickly -recovered the gay _sang-froid_ which habitually distinguished him, and -with the aspect and bearing which made him the most fascinating man I -had ever met, went on to say: - -“I have a word to speak for my uncle who I am sorry to say is detained -in his room by a passing indisposition. First, he bids me extend to you -his hearty greetings and best wishes for your very good health.” - -He drank--we all drank--and joy ran high. - -“Secondly:”--a forced emphasis, for all his strong command over himself -breaking in upon the suavity of his tone, “he bids me say that this -bringing together of his best friends is in celebration of an event -dear to his heart and as he hopes of interest to yourselves. It is my -pleasure, good friends, to announce to you the engagement of my uncle’s -ward, Miss Colfax, to one whom you all know, Dr. Hunter. Harry, stand -up. I drink to your future happiness, and--hers.” Oh, that slight, -slight pause! - -Was I dreaming? Were we all dreaming? From the blank looks I espied -on every side, it was evident that the surprise was not confined to -myself, but was in the minds of every one present. Miss Colfax and Dr. -Hunter! when the understanding was that we were here in celebration of -his own engagement to Orpha! It took a full minute for the commotion to -subside, then the whole crowd rose, I with the rest, and glasses were -clinking and shouts of good feeling rising in merry chorus from one end -of the room to the other. - -Dr. Hunter spoke in response and Orpha smiled and I believe I uttered -some words myself when they all looked my way; but there was no reality -in any of it for me; instead, I seemed to be isolated from the whole -scene, in a rush of joy and wonder; seeing everything as through a mist -and really hearing nothing but the pounding of my own heart reiterating -with every throb, “All is not over for me. There is yet hope! There is -yet hope!” - -But a doubt which came all too soon for my comfort drove much of this -mist away. What if we had heard but half of what our young host had to -say? What if his next words were those which I for one most dreaded? -Uncle was too just and kind a man to exact so painful a service from -one he so deeply loved, without the intention of seeing him made happy -in the end. And what to his mind, could so insure that blessing as a -final union between the two most dear to him? - -In secret trepidation I waited for the second and still more profound -hush which would follow another high lifting of the glass in Edgar’s -hand. But it did not come. The ceremony, or whatever you might call -it, was over, and Orpha sat there, beaming and serene and so far as -appearances went, free to be loved and courted. - -And then it came to me with sudden and strong conviction that Uncle -would never have countenanced such a blow to my hopes (hopes which he -had himself roused as well as greatly encouraged)--without giving me -some warning that his mind had again changed. He did not love me,--not -with a hundredth part of the fervor with which he regarded Edgar--but -he respected our relationship and must, unless he were a very different -man from what I believed him to be, have an equal respect for the -attachment I had professed for his daughter. He had sent me no warning, -therefore I need fear no further move this night. - -But to-morrow? Well, I would let to-morrow take care of itself. For -this night I would be happy; and under the inspiration of this resolve, -I felt a lightness of spirit which for the first time that evening -allowed me to be my full and natural self. Perhaps the grave almost -inquiring look I received from Orpha as chance brought us for a moment -together gave substance to this cheer. I did not understand it and -I dared not give much weight to it, but from that time on the hours -dragged less slowly. - -At four o’clock precisely we three stood in an empty parlor. - -“Now for Father!” cried Orpha. And with a kindly good-night to Edgar -and an equally kindly one to me, she sped away and vanished upstairs -leaving Edgar and myself alone together for the first time that evening. - -It was an awkward moment for us both. I had no means of knowing what -was in his mind and was equally ignorant of how much he knew of what -was in mine. One thing alone was evident. The excitement of doing a -difficult thing, possibly a heart-breaking thing, had ebbed with the -disappearance of Orpha. He looked five years older, and blind as I -was to his motives or the secret springs of the action which had left -him a desolate man, I could not but admire the nerve with which he -had carried off his bitter, self-sacrificing task. If he loved this -stunning brunette as I loved Orpha he had my sympathy, whatever his -motives, for the manner in which he had yielded her thus openly to -another. But, by this time, I knew him well enough to recognize his -mercurial, joy-seeking nature. In a month he would be the careless, -happy-go-lucky fellow in whom everybody delighted. - -And Uncle? And Orpha? What of them? Reminded thus of other sufferings -than my own, I asked, with what calmness I could: - -“Have you had any further news from upstairs? I thought our uncle -looked far from well when I saw him in the early evening.” - -“Wealthy sent for a doctor. I have not heard his report,” was the -somewhat curt answer I received. “I am going up now,” he added. Then -with continued restraint in his manner, he looked me full in the face -and remarked, “Of course you know that you are to remain here till -Uncle considers himself well enough for you to go. You will explain the -situation to your firm. I am but repeating Uncle’s wishes.” - -I nodded and he stepped to the foot of the stairs. But there he turned. - -“If you will make yourself comfortable in your old room,” he said, “I -will see that you receive that report as soon as I know it myself.” - -This ended our interview. - - * * * * * - -Fifteen minutes later Wealthy appeared at my door. She did not need to -speak for me to foresee that dark days confronted us. But what she said -was this: - -“Miss Orpha is not to know the worst. Mr. Bartholomew is in no -immediate danger; but he will never be a strong man again.” - - -X - -Of the next few days there is little to record. They might be called -non-betrayal days, leading nowhere unless it was to a growth of -self-control in us all which made for easier companionship and a more -equable feeling throughout the house. - -Of the couple whose engagement had been thus publicly proclaimed, I -learned some further facts from Orpha, who showed no embarrassment in -speaking of them. - -Miss Colfax had been a ward of my uncle from early childhood. She was -an orphan and an heiress in a small way, which in itself gave her but -little prestige. It was her beauty which distinguished her; that and -a composed nature of great dignity. Though much admired, especially -by men, she had none of the whims of an acknowledged belle. Amiable -but decided, she gave her lovers short shrift. She would have none of -them until one fine day the sole admirer who would not take no for an -answer, renewed his importunities with such spirit that she finally -yielded, though not with any show of passion or apparent loss of the -dignity which was an essential part of her. - -“Yet,” Orpha confided to me, “I was more astonished than I can say -when Father told me on the night of the ball that the two were really -engaged and that it was his wish that a public acknowledgment of it -should be made at the supper-table. And I don’t understand it yet; for -Lucy never has shown any preference for Dr. Hunter. But she is a girl -of strong character and however this match may turn out you will never -know from her that it is not a perfect success.” - -No word of herself or Edgar; no hint of any knowledge on her part of -what I felt to be the true explanation of Miss Colfax’s cold treatment -of her various lovers. Was this plain ignorance, or just the effort -of a proud heart to hide its own humiliation? If the former, what a -story it told of secret affections developing unseen and unknown in a -circle of intimates whose lives were supposed to be open as the day. I -marveled at Edgar, I marveled at Orpha, I marveled at Lucy Colfax. Then -I gave a little thought to myself and marveled that I, unsuspected by -all, should have been given an insight into a situation which placed me -on a level with those who thought their secret hidden. The day might -come when this knowledge would be of some importance to me. But till -that day arrived, it was for me to hold their secret sacred. Of that -there could be no question. So what I had to say in response to these -cousinly confidences left everything where it was. Those were days of -non-betrayal, as I have already remarked; and they remained so until -Uncle was again on his feet and the time seemed ripe for me to return -to New York. - -Convinced of this I sought an interview with him. Though constantly in -the house I had not seen him since that fateful night. - -He received me kindly but with little enthusiasm, while I exerted all -my self-control to keep from showing by look or manner how shocked I -was at his changed appearance. He confronted me from his invalid’s -chair, an old man; he who a month ago, was regarded by all as a most -notable specimen of physical strength and brilliant mentality. - - * * * * * - -The blow which had thus laid low this veritable king of men must indeed -have been a heavy one. As I took in this fact more fully I questioned -whether I had been correct in ascribing it to nothing more serious -than the discovery, at the last minute, of Edgar’s passion for another -woman than Orpha. - -But I kept these doubts to myself and studiously avoided betraying any -curiosity, anxious as I was to know how matters stood with him, what -his present feelings were towards Edgar and what they were towards -myself. That he had not sent for me during these days of serious -illness, while his door had been constantly open to Edgar, might not -mean quite as much as appeared. He was used to Edgar and quite unused -to myself. Besides, his special attendants, those whose business it was -to care for him, would be more likely to balk than assist the intrusion -into his presence of one who might consider himself as a possible rival -to their old time favorite. - -Unless it was Orpha. - -But why should I except Orpha? Had I any reason whatever for doing so? -No; a thousand times, no. Yet-- - -I was still astonished at my own persistence in formulating in my mind -that word _yet_ when my uncle spoke. - -“You must pardon me, Quenton, for leaving it to you to remind me of our -relationship. I was too ill to see any other faces about me than those -to which I am accustomed. I could not bear--” - -We were alone and as he hesitated, he, the strong man, I put out my -hand with a momentary show of my real feelings. - -“I understand. No apologies from you, Uncle. You have allowed me to -remain in the house with you. That in itself showed a consideration for -which I am truly grateful. But the time has now come for me to return -to my work. You are better--” - -But here he stopped me. - -“You are right; I am better, but I am on the down grade, Quenton, -I who till now have never known one sick day. I shall need -attendance--companionship--a man at my side--some one to write my -letters--to keep track of my affairs--you or--or Edgar. I cannot have -him here always. His temperament is such that it would be almost -impossible for him to bear for any length of time the constraint of -a sick room. Nor would I impose too much of the same on you. I have -a proposition to make,” he proceeded with a drop in his tone which -bespoke a sudden access of feeling. “What do you say to an equal -sharing of this duty, pleasure or whatever you may call it; a week -of attendance from each in turn, the off week of either being one of -complete freedom from all obligations and to be spent wherever you -or Edgar may wish so that it is not in this house? I will make it -all right for you in New York. Edgar will not need my help.” Then -as I hesitated to reply he added with a touch of pride, “An unusual -proceeding, no doubt, but I have always been master of the unusual and -in this case my heart and honor are both involved.” - -He did not explain how or in what way, nor did I ask him, for I saw -that he had not finished with what he had to say, and I wished to hear -all that was in his mind. - -“It will not be for long.” (How certain he was!) “Consequently, it will -not be hard for you to assure me that whether here or elsewhere, you -will not disturb the present condition of affairs by any revelation -of purpose or desire beyond the one common to you all to see me slip -happily and as easily as possible out of life. Cousins, do you hear? -cousins all three, whatever the temptation to overstep the mark; -cousins, until I speak or am dead.” - -I rose, and advanced to his side. I even ventured to take him by the -hand. - -“You may rely on my honor,” I quietly assured him, glad to see his eye -brighten and a smile reminiscent of his old hearty gladness, brighten -his worn countenance. - -What more was said is of no consequence to my story. - - -XI - -During the weeks which followed we all, so far as I know, kept -scrupulously to the line of conduct so arbitrarily laid out for us. -Surface smiles; surface looks; surface courtesies. The only topic which -called out full sincerity on the part of any of us was my uncle’s -steadily failing health. - -Edgar and I saw little of each other save at the week’s end and then -only for a passing moment. As the one entered the front door the other -stepped out. The automobile which brought the one carried away the -other. As we met, we invariably bowed and spoke. Sometimes we shook -hands and just as invariably exchanged glances of inquiry seemingly -casual, but in reality, penetrating. - -I doubt if he ever saw anything in me to awaken his alarm. But I -saw much in him to awaken mine. Though the control he had over his -features was remarkable, it is easy for the discerning eye to mark -the difference between what is forced and what is spontaneous. The -restlessness of an uneasy heart was rapidly giving way in him to more -cheerful emotions. His mercurial nature was reasserting itself and the -charm he had for a short time lost was to be felt again in all he did -and said. - -This was what I had expected to happen, but not so soon; and my heart -grew more and more heavy as the month advanced. The recurring breaks in -his courtship of Orpha, and the presence in his absence of a possible -rival with opportunities of unspoken devotion equal to his own, had -given zest to a situation somewhat too tame before. From indifference -to the game or to what he may have looked upon as such, he began to -show a growing interest in it. A great fortune linked with a woman -he felt free to court under his rival’s eyes did not look quite so -undesirable after all. - -I may have done him injustice. Jealousy is not apt to be fair. But, if -I read him aright, he was just the man to be swayed by the influences I -have mentioned, and loving Orpha as I did, I found it hard to maintain -even a show of equanimity at what was fast becoming for me a hopeless -mystery. It was during these days that the monotony of my thoughts -was broken by my hearing for the first time of the _Presence_ said to -haunt this house. I do not think my uncle had meant me to receive any -intimation of it, at least, not yet. He may have given command and he -may simply have expressed a wish, or he may have trusted to the good -sense of his entourage to keep silence where speaking would do no good. -But, let that be as it may, I had come and gone through the house to -this day without an idea that its many wonders were not confined to -its unusual architecture, its sumptuous appointments and the almost -baronial character of its service and generous housekeeping, but -extended to that crowning glory of so many historic structures in my -own country, of--I will not say a ghost, but a presence, for by that -name it was known and sometimes spoken of not only where its influence -was felt, but by the gossips of the town, to the delight of the young -and the disdain of the old; for the supernatural makes small appeal to -the American mind when once it has entered into full acquaintanceship -with the realities of life. - -Personally I am not superstitious and I smiled when told of this -impalpable something which was neither seen nor heard but strangely -felt at odd times by one person or another moving about the halls. But -it was less a smile of disdain than of amusement, at the thought of -this special luxury imported from the old world being added to the many -others by which I was surrounded. - -But the person telling me did not smile. - -My introduction to this incongruous feature of a building purely modern -happened through an accident. I was coming up the stairs connecting -the second floor with the one on which my own room was situated when -a sudden noise quite sharp and arresting in one of the rooms below, -stopped me short and caused me to look back over my shoulder in what -was a perfectly natural way. - -But it did not so strike Bliss the chauffeur who was passing the head -of the stairs on his way from Uncle’s room. He was comparatively a -new comer, having occupied his present position but a few months, and -this may have been the reason both for his curiosity and his lack -of self-control. Seeing me stop in this way, he took a step down, -involuntarily no doubt, and gurgled out: - -“Did--did you feel it? They say that it catches you by the hair -and--and--just in this very spot.” - -I stared up at him in amazement. - -“Feel it? Feel what?” And joining him I surveyed him with some -attention to see if he were intoxicated. - -He was not; only a little ashamed of himself; and drawing back to let -me pass, he stammered apologetically: - -“Oh, nothing. Just nonsense, sir; girls will talk, you know, and they -told me some queer stories about--about--Will you excuse me, sir; I -feel like a fool talking to a man of--” - -“Of what? Speak it.” - -He looked behind him, and very carefully in the direction of the short -passage-way leading to Uncle’s room; then whispered: - -“Ask the girls, Mr. Bartholomew, or--or--Miss Wealthy. They’ll tell -you.” And was gone before I could hold him back for another word. - -And that night I did ask Miss Wealthy, as he called her; and she, -probably thinking that since I knew a little of this matter I might -better know more, told me all there was to tell about this childish -superstition. She had never had any experience herself with the -thing--this is the way she spoke of it,--but others had and so the -gossip had got about. It did no harm. It never kept any capable girl or -man from working in the house or from staying in it year after year, -and it need not bother me. - -It was then I smiled. - - -XII - -I had some intention at the time of speaking to Uncle about this -matter, but I did not until the day he himself broached the subject. -But that comes later. I must first relate an occurrence of much more -importance which took place very soon after this interchange of words -with Wealthy. - -I was still in C----. Everything had been going on as usual and I -thought nothing of being summoned to my Uncle’s room one morning at an -earlier hour than usual. Nor did I especially notice any decided change -in him though he certainly looked a little brighter than he had the day -before. - -Orpha was with him. She was sitting in the great bay window which -opened upon the lawn; he by the fireside where a few logs were -smouldering, the day being damp rather than cold. - -He started and looked up with his kindly smile as I approached with the -morning papers, then spoke quickly: - -“No reading this morning, Quenton. I have an errand for you. One -which only you can do to my satisfaction.” And thereupon he told me -what it was, and how it might take me some hours, as it could only be -accomplished in a town some fifty miles distant. “The car is ready,” -said he, “and I would be glad to have you take it now as I want you to -be home in time for dinner.” - -I turned impulsively, casting one glance at Orpha. - -“You may take Orpha.” - -But she would not go. In a flurry of excitement and with every sign of -subdued agitation, she hurriedly rose and came our way. - -“I cannot leave you, Father. I should worry every minute. Quenton will -pardon my discourtesy, but with him gone and Edgar not yet here my -place is with you.” - -I could not dispute it, nor could he. With a smile half apologetic, -half grateful, he let me go, and the only consolation which the moment -brought me was the fact that her eyes were still on mine when I turned -to close the door. - -But intoxicating as the pleasure would have been to have had her -with me during this hundred mile ride, my thoughts during that long -flight through a most uninteresting country, dwelt much less upon my -disappointment than on the purpose actuating my uncle in thus disposing -of my presence for so many hours on this especial day. - -In itself, the errand was one of no importance. I knew enough of his -business affairs to be quite sure of that. Why, then, this long trip on -a day so unpropitious as to be positively forbidding? - -The question agitated me all the way there and was not settled to -my mind at the hour of my return. Something had been going on in my -absence which he had thought it undesirable for me to witness. The -proof of this I saw in every face I met. Even the maids cast uneasy -glances at me whenever I chanced to run upon one of them in my passage -through the hall. It was different with Uncle. He wore a look of -relief, for which he gave no explanation then or later. - -And Orpha? She was a riddle to me, too, that night. Abstracted by fits -and by fits interested and alert as though she sought to make up to me -for the many moments in which she hardly heard anything I said. - -The tears were in her eyes more than once when she impulsively turned -my way. And no explanation followed, nor did she allude in any manner -to my ride or to what had taken place in my absence until we came to -say good-night, when she remarked: - -“I don’t know why I feel so troubled and as if I must speak to some one -who loves my father. You have seen how much brighter he is to-night. -That makes me happy, but the cause worries me. Something strange -happened here to-day. Mr. Dunn, who has attended to papa’s law business -for years, came to see him shortly after you left. There was nothing -strange about that and we thought little of it till Clarke and Wealthy -were sent for to witness Father’s signature to what they insist must -have been a new will. You see they had gone through an experience of -this kind before. It must have been five years or so ago, and both -feel sure that to-day’s business is but a repetition of the former -one. And a new will at this time would be quite proper,” she went on, -with her glance turned carefully aside. “It is not that which has -upset me and upset them. It is that in an hour or so after Mr. Dunn -left another lawyer came in whom I know only by name; a Mr. Jackson, -who is well thought of, but whom I have never chanced to meet. He -brought two clerks with him and stayed quite a time with Father and -when he was gone, Wealthy came rushing into my room to tell me what -Haines had heard one of the clerks say to the other when going out of -the front door. It was this. ‘Well, I call that mighty quick work, -considering the size of his fortune.’ To which the other answered, ‘The -instructions were minute; and all written out in his own hand. He may -be a sick man, but he knows what he wants. A will in a thousand--’ Here -the door shut and Haines heard nothing more. But Quenton, what can it -mean? Two lawyers and two wills! Do you think father can be all right -when he can do a thing like that? It has frightened me and I don’t -know whether or not I ought to tell Dr. Cameron. What do you advise?” - -I was as ignorant as herself as to our duty in a matter about which we -knew so little, but I certainly was not going to let her go to bed in -this disturbed condition of mind; so I said: - -“You may trust your father to be all right in all that concerns -business. His mental powers are as great as ever. If we do not -understand all he does it is because we do not know what lies back -of his action.” Then as her face brightened, I added: “Edgar and I -have often been surprised at the clearness of his perceptions and the -excellence of his judgment in all matters which have come up since we -have taken the place of his former stenographers. For nearly a month -we in turn have done his typewriting and never has he faltered in his -dictation or seemed to lack decision as to what he wanted done. You may -rest easy about his employing two lawyers even in one day. With so many -interests and such complicated affairs to manipulate and care for I -only wonder that he does not feel the need of a dozen.” - -A little quivering smile answered this; and it was the hardest thing I -was ever called upon to do, not to take her sweet, appealing figure in -my arms and comfort her as my heart prompted me to do. - -“I hardly think Dr. Cameron would say any different. You can put the -question to him when he comes in.” - -But when she had flitted from my side and disappeared in the hall -above, I asked myself with some misgiving whether in encouraging her in -this fashion, I had quite convinced myself of the naturalness of her -father’s conduct or of my own explanation of the same. - -Had he not sent me out of the house and on a long enough trip to cover -the time likely to be consumed by these two visits I might not have -concerned myself beyond the obvious need of sustaining her in her -surprise and anxiety. For as I told her, his interests were large and -he must often feel the need of legal advice. But with this circumstance -in mind it was but natural for me to wonder what connection I had with -this matter. Lawyers! And two of them! One if not both of them there -in connection with a will! Was he indeed in full possession of his -faculties? Or was some strange event brooding in this house beyond my -power to discern? - -Alas! I was not to know that day, nor for many, many others. What I -was to know was this. Why, I had frequently seen Martha and, yes, I -will admit it, Clarke--the hard-headed, unimaginative Clarke--always -step more quickly when they came to the flight of stairs leading to the -third floor. - -I was on this flight myself that night and about half way up, when I -was stopped,--not by any unexpected sound as at the time before--but -by a prickle of my scalp and a sense of being pulled back by some -unseen hand. I shook the fancy off and rushed pell-mell to the top with -a laugh on my lips which however never reached my ears. Then reason -reasserted itself and I went straight on in the direction of my room, -and was just turning aside from Wealthy’s cosy corner when I saw the -screen which hemmed it in move aside and reveal her standing there. - -She had seen me through a slit in the screen and for some purpose or -other showed a disposition to speak. - -Of course, I paused to hear what she had to say. - -It was nothing important in itself; but to her devotion everything was -important which had any connection with her sick master. - -“It is late,” she said. “Clarke is out and I have been waiting for Mr. -Bartholomew’s bell. It does not ring. Would you mind--Oh, there it -is,” she cried, as a sharp tinkle sounded in our ears. “You will excuse -me, sir,” releasing me with a gesture of relief. - -An episode of small moment and hardly worth relating; but it is part--a -final part, so far as I am concerned--of that day’s story. - - -XIII - -The following one was less troublesome, and so was the next; then -came the week of my sojourn elsewhere and of Edgar’s dominance in the -house we all felt would soon be his own. Whether Orpha confided to him -her latest trouble I never heard. When his week was up and I replaced -him again in the daily care of our uncle, I sought to learn if help -or disappointment had come to her in my absence. But beyond a graver -bearing and a manifest determination not to be alone with me even for -a few moments in any of the rooms on the ground floor, I received no -answer to my question. Orpha could be very inscrutable when she liked. - -It was during the seven happy days of this week that three rather -important conversations took place between Uncle and myself, portions -of which I now propose to relate. I will not try your patience by -repeating the preamble to any one of them or the after remarks. -Just the bits necessary to make this story of the three Edgars -understandable. - - * * * * * - -Uncle is speaking. - -“I have been criticised very severely by my lawyer and less openly but -fully as earnestly by both men and women of my acquaintance, for my -well-known determination to leave the main portion of my property to -a man--the man who is to marry my daughter. My answer has always been -that no woman should be trusted with the responsibilities and conduct -of very large interests. She has not the nerve, the experience, nor the -acquaintanceship with other large holders, requisite for conducting -affairs of wide scope successfully. She would have to employ an agent -which in this case would of course be her husband. Then why not give -him full control from the start?” - -I was silent, what could _I_ say? - -“Quenton?” - -His tone was so strange, so different from any I had ever heard pass -his lips, that I looked up at him in amazement. I was still more amazed -when I noted his aspect. His expression which until now had impressed -me as fundamentally stern however he might mask it with the smile of -sympathy or indulgence, had lost every attribute suggestive of strength -or domination. Gone the steady look of power which made his glance so -remarkable. Even the set of his lips had given way to a tremulous line -full of tenderness and indefinable sorrow. - -“Quenton,” he repeated, “there are griefs and remembrances of which -a man never speaks until the sands of life are running low; and not -even then save for a purpose. I loved my wife.” My heart leaped. I -knew from his tone why he had understood me that night of the ball -and taken instantly and at its full value the love I had expressed -for Orpha. “Orpha was only two years old when her mother died. A -babe with no memories of what has made my life! For me, the wife of -my youth lives yet. This house which has been constructed so as to -incorporate within its walls the old inn where I first met her, is -redolent of her presence. Her tread is on the stairs. Her beauty makes -more beautiful every object I have bought of worth or value to adorn -her dwelling-place. Yet were she really living and I had no other -inheritor, I should not consider that I was doing right by her or -right by the world to leave her in full possession of means so hardly -accumulated and interests so complicated and burdensome. She was -tested once with the temporary charge of my affairs and, poor darling, -broke under it. Orpha is her child. She has the same temperament, the -same gentleness, the same strictness of conscience, to offend which is -an active and all-absorbing pain. If this burden fell upon her--” - -When he had finished I wondered if he had ever spoken of his wife to -Edgar as he spoke of her to me that hour. - - * * * * * - -“You have heard the gossip about this house. Some one must have told -you of unaccountable sounds heard at odd moments on the stairs or -elsewhere--steps other than your own keeping pace with you as you went -up or down.” - -“Yes, uncle, I have been told of this. I heard something of the kind -once myself.” - -“You did? When?” The glance he shot at me was quick and searching. - -I told him and for a long time he sat very still gazing with -retrospective eyes into the fire. - -“More than that,” I whispered after a while, “I heard a cough. It came -from no one in sight. It sounded smothered. It seemed to come from the -wall at my left, but that was impossible of course.” - -“Impossible, of course. The whole thing is foolishness--not to be -thought of for a moment. The harmless result of some defect in -carpentry. I smile when people speak of it. So do my servants. I keep -them all, you see.” - -“Uncle, if this house needed a finishing touch to make it the most -romantic in the world, this suggestion of mystery supplies it.” - -I shall never forget his quick bend forward or the long, long look he -gave me. - -It emboldened me to ask almost seriously: - -“Uncle, have you ever felt this presence yourself?” - -He laughed a long, hearty, amused laugh, then a strange expression -crossed his face unlike any I had ever seen on it before. “There’s -romance in these old fancies,--romance,” he murmured--“romance.” - -No lover’s voice could have been more tender; no poet’s eye more dreamy. - -I locked the remembrance away in my mind, for I doubted if I ever -should see him in just such a mood again. - - * * * * * - -“Your eyes are very often on Orpha’s picture. I do not wonder at it; so -are mine. It has a peculiar power to draw and then hold the attention. -I chose an artist of penetrating intelligence; one who believes in -the soul of his sitter and impresses you more with that than with the -beauty of a woman or the mind of a man. I wanted her painted thus. -Shall I tell you why? I think I will. It may steady you as it has -steadied me and so serve a double purpose. Wealth has its charms; it -also has its temptations. To keep me clean in the getting, the saving, -and the spending, I had this picture painted and hung where I could not -fail to see it when sitting at my desk. If a business proposition was -presented to me which I could not consider under that clear, direct -gaze so like her mother’s, I knew what to do with it. You will have -the same guardianship. The souls of two women will protect you from -yourself; Orpha’s mother’s and Orpha’s own.” - -I felt a thrill. Something more than wealth, more even than love, was -to be my portion. The living of a clean life in sight of God and man. - - -XIV - -This gave me a great lift for the time. He had not changed his mind, -then. He still meant me to marry Orpha; and some of the mystery of the -last lawyer’s visit was revealed. That connected with the one which -preceded it might rest. I needed to know nothing about that. The great -question had been answered; and I trod on air. - -Meanwhile Uncle seemed better and life in the great house resumed some -of its usual formality. But this did not last. The time soon came when -it became evident to every eye that this man of infinite force was -rapidly losing his once strong hold on life. From rising at ten, it -grew to be noon before he would put foot to floor. Then three o’clock; -then five; then only in time to eat the dinner spread before him on a -small table near the fireplace. Then came the day when he refused to -get up at all but showed great pleasure at our presence in the room and -even chatted with us on every conceivable topic. Then came a period -of great gloom when all his strength was given to a mental struggle -which soon absorbed all his faculties and endangered his life. In vain -we exerted ourselves to distract him. He would smile at our sallies, -appear to listen to his favorite authors, ask for music--(Orpha could -play the violin with touching effect and Edgar had a voice which like -all his other gifts was exceptional) but not for long, nor to the point -of real relief. While we were hoping that we had at last secured his -interest, he would turn his head away and the struggle of his thoughts -would recommence, all the stronger and more unendurable because of this -momentary break. - -Orpha’s spirits were now at as low an ebb as his. She had sat for -weeks under the shadow of his going but now this shadow had entered -her soul. Her beauty once marked for its piquancy took on graver lines -and moved the hearts of all by its appeal. It was hard to look at her -and keep back all show of sympathy but such as was allowable between -cousins engaged in the mutual tasks which brought us together at a sick -man’s bedside. If the discipline was good for my too selfish nature, -the suffering was real, and in some of those trying hours I would have -given all my chance in life to know if Orpha realized the turmoil of -mind and heart raging under my quiet exterior. - -Meantime, a change had been made in our arrangements. Edgar and I were -no longer allowed to leave town though we continued to keep religiously -to our practice of spending alternate weeks in attendance on the -invalid. - -This, in these latter days included sleeping in the den opening off -Uncle’s room. The portrait of Orpha which had made this room a hallowed -one to me, had been removed from its wall and now hung in glowing -beauty between the two windows facing the street, and so in full sight -from Uncle’s bed. His desk also, with all its appurtenances had been in -a corner directly under his eye, and as I often noted, it was upon one -or other of these two objects his gaze remained fixed unless Orpha was -in the room, when he seemed to see nothing but her. - -He had been under the care of a highly trained nurse during the more -violent stages of his illness, but he had found it so difficult to -accommodate himself to her presence and ministrations that she had -finally been replaced by Wealthy, who had herself been a professional -nurse before she came to Quenton Court. This he had insisted upon -and his will was law in that household. He ruled from his sick bed as -authoritatively as he had ever done from the head of his own table. But -so kindly that we would have yielded from love had we not done so from -a sense of propriety. - -His gloom was at its height and his strength at its lowest ebb when an -experience befell me, the effects of which I was far from foreseeing at -the time. - -Edgar’s week was up and the hour had come for me to take his place in -the sick room. Usually he was ready to leave before the evening was -too old for him to enjoy a few hours in less dismal surroundings. But -this evening I found him still chatting and in a most engaging way -to our seemingly delighted uncle, and taking the shrug he made at my -appearance as a signal that they were not yet ready for my presence, I -stepped back into the hall to wait till the story was finished which he -was relating with so much spirit. - -It took a long time, and I was growing quite weary of my humiliating -position, when the door finally opened and he came out. With every -feature animated and head held high he was a picture of confident -manhood. This should not have displeased me and perhaps would not have -done so had I not caught, as I thought, a gleam of sinister meaning in -his eye quite startling from its rarity. - -It also, to my prejudiced mind, tinged his smile, as slipping by me, he -remarked: - -“I think I had the good fortune to amuse him to-night. He is asleep now -and I doubt if he wakes before dawn. Lower his light as you pass by his -bed. Poor old Uncle!” - -I had no answer for this beyond a slight nod, at which, with an air I -found it difficult to dissociate with a sense of triumph, he uttered a -short good-night and flew past me down the stairs. - -“He has won some unexpected boon from Uncle,” I muttered in dismay as -the sound of his footsteps died out in the great rooms below. “Is it -fortune? Is it Orpha?” I could bear the loss of the first. But Orpha? -Rather than yield her up I would struggle with every power with which I -had been endowed. I would-- - -But here I entered the room and coming under the direct influence of -the masterly portraiture of her who was so dear to me, better feelings -prevailed. - -To see her happy should and must be my chief aim in life. If union -with myself would ensure her that and I came to know it, then it would -be time for me to exert my prowess and hold to my own in face of all -opposition. But if her heart was his--truly and irrevocably his, then -my very love should lead me to step aside and leave them to each -other. For that would be their right and one with which it would be -presumptuous in me to meddle. - -The light which I had been told to extinguish was near my uncle’s hand -as he lay in bed. - -Seeing that he was, as Edgar said, peacefully asleep, I carefully -pulled the chain attached to the flaming bulb. - -Instantly the common-places of life vanished and the room was given -over to mystery and magic. All that was garish or simply plain to the -view was gone, for wherever there was light there were also shadows, -and shadows of that shifting and half-revealing kind which can only be -gotten by the fitful leaping of a few expiring flames on a hearth-stone. - -Uncle’s fire never went out. Night or day there was always a blaze. -It was his company, he said, and never more so than when he woke in -the wee small hours with the moon shut out and silence through all the -house. It would be my task before I left him for the night to pile on -fresh fuel and put up the screen, which being made of glass, allowed -the full play of the dancing flames to be seen. - -Reveling in the mystic sight, I drew up a chair and sat before Orpha’s -portrait. Edgar was below stairs and doubtless in her company. Why, -then, should I not have my hour with her here? The beauty of her -pictured countenance which was apparent enough by day, was well nigh -unearthly in the soft orange glow which vivified the brown of her hair -and heightened the expression of eye and lip, only to leave them again -in mystery as the flame died down and the shadows fell. - -I could talk to her thus, and as I sat there looking and longing, words -fell from my lips which happily there was no one to hear. It was my -hour of delight snatched in an unguarded hour from the hands of Fate. - -She herself might never listen, but this semblance of herself could not -choose but do so. In this presence I could urge my plea and exhaust -myself in loving speeches, and no displeasure could she show and even -at times must she smile as the shadows again shifted. It was a hollow -amends for many a dreary hour in which I got nothing but the same sweet -show of patience she gave to all about her. But a man welcomes dream -food if he can get no other and for a full hour I sat there talking to -my love and catching from time to time in my presumptuous fancy faint -whispers in response which were for no other ears than mine. - -At last, fancy prevailed utterly, and rising, I flung out my arms in -inappeasable longing towards her image, when, simultaneously with this -action I felt my attention drawn irresistibly aside and my head turn -slowly and without my volition more and more away from her, as if in -response to some call at my back which I felt forced to heed. - -Yet I had heard no sound and had no real expectation of seeing any one -behind me unless it was my uncle who had wakened and needed me. - -And this was what had happened. In the shadow made by the curtains -hanging straight down from the head-board on either side of his bed, -I saw the gleam of two burning eye-balls. But did I? When I looked -again there was nothing to be seen there but the shadowy outlines of -a sleeping man. My fancy had betrayed me as in the hour of secret -converse I had just held with the lady of my dreams. - -Yet anxious to be assured that I had made no mistake, I crossed over to -the bedside and, pushing aside the curtains, listened to his breathing. -It was far from equable, but there was every other evidence of his -being asleep. I had only imagined those burning eye-balls looking -hungrily into mine. - -Startled, not so much by this freak of my imagination as by the effect -which it had had upon me, I left the bed and reluctantly sought my -room. But before entering it--while still on its threshold--I was again -startled at feeling my head turning automatically about under the -uncanny influence working upon me from behind, and wheeling quickly, I -searched with hasty glances the great room I was leaving for what thus -continued to disturb me. - -Orpha’s picture--the great bed--the desk, pathetic to the eye from the -absence before it of its accompanying chair--books--tables--Orpha’s -pet rocker with the little stand beside it--each and every object to -which we had accustomed ourselves for many weeks, lit to the point -of weirdness, now brightly, now faintly and in spots by the dancing -firelight! But no one thing any more than before to account for the -emotion I felt. Yet I remember saying to myself as I softly closed my -door upon it all: - -“Something impends!” - -But what that something was, was very far from my thoughts as are all -spiritual upheavals when we are looking for material disaster. - - * * * * * - -I had been asleep, but how long I had no means of knowing, when with -a thrill such as seizes us at an unexpected summons, I found myself -leaning on my elbow and staring with fascinated if not apprehensive -gaze at the door leading into my uncle’s room left as I always left it -on retiring, slightly ajar. - -I had heard no sound, I was conscious of no movement in my room or in -his, yet there I was looking--looking--and expecting--what? I had no -answer for this question and soon would not need one, for the line of -ruddy light running upward from the floor upon which my eyes were fixed -was slowly widening, and presently I should see whose hesitating foot -made these long pauses yet showed such determination to enter where no -foot should come thus stealthily on any errand. - -Again! a furtive push and I caught the narrowest of glimpses into the -room beyond. At which a sudden thought came, piercing me like a dart. -Whoever this was, he must have crossed my uncle’s room to reach this -door--may have stood at the sick man’s side--may have--Fear seized me -and I sprang up alert but sank back in infinite astonishment and dismay -as the door finally swung in and I beheld dimly outlined in the doorway -the great frame of Uncle himself standing steadily and alone, he, who -for days now had hardly moved in his bed. - -Ignorant of the cause which had impelled him to an action for which he -was so unfit; not even being able to judge in the darkness in which -I lay whether he was conscious of his movements or whether he was in -that dangerous state where any surprise or interference might cause -in him a fatal collapse, I assumed a semblance of sleep while covertly -watching him through half shut lids. - -A moment thus, then I felt rather than saw his broad chest heave and -his shaking limbs move bringing him step by step to my side. Had he -fallen face downward on to my narrow couch I should not have wondered. -But he came painfully on and paused, his heart beating so that I could -hear it above my own though that was throbbing far louder than its wont. - -Next moment he was on his knees, with his arms thrown over my breast -and clinging there in convulsive embrace as he whispered words such as -had never been uttered into my ears before; words of infinite affection -laden with self-reproaches it filled me with a great compassion to hear. - -For I knew that these words were not meant for me; that he had been -misled by the events of the evening and believed it to be in Edgar’s -ear he was laying bare his soul. - -“I cannot do it.” These were the words I heard. “I have tried to -and the struggle is killing me. Forgive me, Edgar, for thinking of -punishing you for what was the result of my own shortsighted affection.” - - * * * * * - -I stirred and started up. I had no right to listen further. - -But his hold on me tightened till the pressure became almost -unendurable. The fever in his veins made him not only strong but -oblivious to all but the passion of the moment,--the desire to right -himself with the well-beloved one who was as a son to him. - -“I should have known better.” Thus he went on. “I had risen through -hardship, but I would make it easy for my boy. Mistake! mistake! I see -it now. The other is the better man, but my old heart clings to its -own and I cannot go back on the love of many years. You must marry -Orpha and her gentle heart will--” - -A sob, a sudden failing of his fictitious strength, and I was able to -rise and help him to rise, though he was almost a dead weight in my -arms. - -Should I be able alone and unassisted to guide him back to his bed -without his discovering the mistake he had made and thus shocking -him into delirium? The light was dim where we stood and rapidly -failing in the other room as the great log which had been blazing on -the hearth-stone crumbled into coals. Could I have spoken, the task -might have been an easier one; but my accent, always emphasized under -agitation, would have betrayed me. - -Other means must be taken to reassure him and make him amenable to my -guidance. Remembering an action of Edgar’s which I had lately seen, -I drew the old man’s arm about my shoulder and led him back into his -room. He yielded easily. He had passed the limit of acute perception -and all his desire was for rest. With simple, little soothing touches, -I got him to his bed and saw his head sink gratefully into his pillow. - -Much relieved and believing the paroxysm quite past, I was turning -softly away when he reached out his hand and, grasping me by the arm, -said with an authority as great as I had ever seen him display even on -important occasions: - -“Another log, Edgar. The fire is low; it mustn’t go out. Whatever -happens, it must never go out.” - -And he, burning up with fever! - -Though this desire for heat or the cheer of the leaping blaze might be -regarded as one of the eccentricities of illness, it was with a strange -and doubtful feeling that I turned to obey him--a feeling which did -not leave me in the watchful hour which followed. Though I had much -to brood over of a more serious character than the mending or keeping -up of a fire, the sense of something lying back of this constant -desire for heat would come again and again to my mind mingling with -the great theme now filling my breast with turmoil and shaping out new -channels for my course in life. Mystery, though of the smallest, has a -persistent prick. We want to know, even if the matter is inconsequent. - - * * * * * - -I had no further sleep that night, but Uncle did not move again till -late morning. When he did and saw me standing over him, he mentioned my -name and smiled almost with pleasure and gave me the welcoming hand. - -He had forgotten what had passed, or regarded it, if it came to his -mind at all, as a dream to be ignored or cherished according to his -mood, which varied now, as it had before, from one extreme to the other. - -But my mood had no ups and downs. It had been given me to penetrate the -depths of my uncle’s heart and mind. I knew his passionate wish--it was -one in which I had little part--but nothing must ever make me forget it. - -However, I uttered no promises myself. I would wait till my judgment -sanctioned them; and the time for that had not yet come. - - -XV - -Nevertheless it was approaching. One day Orpha came to me with the -report that her father was worse--that the doctor was looking very -sober and that Edgar, whose week it was to give what aid and comfort he -could in the sick room, complained that for the first time during his -uncle’s illness he had failed to find any means of diverting him even -for a moment. - -As she said this her look wandered anywhere but to my face. - -“It is growing to be very hard for Edgar,” she added in a tone full of -feeling. - -“And for you,” I answered, with careful attention to voice and manner. - -She shuddered, and crept from my side lest she should be tempted to say -how hard. - -When an hour or two later I went up to Uncle’s room, I found him where -I had never expected to see him again, up and seated close to the fire. -His indomitable will was working with some of its by-gone force. It was -so hot that I noted when I took the seat he pointed out to me, that the -perspiration stood on his forehead, but he would not be moved back. - -He had on a voluminous dressing gown and his hands were hidden in its -folds in what I thought was an unnatural manner. But I soon forgot this -in watching his expression, which was more fixed and harder in its -aspect than I had supposed it could be, and again I felt ready to say, -“Something impends!” - -Wealthy was present; consequently my visit was a brief one. It might -have been such had she not been there, for he showed very little desire -for my company and indeed virtually dismissed me in the following words: - -“I may have need of you this evening and I may not. May I ask you to be -so good as to stay indoors till you receive a message from me?” - -My answer was a cheerful acquiescence, but as I left, I cast one long, -lingering look at Orpha’s picture. Might it not be my last? The doubt -was in my mind, for Edgar’s foot was on the stair; there would be a -talk between him and Uncle, and if as a result of that talk Uncle -failed to send for me, my place at his bedside would be lost. He would -have no further use for my presence. - -I had begun to understand his mind. - -I have no doubt that I was helped to this conclusion by something I -saw in passing his bedside on my way out. Wealthy was rearranging the -pillows and in doing so gave me for the first time a full glimpse of -the usually half-hidden head-board. To my amazement I perceived that it -held a drawer, cunningly inserted by a master hand. - -A drawer! Within his own reach--at all times--by night and day! It must -contain-- - -Well, I had no difficulty in deciding what. But the mystery of his -present action troubled me. A few hours might make it plain. A few -hours! If only they might be spent with Orpha! - -With beating heart I went rapidly below, passing Edgar on my way. We -said nothing. He was in as tense a mood as I was. For him as well as -for myself the event was at hand. Ah! where was Orpha? - -Not where I sought her. The living rooms as well as the court and halls -were all empty. For a half hour I waited in the library alone, then the -door opened and my uncle’s man showed himself: - -“Am I wanted?” I asked, unable to control my impatience. - -He answered with a respectful affirmative, but there was a lack of -warmth in his manner which brought a cynical smile to my lips. Nothing -would ever change the attitude of these old servants towards myself, or -make Edgar anything less in their eyes than the best, kindest and most -pleasing of masters. Should I allow this to disturb me or send me to -the fate awaiting me in the room above in any other frame of mind than -the one which would best prepare me for the dreaded ordeal? - -No. I would be master of myself if not of my fate. By the time I -had reached my uncle’s door I was calm enough. Confident that some -experience awaited me there which would try me as it had tried Edgar, I -walked steadily in. He had not come out of his ordeal in full triumph, -or why the look I had seen on every face I had encountered in coming -up? Wealthy at the end of the long hall, with a newspaper falling -from her lap, had turned at my step. Her aspect as she did so I shall -not soon forget. The suspicious nods and whispers of the two maids I -had surprised peering at me from over the banisters, were all of a -character to warn me that I was at that moment less popular in the -house than I had ever been before. Was I to perceive the like in the -greeting I was about to receive from the one on whom my fortunes as -well as those of Orpha hung? - -I trembled at the prospect, and it was not till I had crossed the floor -to where he was seated in his usual seat at the fire-place, that I -ventured to look up. When I did so it was to meet a countenance showing -neither pleasure nor pain. - -When he spoke it was hurriedly as though he felt his time was short. - -“Quenton, sit down and listen to what I have to say. I have put off -from day to day this hour of final understanding between us in the -hopes that my duty would become plain to me without any positive act -on my part. But it has failed to do so and I must ask your help in -a decision vital to the happiness of the two beings nearest if not -dearest to me in this world I am so soon to leave. I mean my daughter -and the man she is to marry.” - -This took my breath away but he did not seem to notice either my -agitation or the effort I made to control it. He was too intent upon -what he had yet to say, to mark the effect of the words he had already -spoken. - -“You know what my wishes are,--the wishes which have been expectations -since Edgar and Orpha stood no higher than my knee. The fortune I have -accumulated is too large to be given into the hands of a girl no older -than Orpha. I do not believe in a woman holding the reins when she has -a man beside her. I may be wrong, but that is the way I feel, as truly -to-day as when she was a wee tot babbling in my ear. The inheritor -of the millions I perhaps unfortunately possess must be a man. But -that man must marry my daughter, and to marry her he must love her, -sincerely and devotedly love her or my money will prove a curse to her, -to him and, God pardon the thought, to me in my grave, if the dead can -still feel and know. - -“Until a little while ago,--until you came, in fact,--I was content, -thinking that all was well and everything going to my mind. But -presently a word was dropped in my ear,--from whose lips it does not -matter,--which shook my equanimity and made me look for the first time -with critical eyes on one I had hitherto felt to be above criticism; -and once my attention was called that way, I saw much that did not -quite satisfy me in the future dispenser of a fortune which in wise -hands could be made productive of great good but in indifferent ones of -incalculable mischief. - -“But I thought he loved Orpha, and rating her, as we all must, as a -woman of generous nature with a mind bound to develop as her happiness -grows and her responsibilities increase, I rested in the hope that with -her for a wife, his easy-going nature would strengthen and the love he -universally inspires would soon have a firmer basis than his charming -smile and his invariable good nature. - -“But one day something happened--do not ask me what, I cannot talk -about it; it has been the struggle of my life since that day to forget -it--which shook my trust even in this hope. The love capable of -accomplishing so much must be a disinterested one, and I saw--saw with -my own eyes--what gave me reason to doubt both the purity and depth of -his feeling for Orpha. - -“You remember the day, the hour. The ball which was to have ended all -uncertainty by a public recognition of their engagement saw me a well -man at ten, and a broken down one at eleven. You know, for you were -here, and saw me while I was still suffering from the shock. I had to -speak to some one and I would not disturb Orpha, and so I thought of -you. You pleased me in that hour and the trust I then felt in your -honor I have never lost. For in whatever trial I have made of the -character of you two boys you have always stood the test better than -Edgar. I acknowledge it, but, whether from weakness or strength I leave -you to decide, I cannot forget the years in which Edgar shared with -Orpha my fatherly affection. You shall not be forgotten or ungenerously -dealt with--I owe you too much for that--but I ask you to release me -from the ill-considered promise I made to you that night of the ball. -I cannot cut him off from the great hopes I have always fostered in -him. I want you to--” - -He did not conclude, but, shifting nervously in his seat, brought into -view the hands hidden from sight under the folds of his dressing-gown. -In each was a long envelope apparently enclosing a legal document. -He laid them, one on each knee and drooped his head a little as he -remarked, with a hasty glance first at one document and then at the -other: - -“Here, Quenton, you see what a man who once thought very well of -himself has come to through physical weakness and mental suffering. -Here are two wills, one made largely in his favor and one equally -largely in yours. They were drawn up the same day by different men, -each ignorant of the other’s doing. One of these it is my wish to -destroy but I have not yet had the courage to do so; for my reason -battles with my affection and I dare not slight the one nor disappoint -the other.” - -“And you ask me to aid you in your dilemma,” I prompted, for I saw that -he was greatly distressed. “I will do so, but first let me ask one -question. How does Orpha feel? Is she not the one to decide a matter -affecting her so deeply?” - -“Oh! She is devoted to Edgar,” he made haste to assert. “I have never -doubted her feeling for _him_.” - -“Uncle, have you _asked_ her to aid your decision?” - -He shook his head and muttered sadly: - -“I dare not show myself in such colors to my only child. She would lose -her respect for me, and that I could never endure.” - -My heart was sad, my future lost in shadows, but there was only one -course for me to take. Pointing to the two documents lying in his lap, -I asked, with as little show of feeling as I could command: - -“Which is the one in my favor? Give it to me and I will fling it into -the fire with my own hand. I cannot endure seeing your old age so -heavily saddened.” - -He rose to his feet--rose suddenly and without any seeming effort, -letting the two wills fall unheeded to the floor. - -“Quenton!” he cried, “_You are the man!_ If Orpha does not love you she -must learn to do so. And she will when she knows you.” This in a burst; -then as he saw me stumble back, dazed and uncomprehending like one -struck forcibly between the eyes, “This was my final test, boy, my last -effort to ascertain what lay at the root of your manhood. Edgar failed -me. You--” - -His lip quivered, and grasping blindly at the high back of the chair -from which he had risen, he turned slightly aside in an effort to hide -his failing self-control. The sight affected me even in the midst -of the storm of personal feeling he had aroused within me by this -astounding change of front. Stooping for the two documents lying on -the floor between us, I handed them to him, then offered my arm to aid -him in reseating himself. But I said nothing. Silence and silence only -befitted such a moment. - - * * * * * - -He seemed to appreciate both the extent of my emotion and my reticence -under it. It gave him the opportunity to regain his own poise. When -I finally moved, as I involuntarily did at the loud striking of the -clock, he spoke in his own quiet way which nevertheless carried with it -so much authority. - -“I have deceived you; not greatly, but to a certain necessary degree. -You must forgive this and forget.” He did not say how he had deceived -me and for months I did not know. “To-morrow we will talk as a present -master confers with a future one. I am tired now, but I will listen if -there is anything you want me to hear before you call in Clarke.” - -Then I found voice. I must utter the one protest which the situation -called for or despise myself forever. Turning softly about, I looked up -at Orpha’s picture, never more beautiful in my eyes, never more potent -in its influence than at this critical instant in our two lives. - -Then addressing him while pointing to the picture, I said: - -“Your goodness to me, and the trust you have avowed in me, is beyond -all words. But Orpha! Still, Orpha! You say she must learn to love me. -What if she cannot? I am lacking in many things; perhaps in the very -thing she naturally would look for in the man she would accept as her -husband.” - -His lips took a firm line; never had he shown himself more the master -of himself and of every one about him, than when he rejoined in a way -to end the conversation: - -“We will not talk of that. You are free to sound her mind when -opportunity offers. But quietly, and with due consideration for Edgar, -who will lose enough without too great humiliation to his pride. Now -you may summon Clarke.” - -I did so; and left thus for a little while to myself, strove to balance -the wild instinctive joy making havoc in my breast, with fears just -as instinctive that Orpha’s heart would never be won by me completely -enough for me to benefit by the present wishes of her father. It was -with the step of a guilty man I crept from the sight of Edgar’s door -down to the floor below. At Orpha’s I paused a moment. I could hear her -light step within, and listening, thought I heard her sigh. - -“God bless my darling!” leaped from heart to lip in a whisper too low -for even my own ears to hear. And I believed--and left that door in -the belief--that I was willing it should be in His way, not mine, so -long as it was a blessing in very truth. - -But once on the verandah below, whither I went for a cooling draught of -the keen night air, I stopped short in my even pacing as though caught -by a detaining hand. - -A thought had come to me. He had two wills in his hand, yet he had -destroyed neither though the flames were leaping and beckoning on -the hearth-stone at his feet. Let him say this or let him say that, -the ordeal was not over. Under these circumstances dare I do as he -suggested and show my heart to Orpha? - -Suppose he changed his mind again! - - * * * * * - -The mere suggestion of such a possibility was so unsettling that it -kept me below in an unquiet mood for hours. I walked the court, and -when Haines came to put out the lights, paced the library-floor till I -was exhausted. The house was still and well nigh dark when I finally -went upstairs, and after a little further wandering through the halls -entered my own room. - -Three o’clock! and as wide awake as ever. Throwing myself into the -Morris chair which had been given me for my comfort, I shut my eyes in -the hope of becoming drowsy and was just feeling a lessening of the -tense activity which was keeping my brain in a whirl when there came a -quick knock at my door followed by the hurried word: - -“Mr. Bartholomew is worse, come quickly.” - -I was on my feet in an instant, my heart cold in my breast but every -sense alert. Had I feared such a summons? Had some premonition of -sudden disaster been the cause of the intolerable restlessness which -had kept my feet moving in the rooms below? - -Useless to wonder; the sounds of hurrying steps all over the house -warned me to hasten also. Rushing from my room I encountered Wealthy -awaiting me at the turn of the hall. She was shaking from head to foot -and her voice broke as she said: - -“A sudden change. Mr. Edgar and Orpha are coming. Mr. Bartholomew wants -to see you all, while he has the power to speak and embrace you for the -last time.” - -I saw her eyes leave my face and pass rapidly over my person. I was -fully dressed. - -“There they are,” she whispered, as Edgar emerged from his room far -down the hall just as Orpha, trembling and shaken with sobs, appeared -at the top of the staircase. Both were in hastily donned clothing. I -alone presented the same appearance as at dinner. - -As we met, Edgar took the lead, supporting Orpha, weakened both by her -grief and sudden arousal from sleep. I followed after, never feeling -more lonely or more isolated from them all. And in this manner we -entered the room. - -Then, as always on crossing this threshold my first glance was given to -the picture which held such sway over my heart. The living Orpha was -but a step ahead of me, but the Orpha most real to me, most in accord -with me, was the one in whose imaginary ear I had breathed my vows of -love and from whose imaginary lips I had sometimes heard with fond -self-deception those vows returned. - -To-day, the picture was in shadow and my eyes turned quickly towards -the fireplace. Shadow there, too. No leaping flame or smouldering -coals. For the first time in months the fire had been allowed to die -out. The ominous fact struck like ice to my heart and a secret shudder -shook me. But it passed almost instantly, for on turning towards the -bed I saw preparations made which assured me that my uncle’s mind was -clear to the duty of the hour and that we had not been called to his -side simply for his final embrace. - -He was lying high on his pillow, his eyes blazing as if the fire which -had gone out of the hearth had left its reflection on his blazing -eye-balls. He had not seen us come in and he did not see us now. - -At his side was a table on which stood a large bowl and a lighted -candle. They told their own story. His hands were stretched out over -the coverlid. They held in feverish grasp the two documents I knew -so well, one in one hand and one in the other just as I had seen -them the evening before. Edgar recognized them too, as I saw by the -imperturbability of his look as his glance fell on them. But Orpha -stood amazed, the color leaving her cheeks till she was as pale as I -had ever seen a woman. - -“What does that mean?” She whispered or rather uttered with throat half -closed in fear and trepidation. - -“Shall we explain?” I asked, with a quick turn towards Edgar. - -“Leave it to him,” was the low, undisturbed reply. “He has heard her -voice, and is going to speak.” - -It was true. Slowly and with effort her father’s glance sought her out -and love again became animate in his features. “Come here, Orpha,” he -said and uttered murmuring words of affection as she knelt at his side. -“I am going to make you happy. You have been a good girl. Do you see -the two long envelopes I am holding, one in each hand?” - -“Yes, Father.” - -“Look at them. No, do not take them, just look at them where they lie -and tell me if in the corner of one you see a cross drawn in red?” - -“Yes, Father.” - -“In which hand do you see it?” - -“In this one,--the one nearest me.” - -“You are sure?” - -“Very sure. Edgar, look too, and tell him that I am right.” - -“I will take your word, my darling child. Now pull that envelope,--the -one with the mark on it, from under my hand.” - -“I have it, Father.” - -A moment’s silence. Edgar’s breath stopped on his lips; mine had come -haltingly from my breast ever since I entered the room. - -“Now, burn it.” - -Instinctively she shrank back, but he repeated the command with a force -which startled us all and made Orpha’s hand shake as she thrust the -document into the flame and then, as it caught fire, dropped it into -the gaping bowl. - -As it flared up and the scent of burning paper filled the room, he made -a mighty effort and sat almost erect, watching the flaming edges curl -and drop away till all was consumed. - -“A will made a few weeks ago of which I have repented,” he declared -quite steadily. “It had a twin, drawn up on the same day. That is the -one I desire to stand. It is not in the envelope I hold in this other -hand. This envelope is empty but you will find the will itself in--” - -A choke--a gasp. The exertion had been too much for him. With a look of -consummate fear distorting his features, he centered his gaze on his -child, then sought to turn it on--which of us? On Edgar, or on me? - -We never knew. The light in his eye went out before his glance reached -its goal. - -Edgar Quenton Bartholomew was dead, and we, his two namesakes--the -lesser and the greater--stood staring the one upon the other, not -knowing to which that term of _greater_ rightfully belonged. - - - - -_BOOK II_ - -HIDDEN - - -XVI - -“_DEAD?_” - -The word was spoken in such astonishment that it had almost the -emphasis of unbelief. - -From whose lips had it come? - -I turned to see. We were all still grouped near or about the bed, but -this voice was strange, or so it seemed to me at the moment. - -But it was strange only from emotion. It was that of Dr. Cameron, who -had come quietly in, in response to the summons sent him at the first -sign of change seen in his patient. - -“I did not anticipate this,” he was now saying. “Yesterday he had -strength enough for a fortnight or more of life. What was his trouble? -He must have excited himself.” - -Looking round upon our faces as we failed to reply, he let his fingers -rest on the bowl from which little whiffs of smoke were still going -up. “This is an odd thing to have where disinfection is not necessary. -Something of a most unusual nature has taken place here. What was it? -Did I not tell you to keep him quiet?” - -It was Edgar who answered. - -“Doctor, you knew my uncle. Knew him in health and knew him in illness. -Do you think that any one could have kept him quiet if he had the will -to act even if it were to please simply a momentary whim? What then if -he felt himself called upon to risk his life in the performance of a -duty? Could you or I or even his well loved daughter have prevented -him?” And looking very noble, Edgar met the doctor’s eye unflinchingly. - -“Ah, a duty!” The doctor’s voice had grown milder. “No, I do not think -that any of us could have stopped him in that case.” - -Turning towards the bed, he stood a moment gazing at the rigid -countenance which but a few minutes before had been so expressive of -emotion. Then, raising his hand, he pointed directly at it, saying with -a gravity which shook every heart: - -“The performance of duty brings relief to both mind and body. Then why -this look of alarm with which he met his end--” - -“Because he felt it coming before that duty was fully accomplished. If -you must know, doctor, I am willing to tell you what occasioned this -sudden collapse. Shall I not, Orpha? Shall I not, Quenton? It is his -right, as our physician. We shall save ourselves nothing by silence.” - -“Tell.” - -That was all Orpha seemed to have power to utter, and I attempted -little more. I was willing the doctor should know--that all the world -should know--my part in this grievous tragedy. Even if I had wished for -silence, the sting of Edgar’s tone as he mentioned my name would have -been enough to make me speak. - -“I have no wish to keep anything from the doctor,” I affirmed as -quickly and evenly as if the matter were of ordinary purport. “Only -tell him all; keep nothing back.” - -And Edgar did so with a simplicity and fairness which did him credit. -If he had shown a tinge of sarcasm when he addressed me directly, it -was not heard in the relation he now gave of the drawing up of the two -wills and our uncle’s final act in destroying one. “He loved me--it -was a life-long affection--and when Quenton came, he loved him.” This -was said with a certain display of hardihood.--“Not wishing to divide -his fortune but to leave it largely in favor of one, he wavered for a -time between us, but finally, at the conscious approach of death, made -up his mind and acted as you have seen. Only,” he finished with naïveté -peculiar to his temperament and nature, “we do not know which of us -he has chosen to bless or curse with his great fortune. You see the -remains of one will. But of the other one or of its contents we have as -yet no knowledge.” - -The doctor, who had followed Edgar’s words with great intentness, -opened his lips as though to address him, but failed to do so, turning -his attention towards me instead. Then, still without speaking, he -drew up the sheet over the face once so instinct with every generous -emotion, and quietly left our presence. As the door closed upon him -Orpha burst into sobs, and it was Edgar’s arm, not mine, which fell -about her shoulders. - - -XVII - -No attempt was made during those first few grief-stricken hours to -settle the question alluded to above. Of course it would be an easy -matter to find the will which he from sheer physical weakness could -not have put very far away. But Edgar showed no anxiety to find it and -I studiously refrained from showing any; while Orpha seemed to have -forgotten everything but her loss. - -But at nightfall Edgar came to where I was pacing the verandah and, -halting in the open French window, said without preamble and quite -brusquely for him: - -“The will of which Uncle spoke as having been taken from the other -envelope and concealed in some drawer or other, cannot be found. It is -not in the cubby-hole at the back of his bed or in any of the drawers -or subdivisions of his desk. You were with him later than I last night. -Did he intimate to you in any way where he intended to put it?” - -“I left him while the two wills, or at least the two envelopes, still -remained in his hands. But Clarke ought to be able to tell you. He is -the one most likely to have gone in immediately upon my departure.” - -“Clarke says that he no sooner entered Uncle’s presence than he was -ordered out, with an injunction not to come back or to allow any one -else to approach the room for a full half hour. My uncle wished to be -alone.” - -“And was he obeyed?” - -“Clarke says that he was. Wealthy was sitting in her usual place in the -hall as he went by to his room; and answered with a quiet nod when he -told her what Uncle’s wishes were. She is the last person to disobey -them. Yet Uncle had been so emphatic that more than once he stole about -the corner to see if she were still sitting where he had left her. -And she was. Neither he nor she disturbed him until the time was up. -Then Clarke went in. Uncle was sitting in his great chair looking very -tired. The envelopes were in his hand but he allowed Clarke to add them -to a pile of other documents lying on the stand by his bed where they -still were when Wealthy came in. She says she was astonished to see so -many valuable papers lying there, for he usually kept everything of the -kind in the little cubby-hole let into the head of his bed. But when -she offered to put them there he said ‘No,’ and was very peremptory -indeed in his demand that she should go down to Orpha’s room on an -errand, which while of no especial moment, would keep her from the room -for fifteen minutes if not longer. She went and when she came back -the envelopes as well as all the other papers were still lying on the -stand. Later, at his request, she put them all back in the drawer.” - -“Looking at them as she did so?” - -“No.” - -“Who got them out this morning? The two envelopes, I mean.” - -“She, and it was not till then that she noticed that one of them -was empty. She says, and the plausibility of her surmise you must -acknowledge, that it was during the time she was below with Orpha, that -Uncle took out the will now missing from its envelope and hid it away. -Where, we cannot conceive.” - -“What do you know of this woman?” - -“Nothing but what is good. She has had the confidence of many people -for years.” - -“It is an extraordinary situation in which we find ourselves,” I -commented, approaching him where he still stood in the open window. -“But there cannot be any real difficulty ahead of us. The hiding-places -which in his feeble state he could reach, are few. To-morrow will see -this necessary document in hand. Meanwhile, you are the master.” - -I said it to try him. Though my tone was a matter-of-fact one he could -not but feel the sting of such a declaration from me. - -And he did, and fully as much as I expected. - -“You seem to think,” he said, with a dilation of the nostril and -a sudden straightening of his lips which while it lasted made him -look years older than his age, “that there is such a thing as the -possibility of some other person taking that place upon the finding and -probating of the remaining will.” - -“I have reason to, Edgar.” - -“How much reason, Quenton?” - -“Only my uncle’s word.” - -“Ah!” He was very still, but the shot went home. “And what did he say?” -he asked after a moment of silent communion with himself. - -“That I was the man.” - -I repeated these words with as little offense as possible. I felt that -no advantage should be taken of his ignorance if indeed he were as -ignorant as he seemed. Nor did I feel like wounding his feelings. I -simply wanted no misunderstandings to arise. - -“You the man! He said that?” - -“Those were his exact words.” - -“The man to administer his wealth? To take his place in this community? -To--” his voice sank lower, there was even an air of apology in his -manner--“to wed his daughter?” - -“Yes. And to my mind,”--I said it fervently--“this last honor -out-weighs all the rest. I love Orpha deeply and devotedly. I have -never told her so, but few women are loved as I love her.” - -“You dare?” The word escaped him almost without his volition. “Didn’t -you know that there at least I have the precedence? That she and I are -engaged--” - -“Truly, Edgar?” - -He looked down at my hand which I had laid in honest appeal on his arm -and as he did so he flushed ever so slightly. - -“I regard myself as engaged to her.” - -“Yet you do not love her. Not as I do,” I hastened to add. “She is my -past, my present and my future; she is my whole life. Otherwise my -conduct would be inexcusable. There is no reason why I should take -precedence of you in other ways than that.” - -He was taken aback. He had not expected any such an avowal from me. I -had kept my secret well. It had not escaped the father’s eye but it had -that of the lukewarm lover. - -“You have some excuse for your presumption,” he admitted at last. -“There has been no public recognition of our intentions, nor have -we made any display of our affection. But you know it now, and must -eliminate from your program that hope which you say is your whole life. -As for the rest, I might as well tell you, now as later, that nothing -but the sight of the lost will, made out as you have the hardihood -to declare, will ever convince me that Uncle, even in the throes of -approaching dissolution, would so far forget the affection of years as -to give into the hands of my betrothed wife for public destruction -the will he had made while under the stress of that affection. The one -we all saw reduced to ashes was the one in which your name figured the -largest. That I shall always believe and act upon till you can show me -in black and white the absolute proof that I have made a mistake.” - -He spoke with an air of dignity and yet with an air of detachment also, -not looking me in the eye. The sympathy I had felt for him in his -unfortunate position left me and I became boldly critical of everything -he said. In every matter in which we, creatures of an hour, are -concerned, there are depths which are never fully sounded. The present -one was not likely to prove an exception. But the time had not come for -me to show any positive distrust, so I let him go, with what I tried to -make a dispassionate parting. - -“Neither of us wish to take advantage of the other. That is why we are -both disposed to be frank. I shall stand on my rights, too, Edgar, if -events prove that I am legally entitled to them. You cannot expect me -to do otherwise. I am a man like yourself and _I love Orpha_.” - -Like a flash he wheeled at that and came hastily back. - -“Do you mean that according to your ideas she goes absolutely with the -fortune, in these days of woman’s independence? You will have to change -your ideas. Uncle would never bind her to his wishes like that.” - -He spoke with a conviction not observable in anything he had said -before. He was not surmising now but speaking from what looked very -much like knowledge. - -“Then you saw those two wills--read them--became acquainted with their -contents before I knew of their existence?” - -“Fortunately, yes,” he allowed. - -“There you have the advantage of me. I have only a general knowledge of -the same. They were not unfolded before my eyes.” - -He did not respond to this suggestion as I had some hope that he would, -but stood in silence, drumming nervously with his fingers on the -framework of the window standing open at his side. My heart, always -sensitive to changes of emotion, began pounding in my breast. He was -meditating some action or formulating some disclosure, the character -of which I could not even guess at. I saw resolution climaxing in the -expression of his eye. - -“Quenton, there is something you don’t know.” These words came with -slow intensity; he was looking fairly at me now. “There is another -will, a former one, drawn up and attested to previous to those which -made a nightmare of our uncle’s final days. That one I have also seen, -and what is more to the point, I believe it to be still in existence, -either in some drawer of my uncle’s desk or in the hands of Mr. Dunn, -our legal adviser, and consequently producible at any time. I will -tell you on my honor that by the terms of this first will--the only -one which will stand--I am given everything, over and above certain -legacies, which were alike in all three wills.” - -“No mention of Orpha?” - -“Yes. He leaves her a stated sum and with such expressions of -confidence and affection that no one can doubt he did what he did from -a conception, mistaken perhaps but sincere, that he was taking the best -course to secure her happiness.” - -“Was this will made previous to my coming or after?” - -“Before.” - -“How long before, Edgar? You cannot question my right to know.” - -“I question nothing but the good taste of this conversation on the part -of both of us, while Uncle lies cold in the house!” - -“You are right; we will defer it. Take my hand, Edgar. I have not from -the beginning to the end played you false in this matter. Nor have -I made any effort beyond being at all times responsive to Uncle’s -goodness, to influence him in any unfair way against you. We are -cousins and should be friends.” - -He took a long breath, smiled faintly and reached out his hand to mine. -“You have the more solid virtues,” he laughed, “and I ought to envy -you. But I don’t. The lighter ones will win and when they do--not _if_ -mind you, but _when_--then we will talk of friendship.” - -Not the sort of harangue calculated to calm my spirits or to make this -day of mourning lose any of its gloom. - - -XVIII - -That night I slept but little. I had much to grieve over; much to think -about. I had lost my best friend. Of that I was sure. His place would -never again be filled in my heart or in my imagination. Without him the -house seemed a barren shell save for the dim unseen corner where my -darling mourned in her own way the man we both loved. - -Might we but have shared each other’s suffering! - -But under the existing state of things, that could not be. Our -relations, one to the other, were too unsettled. Which thought brought -me at once face to face with the most hopeless of all my perplexities. -How were Orpha and I to know--and when, if ever--what Uncle’s wishes -were or what his final intentions? The will which would have made -everything plain, as well as fixed the status of everybody in the -house, had not been found; and among the disadvantages in which this -placed me was the fact that he, as the present acknowledged head of -the house, had rights which it would have been most unbecoming in me -to infringe upon. If he wished a door to be closed against me, I could -not, as a mere resident under his roof, ask to have it opened. For -days--possibly for weeks,--at all events until he saw fit to pursue the -search he had declared to be at present so hopeless, it was for me to -remain quiescent--a man apart--anxious for my rights but unable as a -gentleman and a guest to make a move towards obtaining them. - -And unhappily for us, instantaneous action was what the conditions -called for. An immediate and exhaustive inquiry, conducted by Edgar in -the presence of every occupant of the house, offered the only hope of -arriving speedily at the truth of what it was not to the interests of -any of us to leave much longer in doubt. - -For some one of the few persons admitted to Uncle’s presence after -Edgar and I had left it, must have aided him in the disposal of this -missing document. He was far too feeble to have taken it from the -room himself, nor could he, without a helping hand, have made any -extraordinary effort within it which would have necessitated the -displacing of furniture or the opening of drawers or other receptacles -not plainly in sight and within easy access. - -If the will which his sudden death prevented him from definitely -locating was not found within twenty-four hours, it would never be -found. The one helping him will have suppressed it; and this is what -I believed had already occurred. For every servant in the house from -his man Clarke to a shy little sewing girl who from time to time -scurried on timid feet through the halls, favored Edgar to the point of -self-effacing devotion. - -And Edgar knew it. - -Recognizing this fact at its full value, but not as yet questioning his -probity, I asked myself who was the first person to enter my uncle’s -room immediately after my departure on the evening before. - -I did not know. - -Did Edgar? Had he taken any pains to find out? - -Fruitless to conjecture. Impertinent to inquire. - -I had left Uncle sitting by the fire. He had bidden me call Wealthy, -and it was just possible that in the interim elapsing between my going -out and the entrance of nurse or servant, he had found the nervous -strength to hide the missing paper where no one as yet had thought to -look for it. - -It did not seem possible, and I gave but little credence to this -theory; yet such is the activity of the mind when once thoroughly -aroused, that all through the long night I was in fancy searching the -dark corners of my uncle’s room and tabulating the secret spots and -unsuspected crevices in which the document so important to myself might -lie hidden. - -Beginning with the bed, I asked myself if there could be anywhere in -it an undiscovered hiding-place other than the drawer I have already -mentioned as having been let into the head-board. I decided to the -contrary since this piece of furniture upon which he had been found -lying, would have received the closest attention of the searchers. If -Edgar had called in the services of Wealthy, as it would be natural -for him to do, she would never have left the mattresses and pillows -unexamined; while he would have ransacked the little drawer and sounded -the wood of the bedstead for hollow posts or convenient slits. I could -safely trust that the bed could tell no tales beyond those associated -with our uncle’s sufferings. Leaving it, then, in my imaginary circuit -of the room, I followed the wall running parallel with the main hall, -till I came to the door opening at the southern end of the room into a -short passage-way communicating with that hall. - -Here I paused a moment, for built into this passage-way was a cabinet -which during his illness had been used for the safe-guarding of -medicine bottles, etc. Could a folded paper of the size of the will -find any place among the boxes and phials with which every one of its -shelves were filled? I knew the place well enough to come to the quick -decision that I should lose nothing by passing them quickly by. - -Turning the corner which had nothing to show but another shelf--this -time a hanging one--on which there was never anything kept but a jar -or two and a small photograph of Edgar, I concentrated my attention -on the south wall made beautiful by the full length portrait of Orpha -concerning which I have said so much. - -It had not always hung there. It had been brought from the den, as you -will remember, when Uncle’s illness had become pronounced, taking the -place of a painting which had been hung elsewhere. Flanked by windows -on either side, it filled the wall-space up to where a table stood -of size sufficient to answer for the serving of a meal. There were -chairs here too and Orpha’s little basket standing on its three slender -legs. The document might have been put under her work. But no, the -woman would have found it there; or in the table drawer, or among the -cushions of the couch filling the space between this corner and the -fireplace. There were rugs all over the room but they must have been -lifted; and as for the fireplace itself, not having had the sifting of -the ashes, I must leave it unconsidered. - -But not so the mantel or the winged chair dedicated solely to my -Uncle’s use and always kept near the hearth. This was where I had last -seen him, sitting in this chair close to the fire-dogs. The two wills -were in his hands. Could one have fallen from its envelope and so into -the flames,--the one he had meant to preserve,--the one which was not -marked with a hastily scrawled cross? Mad questions to which there was -no answer. Would that I might have been the man to sift those ashes! Or -that I might yet be given the opportunity of looking behind the ancient -painting which filled the large square above the mantel. I did not see -how anything like a folded paper could have been lodged there; but not -an inch from floor to ceiling would have escaped my inspection had I -been fortunate enough or my claims been considered important enough to -have entitled me to assist in the search. - -Should I end this folly of a disturbed imagination? Forget the room for -to-night and the whole gruesome tragedy? Could I, in reality, do this -before I had only half circled the room? There was the desk,--the place -of all others where he would naturally lock up a paper of value. But -this was so obvious that probably not another article in the room had -been more thoroughly overhauled or its contents more rigidly examined. -If any of its drawers or compartments contained false backs or double -bottoms, Edgar would be likely to know it. Up to the night of the ball, -when in some way he forfeited a portion of our uncle’s regard, he had -been, according to his own story, in his benefactor’s full confidence, -even in matters connected with business and his most private -transactions. The desk was negligible, if, as I sincerely believed, he -had sought to conceal the will from Edgar, as temporarily from every -one else. - -But back of the desk there was a book-case, and books offer an -excellent hiding-place. But that book-case was always locked, and the -key to it, linked with that of the desk, kept safely to hand in the -drawer inserted in his bed-head. The desk-key, of course, had come into -use at the first moment of the search, but had that of the book-case? -Possibly not. - -I made a note of this doubt; and in my fancy moved on to the two rooms -which completed my uncle’s suite towards the north. The study and a -dressing closet! I say study and I say closet but both were large -enough to merit the name of rooms. The dressing-closet was under the -combined care of Wealthy and Clarke. They must be acquainted with every -nook and corner of it. Wealthy had undoubtedly been consulted as to its -contents, but had Clarke? - -The study, since the time when Uncle’s condition became serious enough -to have a nurse within call, had been occupied by Wealthy. Certainly -he would have hidden nothing in her room which he wished kept from -Edgar. - -The fourth corner was negligible; so was the wall between it and a -second passage-way which, like the one already described, led to a door -opening into the main hall. Only, this one, necessitated like the other -by the curious break between the old house and the new, held no cabinet -or any place of concealment. It was the way of entrance most used by -uncle when in health and by all the rest of us both then and later. -Had he made use of it that night, for reaching the hall and some place -beyond? - -Hardly; but if he had, where would he have found a cubby-hole for the -will, short of Edgar’s room or mine? - -The closet indicated in the diagram of this room as offering another -break in this eastern wall, was the next thing to engage my attention. - -I had often seen it open and it held, according to my recollection, -nothing but clothes. He had always been very methodical in his ways and -each coat had its hook and every hat, not in constant use, its own box. -The hooks ran along the back and along one of the sides; the other side -was given up to shelves only wide enough to hold the boxes just alluded -to and the long row of shoes, the number and similarity of which I -found it hard to account for till I heard some one in speaking of petty -economies and of how we all have them, mentioned this peculiar one of -my uncle’s, which was to wear a different pair of shoes every day in -the week. - -Had Edgar, or whoever conducted the search, gone through all the -pockets of the many suits lining these simple walls? Had they lifted -the shoes? - -The only object to be seen between the door of this closet and the -alcove sunk in the wall for the accommodation of the bed-head, was -the small stand holding his night-lamp and the various articles for -use and ornament which one usually sees at an invalid’s bedside. I -remembered the whole collection. There was not a box there nor a book, -not even a tablet nor a dish large enough to hold the will folded as -I had seen it. Had the stand a drawer? Yes, but this drawer had no -lock. Its contents were open to all. Edgar must have handled them. I -had come back to my starting-point. And what had I gained in knowledge -or in hope by my foolish imaginary quest? Nothing. I had but proved to -myself that I was no more exempt than the next man from an insatiable, -if hitherto unrecognized desire for this world’s goods and this world’s -honors. Nothing less could have kept my thoughts so long in this -especial groove at a time of such loss and so much personal sorrow. - -My shame was great and to its salutary effect upon my mind I attribute -a certain lessening of interest in things material which I date from -this day. - -My hour of humiliation over, my thoughts reverted to Orpha. I had not -seen her all day nor had I any hope of seeing her on the morrow. She -had not shown herself at meals, nor were we to expect her to leave her -room--or so I was told--until the day of the funeral. - -Whether this isolation of hers was to be complete, shutting out Edgar -as well as myself, I had no means of determining. Probably not, if what -uncle had told me was true and they were secretly engaged. - -When I fell asleep at dawn it was with the resolution fixed in my mind, -that with the first opportunity which offered I would make a desperate -endeavor to explain myself to her. As my pride was such that I could -only do this in Edgar’s presence, the risk was great. So would be -the test made of her feelings by the story I had to relate. If she -listened, hope, shadowy but existent, might still be mine. If not, -then I must bear her displeasure as best I could. Possibly I should -suffer less under it than from the uncertainty which kept every nerve -quivering. - - -XIX - -The next day was without incident save such as were connected with -the sad event which had thrown the house into mourning. Orpha did -not appear and Edgar was visible only momentarily and that at long -intervals. - -When he did show himself it was with an air of quiet restraint which -caused me some thought. The suspicion he had shown--or was it just a -natural revulsion at my attitude and pretensions,--seemed to have left -him. He was friendly in aspect and when he spoke, as he did now and -then, there was apology in his tone, almost commiseration, which showed -how assured he felt that nothing I could do or say would ever alter -the position he was maintaining amongst us with so much grace and calm -determination. - -Had he found the will and had it proved to be the one favorable to his -interests and not to mine? I doubted this and with cause, for the faces -of those about him did not reflect his composure, but wore a look of -anxious suspense quite distinct from that of sorrow, sincerely as my -uncle was mourned by every member of his devoted household. I noticed -this first in Clarke, who had taken his stand near his dead master’s -door and could not be induced to leave it. No sentinel on watch ever -showed a sadder or a more resolute countenance. - -It was the same with Wealthy. Every time I passed through the hall I -found her hovering near one door or the other of her former master’s -room, the great tears rolling down her cheeks and her mouth set -with a firmness which altered her whole appearance. Usually mild of -countenance, she reminded me that day of some wild animal guarding -her den, especially when her eye met mine. If the will favoring Edgar -had been found, she would have faced me with a very different aspect -and cared little what I did or where I stayed. But no such will had -been found; and what was, perhaps, of almost equal importance, neither -had the original one--the one made before I came to C----, and which -Edgar had so confidently stated was still in the house. Both were -gone and--Here a thought struck me which stopped me short as I was -descending the stairs. If the original one had been destroyed--as would -have been natural upon or immediately after the signing of the other -two, and no other should ever come to light--in other words, if Uncle, -so far as all practical purposes went, had died intestate, then in the -course of time Orpha would inherit the whole estate (I knew enough of -law to be sure of that) and if engaged to Edgar, he would have little -in the end to complain of. Was this the source of his composure, so -unnatural to one of his temperament and headlong impulses? - -I would not have it so. With every downward step which I took after -that I repeated to myself, “No! no!” and when I passed within sight of -Orpha’s door somehow the feeling rose within me that she was repeating -with me that same vigorous “No! no!” - -A lover’s fancy founded on--well, on nothing. A dream, light as air, -to be dispelled the next time I saw her. For struggle against it as -I would, both reason and experience assured me only too plainly that -women of her age choose for their heart’s mate, not the man whose love -is the deepest and most sincere, but the one whose pleasing personality -has fired their imagination and filled their minds with dreams. - -And Edgar, in spite of his irregular features possessed this appeal to -the imagination above and beyond any other man I have ever met. - -I shall never forget this seemingly commonplace descent of mine down -these two flights of stairs. In those few minutes I seemed to myself -to run the whole gamut of human emotions; to exhaust the sorrows and -perplexities of a life-time. - -And it was nothing; mere child’s play. Before another twenty-four hours -had passed how happy would I have been if this experience had expressed -the full sum of grief and trial I should be called upon to endure. - -I had other experiences that day confirmatory of the conclusion I had -come to. Hostile glances everywhere except as I have said from Edgar. -Attention to my wants, respectful replies to my questions, which I -assure you were very limited, but no display of sympathy or kind -feeling from any one indoors or out. To each and all I was an unwelcome -stranger, with hand stretched out to steal the morsel from another -man’s dish. - -I bore it. I stood the day out bravely, as was becoming in one -conscious of no evil intentions; and when evening came, retired to -my room, in the hope that sleep would soon bring me the relief my -exhausted condition demanded. - -So little are we able to foresee one hour, nay, one minute into the -future. - -I read a little, or tried to, then I sank into a reverie which did not -last long, for they had chosen this hour to carry down the casket into -the court. - -My room, of which you will hear more later, was in the rear of the -house and consequently somewhat removed from the quarter where all -this was taking place. But imagination came to the aid of my hearing, -intensifying every sound. When I could stand no more I threw up my -window and leaned out into the night. There was consolation in the -darkness, and for a few fleeting minutes I felt a surcease of care and -a lightening of the load weighing upon my spirits. The face of heaven -was not unkind to me and I had one treasure of memory with which to -meet whatever humiliation the future might bring. My uncle had been his -full vigorous self at the moment he rose up before me and said, with an -air of triumph, “You are the man!” For that one thrilling instant I was -the man, however the people of his house chose to regard me. - -Soothed by the remembrance, I drew in my head and softly closed the -window. God! how still it was! Not a sound to be heard anywhere. -My uncle’s body had been carried below and this whole upper floor -was desolate. So was his room! The room which had witnessed such -misery; the room from which I had felt myself excluded; where, if it -still existed, the missing will lay hidden; the will which I must -see--handle--show to the world--show to Orpha. - -Was there any one there now,--watching as they had watched, at door or -bedside while his body still lay in the great bed and the mystery of -his last act was still a mystery unsolved? - -A few steps and the question would be answered. But should I take those -steps? Brain and heart said no. But man is not always governed by his -brain or by his heart, or by both combined. Before I knew it and quite -without conscious volition I had my hand on the knob of my door. I had -no remembrance of having crossed the floor. I felt the knob of the -door turning in my hand and that was the sum of my consciousness. Thus -started on the way, I could not stop. The hall as I stepped into it lay -bare and quiet before me. So did the main one when I had circled the -bend and stood in sight of my uncle’s door. But nothing would have made -me believe at that moment that there was no sentinel behind it. Yet I -hurried on, listening and looking back like a guilty man, for brain -and heart were yet crying out “No.” - -There was no one to mark my quickly moving figure, for the doors, -whichever way I looked, were all shut. Nor would any one near or far be -likely to hear my footsteps, for I was softly shod. But when I reached -his door, it was as impossible for me to touch it as if I had known -that the spirit of my uncle would meet me on the threshold. - -Sick at heart, I staggered backwards. There should be no attempt made -by me to surprise, in any underhanded, way, the secrets of this room. -What I might yet be called upon to do, should be done openly and -with Orpha’s consent. She was the mistress of this home. However our -fortunes turned, she was now, and always would be, its moral head. This -was my one glad thought. - -To waft her a good-night message I leaned over the balustrade and was -so leaning, when suddenly, sharply, frightfully, a cry rang up from -below rousing every echo in the wide, many-roomed house. It was from -a woman’s lips, but not from Orpha’s, thank God; and after that first -instant of dismay, I ran forward to the stair-head and was on the point -of plunging recklessly below, when the door of Uncle’s room opened and -the pale and alarmed face of Wealthy confronted me. - -“What is it?” she cried. “What has happened?” - -Before I could answer Clarke rushed by me, appearing from I never knew -where. He flew pell-mell down the stairs and I followed, scarcely less -heedless of my feet than he. As we reached the bottom, I almost on top -of him, a hardly audible click came from the hall above. I recognized -the sound, possibly because I was in a measure listening for it. -Wealthy was about to follow us, but not until she had locked the door -she was leaving without a watcher. - -As we all crowded in line at the foot of the first flight, the door of -Orpha’s room opened and she stepped out and faced us. - -“What is it? Who is hurt?” were her first words. “Somebody cried out. -The voice sounded like Martha’s.” - -Martha was the name of one of the girls. - -“We don’t know,” replied Clarke. “We are going to see.” - -She made as if to follow us. - -“Don’t,” I prayed, beseeching her with look and hand. “Let us find out -first whether it is anything but a woman’s hysterical outcry.” - -She paused for a moment then pressed hastily on. - -“I must see for myself,” she declared; and I forebore to urge her -further. Nor did I offer her my arm. For my heart was very sore. She -had not looked my way once, no, not even when I spoke. - -So she too doubted me. Oh, God! my lot was indeed a hard one. - - -XX - -The scene which met our view as we halted in one of the arches -overlooking the court was one for which we sought in vain for full -explanation. - -The casket had been placed and a man stood near it, holding the lid -which he had evidently just taken off, probably at some one’s request. -But it was not upon the casket or the man that our glances became -instantly focused. Grief has its call but terror dominates grief, and -terror stood embodied before us in the figure of the girl Martha, who -with staring eyes and pointing finger bade us “Look! look!” crouching -as the words left her lips and edging fearfully away. - -Look? look at what? She had appeared to indicate the silent form in -the casket. But that could not be. The death of the old is sad but not -terrible; she must have meant something else, something which we could -not perceive from where we stood. - -Leaning further forward, I forced my gaze to follow hers and speedily -became aware that the others were doing the same and that it was inside -the casket itself that they were all peering and with much the same -appearance of consternation Martha herself had shown. - -Something was wrong there; and alive to the effect which this scene -must have upon Orpha, I turned her way just in time to catch her as -she fell back from the marble balustrade she had been clutching in her -terror. - -“Oh, what is it? what is it?” she moaned, her eyes meeting mine for the -first time in days. - -“I will go and see, if you think you can stand alone.” - -“Wealthy will take care of me,” she murmured, as another arm than mine -drew her forcibly away. - -But I did not go on the instant for just then Martha spoke again and we -heard in tones which set every heart beating tumultuously: - -“Spots! Black spots on his forehead and cheek! I have seen them -before--seen them on my dead brother’s face and he died from poison!” - -“Wretch!” I shouted down from the gallery where I stood, in -irrepressible wrath and consternation, as Orpha, escaping from -Wealthy’s grasp, fell insensible at my feet. “Would you kill your young -mistress!” And I stooped to lift Orpha, but an arm thrust across her -pushed me inexorably back. - -“Would you blame the girl for what you yourself have brought upon us?” -came in a hiss to my ear. - -And staring into Wealthy’s face I saw with a chill as of the grave what -awaited me at the hands of Hate if no succor came from Love. - - -XXI - -In another moment I had left the gallery. Whether it was from pride or -conscious innocence or just the daring of youth in the face of sudden -danger, the hot blood within me drove me to add myself to the group of -friends and relatives circling my uncle’s casket, where I belonged as -certainly and truly as Edgar did. Not for me to hide my head or hold -myself back at a crisis so momentous as this. Even the shudder which -passed from man to man at my sudden appearance did not repel me; and, -when after an instant of hesitation one person after another began to -sidle away till I was left there alone with the man still holding the -lid in his trembling fingers, I did not move from my position or lift -the hand which I had laid in reverent love upon the edge of the casket. - -That every tongue was stilled and many a breath held in check I need -not say. It was a moment calling for a man’s utmost courage. For the -snake of suspicion whose hiss I had heard above was rearing its crest -against me here, and not a friendly eye did I meet. - -But perhaps I should have, if Edgar’s face had been turned my way; but -it was not. Miss Colfax was one of the group watching us from the other -side of the fountain, and his eyes were on her and not on me. I stood -in silent observation of him for a minute, then I spoke. - -“Edgar, if there is anything in the appearance of our uncle’s body -which suggests foul play though it be only to an ignorant servant, why -do you not send for the doctor?” - -He started and, turning very slowly, gave me look for look. - -“Do you advise that?” he asked. - -With a glance at the dear features which were hardly recognizable, I -said: - -“I not only advise it, but as one who believes himself entitled to full -authority here, I demand it.” - -A murmur from every lip varying in tone but all hostile was followed -by a silence which bitterly tried my composure. It was broken by -a movement of the undertaker’s man. Stepping forward, he silently -replaced the lid he had been holding. - -This forced a word from Edgar. - -“We will not dispute authority in this presence or disagree as to the -action you propose. Let some one call Dr. Cameron.” - -“It is not necessary,” announced a voice from the staircase. “That has -already been done.” And Orpha, erect, and showing none of the weakness -which had so nearly laid her at my feet a few minutes before, stepped -into our midst. - - -XXII - -Such transformations are not common, and can only occur in strong -natures under the stress of a sudden emergency. With what rejoicing I -hailed this new Orpha, and marked the surprise on every face as she -bent over the casket and imprinted a kiss upon the cold wood which shut -in the heart which had so loved her. When she faced them again, not an -eye but showed a tear; only her own were dry. But ah, how steady! - -Edgar, who had started forward, stopped stock-still as she raised her -hand. No statue of even-handed Justice could have shown a calmer front. -I could have worshiped her, and did in my inmost heart; for I saw with -a feeling of awe which I am sure was shared by many others there, that -she whom we had seen blossom from girl to womanhood in a moment, was to -be trusted, and that she would do what was right because it was right -and not from any less elevated motive. - -That she was beautiful thus, with a beauty which put her girlhood’s -charms to blush, did not detract from her power. - -Eagerly we waited for what she had to say. When it came it was very -simple. - -“I can understand,” said she, “the shock you have all sustained. But I -ask you to wait before you accept the awful suggestion conveyed by my -poor Martha’s words. She had a dreadful experience once and naturally -was thrown off her balance by anything which brought it to mind. But -the phenomenon which she once witnessed in her brother--under very -different circumstances I am sure--is no proof that a like cause is -answerable for what we see disfiguring the face we so much love. Let -us hear what Dr. Cameron has to say before we associate evil with a -death which in itself is hard enough to bear. Edgar, will you bring me -a chair. I shall not leave my father’s side till Dr. Cameron bids me do -so.” - -He did not hear her; that is, not attentively enough to do her bidding. -He was looking again at Miss Colfax, who was speaking in whispers to -the man she was engaged to; and in the pride of my devotion it was I -who brought a chair and saw my dear one seated. - -Her “Thank you,” was even and not unkind but it held no warmth. Nor did -the same words afterwards addressed to Edgar at some trifling service -he showed her. She was holding the balance of her favor at rest between -us; and so she would continue to hold it till her duty became clear and -Providence itself tipped the scale. - -Thus far it was given me to penetrate her mind. Was it through my love -for her or because the rectitude of her nature was so apparent in that -high hour? - -Dr. Cameron not being able to come immediately upon call, the few -outsiders who were present took their leave after a voluntary promise -by each and all to preserve a rigid silence concerning the events of -the evening until released by official authority. - -The grace with which Edgar accepted this token of friendship showed -him at his best. But when they were gone it was quite another Edgar -who faced us in the great court. With hasty glance, he took in all our -faces, then turned his attention upward to the gallery where Clarke and -Wealthy still stood. - -“No one is to stir from his place while I am gone,” said he. “If the -doctor’s ring is heard, let him in. But I am in serious earnest when I -say that I expect to see on my return every man and woman now present -in the precise place in which I leave them.” - -His voice was stern, his manner troubled. He was anything but his usual -self. Nor was it with his usual suavity he suddenly turned upon me and -said: - -“Quenton, do you consent?” - -“To remain here?” I asked. “Certainly.” Indeed, I had no other wish. - -But Orpha was not of my mind. With a glance at Edgar as firm as it was -considerate, she quietly said: - -“You should allow yourself no privilege which you deny to Quenton. If -for any reason you choose to leave us for purposes you do not wish to -communicate, you must take him with you.” - -The flush which this brought to his cheek was the first hint of color I -had seen there since the evening began. - -“This from you, Orpha?” he muttered. “You would place this stranger--” - -“Where my father put him,--on a level with yourself. But why leave us, -Edgar? Why not wait till the doctor comes?” - -They were standing near each other but they now stepped closer. - -Instinctively I turned my back. I even walked away from them. When I -wheeled about again, I saw that they were both approaching me. - -“_I_ am going up with Edgar,” said she. “Will you sit in my place till -I come back?” - -“Gladly, Orpha.” But I wondered what took them above--something -important I knew--and watched them with jealous eyes as in their ascent -their bright heads came into view, now through one arch and now through -another, till they finally emerged, he leading, she following, upon the -gallery. - -Here they paused to speak to Clarke and Wealthy. A word, and Clarke -stepped back, allowing Wealthy to slip up ahead of them to the third -floor. - -They were going to Uncle’s room of which Wealthy had the key. - -Deliberately I wheeled about; deliberately I forebore to follow their -movements any further, even in fancy. Prudence forbade such waste of -emotion. I would simply forget everything but my present duty, which -was to hold every lesser inmate of the house in view, till these two -had returned or the doctor arrived. - -But when I heard them coming, no exercise of my own will was strong -enough to prevent me from concentrating my attention on the gallery -to which they must soon descend. They reached it as they had left it, -Edgar to the fore and Orpha and Wealthy following slowly after. A -momentary interchange of words and Wealthy rejoined Clarke, and Edgar -and Orpha came steadily down. There was nothing to be learned from -their countenances; but I had a feeling that their errand had brought -them no relief; that the situation had not been bettered and that what -we all needed was courage to meet the developments awaiting us. - -I was agreeably disappointed therefore, when the doctor, having -arrived, met the first hasty words uttered by Edgar with an incredulous -shrug. Nor did he show alarm or even surprise when after lifting the -lid from the casket he took a prolonged look at the august countenance -thus exposed. It was not until he had replaced this lid and paused for -a moment in thoughtful silence that I experienced a fresh thrill of -doubt and alarm. This however passed when the doctor finally said: - -“Discolorations such as you see here, however soon they appear, are in -themselves no proof that poison has entered the stomach. There are -other causes which might easily induce them. But, since the question -has been raised--since, in the course of my treatment poison in careful -doses has been administered to Mr. Bartholomew, of which poison there -probably remained sufficient to have hastened death, if inadvertently -given by an inexperienced hand, it might be well to look into the -matter. It would certainly be a comfort to you all to know that no such -accident has taken place.” - -Here his eyes, which had been fixed upon the casket, suddenly rose. I -knew--perhaps others did--where his glance would fall first. Though an -excellent man and undoubtedly a just one, he could not fail to have -been influenced by what he must have heard in town of the two wills -and the part I had played in unsettling my uncle’s mind in regard -to his testamentary intentions. If under the doctor’s casual manner -there existed anything which might be called doubt, it would be--must -be--centered upon the man who was a stranger, unloved and evidently -distrusted by all in this house. - -Convinced as I was of this, I could not prevent the cold perspiration -from starting out on my forehead, nor Orpha from seeing it, or, seeing -it, drawing a step or two further off. Fate and my temperament--the -susceptibility of which I had never realized till now,--were playing me -false. Physical weakness added to all the rest! I was in sorry case. - -As I nerved myself to meet the strain awaiting me, it came. The -doctor’s gaze met mine, his keen with questioning, mine firm to meet -and defy his or any other man’s misjudgment. - -No word was spoken nor was any attempt at greeting made by him or by -myself. But when I saw those honest eyes shift their glance from my -face to whomever it was who stood beside me, I breathed as a man -breathes who, submerged to the point of exhaustion, suddenly finds -himself tossed again into the light of day and God’s free air. - -The relief I felt added to my self-scorn. Then I forgot my own -sensations in wondering how others would hold up against this ordeal -and what my thoughts would be--remembering how nearly I had come to -losing my own self-possession--if I beheld another man’s lids droop -under a soul search so earnest and so prolonged. - -Shrinking from so stringent a test of my own generosity I turned aside, -not wishing to see anything further, only to hear. - -Had I looked--looked in the right place, this story might never have -been written; but I only listened--held my breath and listened for a -break--any break--in the too heavy silence. - -It came just as my endurance had reached the breaking-point. Dr. -Cameron spoke, addressing Edgar. - -“The funeral I understand is to be held to-morrow. At what hour, may I -ask?” - -“At eleven in the morning.” - -“It will have to be postponed. Though there is little probability of -any change being necessary in the wording of the death-certificate; yet -it is possible and I must have time to consider.” - - -XXIII - -It was just and proper. But only Orpha had the courage to speak--to -seek to probe his mind--to sound the depths of this household’s misery. -Orpha! whom to guard from the mere disagreeabilities of life were a -man’s coveted delight! _She_ our leader? The one to take her stand in -the breach yawning between the old life and the new? - -“You mean,” she forced herself to say, “that what had happened to -Martha’s brother may have happened to my beloved father?” - -“I doubt it, but we must make sure. A poison capable of producing death -was in this house. You know that; others knew it. I had warned you -all concerning it. I made it plain, I thought, that small doses taken -according to prescription were helpful, but that increased beyond a -certain point, they meant death. You remember, Orpha?” - -She bowed her head. - -“And you, Edgar and Quenton?” - -We did, alas! - -“And his nurses, and the man Clarke, all who were at liberty to enter -his room?” - -“They knew.” It was Orpha who spoke. “I called their attention to what -you had said more than once.” - -“Is the phial containing that poison still in the house? I have not -ordered it lately.” - -“It is. Edgar and I have just been up to see. We found it among the -other bottles in the medicine cabinet.” - -“When did he receive the last dose of it under my instructions?” - -“Wealthy can tell you. She kept very close watch of that bottle.” - -“Wealthy,” he called, with a glance towards the gallery, “come down. I -have a question or two to put to you.” - -She obeyed him quickly, almost eagerly. - -The other servants, Clarke alone excepted, came creeping from their -corner as they saw her enter amongst us and stand in her quiet -respectful way before the doctor. - -He greeted her kindly; she had always been a favorite of his; then -spoke up quickly: - -“Mr. Bartholomew died too soon, Wealthy. We should have had him with us -for another fortnight. What was the cause of it, do you know? A wrong -dose? A repeated dose? One bottle mistaken for another?” - -Her eyes, filled with tears, rose slowly to his face. - -“I cannot say. The last time I saw that bottle it was at the very back -of the shelf where I had pushed it after you had said he was to have no -more of it at present. It was in the same place when we went up just -now to see if it had been taken from the cabinet. It did not look as -though it had been moved.” - -“Holding the same amount as when you saw it last?” - -“To all _appearance_, yes, sir.” - -What was there in her tone or in the little choke which followed these -few words which made the doctor stare a moment, then open his lips to -speak and then desist with a hasty glance at Edgar? I had myself felt -the shiver of some new fear at her manner and the unconscious emphasis -she had given to that word _appearance_. But was it the same fear which -held him back from pursuing his inquiries, and led him to say instead: - -“I should like to see that bottle. No,” he remonstrated, as Orpha -started to accompany him. “You are a brave girl, but it is not for your -physician to abuse that bravery. Wealthy will go up with me. Meantime, -let Edgar take you away to some spot where you can rest till I come -back.” - -It was kindly meant but oh, how hard I felt it to see these two draw -off like accepted lovers; and with what joy I beheld them stop, -evidently at a word from her, and seat themselves on one of the -leather-covered lounges drawn up against the wall well within the sight -of every one there. - -I could rest, with these two sitting thus in full view--rest in the -present; the future must take care of itself. - -The result of the doctor’s visit to the room above was evident in the -increased gravity he showed on his return. He had little to say beyond -enjoining upon Edgar and Orpha the necessity for a delay in the funeral -services and a suggestion that we separate at once for the night and -get what sleep we could. He would send a man to sit by the dead and if -we would control ourselves sufficiently not to discuss this unhappy -event all might yet be well. - -The picture he made with Orpha as he took his leave of her at the door -remains warm in my memory. She had begun to droop and he saw it. To -comfort her he took her two hands in his and drew them to his breast -while he talked to her, softly but firmly. As I saw the confidence with -which she finally received his admonitions, I blessed him in my heart; -though with a man’s knowledge of men I perceived that his endeavor to -give comfort sprang from sympathy rather than conviction. Tragedy was -in the house, veiled and partially hidden, but waiting--waiting for the -full recognition which the morrow must bring. A shadow with a monstrous -substance behind it we would be called upon to face! - -For one wild instant I wished that I had never left my native land; -never seen the great Bartholomew; never felt the welcoming touch of -Orpha’s little hand on mine. As I knelt again in my open window a half -hour later, the star which had shone in upon me two hours before had -vanished in clouds. - -Darkness was in the sky, darkness was in the house, darkness was in my -own soul, and saddest of all, darkness was in that of our lovely and -innocent Orpha. - - -XXIV - -The next day was one of almost unendurable apprehension. Edgar, Orpha -and myself could not face each other. The servants could not face us. -If we moved from our rooms and by chance met in any of the halls we -gazed at each other like specters and like specters flitted by without -a word. - -Orpha had a friend with her or I could not have stood it. For a long -time I did not know who this friend was; then from some whisper I heard -echoing up my convenient little stairway I learned that it was Lucy -Colfax, Edgar’s real love and Dr. Hunter’s fiancée. - -I did not like it. Such companionship was incongruous and unnatural; -an insult to Orpha, though the dear child did not know it; but if she -found relief in the presence of the one woman who, next to herself, -stood in the closest relation to him who was gone, why should I -complain so long as I myself could do nothing to comfort her or assuage -her intolerable grief and the suspense of this terrible day. - -I did not fear that Edgar would make a third. Neither he nor Orpha were -ready for talk. None of us were till the doctor’s report was known and -the fearful question settled. I heard afterwards that Edgar had spent -most of the time in the great room upstairs staring into the corners -and seeming to ask from the walls the secret they refused to give. - -I did the same in mine, only I paced the floor counting the slow hours -as they went by. I am always restless under suspense and movement was -my only solace. - -What if the report should be one of which I dared not think--dared not -mention to myself. What then? What if the roof of the house in which -I stood should thunder in and the great stones of the walls fall to -the ground and desolation ravish the spot where life, light and beauty -reigned in such triumph. I would go down with it, that I knew; but -would others? Would that one other whom to save-- - -Was it coming? The whole house had been so still that the least sound -shook me. And it was a _least_ sound. A low but persistent knocking at -my door. - -I was at the other end of the room and the distance from where I stood -to the door looked interminable. I must know--know instantly; I could -not wait another moment. Raising my voice, or endeavoring to, I called -out: - -“Come in.” - -It was a mere whisper; ghostly hands were about my throat. But that -whisper was heard. I saw the door open and a quiet appearing man,--a -complete stranger to me--stepped softly in. - -I knew him for what he was before he spoke a word. - -The police were in the house. There was no need to ask what the -doctor’s report had been. - - -XXV - -It is not my intention, and I am sure it is not your wish, that I -should give all the details leading up to the inevitable inquest which -followed the discoveries of the physicians and the action of the police. - -In the first place my pride, possibly my self-respect held me back -from any open attempt to acquaint myself with them. My interview with -the Inspector of which I have just made mention, added much to his -knowledge but very little to mine. To his questions I gave replies -as truthful as they were terse. When I could, I confined myself to -facts and never obtruded sentiment unless pressed as it were to the -wall. He was calm, reasonable and not without consideration; but he -got everything from me that he really wanted and at times forced me to -lay my soul bare. In return, I caught, as I thought, faint glimmers -now and then of how the mind of the police was working, only to find -myself very soon in a fog where I could see nothing distinctly. When he -left, the strongest impression which remained with me was that in the -terrible hours I saw before me my greatest need would be courage and my -best weapon under attack the truth as I knew it. In this conclusion I -rested. - -But not without a feeling which was as new to me as it was disturbing. -I could not leave my room without sensing that somewhere, unseen and -unheard, there lingered a presence from whose watchfulness I could not -hope to escape. If in passing towards the main hall, I paused at the -little circular staircase outside my door for one look down at the -marble-floored pavement beneath, it was with the consciousness that an -ear was somewhere near which recognized the cessation of my steps and -waited to hear them recommence. - -So in the big halls. Every door was closed, so slight the movement, so -unfrequent any passing to and fro in the great house during the two -days which elapsed before the funeral. But to heave a sigh or show in -any way the character or trend of my emotions was just as impossible to -me as though the walls were lined with spectators and every blank panel -I passed was a sounding-board to some listener beyond. - -Once only did I allow myself the freedom natural to a mourner in -the house of the dead. Undeterred by an imaginary or even an actual -encounter with unsympathetic servant or interested police operative, I -left my room on the second day and went below; my goal, the court, my -purpose, to stand once more by the remains of all that was left to me -of my great-hearted uncle. - -If I met any one on the way I have no memory of it. Had Orpha flitted -by, or Edgar stumbled upon me at the turn of a corner, I might have -stayed my step for an instant in outward deference to a grief which -I recognized though I was not supposed to share it. But of others I -took no account nor do I think I so much as lifted my eyes or glanced -to right or left, when having crossed the tessellated pavement of -the court, I paused by the huge mound of flowers beneath which lay -what I sought, and thrusting my hand among these tokens of love and -respect till I touched the wood beneath, swore that whatever the future -held for me of shame or its reverse, I would act according to what I -believed to be the will of him now dead but who for me was still a -living entity. - -This done I returned as I had come, only with a lighter step, for some -portion of the peace for which I longed had fallen upon me with the -utterance of that solemn promise. - -I shall give but one incident in connection with the funeral. To my -amazement I was allotted a seat in the carriage with Edgar. Orpha rode -with some relatives of her mother--people I had never seen. - -Though there was every chance for Edgar and myself to talk, nothing -more than a nod passed between us. It was better so; I was glad to -be left to my own thoughts. In the church I noted no one; but at the -grave I became aware of an influence which caused me to turn my head -a trifle aside and meet the steady look of a middle-aged man who was -contemplating me very gravely. - -Taking in his lineaments with a steady look of my own, I waited till -I had the opportunity to point him out to one of the undertaker’s men -when I learned that he was a well-known lawyer by the name of Jackson, -and instantly became assured that he was no other than the man who had -drawn up the second will--the will which I had been led to believe was -strongly in my favor. - -As his interest in me was to all appearance of a kindly sort untinged -by suspicion, I felt that perhaps the odds after all, were not so -greatly against me. Here was a man ready to help me, and should I need -a friend, Providence had certainly shown me in what direction to look. - -That night I slept the best of any night since the shock which had -unhinged the nerves of every one in the house. I had ascertained that -the full name of the lawyer who had been instrumental in drawing up the -second will was Frederick W. Jackson, and while uttering this name more -than once to myself, I fell into a dreamless slumber. - - -XXVI - -You may recall that my first thought in contemplating the coil in -which we had all been caught by the alleged disappearance of the will -supposed to contain my uncle’s final instructions, was that an inquiry -including every person then in the house, should be made by some one -in authority--Edgar, for instance--for the purpose of determining -who was responsible for the same by a close investigation into the -circumstances which made this crime possible. Little did I foresee -at the time that such an inquiry, though shirked when it might have -resulted in good, lay before us backed by the law and presided over by -a public official. - -But this fact was the first one to strike me, as convened in one of the -large rooms in the City Hall, we faced the Coroner, in ignorance, most -of us, of what such an inquiry portended and how much or how little of -the truth it would bring to light. - -I knew what I had to fear from my own story. I had told it once before -and witnessed its effect. But how about Orpha’s? And Edgar’s? and that -of the long row of servants, uneasy in body and perplexed in mind, from -whose unwitting, if not unwilling lips some statement might fall which -would fix suspicion or so shift it as to lead us into new lines of -thought. - -I had never been in a court-room before and though I knew that the -formality as well as the seriousness of a trial would be lacking in -a coroner’s inquest, I shivered at the prospect, for some one of the -witnesses soon to be heard had something to hide and whether the -discovery of the same or its successful suppression was most to be -desired who could tell. - -The testimony of the doctors, as well as much of general interest in -connection with the case, fell on deaf ears so far as I was concerned. -Orpha, clad in her mourning garments and heavily veiled, held all my -thoughts. Even the elaborate questioning of the two lawyers who drew -up the wills, the similarity and dissimilarity of which undoubtedly -lay at the bottom of the dreadful crime we were assembled to inquire -into, left me cold. In a way I heard what had passed between each of -these men and the testator on the day of the signing. How Mr. Dunn, -who had attended to my uncle’s law business for years, had recognized -the desirability of his client making a new will under the changed -conditions brought about by the reception into his family of a second -nephew of whose claims upon a certain portion of his property he must -wish to make some acknowledgment, received the detailed instructions -sent him, with no surprise and followed them out to the letter, -bringing the document with him for signature on the day and at the hour -designated in the notes he had received from his client. The result -was so satisfactory that no delay was made in calling in the witnesses -to his signature and the signing of all three. What delay there was -was caused by a little controversy in regard to his former will whose -provisions differed in many respects from this one. Mr. Bartholomew -wished to retain it,--the lawyer advised its destruction, the lawyer -finally gaining the day. It being in Mr. Bartholomew’s possession at -the time, the witness expected it to be brought out and burned before -his eyes; but it was not, Mr. Bartholomew merely promising that this -should be done before the day ended. Whether or not he kept his word, -the lawyer could not say from any personal knowledge. - -Mr. Jackson had much the same story to tell. He too had received a -letter from Mr. Bartholomew, asking his assistance in the making of -a new will, together with instructions for the same, scrupulously -written out in full detail by the testator’s own hand on bits of paper -carefully numbered. Asked to show these instructions, they were handed -over and laid side by side with those already passed up by Mr. Dunn. I -think they were both read; I hardly noticed; I only know that they were -found to be exactly similar, with the one notable exception I need not -mention. Of course the names of the witnesses differed. - -What did reach my ear was a sentence uttered by Mr. Jackson as coming -from my uncle when the will brought for his signature was unfolded -before him. “You may be surprised,” Uncle had said, “at the tenor of -my bequests and the man I have chosen to bear the heavy burden of a -complicated heritage. I know what I am doing and all I ask of you and -the two witnesses you have been kind enough to bring here from your -office is silence till the hour comes when it will be your business to -speak.” - -This created a small hubbub among the people assembled, to many of whom -it was probably the first word they had ever heard in my favor. During -it and the sounding of the gavel calling them to order, my attention -naturally was drawn in the direction of these men and women to whom -my affairs seemed to be of so much importance. Alas! egotist that I -was! They were not interested in me but in the case; and especially -in anything which suggested an undue influence on my part over an -enfeebled old man. Their antagonism to me was very evident, being -heightened rather than lessened by the words just heard. - -But there was one face I encountered which told a different story. Mr. -Jackson had his own ideas and they were favorable to me. With a sigh -of relief I turned my attention back to the heavily veiled figure of -Orpha. - -What was she thinking? How was she feeling? What interpretation might I -reasonably put upon her movements, seeing that I lacked the key to her -inmost mind. Witnesses came and went; but only as she swayed forward -in her interest, or sank back in disappointment, did I take heed of -their testimony or weigh in the scales of my own judgment the value or -non-value of what they said. - -For truth to say, I had heard nothing so far that was really new to me; -nothing to solve certain points raised in my own mind; nothing that -vied in interest with the slightest gesture or the least turn of the -head of her who bore so patiently this marshalling before her in heavy -phalanx facts so hideous as to bar out all sweeter memories. - -But when in the midst of a sudden silence I heard my own name called, I -started in dismay, all unprepared as I was to face this hostile throng. -But it was not I whom they wanted, but Edgar. No one had glanced my -way. To the people of C---- there was but one Edgar Quenton Bartholomew -now that their chief citizen was gone. - -The moment was a bitter one to me and I fear I showed it. But my good -sense soon reasserted itself. Edgar was answering questions and I as -well as others was there to learn; and to learn, I must listen. - -“Your father and mother?” - -“Both dead before I was five years old. Uncle Edgar then took me into -his home.” - -“Adopted you?” - -“Not legally. But in every other respect he was a father to me, and I -hope I was a son to him. But no papers were ever drawn up.” - -“Did he ever call you _Son_?” - -“I have no remembrance of his ever having done so. His favorite way of -addressing me was Boy.” - -A slight tremulousness in speaking this endearing name added to its -effect. I gripped at my heart beneath my coat. Our uncle had used the -same word in speaking to me--once. - -“Did he ever talk to you of his intentions in regard to his property, -and if so when?” - -“Often, before I became of age.” - -“And not since?” - -“Oh, yes, since. But not so often. It did not seem necessary, we -understood each other.” - -“Mr. Bartholomew, did it never strike you as peculiar that your uncle, -having a daughter, should have chosen his brother’s son as his heir?” - -“No, sir. You see, as I said before, we understood each other.” - -“Understood? How?” - -“We never meant, he nor I, that his daughter should lose anything by my -inheritance of his money.” - -It was modestly, almost delicately said and had he loved her I could -not but have admired him at that moment. But he did not love her, -and to save my soul I could not help sending a glance her way. Would -her head rise in proud acknowledgment of his worth or would it fall -in shame at his hypocrisy? It fell, but then, I was honest enough to -realize that the shame this bespoke might be that of a loving woman -troubled at hearing her soul’s most sacred secrets thus bared before -the public. - -Anxious for her as well as for myself, I turned my eyes upon the -crowd confronting us, and wondered at the softened looks I saw -there. He had touched a chord of fine emotion in the breasts of -these curiosity-mongers. It was no new story to them. It had been -common gossip for years that he was to marry Orpha and so make her -and himself equal heirs of this great fortune. But his bearing as he -spoke,--the magnetism which carried home his lightest word--gave to the -well-known romance a present charm which melted every heart. - -I felt how impotent any words of mine would be to stem the tide of -sympathy that was bearing him on and soon would sweep me out of sight. - -But as, overwhelmed by this prospect, I cowered low in my seat, the -thought came that these men and women whose dictum I feared were -not the arbiters of my destiny. And I took a look at the jury and -straightened in my seat. Surely I saw more than one honest face among -the twelve and two or three that were more than ordinarily intelligent. -I should stand some chance with _them_. - -Meanwhile another question had been put. - -“Did your uncle at any time ever suggest to you that under a change of -circumstances he might change his mind?” - -“Never, till the day before he died.” - -“There was no break between you? No quarrel?” - -“We did not always agree. I am not perfect--” With a smile he said -this--“and it was only natural that he should express himself as not -always satisfied with my conduct. But _break_? No. He loved me better -than I deserved.” - -“You have a cousin, a gentleman of the same name, now a resident in -your house. Did the difference of opinion between yourself and uncle to -which you acknowledge occur since or prior to this cousin’s entrance -into the family?” - -“Oh, I have memories of childish escapades not always approved of by -my uncle. Nor have I always pleased him since I became a man. But -the differences of opinion to which you probably allude became more -frequent after the introduction amongst us of this second nephew; why, -I hardly know. I do not blame my cousin for them.” - -The subtle inflection with which this last was said was worthy of -a master of innuendo. It may have been unconscious; it likely was, -for Edgar is naturally open in his attacks rather than subtle. But -conscious or unconscious it caused heads to wag and sly looks to pass -from one to another with many a knowing wink. The interloper was to -blame of course though young Mr. Bartholomew was too good to say so! - -The Coroner probably had his own private opinions on this subject, for -taking no notice of these wordless suggestions he proceeded to ask: - -“Was your cousin ever present when these not altogether agreeable -discussions occurred between yourself and uncle?” - -“He was not. Uncle was not the kind of man to upbraid me in the -presence of a relative. He thought I showed a growing love of money -without much recognition of what it was really good for.” - -“Ah! I see. Then that was the topic of these unfortunate conversations -between you, and not the virtues or vices of your cousin.” - -“We had one, perhaps two conversations on that subject; but many, many -others on matters far from personal in which there was nothing but what -was agreeable and delightful to us both.” - -“Doubtless; what I want to bring out is whether from anything your -uncle ever said to you, you had any reason to fear that you had been or -might be supplanted in your uncle’s regard by this other man of his and -your name. In other words whether your uncle ever intimated that he -and not you might be made the chief beneficiary in a new will.” - -“He never said it previous to the time I have mentioned.” There was -a fiery look in Edgar’s eye as he emphasized this statement by a -sharpness of tone strangely in contrast to the one he had hitherto -used. “What he may have thought, I have no means of knowing. It was for -him to judge between us.” - -“Then, there has always existed the possibility of such a change? You -must have known this even if you failed to talk on the subject.” - -“Yes, I sometimes thought my uncle was moved by a passing impulse to -make such a change; but I never believed it to be more than a passing -impulse. He showed me too much affection. He spoke too frequently of -days when I studied under his eye and took my pleasure in his company.” - -“You acknowledge, then, that lately you yourself began to doubt his -constancy to the old idea. Will you say what first led you to think -that what you had regarded as a momentary impulse was strengthening -into a positive determination?” - -“Mr. Coroner, if you will pardon me I must take exception to that word -_positive_. He could never have been positive at any time as to what -he would finally do. Else why _two_ wills? It was what I heard the -servants say on my return from one of my absences which first made me -question whether I had given sufficient weight to the possibility of -my cousin’s influence over Uncle being strong and persistent enough to -drive him into active measures. I allude of course to the visit paid -him by his lawyer and the witnessing on the part of his man Clarke -and his nurse Wealthy to a document they felt sure was a will. As it -was well known throughout the house that one had already been drawn -up in full accordance with the promises so often made me, they showed -considerable feeling, and it was only natural that this should arouse -mine, especially as that whole day’s proceedings, the coming of a -second lawyer with two men whom nobody knew, was never explained or -even alluded to in any conversation I afterwards held with my uncle. I -thought it all slightly alarming but still I held to my faith in him. -He was a sick man and might have crotchets.” - -“At what time and from whom did you definitely hear the truth about -that day’s proceedings--that two wills had been drawn up, alike in all -respects save that in one you were named as the chief beneficiary and -in the other your cousin from England?” - -At this question, which evidently had power to trouble him, Edgar lost -for the first time his air of easy confidence. Did he fear that he was -about to incur some diminution of the good feeling which had hitherto -upheld him in any statement he chose to make? I watched him very -closely to see. But his answer hardly enlightened me. - -The question, if you will remember, was when and where he received -definite confirmation of what had been told him concerning two wills. - -“In my uncle’s room the night before he died,” was his reply, uttered -with a gloom wholly unnatural to him even in a time of trouble. “He -had wished to see me and we were talking pleasantly enough, when he -suddenly changed his tone and I heard what he had done and how my -future hung on the whim of a moment.” - -“Can you repeat his words?” - -“I cannot. The impression they made is all that is left me. I was too -agitated--too much taken aback--for my brain to work clearly or my -memory to take in more than the great fact. You see it was not only my -position as heir to an immense fortune I saw threatened; but the dearer -hope it involved and what was as precious as all the rest, the loss of -my past as I had conceived it, for I had truly believed that I stood -next to his daughter in my uncle’s affections; too close indeed for any -such tampering with my future prospects.” - -He was himself again; shaken with feeling but winsome in voice, manner -and speech. And it was the sincerity of his feeling which made him so. -He had truly loved his uncle. No one could doubt that, not even myself -who had truly loved him also. - -“On what terms did you leave him? Surely you can remember that?” - -Edgar’s eye flashed. As I noted it and the resolution which was fast -overcoming the sadness which had distinguished his features up till -now, I held my breath in apprehension, for here was something to fear. - -“When I left him it was with a mind much more at ease than when he -first showed me these two wills. For my faith in him had come back. He -would burn one of those wills before he died, but it would not be the -one which would put to shame by its destruction, him who had been as a -child to him from the day of his early orphanage.” - -The Coroner himself was startled by the effect made by these words -upon the crowd, and probably blamed his own leniency in allowing this -engaging witness to express himself so fully. - -In a tone which sounded sharp enough in contrast to the mellow one -which had preceded it, he said: - -“That is what you _thought_. We had rather listen to facts.” - -Edgar bowed, still gracious, still the darling of the men and women -ranged before him, many of whom remembered his boyhood; while I sat -rigid, realizing how fully I was at the mercy of his attractions and -would continue to be till I had an opportunity to speak, and possibly -afterwards, for prejudice raises a wall which nothing but time can -batter down. - -And Orpha? What of her? How was she taking all this? In my anxiety, I -cast one look in her direction. To my astonishment she sat unveiled and -was gazing at Edgar with an intentness which slowly but surely forced -his head to turn and his eye to seek hers. An instant thus, then she -pulled down her veil, and the flush just rising to his cheek was lost -again in pallor. - -Unconsciously the muscles of my hands relaxed; for some reason life had -lost some of the poignant terror it had held for me a moment before. A -drowning man will catch at straws; so will a lover; and I was both. - -In the absorption which followed this glimpse of Orpha’s face so many -days denied me, I lost the trend of the next few questions, and only -realized that we were approaching the crux of the situation when I -heard: - -“You did not visit him again?” - -“No.” - -“Where did you go?” - -“To my room.” - -“Will you state to the jury just where your room is located?” - -“On the same floor as Uncle’s, only further front and on the opposite -side of the hall.” - -“We have here a chart of that floor. Will you be good enough to step to -it and indicate the two rooms you mention?” - -Here, at a gesture from the Coroner, an official drew a string attached -to a roll suspended on one of the walls and a rudely drawn diagram, -large enough to be seen from all parts of the court-room, fell into -view.[A] - -[A] A reduced copy of the plan will be found facing the title page of -this book. - -Edgar was handed a stick with which he pointed out the two doors of his -uncle’s room and those of his own. - -What was coming? - -“Mr. Bartholomew, will you now tell the jury what you did on returning -to your room?” - -“Nothing. I threw myself into a chair and just waited.” - -“Waited for what?” - -“To hear my cousin enter my uncle’s room.” - -The bitterness with which he said this was so deftly hidden under an -assumption of casual rejoinder, as only to be detected by one who was -acquainted with every modulation of his fine voice. - -“And did you hear this?” - -“Very soon; as soon as he could come up from the lower hall where -Clarke, my uncle’s man, had been sent to summon him.” - -“If you heard this, you must also have heard when he left your uncle’s -room.” - -“I did.” - -“Was the interview a long one?” - -“I was sitting in front of the clock on my mantel-piece. He was in -there just twenty minutes.” - -I felt my breast heave, and straightening myself instinctively I met -the concentrated gaze of a hundred pair of eyes leveled like one -against me. - -Did I smile? I felt like it; but if I did it must have expressed the -irony with which I felt the meshes of the net in which I was caught -tighten with every word which this man spoke. - -The Coroner, who was the only person in the room who had not looked my -way, went undeviatingly on. - -“In what part of the house does this gentleman of whom we are speaking -have his room?” - -“On the same floor as mine; but further back at the end of a short -hall.” - -“Will you take the pointer from the officer and show the location of -the second Mr. Bartholomew’s room?” - -The witness did so. - -“Did you hear in which direction your cousin went on leaving your -uncle? Did he go immediately to his room?” - -“He may have done so, but if he did, he did not stay long, for very -soon I heard him return and proceed directly down stairs.” - -“How long was he below?” - -“A long time. I had moved from my seat and my eye was no longer on the -clock so I cannot say how long.” - -“Did you hear him when he came up for a second time?” - -“Yes; he is not a light stepper.” - -“Where did he go? Directly to his room?” - -“No, he stopped on the way.” - -“How, stopped on the way?” - -“When he reached the top of the stairs he paused like one hesitating. -But not for long. Soon I heard him coming in the direction of my -room, pass it by and proceed to our uncle’s door--the one in front -so little-used as to be negligible--where he lingered so long that I -finally got up and peered from my own doorway to see what he was doing?” - -“Was the hall dark?” - -“Very.” - -“Darker than usual?” - -“Yes, much.” - -“How was that? What had happened?” - -“The electric light usually kept burning at my end of the hall had been -switched off.” - -“When? Before your cousin came up or after?” - -“I do not know. It simply was not burning when I opened my door.” - -“Will you say from which of the doors in your suite you were looking?” - -“From the one marked C on the chart.” - -“That, as the jury can see if they will look, is diagonally opposite -the one at which the witness had heard his cousin pause. Will the -witness now state if the hall was too dark at the time he looked out -for him to see whether or not any one stood at his uncle’s door?” - -“No, it was not too dark for that, owing to the light which shone in -from the street through the large window you see there.” - -“Enough, you say, to make your uncle’s door visible?” - -“Quite enough.” - -“And what did you see there? Your cousin standing?” - -“No; he was gone.” - -“How gone? Could he not have been in your uncle’s room?” - -“Not then.” - -“Why do you say ‘not then’?” - -“Because while I looked I could hear his footsteps at the other end of -the house rounding the corner where the main hall meets the little one -in which his room is situated.” - -My God! I had forgotten all this. I had been very anxious to know -how Uncle had fared since I left him in such a state of excitement; -whether he were sleeping or awake, and hoped by listening I should hear -Wealthy’s step and so judge how matters were within. But a meaning -sinister if not definite had been given to this natural impulse by the -way Edgar’s voice fell as he uttered that word _stopped_; and from -that moment I recognized him for my enemy, either believing in my guilt -or wishing others to; in which latter case, it was for me to fight my -battle with every weapon my need called for. But the conflict was not -yet and “Patience” must still be my watch-word. But I held my breath as -I waited for the next question. - -“You say that you heard him moving down the hall. You did not see him -at your uncle’s door?” - -“No, I did not.” - -“But you are confident he was there, previous to your looking out?” - -“I am very sure that he was; my ear seldom deceives me.” - -“Mr. Bartholomew, will you think carefully before you answer the -following question. Was there any circumstance connected with this -matter which will enable you to locate the hour at which you heard your -cousin pass down the hall?” - -He hesitated; he did not want to answer. Why? I would have given all -that I possessed to know; but he only said: - -“I did not look at my watch; I did not need to. The clock was striking -three.” - -“Three! The jury will note the hour.” - -Why did he say that?--_the jury will note the hour?_ My action was -harmless. Everything I did that night was harmless. What did he mean -then by _the hour_? The mystery of it troubled me--a mystery he was -careful to leave for the present just where it was. - -Returning to his direct investigation, the coroner led the witness back -to the time preceding his entrance into the hall. “You were listening -from your room; that room was dark, you were no longer watching the -clock which had not yet struck; yet perhaps you can give us some idea -of how long your cousin lingered at your uncle’s door before starting -down the hall.” - -“No, I should not like to do that.” - -“Five minutes?” - -“I cannot say.” - -“Long enough to have entered that room and come out again?” - -“You ask too much. I am not ready to swear to that.” - -“Very good; I will not press you!” But the suggestion had been made. -And for a purpose--a purpose linked with the mystery of which I have -just spoken. Glancing at Mr. Jackson, I saw him writing in his little -book. He had noted this too. I was not alone in my apprehension which, -like a giant shadow thrown from some unknown quarter, was reaching -slowly over to envelop me. When I was ready to listen again, it was to -hear: - -“What did you do then?” - -“I went to bed.” - -“Did you see or hear anything more of your cousin that night?” - -“No, not till the early morning when we were all roused by the news -which Wealthy brought to every door, that Uncle was very much worse and -that the doctor should be sent for.” - -“Tell us where it was you met him then.” - -“In the hall near Uncle’s door--the one marked 2 on the chart.” - -“How did he look? Was there anything peculiar in his appearance or -manner?” - -“He was fully dressed.” - -“And you?” - -“I had had no time to do more than wrap a dressing-gown about me.” - -“At what time was this? You remember the hour no doubt?” - -“Half past four in the morning; any one can tell you that.” - -“And he was fully dressed. In morning clothes or evening?” - -“In the ones he wore to dinner the night before.” - -It was true; I had not gone to bed that night. There was too much on -my mind. But to them it would look as if I had sat up ready for the -expected alarm. - -“Was he in these same clothes when you finally entered your uncle’s -room?” - -“Certainly; there was no time then for changing.” - -These questions might have been addressed to me instead of to him. They -would have been answered with as much truth; but the suggestiveness -would have been lacking and in this I recognized my second enemy. I now -knew that the Coroner was against me. - -A few persons there may have recognized this fact also. But they were -all too much in sympathy with Edgar to resent it. I made no show of -doing so nor did I glance again at Orpha to see the effect on her -of these attacks leveled at me with so much subtlety. I felt, in -the humiliation of the moment, that unless I stood cleared of every -suspicion, I could never look her again in the face. - -Meanwhile the inquiry had reached the event for which all were -waiting--the destruction of the one will and the acknowledgment by the -dying man that the envelope which held the other was empty. - -“Were you near enough to see the red mark on the one he had ordered -burned?” - -“Yes; I took note of it.” - -“Had you seen it before?” - -“Yes; when, in the interview of which I have spoken, my uncle showed -me the two envelopes and informed me of their several contents.” - -“Did he tell you or did you learn in any way which will was in the one -marked with red?” - -“No. I did not ask him and he did not say.” - -“So when you saw it burning you did not know with certainty whether it -was the will making you or your cousin his chief heir?” - -“I did not.” - -He said it firmly, but he said it with effort. Again, why? - -The time to consider this was not now, for at this reply, expected -though it was, a universal sigh swept through the house, carrying my -thoughts with it. Emotion must have its outlet. The echo in my own -breast was a silent one, springing from sources beyond the ken of the -simple onlooker. We were approaching a critical part of the inquiry. -The whereabouts of the missing document must soon come up. Should I be -obliged to listen to further insinuations such as had just been made? -Was it his plan to show that I was party to a fraud and knew where -the missing will lay secreted,--where it would always lie secreted -because it was in his favor and not in mine? It was possible; anything -was possible. If I were really wise I would prepare myself for the -unexpected; for the unexpected was what I probably should be called -upon to face. - -Yet it was not so, or I did not think it so, in the beginning. - -Asked to describe his uncle’s last moments he did so shortly, simply, -feelingly. - -Then came the question for which I waited. - -“Your uncle died, then, without a sign as to where the remaining will -was to be found?” - -“He did not have time. Death came instantly, leaving the words unsaid. -It was a great misfortune.” - -With a gesture of reproof, for he would not have it seem that he liked -these comments, the Coroner pressed eagerly on: - -“What of his looks? Did his features betray any emotion when he found -that he could no longer speak?” - -Edgar hesitated. It was the first time we had seen him do so and my -heart beat in anticipation of a lie. - -But again I did him an injustice. He did not want to answer--that we -could all see--but when he did, he spoke the truth. - -“He looked frightened, or so I interpreted his expression; and his head -moved a little. Then all was over.” - -In the silence which followed, a stifled sob was heard. We all knew -from whom it came and every eye turned to the patient little figure in -black who up till now had kept such strong control over her feelings. - -“If Miss Bartholomew would like to retire into the adjoining room she -is at liberty to do so,” came from the Coroner’s seat. - -But she shook her head, murmuring quietly: - -“Thank you, I will stay.” - -I blessed her in my heart. Still neutral. Still resolute to hear and -know all. - -The inquiry went on. - -“Mr. Bartholomew, did you search for that will?” - -“Thoroughly. In a haphazard way at first, expecting to find it in -some of the many drawers in his room. But when I did not, I went more -carefully to work, I and my two faithful servants, who having been in -personal attendance upon him all through his illness, knew his habits -and knew the room. But even then we found nothing in any way suggestive -of the document we were looking for.” - -“And since?” - -“The room has been in the hands of the police. I have not heard that -they have been any more successful.” - -There were more questions and more answers but I paid little attention -to them. I was thinking of what had passed between the Inspector and -myself at the time he visited me in my room. I have said little about -it because a man is not proud of such an experience; but in the quiet -way in which this especial official worked, he had made himself very -sure before he left me that this document was neither on my person -nor within the four walls of the room itself. This had been a part of -the search. I tingled yet whenever I recalled the humiliation of that -hour. I tingled at this moment; but rebuked myself as the mystery of -the whole proceeding got a stronger hold upon my mind. Not with me, -not with him, but _somewhere_! When would they reach the point where -perhaps the solution lay? Five hours had elapsed between the time I -left uncle and the rousing of the house at Wealthy’s hurried call. -What had happened during those hours? Who could tell the tale--the -whole tale, since manifestly that had never been fully related. Clarke? -Wealthy? I knew what they had told the police, what they had confided -to each other concerning their experience in the sick-room; but under -oath, and with the shadow of crime falling across the lesser mystery -what might not come to light under the probe of this prejudiced but -undoubtedly honest Coroner? - - -XXVII - -My impatience grew with every passing moment, but fortunately it was -not to be tried much longer, for I soon had the satisfaction of seeing -Edgar leave the witness chair and Clarke, as we called him, take his -seat there. - -This old and tried servant of a man exacting as he was friendly and -generous as he was just, had always inspired me with admiration, far as -I was from being in his good books. Had he liked me I would have felt -myself strong in what was now a doubtful position. But devoted as he -was to Edgar, I could not hope for any help from him save of the most -grudging kind. I therefore sat unmoved and unexpectant while he took -his oath and answered the few opening questions. They pertained mostly -to the signing of the first will to which he had added his signature as -witness. As nothing new was elicited this matter was soon dropped. - -Other points of interest shared the same fate. He could substantiate -the testimony of others, but he had nothing of his own to impart. Would -it be the same when we got to his final attendance on his master--the -last words uttered between them--the final good-night? - -The Coroner himself seemed to be awake to the full importance of what -this witness might have to disclose, for he scrutinized him earnestly -before saying: - -“We will now hear, as nearly as you can recall, what passed between you -and your sick master on the night which proved to be his last? Begin at -the beginning--that is, when you were sent to summon one or other of -his two nephews to Mr. Bartholomew’s room.” - -“Pardon, sir, but that was not the beginning. The beginning was when -Mr. Bartholomew, who to our astonishment had eaten his supper in -his chair by the fireside, drew a small key from the pocket in his -dressing-gown and, handing it to me, bade me unlock the drawer let into -the back of his bedstead and bring him the two big envelopes I should -find there.” - -“You are right, that is the beginning. Go on with your story.” - -“I had never been asked to unlock this drawer before; he had always -managed to do it himself; but I had no difficulty in doing it or in -bringing him the papers he had asked for. I just lifted out the whole -batch, and laying them down in his lap, asked him to pick out the ones -he wanted.” - -“Did he do it?” - -“Yes, immediately.” - -“Before you moved away?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Then you caught a glimpse of the papers he selected?” - -“I did, sir. I could not help it. I had to wait, for he wished me to -relieve him of the ones he didn’t want.” - -“And you did this?” - -“Yes; I took them from his hand and laid them on the table to which he -pointed.” - -“Now for the ones he kept. Describe them.” - -“Two large envelopes, sir, larger than the usual legal size, brown in -color, I should say, and thick with the papers that were in them.” - -“Had you ever seen any envelopes like these before?” - -“Yes, on Mr. Bartholomew’s desk the day I was called in to witness his -signature.” - -“Very good. There were two of them, you say?” - -“Yes, sir, two.” - -“Were they alike?” - -“Exactly, I should say.” - -“Any mark on either one?” - -“Not that I observed, sir. But I only saw the face of one of them and -that was absolutely blank.” - -“No red marks on either.” - -“Not that I saw, sir.” - -“Very good. Proceed, Mr. Clarke. What did Mr. Bartholomew say, after -you had laid the other papers aside?” - -“He bade me look for Mr. Edgar; said he was in a hurry and wanted to -see him at once.” - -“Was that all?” - -“Yes, sir, he was not a man of many words. Besides, I left the room -immediately and did not enter it again till Mr. Edgar left him.” - -“Where were you when he did this?” - -“At the end of the hall talking to Wealthy. There is a little cozy -corner there where she sits and where I sometimes waited when I was -expecting Mr. Bartholomew’s ring.” - -“Did you see Mr. Edgar, as you call him, when he came out?” - -“Yes, sir; crossing over to his room.” - -“And what did you do after that?” - -“Went immediately to Mr. Bartholomew to see if he was wishing to go to -bed. But he was not. On the contrary, he had another errand for me. He -wanted to see his other nephew. So I went below searching for him.” - -“Was Mr. Bartholomew still sitting by the fire when you went in?” - -“He was.” - -“With the two big envelopes in his hands?” - -“Not that I noted, sir; but he had pockets in his gown large enough to -hold them and they might have been in one of these.” - -“Never mind the _might have beens_; just the plain answer, Mr. Clarke.” - -“Yes, sir. Excuse me, sir. Feeling afraid that he would get very tired -sitting up so long, I hurried downstairs, found Mr. Quenton, as we call -him, in the library and brought him straight up. Then I went back to -Wealthy.” - -“Is there a clock in the cozy corner?” - -“There is, sir.” - -“Did you look at it as you came and went?” - -“I did this time.” - -“Why this time?” - -“First, because I was anxious for Mr. Bartholomew not to tire himself -too much and--and--” - -“Go on; we want the whole truth, Mr. Clarke.” - -“I was curious to see whether Mr. Bartholomew would keep Mr. Quenton -any longer than he did Mr. Edgar.” - -“And did he?” - -“A little, sir.” - -“Did you and the woman Wealthy exchange remarks upon this?” - -“We--we did, sir.” - -At this admission, I took a quick look at Mr. Jackson and was relieved -to see him make another entry in his little book. He had detected, -here, as well as I, an opening for future investigation. I heard him, -as it were in advance, putting this suggestive query to the present -witness: - -“What had you and Wealthy been saying on this subject?” I know -very little of courts or the usages of court procedure, but I know -that I should have put this question if I had been conducting this -examination. - -The Coroner evidently was not of my mind, which certainly was not -strange, seeing where his sympathies were. - -“What do you mean by little?” - -“Ten minutes.” - -“By the clock?” - -“Yes, sir,” said rather sheepishly. - -“Proceed; what happened next?” - -“I went immediately to Mr. Bartholomew’s room, thinking that of course -he would be ready for me now. But he was not. Instead, he bade me leave -him and not come back for a full half hour, and not to allow any one -else to disturb him. I was to give the same order to Wealthy.” - -“And did you?” - -“Yes, sir; and left her on the watch.” - -“And where did you go?” - -“To my room for a smoke.” - -“Were you concerned at leaving Mr. Bartholomew alone for so long a -time?” - -“Yes, sir; we never liked to do that. He had grown to be too feeble. -But he was not a man you could disobey even for his own good.” - -“Did you spend the whole half hour in smoking?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Not leaving your room at all?” - -“Oh, I left my room several times, going no further, though, than the -end of my small hall.” - -“Why did you do this?” - -“Because Mr. Bartholomew had been so very peremptory about anybody -coming to his room. I had every confidence in Wealthy, but I could not -help going now and then to see if she was still on the watch.” - -“With what result?” - -“She was always there. I did not speak to her, not wishing her to know -that I was keeping tabs on her. But each time I went I could see the -hem of her dress protruding from behind the screen and knew that she, -like myself, was waiting for the half hour to be up. As soon as it -was, I stepped boldly down the hall, telling Wealthy as I passed that -I should make short work of putting the old gentleman to bed and for -her to be ready to follow me in a very few minutes. And I kept my word. -Mr. Bartholomew was still sitting in his chair when I went in. He had -the two documents in his hand and asked me to place them, together with -the other papers, on the small stand at the side of the bed. And there -they stayed up to the time I gave place to Wealthy. This is all I have -to tell about that night. I went from his room to mine and slept till -we were all wakened by the ill news that Mr. Bartholomew had been taken -worse and was rapidly sinking.” - -There was an instant’s lull during which I realized my own -disappointment. I had heard nothing that I had not known before. Then -the Coroner said: - -“Did your duties in Mr. Bartholomew’s room during these months of -illness include at any time the handling of his medicines?” - -“No, sir.” - -“Did you ever visit his medicine cabinet, or take anything from its -shelves?” - -“No, sir.” - -“You must often have poured him out a glass of water?” - -“Oh, yes, I have done that.” - -“Did you do so on that night? Think carefully before you answer.” - -“I do not need to, for I am very sure that I handed him nothing. I do -not even remember seeing the usual pitcher and glass anywhere in the -room.” - -“Not on the stand at his side?” - -“No, sir.” - -“Nothing of the kind near him?” - -“Not that I saw, sir.” - -“Very good; you may step down.” - - -XXVIII - -Wealthy was the next witness summoned, and her appearance on the stand -caused a flutter of excitement to pass from end to end of the well -packed room. All knew that from her, if from anybody, enlightenment -must come as to what had taken place in the few fatal hours which had -elapsed after Clarke’s departure from the room. Would she respond to -our hopes? Would she respond to mine? Or would she leave the veil half -raised from sheer inability to lift it higher? - -Conscious that the blood was leaving my cheeks and fearful that she -could not hold the attention of the crowd from myself, I sought for -relief in the face of Edgar. He must know her whole story. Also whom it -threatened. Would I be able to read in his lip and eye, ordinarily so -expressive, what we had to expect? - -No. He was giving nothing away. He was not even looking with anything -like attention at anybody; not even my way as I had half expected. The -mobile lip was straight; the eye, usually sparkling with intelligence, -fixed to the point of glassiness. - -I took in that look well; the time might come when I should find it -wise to recall it. - -Wealthy is a good-looking woman, with that kind of comeliness which -speaks of a warm heart and motherly instincts. Seen in the home, -whether at work or at rest, she was the embodiment of all that insured -comfort and ease to those under her care. She was more than a servant, -more than nurse, and as such was regarded with favor by every one in -the house, even by my poor unappreciated self. - -In public and before the eyes of this mixed assemblage she showed the -same pleasing characteristics. I began to breathe more easily. Surely -she might be trusted not to be swayed sufficiently by malice, either to -evade or color the truth. For all her love for Edgar, she will be true -to herself. She cannot help it with that face and demeanor. - -The Coroner showed her every consideration. This was but due to the -grief she so resolutely endeavored to keep under. All through the -opening questions and answers which were mainly corroborative of much -that had gone before, he let her sometimes garrulous replies pass -without comment, though the spectators frequently evinced impatience in -their anxiety to reach the point upon which the real mystery hung. - -It came at last and was welcomed by a long drawn breath from many an -overburdened breast. - -“Mr. Clarke has said that on leaving Mr. Bartholomew’s room for the -last time that night, he saw the two envelopes about which so much has -been said still lying on the little stand drawn up by the bedside. Were -they there when you went into the room?” - -“Yes, sir; I noticed them immediately. The stand is very near the door -by which I usually enter, and it was a matter of habit with me to -take a look at my patient before busying myself with making my final -preparations for the night. As I did this, I observed some documents -lying there and as it was never his custom to leave business papers -lying about I asked him if he would not like to have me put them away -for him. But he answered no, not to bother, for there was something he -wanted me to get for him which would take me down into Miss Orpha’s -room, and as it was growing late I had better go at once. ‘Mind you,’ -he said, ‘she is but a girl and may not remember where she has put it; -but, if so, she must look for it and you are not to come back until she -has found it, if you have to stay an hour.’ - -“As the thing he wanted was a little white silk shawl which had been -her mother’s, and as the dear child did not know exactly in which of -two or three chests she had hidden it, it did take time to find it, and -it was with a heart panting with anxiety that I finally started to go -back, knowing what a hard evening he had had and how often the doctor -had told us that he was to be kept quiet and above all never to be left -very long alone. But I was more frightened yet when I got about halfway -upstairs, for, for the first time since I have lived in the house, -though I have been up and down that flight hundreds of times, I felt -the Presence--” - -“You may cut that out,” came kindly but peremptorily from the Coroner, -probably to the immense disappointment of half the people there. - -The Presence on that night! - -I myself felt a superstitious thrill at the thought, though I had -laughed a dozen times at this old wives’ tale. - -“Tell your story straight,” admonished the Coroner. - -“I will, sir. I mean to, sir. I only wanted to explain how I came to -stumble in rushing up those stairs and yet how quick I was to stop when -I heard something on reaching the top which frightened me more than any -foolish fancy. This was the sound of a click in the hall towards the -front. Some one was turning the key in Mr. Bartholomew’s door--the one -nearest the street. As this door is only used on occasion it startled -me. Besides, who would do such a thing? There was no one in the hall, -for I ran quickly the length of it to see. So it must have been done -from the inside and by whom then but by Mr. Bartholomew himself. But -I had left him in bed! Here was a coil; and strong as I am I found -myself catching at the banisters for support, for I did not understand -his locking the door when he was in the room alone. However, he may -have had his reasons, and rather ashamed of my agitation I was hurrying -back to the other door when I heard a click _there_, and realized that -the doors were being unlocked and not locked;--that he was expecting -me and was making the way open for me to come in. Had I arrived a few -minutes sooner I should not have been able to enter. It gave me a turn. -My sick master shut up there alone! Locked in by himself! I had never -known him to do such a thing all the time he was ill, and I had to -quiet myself a bit before I dared go in. When I did, he was lying in -bed looking very white but peaceful enough; more peaceful indeed than -he had at any time that day. ‘Is that you, Wealthy?’ he asked. ‘Where -is the little shawl? Give it to me.’ I handed it to him and he laid it, -folded as it was, against his cheek. I felt troubled, I hardly knew why -and stood looking at him. He smiled and glancing at the little pile of -documents lying on the stand told me that I could put them away now. -‘Here is the key,’ he said; I took it from his hand after seeing him -draw it from under the pillow. I had often used it for him. Unlocking -the drawer which was set into the head-board of his bed where it jutted -into the alcove, I reached for the papers and locked them up in the -drawer and handed him back the key. ‘Thank you,’ he said and turned -his face from the light. It was the signal for me to drop the curtain -hanging at that side of the bed. This I did--” - -“One moment. In handling the papers you speak of did you notice them -particularly?” - -“Not very, sir. I remember that the top one was in a dark brown -envelope and bulky.” - -“Which side was up?” - -“The flap side.” - -“Sealed?” - -“No, open; that is loose, not fastened down.” - -“You noticed that?” - -“I couldn’t help it. It was right under my eyes.” - -“Did you notice anything else? That there was a second envelope in the -pile similar to the one on top.” - -“I cannot say that I did. The papers were all bunched, you see, and I -just lifted them quickly and put them in the drawer.” - -“Why quickly?” - -“Mr. Bartholomew was looking at me, sir.” - -“Then you did not note that there was another envelope in that pile, -just like the top one, only empty?” - -“I did not, sir.” - -“Very good. You may go on now. You dropped the curtain. What did you do -next?” - -“I prepared his soothing medicine.” Her voice fell and an expression of -great trouble crossed her countenance. “I always had this ready in case -he should grow restless in the night.” - -“A soothing medicine! Where was that kept?” - -“With the rest of the medicines in the cabinet built into the small -passage-way leading to the upper door.” - -“And you went there for the soothing medicine. At about what time?” - -“Not far from eleven o’clock, sir: I remember thinking as I passed by -the mantel-clock how displeased Dr. Cameron would be if he knew that -Mr. Bartholomew’s light was not yet out.” - -“Go on; what about the medicine? Did you give it to him every night?” - -“Not every night, but frequently. I always had it ready.” - -“Will you step down a minute? I want to ask Dr. Cameron a few questions -about this soothing medicine.” - -The interruption was welcome; we all needed a moment’s respite. Dr. -Cameron was again sworn. He had given his testimony at length earlier -in the day but it had been mainly in reference to a very different sort -of medicine, and it was of this simpler and supposedly very innocent -mixture that the Coroner wished to learn a few facts. - -Dr. Cameron was very frank with his replies. Told just what it was; -what the dose consisted of and how harmless it was when given according -to directions. “I have never known,” he added, “of Mrs. Starr ever -making any mistake in preparing or administering it. The other medicine -of which I have already given a detailed account I have always prepared -myself.” - -“It is of that other medicine taken in connection with this one of -which I wish to ask. Say the two were mixed what would be the result?” - -“The powerful one would act, whatever it was mixed with.” - -“How about the color? Would one affect the other?” - -“If plenty of water were used, the change in color would hardly be -perceptible.” - -“Thank you, doctor; we can release you now.” - -The doctor stepped down, whereupon a recess was called, to the -disappointment and evident chagrin of a great many. - - -XXIX - -The mood of the Coroner changed with the afternoon session. He was -curter in speech and less patient with the garrulity of his witnesses. -Perhaps he dreaded the struggle which he foresaw awaited him. - -He plunged at once into the topic he had left unfinished and at the -precise point where he had left off. Wealthy had resumed her place on -the stand. - -“And where did you put this soothing mixture after you had prepared it?” - -“Where I always did--on the shelf hanging in the corner on the further -side of the bed--the side towards the windows. I did this so that it -would not be picked up by mistake for a glass of water left on his -stand.” - -“Tell that to the jury again, Mrs. Starr. That the soothing medicine of -which you speak was in a glass on the shelf we all can see indicated on -the chart above your head, and plain water in a glass standing on the -table on the near side of the bed.” - -“Excuse me, Doctor Jones, I did not mean to say that there was any -glass of water on the small stand that night. There was not. He did not -seem to want it, so I left the water in a pitcher on the table by the -hearth. I only meant that it being my usual custom to have it there -I got in the habit of putting anything in the way of medicine as far -removed from it as possible.” - -“Mrs. Starr, when did you prepare this soothing medicine as you call -it?” - -“Soon after I entered the room.” - -“Before Mr. Bartholomew slept?” - -“Oh, yes, sir.” - -“Tell how you did it, where you did it and what Mr. Bartholomew said -while you were doing it--that is, if he said anything at all.” - -“The bottle holding this medicine was kept, as I have already said, -with all the other medicines, in the cabinet hanging in the upper -passageway.” Every eye rose to the chart. “The water in a pitcher on -the large table to the left of the fire-place. Filling a glass with -this water which I had drawn myself, I went to the medicine cabinet -and got the bottle containing the drops the doctor had ordered for -this purpose, and carrying it over to the table, together with the -medicine-dropper, added the customary ten drops to the water and put -the bottle back in the cabinet and the glass with the medicine in it on -the shelf. Mr. Bartholomew’s face was turned my way and he naturally -followed my movements as I passed to and fro; but he showed no especial -interest in them, nor did he speak.” - -“Was this before or after you dropped the curtain on the other side of -the bed.” - -“After.” - -“The bed, I have been given to understand, is surrounded on all sides -by heavy curtains which can be pulled to at will. Was the one you speak -of the only one to be dropped or pulled at night?” - -“Usually. You see Miss Orpha’s picture hangs between the windows and -was company for him if he chanced to wake in the night.” - -Again that sob, but fainter than before and to me very far off. Or was -it that I felt so far removed myself--pushed aside and back from the -grief and sufferings of this family? - -The heads which turned at this low but pathetic sound were soon turned -back again as the steady questioning went on: - -“You speak of going to the medicine cabinet. It was your business, no -doubt, to go there often.” - -“Very often; I was his nurse, you see.” - -“There was another bottle of medicine kept there--the one labeled -‘Dangerous’?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Did you see that bottle when you went for the soothing mixture you -speak of?” - -“No, sir.” This was very firmly said. “I wasn’t thinking of it, and the -bottle I wanted being in front I just pulled it out and never looked at -any other.” - -“This other bottle--the dangerous one--where was that kept?” - -“Way back behind several others. I had put it there when the doctor -told us that we were not to give him any more of that especial medicine -without his orders.” - -“If you went to this cabinet so often you must have a very good idea of -just how it looked inside.” - -“I have, sir,” her voice falling a trifle--at least, I thought I -detected a slight change in it as if the emotion she had so bravely -kept under up to this moment was beginning to make itself felt. - -“Then tell us if everything looked natural to you when you went to it -this time; everything in order,--nothing displaced.” - -“I did not notice. I was too intent on what I was after. Besides, if I -had--” - -“Well, go on.” - -Her brows puckered in distress; and I thought I saw her hand tremble -where it showed amid the folds of her dress. If no other man held his -breath at that short interim in which not a sound was heard, I did. -Something was about to fall from her lips-- - -But she was speaking. - -“If I had observed any disorder such as you mention I should not have -thought it at all strange. I am not the only one who had access to that -cabinet. His daughter often went to it, and--and the young gentlemen, -too.” - -“Both of them?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“What should take them there?” - -Her head lifted, her voice steadied, she looked the capable, kindly -person of a few moments ago. That thrill of emotion was gone; perhaps I -have overemphasized it. - -“We all worked together, sir. The young gentlemen, that is one or the -other of them, often took my place in the room, especially at night, -and Mr. Bartholomew, used to being waited on and having many wants, -they had learned how to take care of him and give him what he called -for.” - -“And this took them to the cabinet?” - -“Undoubtedly; it held a great variety of things besides his medicines.” - -The Coroner paused. During the most trying moment of my life every eye -in the room turned on me, not one on Edgar. - -I bore it stoically; a feeling I endeavored to crush making havoc in my -heart. - -Then the command came: - -“Continue with your story. You have given us the incidents of the night -such as you observed them before Mr. Bartholomew slept; you will now -relate what happened after.” - -Again I watched her hand. It had clenched itself tightly and then -loosened as these words rang out from the seat of authority. The -preparation for what she had to tell had been made; the time had now -come for its relation. She began quietly, but who could tell how she -would end. - -“For an hour I kept my watch on the curtained side of the bed. It was -very still in the room, so deathly still that after awhile I fell -asleep in my chair. When I woke it was suddenly and with a start of -fear. I was too confused at first to move and as I sat listening, I -heard a slight sound on the other side of the bed, followed by the -unmistakable one of a softly closing door. My first thought, of course, -was for my patient and throwing the curtains aside, I looked through. -The room was light enough, for one of the logs on the hearth had just -broken apart, and the glow it made lit up Mr. Bartholomew’s face and -showed me that he was sleeping. Relieved at the sight, I next asked -myself who could have been in the room at an hour so late, and what -this person wanted. I was not frightened, now that I was fully awake, -and being curious, nothing more, I drew the portière from before the -passage-way at my back and, stepping to the door beyond, opened it and -looked out.” - -Here she became suddenly silent, and so intent were we all in -anticipation of what her next words would reveal, that the shock caused -by this unexpected break in her story, vented itself in a sort of -gasp from the parched lips and throats of the more excitable persons -present. It was a sound not often heard save on the theatrical stage -at a moment of great suspense, and the effect upon the witness was so -strange that I forgot my own emotion in watching her as she opened her -lips to continue and then closed them again, with a pitiful glance at -the Coroner. - -He seemed to understand her and made a kindly effort to help her in -this sudden crisis of feeling. - -“Take your time, Mrs. Starr,” he said. “We are well aware that -testimony of this nature must be painful to you, but it is necessary -and must be given. You opened the door and looked out. What did you -see?” - -“A man--or, rather, the shadow of a man outlined very dimly on the -further wall of the hall.” - -“What man?” - -“I do not know, sir.” - -She did; the woman was lying. No one ever looked as she did who -was in doubt as to what she saw. But the Coroner intentionally or -unintentionally blind to this very decided betrayal of her secret, -still showed a disposition to help her. - -“Was it so dark?” - -“Yes, sir. The electrolier at the stair-head had been put out probably -by him as he passed, for--” - -It was a slip. I saw it in the way her face changed and her voice -faltered as with one accord every eye in the assemblage before her -turned quickly towards the chart. - -I did not need to look. I know that hall by heart. The electrolier she -spoke of was nearer the back than the front; to put it out in passing, -meant that the person stopping to extinguish it was heading towards the -rear end of the hall. In other words, Clarke or myself. As it was not -myself-- - -But she must have thought it was, for when the Coroner, drawing the -same conclusion, pressed her to describe the shadow and, annoyed at her -vague replies, asked her point blank if it could be that of Clarke, she -shook her head and finally acknowledged that it was much too slim. - -“A man’s, though?” - -“Certainly, a man’s.” - -“And what became of this shadow?” - -“It was gone in a minute; disappeared at the turn of the wall.” - -She had the grace to droop her head, as if she realized what she was -doing and took but little pleasure in it. My estimation of her rose on -the instant; for she did not like me, was jealous of every kindness my -uncle had shown me, and yet felt compunction over what she was thus -forced into saying. - -“If she knew! Ah, if she knew!” passed in tumult through my brain; and -I bore the stare of an hundred eyes as I could not have borne the stare -of one if that one had been Orpha’s. Thank God, her veil was so thick. - -Further questions brought out little more concerning this incident. She -had not followed the shadow, she had not looked at the clock, she had -not even gone around the bed to see what had occasioned the peculiar -noise she had heard. She had not thought it of sufficient importance. -Indeed, she had not attached any importance to the incident at the -time, since her patient had not been wakened and late visits were not -uncommon in that sick-room where the interest of everybody in the house -centered, night as well as day. - -But, when Mr. Bartholomew at last grew restless and she went for the -medicine she had prepared, she saw with some astonishment that it was -not in the exact place on the shelf where she had placed it,--or, at -least, in the exact place where she felt sure that she had placed it. -But even this did not alarm her or arouse her suspicion. How could it -when everybody in the house was devoted to its master--or at all events -gave every evidence of being so. Besides, she might have been mistaken -as to where she had set down the glass. Her memory was not what it -was,--and so on and so on till the Coroner stopped her with the query: - -“And what did you do? Did you give him the dose his condition seemed to -call for?” - -“I did; and my heart is broken at the thought.” She showed it. Tears -were welling from her eyes and her whole body shook with the sob -she strove to suppress. “I can never forgive myself that I did not -suspect--mix a fresh draught--do anything but put that spoon filled -with doubtful liquor between his lips. But how could I imagine that -_any one_ would tamper with the medicines in that cabinet. That any one -would--” - -Here she was stopped again, peremptorily this time, and her testimony -switched to the moment when she saw the first signs of anything in Mr. -Bartholomew’s condition approaching collapse and how long it was after -she gave him the medicine. - -“Some little time. I was not watching the clock. Perhaps I slept -again--I shall never know, but if I did, it was the sound of a sudden -gasp from behind the curtains which started me to my feet. It was like -a knife going through me, for I had a long experience with the sick -before I came to C---- and knew that it foretold the end. - -“I was still surer of this when I bent over to look at him. He was -awake, but I shall never forgot his eye. ‘Wealthy,’ he whispered, -exerting himself to speak plainly, ‘call the children--call all -of them--bid them come without delay--all is over with me--I -shall not live out the coming day. But first, the bowl--the one -in the bathroom--bring it here--put it on the stand--and two -candles--lighted--don’t look; _act_!’ It was the master ordering a -slave. There was nothing to do but to obey. I went to the bathroom, -found the bowl he wanted, brought it, brought the candles, lighted -them, turned on the electricity, for the candles were mere specks in -that great room and then started for the door. But he called me back. -‘I want the two envelopes,’ he cried. ‘Open the drawer and get them. -Now put them in my hands, one in my right, the other in my left, and -hasten, for I fear to--to lose my speech.’ - -“I rushed--I was terrified to leave him alone even for an instant -but to cross him in his least wish might mean his death, so I fled -like a wild woman through the halls, first to Mr. Edgar’s room, then -downstairs to Miss Orpha and later--not till after I had seen these -two on their way to Mr. Bartholomew’s room, to the rear hall and Mr. -Quenton’s door.” - -“What did you do there?” - -“I both knocked and called.” - -“What did you say?” - -“That his uncle was worse, and for him to come immediately. That Mr. -Bartholomew found difficulty in speaking and wanted to see them all -before his power to do so failed.” - -“Did he answer?” - -“Instantly; opening the door and coming out. He was in Mr. -Bartholomew’s room almost as soon as the others.” - -“How could that be? Did he not stop to dress?” - -“He was already dressed, just as he rose from dinner.” - -What followed has already been told; I will not enlarge upon it. The -burning of the one will in the presence of Orpha, Edgar and myself, -with Wealthy Starr standing in the background. Uncle’s sudden death -before he could tell us where the will containing his last wishes could -be found, and the shock we had all received at the astonishment shown -by the doctor at his patient having succumbed so suddenly when he had -fully expected him to live another fortnight. - -The excitement which had been worked up to fever-point gradually -subsided after this and, the hour being late, the inquiry was -adjourned, to be continued the next day. - - -XXX - -In my haste to be through with the record of a testimony which so -unmistakably gave the impression that I was the man who had tampered -with the medicine which prematurely ended my uncle’s fast failing life, -I omitted to state Wealthy’s eager admission that notwithstanding the -doctor’s surprise at the sudden passing of his patient and her own -knowledge that the room contained a previously used medicine which had -been pronounced dangerous to him at this stage of his illness, she did -not connect these two facts in her mind even then as cause and effect. -Not till the dreadful night in which she heard the word poison uttered -over Mr. Bartholomew’s casket, did she realize what the peculiar sound -which had roused her from her nap beside the sick-bed really was. It -was the setting down of the glass on the shelf from which it had been -previously lifted. - -This was where the proceedings had ended; and it was at this point they -were taken up the next day. - -I say nothing of the night between; I have tried to forget it. God -grant the day will come when I may. Nor shall I enter into any -description of the people who filled the room on this occasion or of -the change in Orpha’s appearance or in that of such persons towards -whom my eyes, hot with the lack of sleep, wandered during the first -half hour. I am eager to go on; eager to tell the worst and have done -with this part of my story. - -To return then to Wealthy’s testimony as continued from the day before. -The casket in which Mr. Bartholomew’s body had been laid on the morning -of the second day had been taken in the early evening down into the -court. She had not accompanied it. When asked why, she said that Mr. -Edgar had asked her to remain in the room, and on no account to leave -it without locking both doors. So she had stayed until she heard a -scream ringing up through the house, and convinced from its hysterical -sound that it came from one of the maids, she hastened to lock the one -door which had been left unfastened, and go below. As in company with -Mr. Quenton and Clarke she reached the balcony on the second floor, she -could see that there were several persons in the court, so she stopped -where she was, and simply looked down at what was going on. It was then -she got the shock of her life. The girl who had uttered the scream was -pointing at her dead master’s face and shouting the word _poison_. One -can imagine what passed through her mind as the clouds cleared away -from it and she realized to what in her ignorance she had been made a -party to. - -She certainly made the jury feel it, though she was less garrulous -and simpler in her manners than on the previous day; and hardly -knowing what to expect from her peculiar sense of duty, I was in dread -anticipation of hearing her relate the few words which had passed -between us as Orpha fell into my arms,--words in which she accused me -of being the cause of all this trouble. - -But she spared me that, either because she did not know how to obtrude -it without help from the Coroner, or because she had enough right -feeling not to emphasize the suspicion already roused against me by her -previous testimony. - -Grateful for this much grace, I restrained my own anxieties and -listened intently for what else she had to say, in the old hope that -some word would yet fall from her lips or some glance escape from her -eye which would give me the clew to the hand which had really lifted -that glass and set it down a little further along the shelf. - -I thought I was on its track when she came to the visit she had paid to -the room above in the company of Edgar and Orpha. But I heard little -new. The facts elicited were well-known ones. They had approached the -cabinet together, looked into it together, and, pushing the bottles -about, brought out the one for which they were seeking from the very -place in the rear of the shelf where she had put it herself when told -that it would not be required any longer. - -“Yes, that is the bottle,” she declared, as the Coroner lifted a small -phial from the table before him and held it up in her sight and in that -of the jury. As he did this, I could scarcely hide the sickening thrill -which for a moment caused everything to turn black around me. For the -label was written large and the word Poison had a ghastly look to one -who had loved Edgar Quenton Bartholomew. When I could see and hear -again, Wealthy was saying: - -“A few drops wouldn’t be missed. My memory isn’t good enough for me to -be sure of a fact like that.” - -Evidently she had been asked if on taking the phial from the shelf she -had noticed any diminution of its contents since she had last handled -it. - -“You say that you pushed the bottles aside in order to get at this one. -Was that necessary? Could you not have reached in over them and lifted -it out?” - -“I never thought of doing that; none of us did. We were all anxious to -satisfy ourselves as to whether or not the bottle was there and just -took the quickest way we knew of finding out.” - -“But you could have got hold of it in the way I suggested? Reached in, -I mean, and pulled it out without disarranging the other bottles?” - -She stopped to think; contracting her brows and stealing what I felt -sure was a look at Edgar. - -“It would have been difficult,” she finally conceded: “but a person -with long fingers might have got hold of it all right. The bottles in -front and around it were not very large. Much of the same size as the -one you just showed us.” - -“Then in your opinion this could have been done?” - -(I heard afterwards that it had been done by one of the police -operatives.) - -“It could have been done.” - -Almost doggedly she said it. - -“Without making much noise?” - -“Without making any if the person doing it knew exactly where the phial -was to be found.” - -Not doggedly now, but incisively. - -“And how many of the household, to your definite knowledge, did?” - -“Three, besides myself. Miss Orpha, Mr. Edgar and Mr. Quenton, all of -whom shared my nursing.” - -The warmth with which she uttered the first two names, the coldness -with which she uttered mine! Was it intentional, or just the natural -expression of her feelings? Whatever prompted this distinction in tone, -the effect was to signal me out as definitely as though a brand had -left its scorching mark upon my forehead. - -And I innocent! - -Why I did not leap to my feet I do not know. I thought I did, shouting -a wild disclaimer. If men stared and women shrieked that was nothing -to me. All that I cared for was Orpha sitting there listening to this -hellish accusation. So maddened was I, so dead to all human conditions -that I doubt if I should have been surprised had the ghostly figure -of my uncle evolved itself from air and taken its place on the -witness-stand in revolt against this horror. Anything was possible, -but to let the world--by which I meant Orpha--believe this thing for a -moment. - -All this tumult in brain and heart, and my body quiet, fixed, with -not a muscle so much as quivering. By what force was I thus withheld? -Possibly by some hypnotic influence exerted by Mr. Jackson, for when -I looked in his direction I found him gazing very earnestly in mine. -I smiled. It must have been a very dreary smile and ironic in the -extreme; for my heart was filled with bitterness and could express -itself in no other way. - -The decided shake of the head which he gave me in return had its -effect, however, and digging my nails into my palm, I listened to what -followed with all the stoicism the situation called for. - -I was still in a state of rigid self-control when I heard my name -spoken loudly and with command and woke to the fact that Wealthy had -been dismissed from the stand and that I was to be the next witness. - -Was I ready for it? I must be; and to test my strength, I cast one -straight look at Orpha. She had lifted her veil and met my gaze fairly. -Had there been guilt in my heart-- - -But I could pass her without shame; and sustained by this fact, I took -my place on the stand with a calmness I had hardly expected to show in -the face of this prejudiced throng. - - -XXXI - -As my story, sometimes elicited by questions and sometimes allowed to -take the form of an uninterrupted narrative, differed in no essential -from the one already given in these pages, I see no reason for -recapitulating it here any more than I did the one I told days before -to the Inspector. Fixed in my determination to be honest in all I said -but not to say any more than was required, I was able to hear unmoved -the low murmurs which now and then rose from the center of the room as -I made some unexpected reply or revealed, as I could not help doing, -the strength of the tie which united me to my deceased uncle. No one -believed in that and consequently attributed any assertion of the kind -to hypocrisy; and with this I had to contend from the beginning to -the end, softened perhaps a little towards the last, but still active -enough to make my position a very trying one. - -The result of my examination must be given, however, even if I have to -indulge in some repetition. - -My testimony, if accepted as truth, established certain facts. - -They were these: - -That Mr. Bartholomew had changed his mind more than once as to which of -us two nephews he would leave the bulk of his fortune: - -That he had shown positive decision only on the night preceding his -death, declaring to me that I was his final choice: - -That, notwithstanding this, he had not then and there destroyed the -will antagonistic to this decision, as would seem natural if his mind -had been really settled in its resolve; but had kept them both in hand -up to the time of my departure from the room: - -That late in the night after a long séance with myself in the library -on the lower floor, I had come upstairs, and in my anxiety to know -whether my uncle were awake or resting quietly after so disturbing an -evening, had stopped to listen first at one of his doors and then at -the other; but had refrained from going in, or even seeing my uncle -again until summoned with the rest of the family to hear his dying -wishes: - -That when he handed one of the wills to his daughter and bade her burn -it in the large bowl he had ordered placed at his bedside, I believed -it to be the one I had expected to see him burn the night before, and -that I just as confidently believed that the one which had been taken -from the other envelope and put away in some spot not yet discovered -was the one designating me as his chief heir according to his promise, -and should so believe until it was found and I was shown to the -contrary. (This in justification of my confidence in him and also to -refute the idea in so far as I was able, that I had been so fearful of -his changing his mind again that I was willing to cut his life short -rather than run the risk of losing my inheritance.) - -For I was sensible enough to see that to minds so prejudiced, the -fact that the will favoring myself having been the last one drawn, -afforded them sufficient excuse for a supposition which seemed the only -explanation possible for the mystery they were facing. - -A few were undoubtedly influenced either by my earnestness or the -dignity which innocence gives to the suspected man, but the many, not; -and when at the conclusion of my testimony I was forced to repass Orpha -on my way back to my seat, I found that I no longer had the courage -to meet her eye, lest I should see pity there or, what was worse, an -attempt to accept what I had to say against reason and possibly against -her own judgment. - -But when her name was called and with a quick unveiling of her face she -took her place upon the stand, I could not keep my glances back, for I -was thinking now, not of myself but of her and the suffering which she -must undergo if her examination was to be of any help in disentangling -the threads of this involved inquiry. - -That I was justified in my fears was at once apparent, for the first -question which attracted attention and drew every head forward in -breathless interest and undisguised curiosity was this: - -“Miss Bartholomew, I regret that I must trespass upon matters which in -my respect for yourself and family I should be glad to leave untouched. -But conditions force me to ask if the rumor is correct that you are -engaged to marry your cousin, Edgar, with whom you have been brought -up.” - -“No,” she answered at once, with that clear ring to her voice which -carried it without effort to the remotest corners of the room. “I am -engaged to no one. But am under an obligation, gladly entered into -because it was my father’s wish, to marry the man--if the gentleman so -pleases--to whom my father has willed the greater portion of his money.” - -The Coroner raised his gavel, but laid it down again, for the -excitement called forth by the calm dignity of this answer, was of that -deep and absorbing kind which shrinks from noisy demonstration. - -“Miss Bartholomew, do you know or have you any suspicion as to where -your father concealed the will which will settle this question?” - -“None whatever.” - -And now, the sweet voice wavered. - -“You know your father’s room well?” - -“Every inch of it.” - -“And can imagine no place in it where he might have thrust this -document on taking it out of the envelope?” - -“None.” - -“Miss Bartholomew, you have heard the last witness state that your -father distinctly told him on the night before his death that he had -decided to make him his chief inheritor. Did your father ever make the -same declaration to you?” - -“He has said that he found my foreign cousin admirable.” - -“That hardly answers my question, Miss Bartholomew.” - -The pink came out on her cheeks. Ah; how lovely she was! But in what -trouble also. - -“He once asked me if I could rely on his judgment in the choice of my -future husband?” came reluctantly from her lips. “Up till then I had -not been aware that there was to be any choice.” - -“You mean--” - -“That I had never been given reason to think that there was any man -living whom he could prefer for a real son to the nephew who lived like -a son in the family.” - -“Can you remember just when this occurred? Was it before or after the -ball held in your house?” - -“It was after; some weeks after.” - -“After he had been ill for some little time, then?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -The Coroner glanced at the jury; and the jurymen at each other. She -must have observed this, for a subtle change passed over her face which -revealed the steadfast woman without taking from the winsomeness of -her girlishness so well known to all. - -She was yet in the glow of whatever sentiment had been aroused within -her, when she was called upon to reply to a series of questions -concerning this ball, leading up, as I knew they must, to one which had -been in my own mind ever since that event. What had passed between her -and her father when, on hearing he was ill, she went up to see him in -his own room. - -“I found him ailing but indisposed to say much about it. What he wanted -was to tell me that on account of not feeling quite himself, he had -decided not to have any public announcement made of his plans for Edgar -and myself. That would keep. But lest our friends who had expected -something of the kind might feel aggrieved, he proposed that as a -substitute for it, another announcement should be made which would give -them almost equal pleasure,--that of the engagement of his ward, Miss -Colfax, to Dr. Hunter. And this was done.” - -“And was this all which passed between you at this time? No hint of a -quarrel between himself and the nephew for whom he had contemplated -such honor?” - -“He said nothing that would either alarm or sadden me. He was very -cheerful, almost gay, all the time I was in the room. Alas! how little -we knew!” - -It was the spontaneous outburst of a bereaved child and the Coroner -let it pass. Would he could have spared her the next question. But his -fixed idea of my guilt would not allow this and I had to sit there and -hear him say: - -“In the days which followed, during which you doubtless had many -opportunities of seeing both of your cousins, did the attentions of the -one you call Quenton savor at all of those of courtship?” - -“No, sir. We were all too absorbed in caring for my sick father to -think of anything of that kind.” - -It was firmly but sweetly said, and such was the impression she made -on the crowd before her, that I saw a man who was lounging against the -rear wall, unconsciously bow his head in token of his respect for her -womanliness. - -The Coroner, a little impressed himself perhaps, sat in momentary -silence and when he was ready to proceed, chose a less embarrassing -subject. What it was I do not remember now, nor is it of importance -that I should enlarge any further on an examination which left things -very much as they were and had been from the beginning. By the masses -convened there I was considered guilty, but by a few, not; and as the -few had more than one representative in the jury, the verdict which was -finally given was the usual one where certainty is not attained. - -Murder by poison administered by a person unknown. - - - - -_BOOK III_ - -WHICH OF US TWO? - - -XXXII - -Solitude! How do we picture it? - -A man alone on a raft in the midst of a boundless sea. A figure -against a graying sky, with chasms beneath and ice peaks above. Such a -derelict between life and death I felt myself to be, as on leaving the -court-house, I stepped again into the street and faced my desperate -future. I almost wished that I might feel a hand upon my shoulder and -hear a voice in my ear saying: “Here is my warrant. I arrest you for -murder in the name of the law;” for then I should know where my head -would be laid for the night. Now I knew nothing. - -Had Edgar joined me--But that would have been asking too much. I stood -alone; I walked alone; and heads fell and eyes turned aside as I -threaded my slow way down the street. - -Where should I go? Suddenly it came to me that Orpha would expect me to -return home. I had no reason for thinking so; but the impression once -yielded to, I was sure of her expectancy and sure of the grave welcome -I should receive. But how could I face them all with that brand between -my eyes! To see Clarke’s accusing face and Wealthy’s attempt not to -show her hatred of me too plainly! It would take a man with a heart of -adamant to endure that. I had no such heart. Yet if I failed to go, it -might look to some persons like an acknowledgment of guilt. And that -would be worse. I would go, but for the night only. To-morrow should -see me far on my way to other quarters--that is, if the police would -allow it. The police! Well, why not see the Inspector! He had visited -me; why should I not visit him? - -An objective was found. I turned towards the Police Station. But before -I reached it I met Mr. Jackson. He never admitted it, but I think he -had been dogging me, having perhaps some inkling as to my mood. The -straightforward way in which he held out his hand gave me the first -gleam of comfort I had had that day. - -Could it be that he was sincere in this show of confidence? That he had -not been influenced by Wealthy’s story, or his judgment palsied by the -fact patent to all, that with the exception of myself there was not a -person among those admitted to my uncle’s room who had not lived in the -house for years and given always and under all circumstances evidences -of the most devoted attachment to him? - -Or did he simply look upon me as the millionaire client who would yet -come into his own and whose favor it would be well to secure in this -hour of present trial? - -A close study of his face satisfied me that he was really the friend he -seemed, and, yielding to his guidance, I allowed him to lead me to his -office where we sat down together and had our first serious talk. - -He did believe me and would stand by me if I so desired it. Edgar -Bartholomew was a favorite everywhere, but if his uncle who had loved -him and reared him in the hope of uniting him with his daughter, could -be moved from that position to the point of having a second will of an -opposing nature drawn up and signed by another lawyer on the same day, -it must have been because he felt he had found a better man to inherit -his fortune and to marry his daughter. It was a fact well enough known -that Edgar was beginning to show a streak of recklessness in his -demeanor which could not have been pleasing to his staid and highly -respectable uncle. There was another man near by of characteristics -more trustworthy; and his conscience favored this man. - -“A strong nature, that of our late friend. He had but one weakness--an -inordinate partiality for this irresponsible, delightful nephew. That -is how I see the matter. If you will put your affairs in my hands, I -think I can make it lively for those who may oppose you.” - -“But Wealthy’s testimony, linking my presence at the upper door of -uncle’s room with the person she heard tampering with the glass -believed by all to have held the draught which was the cause of his -death?” - -“Mr. Bartholomew, are you sure she saw your figure fleeing down the -hall?” - -I was on the point of saying, “Whose else? I did rush down the hall,” -when he sharply interrupted me. - -“What we want to know and must endeavor to find out is whether, under -the conditions, she could see your shadow or that of any other person -who might be passing from front to rear sufficiently well to identify -it.” - -Greatly excited, I stared at him. - -“How can that be done?” - -“Well, Mr. Bartholomew, fortunately for us we have a friend at court. -If we had not, I judge that you would have been arrested on leaving the -court-house.” - -“Who? Who?” My heart beat to suffocation; I could hardly articulate. -Did I hope to hear a name which would clear my sky of every cloud, and -make the present, doubtful as it seemed, a joy instead of a menace? If -I did, I was doomed to disappointment. - -“The Inspector who was the first to examine you does not believe in -your guilt.” - -Disappointment! but a great--a hopeful surprise also! I rose to my feet -in my elation, this unexpected news coming with such a shock on the -heels of my despair. But sat again with a gesture of apology as I met -his steady look. - -“I know this, because he is a friend of mine,” he averred by way of -explanation. - -“And will help us?” - -“He will see that the experiment I mention is made. Poison could not -have got into that glass without hands. Those hands must be located. -The Police will not cease their activities.” - -“Mr. Jackson, I give you the case. Do what you can for me; but--” - -I had risen again, and was walking restlessly away from him as I came -to this quick halt in what I was about to say. He was watching me, -carefully, thoughtfully, out of the corner of his eye. I was aware -of this and, as I turned to face him again, I took pains to finish -my sentence with quite a different ending from that which had almost -slipped from my unwary tongue. - -“But first, I want your advice. Shall I return to the house, or go to -the hotel and send for my clothes?” - -“Return to the house, by all means. You need not stay there more than -the one night. You are innocent. You believe that the house and much -more are yours by your uncle’s will. Why should you not return to your -own? You are not the man to display any bravado; neither are you the -man to accept the opinion of servants and underlings.” - -“But--but--my cousin, Orpha? The real owner, as I look at it, of -everything there?” - -“Miss Bartholomew has a just mind. She will accept your point of -view--for the present, at least.” - -I dared not say more. I was never quite myself when I had to speak her -name. - -He seemed to respect my reticence and after some further talk, I left -him and betook myself to the house which held for me everything I loved -and everything I feared in the world I had made for myself. - - -XXXIII - -During the first portion of this walk I forced my mind to dwell on the -astonishing fact that the Inspector whom I had regarded as holding me -in suspicion was the one man most convinced of my innocence. He had -certainly shown no leaning that way in the memorable interview we had -held together. What had changed him? Or had I simply misunderstood his -attitude, natural enough to an amateur who finds himself for the first -time in his life subject to the machinations of the police. - -As I had no means of answering this query, I gradually allowed the -matter, great as it was, to slip from my mind, and another and more -present interest to fill it. - -I was approaching the Bartholomew mansion, and its spell was already -upon me. An embodiment of beauty and of mystery! A glorious pile of -masonry, hiding a secret on the solution of which my honor as a man and -my hope as a lover seemed absolutely to depend. - -There was a mob at either gate, dispersing slowly under the efforts of -the police. To force my way through a crowd of irritated, antagonistic -men and women collected perhaps for the purpose of intercepting me, -required not courage, but a fool’s bravado. Between me and it I saw an -open door. It belonged to a small shop where I had sometimes traded. I -ventured to look in. The woman who usually stood behind the counter was -not there, but her husband was and gave me a sharp look as I entered. - -“I want nothing but a refuge,” I hastily announced. “The crowd below -there will soon be gone. Will it incommode you if I remain here till -the street is clear?” - -“Yes, it will,” he rejoined abruptly, but with a twinkle of interest in -his eye showing that his feelings were kindlier than his manner. “The -better part of the crowd, you see, are coming this way and some of them -are in a mood far from Christian.” - -By “some of them,” I gathered that he meant his wife, and I stepped -back. - -“People have such a way of making up their minds before they see a -thing out,” he muttered, slipping from behind the counter and shutting -the door she had probably left open. “If you will come with me,” he -added more cheerfully, “I will show you the only thing you can do if -you don’t want a dozen women’s hands in your hair.” - -And, crossing to the rear, he opened another door leading into the -yard, where he pointed out a small garage, empty, as it chanced, of his -Ford. “Step in there and when all is quiet yonder, you can slip into -the street without difficulty. I shall know nothing about it.” - -And with this ignominious episode associated with my return, I finally -approached the house I had entered so often under very different -auspices. - -I had a latch-key in my pocket, but I did not choose to use it. I rang, -instead. When the door opened I took a look at the man who held the -knob in hand. Though he occupied the position of butler in the great -establishment, and was therefore continually to be seen at meals, I did -not know him very well--did not know him at all; for he was one of the -machine-made kind whose perfect service left nothing to be desired, but -of whose thoughts and wishes he gave no intimation unless it was to -those he had known much longer than he had me. - -Would he reveal himself in face of my intrusion? I was fully as -curious as I was anxious to see. No; he was still the perfect servant -and opened the door wide, without a gleam of hostility in his eye or -any change in his usual manner. - -Passing him, I stepped into the court. The fountain was playing. The -house was again a home, but would it be a home to me? I resolved to -put the question to an immediate test upstairs. Hearing Haines’ steps -passing behind me on his way to the rear, I turned and asked him if -Mr. Bartholomew had returned. Then I saw a change in the man’s face--a -flash of feeling gone as quickly as it came. It had always been, “Does -Mr. Edgar want this or Mr. Edgar want that?” The use of his uncle’s -name in designating him, seemed to seal that uncle forever in his tomb. - -“You will find him in the library,” was Haines’ reply as he passed on; -and looking up, I saw Edgar standing in the doorway awaiting me. - -Without any hesitation I approached him, but stopped before I was too -near. I was resolved to speak very plainly and I did. - -“Edgar, I can understand why with this hideous doubt still unsettled -as to the exact person who, through accident we hope, was unfortunate -enough to be responsible for our uncle’s death, you should find it very -unpleasant to see me here. I have not come to stay, though it might -be better all around if I were to remain for this one night. I loved -Uncle. I am innocent of doing him any harm. I believe him to have made -me the heir to this estate in the will thus unhappily lost to sight, -but I shall not press my claim and am willing to drop it if you will -drop yours, leaving Orpha to inherit.” - -“That would be all right if the loss of the will were all.”--Was this -Edgar speaking?--“But you know and I know that the loss of the will -is of small moment in comparison to the real question you mentioned -first. The verdict was _murder_. There is no murder without an active -hand. Whose hand? You say that it was not yours. I--I want to believe -you, but--” - -“You do not.” - -His set expression gave way; it was an unnatural one for him; but in -the quick play of feature which took its place I could not read his -mind, one emotion blotting out another so rapidly that neither heart -nor reason could seize satisfactorily upon any. - -“You do not?” I repeated. - -“I know nothing about it. It is all a damnable mystery. - -“Edgar, shall I pack up my belongings and go?” - -He controlled himself. - -“Stay the night,” he said, and, turning on his heel, went back into the -library. - -Then it was that I became aware of the dim figure of a man sitting -quietly in an inconspicuous corner near the stairway. - -It needed no perspicacity on my part to recognize in him a police -detective. - -I found another on the second floor and my heart misgave me for Orpha. -Verily, the police were in occupation! When I reached the third, I -found two more stationed like sentinels at the two doors of my departed -Uncle’s room. This I did not wonder at and I was able to ignore them as -I hurried by to my own room where I locked myself in. - -I was thankful to be allowed to do this. I had reached the point -where I felt the necessity of absolute rest from questioning or any -thought of the present trouble. I would amuse myself; I would smoke and -gradually pack. The darkness ahead was not impenetrable. I had a friend -in the Inspector. Edgar had not treated me ill--not positively ill. -It would be possible for me to appear at the dinner-table; possibly to -face Orpha if she found strength to come. Yet were it not well for her -to be warned that I was in the house? Would Edgar think of this? Yes, I -felt positive that he would and then if she did not come-- - -But nothing must keep her from the table. I would not go myself unless -summoned. I stood in no need of a meal. In those days I was scarcely -aware of what I ate. On this night it seemed simply unbelievable that I -should ever again crave food. - -But a smoke was different. Sitting down by the window, I opened my -favorite box. It was nearly empty. Only a part of the lower layer -remained. Taking out a cigar, I was about to reach for a match when -I caught sight of a loose piece of paper protruding from under the -few cigars which remained. It had an odd, out-of-the-way look and I -hastened to pull it forth. Great Heaven! it appeared to be a note. The -end of a sheet of paper taken from my own desk had been folded once -and, on opening it, I saw this: - -[Illustration: - - The kEy which MR. BARTH - olomew ALWAYS WORE - ON A STRING ABOUT His neck - wAs not there WHEN they Came to - Undress HIM BURN THIS aT Once] - -No signature; the letters, as shown above, had been cut carefully -from some magazine or journal. Was it a trap laid by the police; or -the well meant message of a friend? Alas! here was matter for fresh -questioning and I was wearied to the last point of human endurance. -I sat dazed, my brain in confusion, my faculties refusing to work. -One thing only remained clear--that I was to burn this scrawl as soon -as read. Well, I could do that. There was a fireplace in my room, -sometimes used but oftener not. It had not been used that day, which -had been a mild one. But that did not matter. The draught was good and -would easily carry up and out of sight a shred of paper like this. But -my hand shook as I set fire to it and watched it fly in one quick blaze -up the chimney. As it disappeared and the last spark was lost in the -blackness of the empty shaft, I seemed to have wakened from a dream -in which I was myself a shadow amongst shadows, so remote was this -incident and all the rest of this astounding drama from my natural self -and the life I had hoped to live when I crossed the ocean to make my -home in rich but commonplace America. - - -XXXIV - -“Miss Bartholomew wishes me to say that she would be glad to see you at -dinner.” - -I stared stupidly from the open doorway at Haines standing respectfully -before me. I was wondering if the note I had just burned had come from -him. He had shown feeling and he had not shown me any antagonism. But -the feeling was not for me, but for the master he had served almost as -long as I was years old. So I ended in accepting his formality with an -equal show of the same; and determined to be done with questions for -this one night if no longer, I prepared myself for dinner and went down. - -I found Orpha pacing slowly to and fro under the glow of the colored -lamps which illuminated the fountain. Older but lovelier and nobler in -the carriage of her body and in the steady look with which she met my -advance. - -Suddenly I stopped dead short. It was the first time I had entered her -presence without a vivid sense of the barrier raised between us by the -understanding under which we all met, that we were cousins and nothing -more, till the word was given which should release us to be our natural -selves again. - -But the lift of one of her fingers, scarcely perceptible save to a -lover’s eye, brought me back to reason. This was no time for breaking -down that barrier, even if we were alone, which I now felt open to -doubt, and my greeting had just that hesitation in it which one in -my position would be likely to show to one in hers. Her attitude -was kindly, nothing more, and Edgar presently relieved me of the -embarrassment of further conversation by sauntering in from the -conservatory side by side with Miss Colfax. - -Remembering the scene between them to which I had been a witness on -the night of the ball, I wondered at seeing them thus together; but -perceiving by the bearing of all three that she was domiciled here as a -permanent guest, this wonder was lost in another: why Orpha should not -sense the secret with which, as I watched them, the whole air seemed to -palpitate. - -But then she had not had my opportunities for enlightenment. - -A little old lady whom I had not seen before but who was evidently -a much esteemed relative of the family made the fifth at the dinner -table. Formality reigned. It was our only refuge from an embarrassment -which would have made speech impossible. As it was, Miss Colfax was -the only one who talked and what she said was of too little moment to -be remembered. I was glad when the meal was at an end and I could with -propriety withdraw. - -Better the loneliest of rooms in the dreariest of hotels than this. -Better a cell--Ah, no, no! my very soul recoiled. Not that! not that! I -am afraid that I was just a little mad as I paused at the foot of the -great staircase on my way up. - -But I was sane enough the next moment. The front door had opened, -admitting the Inspector. I immediately crossed the court to meet him. -Accosting him, I said in explanation of my presence, “You see me here, -Inspector; but if not detained, I shall seek other quarters to-morrow. -I was very anxious to get back to my desk in New York, if the firm are -willing to receive me. But whether there or here, I am always at your -call till this dreadful matter is settled. Now if you have no questions -to ask, I am going to my room, where I can be found at any minute.” - -“Very good,” was his sole reply, uttered without any display of -feeling; and, seeing that he wished nothing from me, I left him and -went quickly upstairs. - -I always dreaded the passage from the second floor to the -third,--to-night more than ever. Not that I was affected by the -superstitious idea connected by many with that especial flight of -steps--certainly I was too sensible a man for that, though I had had my -own experience too--but the dread of the acute memories associated with -the doors I must pass was strong upon me, and it was with relief that I -found myself at last in my own little hall, even if I had yet to hurry -by the small winding staircase at the bottom of which was a listening -ear acquainted with my every footfall. - -Briskly as I had taken the turn from the main hall, I had had time to -note the quiet figure of Wealthy seated in her old place--hands in -lap--face turned my way--a figure of stone with all the wonted good -humor and kindliness of former days stricken from it, making it to my -eyes one of deliberate accusation. Was not this exactly what I had -feared and dreaded to encounter? Yes, and the experience was not an -agreeable one. But for all that it was not without its compensations. -Any idea I may have had of her being the one to warn me that the key -invariably carried by my uncle on his person was not to be found there -at his death, was now definitely eliminated from my mind. She could not -have shown this sympathy for me in my anomalous position and then eye -me as she had just done with such implacable hostility. - -My attention thus brought back to a subject which, if it had seemed to -lie passive in my mind, had yet made its own atmosphere there during -every distraction of the past hour, I decided to have it out with -myself as to what this communication had meant and from whom it had -come. - -That it was no trap but an honest hint from some person, who, while -not interested enough to show himself openly as my friend but who -was nevertheless desirous of affording me what help he could in my -present extremity, I was ready to accept as a self-evident truth. The -difficulty--and it was no mean one, I assure you--was to settle upon -the man or woman willing to take this secret stand. - -Was it Clarke? I smiled grimly at the very thought. - -Was it Orpha? I held my breath for a moment as I contemplated this -possibility--the incredible possibility that this made-up, patched-up -line of printed letters could have been the work of her hands. It was -too difficult to believe this, and I passed on. - -The undertaker’s man? That could easily be found out. But why such -effort at concealment from an outsider? No, it was not the undertaker’s -man. But who else was there in all the house who would have knowledge -of the fact thus communicated to me in this mysterious fashion? Martha? -Eliza? Haines? Bliss? The chef who never left his kitchen, all orders -being conveyed to him by Wealthy or by telephone from the sick room? - -No, no. - -There was but one name left--the most unlikely of all--Edgar’s. Could -it be possible-- - -I did not smile this time, grimly or otherwise, as I turned away from -this supposition also. I laughed; and, startled by the sound which was -such as had never left my lips before, I rose with a bound from my -chair, resolved to drop the whole matter from my mind and calm myself -by returning to my task of looking over and sorting out my effects. -Otherwise I should get no sleep. - - -XXXV - -What was it? It was hardly a noise, yet somebody was astir in the house -and not very far from my door. Listening, I caught the sound of heavy -breathing in the hall outside, and, slipping out of bed, crossed to the -door and suddenly pulled it wide open. - -A face confronted me, every feature distinct in the flood of moonlight -pouring into the room from the opposite window. Alarm and repugnance -made it almost unrecognizable, but it was the face of Edgar and no -other, and, as in my astonishment I started backward, he spoke. - -“I was told--they said--that you were ill--that groans were heard -coming from this room. I--I am glad it is not so. Pardon me for waking -you.” And he was gone, staggering slightly as he disappeared down the -hall. A moment later I heard his voice raised further on, then a door -slam and after that, quiet. - -Confounded, for the man was shaken by emotion, I sat down on the edge -of the bed and tried to compose my faculties sufficiently to understand -the meaning of this surprising episode. - -Automatically, I looked at my watch. It was just three. I had -associations with that hour. What were they? Suddenly I remembered. It -was the hour I visited my uncle’s door the night before his death, when -Wealthy-- - -The name steadied the rush and counter-rush of swirling, -not-to-be-controlled thoughts. Mr. Jackson had spoken of an experiment -to be made by the police for the purpose of determining whether the -shadow Wealthy professed to have seen about that time flitting by on -the wall further down would be visible from the place where she stood. - -Had they been trying this? - -Had he been the one-- - -There was no thoroughfare in this direction. And wearied to death, I -sank back on my pillow and after a few restless minutes fell into a -heavy sleep. - - -XXXVI - -Next day the thunderbolt fell. Entering Mr. Jackson’s office, I found -him quite alone and waiting for me. Though the man was almost a -stranger to me and I had very little knowledge of his face or its play -of expression, I felt sure that the look with which he greeted me was -not common to him and that so far as he was concerned, my cause had -rather gained than lost in interest since our last meeting. - -“You did not telephone me last night,” were his first words. - -“No,” I said, “there was really no occasion.” - -“Yet something very important happened in your house between three and -four in the morning.” - -“I thought so; I hoped so; but I knew so little what, that I dared not -call you up for anything so indefinite. This morning life seems normal -again, but in the night--” - -“Go on, I want to hear.” - -“My cousin, Edgar, came to my door in a state of extreme agitation. He -had been told that I was ill. I was not; but say that I had been, I do -not see why he should have been so affected by the news. I am a trial -to him; an incubus; a rival whom he must hate. Why should he shiver at -sight of me and whirl away to his room?” - -“It was odd. You had heard nothing previously, then?” - -“No, I was fortunate enough to be asleep.” - -“And this being a silent drama you did not wake.” - -“Not till the time I said.” - -He was very slow, and I very eager, but I restrained myself. The -peculiarity observable in his manner had increased rather than -diminished. He seemed on fire to speak, yet unaccountably hesitated, -turning away from my direct gaze and busying himself with some little -thing on his desk. I began to feel hesitant also and inclined to shirk -the interview. - -And now for a confession. There was something in my own mind which I -had refused to bare even to my own perceptions. Something from which I -shrank and yet which would obtrude itself at moments like these. Could -it be that I was about to hear, put in words, what I had never so much -as whispered to myself? - -It was several minutes later and after much had been said before I -learned. He began with explanations. - -“A woman is the victim of her own emotions. On that night Wealthy had -been on the watch for hours either in the hall or in the sick room. She -had seen you and another come and go under circumstances very agitating -to one so devoted to the family. She was, therefore, not in a purely -normal condition when she started up from her nap to settle a question -upon which the life of a man might possibly hang. - -“At least this was how the police reasoned. So they put off the -experiment upon which they were resolved to an hour approximately the -same in which the occurrence took place which they were planning to -reproduce, keeping her, in the meantime, on watch for what interested -her most. Pardon me, it was in connection with yourself,” he commented, -flashing me a look from under his shaggy brows. “She has very strong -beliefs on that point--strong enough to blind her or--” he broke off -suddenly and as suddenly went on with his story. “Not till in apparent -solitude she had worked herself up to a fine state of excitement did -the Inspector show himself, and with a fine tale of the uselessness of -expecting anything of a secret nature to take place in the house while -her light was still burning and her figure guarded the hall, induced -her to enter the room from which she might hope to see a repetition of -what had happened on that fatal night. I honor the police. We could not -do without them;--but their methods are sometimes--well, sometimes a -little misleading. - -“After another half hour of keen expectancy, during which she had not -dozed, I warrant, there came the almost inaudible sound of the knob -turning in the upper door. Had she been alone, she would have screamed, -but the Inspector’s hand was on her arm and he made his presence felt -to such a purpose that she simply shuddered, but that so violently -that her teeth chattered. A fire had been lit on the hearth, for it -was by the light thus given that she had seen what she said she had -seen that night. Also, the curtains of the bed had been drawn back as -they had not been then but must be now for her to see through to the -shelf where the glass of medicine had been standing. Her face, as she -waited for whomever might appear there, was one of bewilderment mingled -with horror. But no one appeared. The door had been locked and all -that answered that look was the impression she received of some one -endeavoring to open it. - -“As shaken by these terrors, she turned to face the Inspector, he -pressed her arm again and drew her towards the door by which they had -entered and from which she had seen the shadow she had testified to -before the Coroner. Stepping the length of the passage-way intervening -between the room and the door itself, he waited a moment, then -threw the latter open just as the shadow of a man shot through the -semi-darkness across the opposite wall. - -“‘Do you recognize it?’ the Inspector whispered in her ear. ‘Is it the -same?’ - -“She nodded wildly and drew back, suppressing the sob which gurgled in -her throat. - -“‘The Englishman?’ he asked again. - -“Again she nodded. - -“Carefully he closed the door; he was himself a trifle affected. The -figure which had fled down the hall was that of the man who had just -been told that you were ill in your room. I need not name him.” - - -XXXVII - -Slowly I rose to my feet. The agitation caused by these words was -uncontrollable. How much did he mean by them and why should I be so -much more moved by hearing them spoken than by the suppressed thought? - -He made no move to enlighten me, and, walking again to the window, I -affected to look out. When I turned back it was to ask: - -“What do you make of it, Mr. Jackson? This seems to place me on a very -different footing; but--” - -“The woman spoke at random. She saw no shadow. Her whole story was a -fabrication.” - -“A fabrication?” - -“Yes, that is how we look at it. She may have heard some one in the -room--she may even have heard the setting down of the glass on the -shelf, but she did not see your shadow, or if she did, she did not -recognize it as such; for the light was the same and so was every other -condition as on the previous night, yet the Inspector standing at her -side and knowing well who was passing, says there was nothing to be -seen on the wall but a blur; no positive outline by which any true -conclusion could be drawn.” - -“Does she hate me so much as that? So honest a woman fabricate a story -in order to involve me in anything so serious as crime?” I could not -believe this myself. - -“No, it was not through hate of you; rather through her great love for -another. Don’t you see what lies at the bottom of her whole conduct? -She thinks--” - -“Don’t!” The word burst from me unawares. “Don’t put it into words. -Let us leave some things to be understood, not said.” Then as his lips -started to open and a cynical gleam came into his eyes, I hurriedly -added: “I want to tell you something. On the night when the question of -poison was first raised by the girl Martha’s ignorant outbreak over her -master’s casket, I was standing with Miss Bartholomew in the balcony; -Wealthy was on her other side. As that word rang up from the court, -Miss Bartholomew fainted, and as I shrieked out some invective against -the girl for speaking so in her mistress’ presence, I heard these words -hissed into my ear. ‘Would you blame the girl for what you yourself -have brought upon us?’ It was Wealthy speaking, and she certainly hated -me then. And,” I added, perhaps with unnecessary candor, “with what she -evidently thought very good reason.” - -At this Mr. Jackson’s face broke into a smile half quizzical and half -kindly: - -“You believe in telling the truth,” said he. “So do I, but not all of -it. You may feel yourself exonerated in the eyes of the police, but -remember the public. It will be uphill work exonerating yourself with -them.” - -“I know it; and no man could feel the sting of his position more -keenly. But you must admit that it is my duty to be as just to Edgar as -to myself. Nay, more so. I know how much my uncle loved this last and -dearest namesake of his. I know--no man better--that if what we do not -say and must not say were true, and Uncle could rise from his grave to -meet it, it would be with shielding hands and a forgiveness which would -demand this and this only from the beloved ingrate, that he should not -marry Orpha. Uncle was my benefactor and in honor to his memory I must -hold the man he loved innocent unless forced to find him otherwise. -Even for Orpha’s sake--” - -“Does she love him?” - -The question came too quickly and the hot flush would rise. But I -answered him. - -“He is loved by all who know him. It would be strange if his lifelong -playmate should be the only one who did not.” - -“Deuce take it!” burst from the irate lawyer’s lips, “I was speaking of -a very different love from that.” - -And _I_ was thinking of a very different one. - -The embarrassment this caused to both of us made a break in the -conversation. But it was presently resumed by my asking what he thought -the police were likely to do under the circumstances. - -He shot out one word at me. - -“Nothing.” - -“Nothing?” My face brightened, but my heart sank. - -“That is, as I feel bound to inform you, this is one of those cases -where a premature move would be fatal to official prestige. The -Bartholomews are held in much too high esteem in this town for -thoughtless attack. The old gentleman was the czar of this community. -No one more respected and no one more loved. Had his death been -attributed to the carelessness or aggression of an outsider, no one -but the Governor of the state could have held the people in check. -But the story of the two wills having got about, suspicion took its -natural course; the family itself became involved--an enormity which -would have been inconceivable had it not been that the one suspected -was the one least known and--you will pardon me if I speak plainly, -even if I touch the raw--the one least liked: a foreigner, moreover, -come, as all thought, from England on purpose to gather in this wealth. -You felt their animosity at the inquest and you also must have felt -their restraint; but had any one dared to say of Edgar what was said -of you, either a great shout of derisive laughter would have gone -up or hell would have broken loose in that court-room. With very few -exceptions, no one there could have imagined him playing any such part. -And they cannot to-day. They have known him too long, admired him too -long, seen him too many times in loving companionship with the man now -dead to weigh any testimony or be moved by any circumstance suggestive -of anything so flagrant as guilt of this nature. The proof must be -absolute before the bravest among us would dare assail his name to this -extent. And the proof is not absolute. On the contrary, it is very -defective; for so far as any of us can see, the crime, if perpetrated -by him, lacks motive. Shall I explain?” - -“Pray do. Since we have gone thus far, let us go the full length. Light -is what I want; light on every angle of this affair. If it serves to -clear him as it now seems it has served to clear me, I shall rejoice.” - -Mr. Jackson, with a quick motion, held out his hand. I took it. We were -friends from that hour. - -“First, then,” continued the lawyer, “you must understand that Edgar -has undergone a rigid examination at the hands of the police. This may -not have appeared at the inquest but nevertheless what I say is true. -Now taking his story as a basis, we have this much to go upon: - -“He has always been led to believe that his future had been cut out for -him according to the schedule universally understood and accepted. He -was not only to marry Orpha, but to inherit personally the vast fortune -which was to support her in the way to which she is entitled. No doubt -as to this being his uncle’s intention--an intention already embodied -in a will drawn up by Mr. Dunn--ever crossed his mind till you came -upon the scene; and not then immediately. Even the misunderstanding -with his uncle, occasioned, as I am told, by Mr. Bartholomew learning -of some obligations he had entered into of which he was himself -ashamed, failed to awaken the least fear in his mind of any change -in his uncle’s testamentary intentions, or any real lessening of -the affection which had prompted these intentions. Indeed, so much -confidence did he have in his place in his uncle’s heart that he -consented, almost with a smile, to defer the announcement of what he -considered a definite engagement with Orpha, because he saw signs of -illness in his uncle and could not think of crossing him. But he had no -fear, as I have said, that all would not come right in time and the end -be what it should be. - -“Nor did his mind change with the sudden signs of favor shown by his -uncle towards yourself. The odd scheme of sharing with you, by a -definite arrangement, the care which your uncle’s invalid condition -soon called for, he accepted without question, as he did every other -whim of his autocratic relative. But when the servants began to talk -to him of how much writing his uncle did while lying in his bed, and -whispers of a new will, drawn up in your absence as well as in his -began to circulate through the house, he grew sufficiently alarmed to -call on Mr. Dunn at his office and propound a few inquiries. The result -was a complete restoration of his tranquillity; for Mr. Dunn, having -been kept in ignorance of another lawyer having visited Quenton Court -immediately upon his departure, and supposing that the will he had -prepared and seen attested was the last expression of Mr. Bartholomew’s -wishes, gave Edgar such unqualified assurances of a secured future -that he naturally was thrown completely off his balance when on the -night which proved to be Mr. Bartholomew’s last, he was summoned to -his uncle’s presence and was shown not only one new will but _two_, -alike in all respects save in the essential point with which we are -both acquainted. Now, as I am as anxious as you are to do justice -to the young man, I will say that if your uncle was looking for any -wonderful display of generosity from one who saw in a moment the hopes -of a lifetime threatened with total disaster, then he was expecting -too much. Of course, Edgar rebelled and said words which hurt the old -gentleman. He would not have been normal otherwise. But what I want to -impress upon you in connection with this interview is this. He left -the room with these words ringing in his ears, ‘Now we will see what -your cousin has to say. When he quits me, but one of these two wills -will remain, and that one you must make up your mind to recognize.’ -Therefore,” and here Mr. Jackson leaned towards me in his desire to -hold my full attention, “he went from that room with every reason to -fear that the will to be destroyed was the one favoring himself, and -the one to be retained that which made you chief heir and the probable -husband of Orpha. Have we heard of anything having occurred between -then and early morning to reverse the conclusions of that moment? -No. Then why should he resort to crime in order to shorten the few -remaining days of his uncle’s life when he had every reason to believe -that his death would only hasten the triumph of his rival?” - -I was speechless, dazed by a fact that may have visited my mind, but -which had never before been clearly formulated there! Seeing this, the -lawyer went on to say: - -“That is why our hands are held.” - -Still I did not speak. I was thinking. What I had said we would not do -had been done. The word crime had been used in connection with Edgar, -and I had let it pass. The veil was torn aside. There was no use in -asking to have it drawn to again. I would serve him better by looking -the thing squarely in the face and meeting it as I had met the attack -against myself, with honesty and high purpose. But first I must make -some acknowledgment of the conclusion to which this all pointed, and I -did it in these words. - -“You see! The boy is innocent.” - -“I have not said that.” - -“But I have said it.” - -“Very good, you have said it; now go on.” - -This was not so easy. But the lawyer was waiting and watching me and I -finally stammered forth: - -“There is some small fact thus far successfully suppressed which when -known will change the trend of public opinion and clarify the whole -situation.” - -“Exactly, and till it is, we will continue the search for the will -which I honestly believe lies hidden somewhere in that mysterious -house. Had he destroyed it during that interval in which he was left -alone, there would have been some signs left in the ashes on the -hearth; and Wealthy denies seeing anything of the sort when she stooped -to replenish the fire that night, and so does Clarke, who, at Edgar’s -instigation, took up the ashes after their first failure to find the -will and carefully sifted them in the cellar.” - -“I have been wondering if they did that.” - -“Well, they did, or so I have been told. Besides, you must remember the -look of consternation, if not of horror, which crossed your uncle’s -face as he felt that death was upon him and he could no longer speak. -If he had destroyed both wills, the one when alone, the other in the -face of you all, he would have shown no such emotion. He had simply -been eliminating every contestant save his daughter--something which -should have given him peace.” - -“You are right. And as for myself I propose to keep quiet, hoping that -the mystery will soon end. Do you think that the police will allow me -to leave town?” - -“Where do you want to go?” - -“Back to work; to my desk at Meadows & Waite in New York.” - -“I don’t think that I would do that. You will meet with much -unpleasantness.” - -“I must learn to endure cold looks and hypocritical smiles.” - -“But not unnecessarily. I would advise you to take a room at the -Sheldon; live quietly and wait. If you wish to write a suitable -explanation to your firm, do so. There can be no harm in that.” - -My heart leaped. His advice was good. I should at least be in the same -town as Orpha. - -“There is just one thing more,” I observed, as we were standing near -his office door preparatory to my departure. “Did Edgar say whether -he saw the wills themselves or, like myself, only the two envelopes -presumably holding them?” - -He was shown them open. Mr. Bartholomew took them one after the other -from their envelopes and, spreading them out on the desk, pointed out -the name of Edgar Quenton, the son of my brother, Frederick, on the -one, and Edgar Quenton, the son of my brother, James, on the other, -and so stood with his finger pressed on the latter while they had -their little scene. When that was over, he folded the two wills up -again and put them back in their several envelopes, all without help, -Edgar looking on, as I have no doubt, in a white heat of perfectly -justifiable indignation. “Can’t you see the picture?” - -I could and did, but I had no disposition to dwell on it. A question -had risen in my mind to which I must have an answer. - -“You speak of Edgar looking on. At what, may I ask? At Uncle’s -handling of the wills or in a general way at Uncle himself?” - -“He said that he kept his eye on the two wills.” - -“Oh! and did he note into which envelope the one went in which he was -most interested,--the one favoring himself?” - -“Yes, but the envelopes were alike, neither being marked at that time, -and as his uncle jumbled them together in his hands, this did not help -him or us.” - -“Ah, the red mark was put on later?” - -“Yes. The pencil with which he did it was found on the floor.” - -I tried to find a way through these shadows,--to spur my memory into -recalling the one essential thing which would settle a very vexing -question--but I was obliged to give it up with the acknowledgment: - -“That mark was in the corner of one of the envelopes at the time -I saw them; but I do not know which will it covered. God! what a -complication!” - -“Yes. No daylight yet, my boy. But it will come. Some trivial matter, -unseen as yet, or if seen regarded as of no account, will provide us -with a clew, leading straight to the very heart of this mystery. I -believe this, and you must, too; otherwise you will find your life a -little hard to bear.” - -I braced myself. I shrank unaccountably from what I felt it to be -my present duty to communicate. I always did when there was any -possibility of Orpha’s name coming up. - -“Some trivial matter? An unexpected clew?” I repeated. “Mr. Jackson, -I have been keeping back a trivial matter which may yet prove to be a -clew.” - -And I told him of the note made up of printed letters which I had found -in my box of cigars. - -He was much interested in it and regretted exceedingly that I had -obeyed the injunction to burn it. - -“From whom did this communication come?” - -That I could not answer. I had my own thoughts. Much thinking and -perhaps much hoping had led me to believe that it was from Orpha; but -I could not say this to him. Happily his own thoughts had turned to -the servants and I foresaw that sooner or later they were likely to -have a strenuous time with him. As his brows puckered and he seemed in -imagination to have them already under examination, I took a sudden -resolution. - -“Mr. Jackson, I have heard--I have read--of a means now in use in -police investigation which sometimes leads to astonishing results.” -I spoke hesitatingly, for I felt the absurdity of my offering any -suggestion to this able lawyer. “The phial which held the poison was -handled--must have been handled. Wouldn’t it show finger-prints--” - -The lawyer threw back his head with a good-natured snort and I stopped -confused. - -“I know that it is ridiculous for me,” I began-- - -But he cut me short very quickly. - -“No, it’s not ridiculous. I was just pleased; that’s all. Of course -the police made use of this new method of detection. Looked about for -finger-prints and all that and found some, I have been told. But you -must remember that two days at least elapsed between Mr. Bartholomew’s -death and any suspicion of foul play. That such things as the glass and -other small matters had all been removed and--here is the important -point; the most important of all,--that the cabinet which held the -medicines had been visited and the bottle labeled _dangerous_ touched, -if not lifted entirely out, and that by more than one person. Of -course, they found finger-prints on it and on the woodwork of the -cabinet, but they were those of Orpha, Edgar and Wealthy who rushed -up to examine the same at the first intimation that your uncle’s -death might have been due to the use of this deadly drug. And now you -will see why I felt something like pleasure at your naïve mention of -finger-prints. Of all the persons who knew of the location and harmful -nature of this medicine, you only failed to leave upon the phial this -irrefutable proof of having had it in your hand. Now you know the main -reason why the police have had the courage to dare public opinion. Your -finger-prints were not to be found on anything connected with that -cabinet.” - -“My finger-prints? What do they know of my finger-prints. I never had -them taken.” - -Again that characteristic snort. - -“You have had a personal visit, I am told, from the Inspector. What do -you think of him? Don’t you judge him to be quite capable of securing -an impression of your finger-tips, if he so desired, during the course -of an interview lasting over two hours?” - -I remembered his holding out to me a cigarette case and urging me to -smoke. Did I do so? Yes. Did I touch the case? Yes, I took it in hand. -Well, as it had done me no harm, I could afford to smile and I did. - -“Yes, he is quite capable of putting over a little thing like that. -Bless him for it.” - -“Yes, you are a fortunate lad to have won his good will.” - -I thought of Edgar and of the power which, seemingly without effort, he -exercised over every kind of person with whom he came in contact, and -was grateful that in my extremity I had found one man, if not two, who -trusted me. - -Just a little buoyed up by my success in this venture, I attempted -another. - -“There is just one thing more, Mr. Jackson. There is a name which we -have not mentioned--that is, in any serious connection,--but which, -if we stop to think, may suggest something to our minds worthy of -discussion. I mean--Clarke’s. Can it be that under his straightforward -and devoted manner he has held concealed jealousies or animosities -which demanded revenge?” - -“I have no acquaintance with the man; but I heard the Inspector -say that he wished every one he had talked to about this crime had -the simple candor and quiet understanding of Luke Clarke. Though -broken-hearted over his loss, he stands ready to answer any and all -questions; declaring that life will be worth nothing to him till he -knows who killed the man he has served for fifteen years. I don’t think -there is anything further to be got out of Clarke. The Inspector is -positive that there is not.” - -But was I? By no means. I was not sure of anything but Orpha’s beauty -and worth and the love I felt for her; and vented my dissatisfaction in -the querulous cry: - -“Why should I waste your time any longer? I have nothing to offer; -nothing more to suggest. To tell the truth, Mr. Jackson, I am all at -sea.” - -And he, being, I suspect, somewhat at sea himself, accepted my “Good -day,” and allowed me to go. - - -XXXVIII - -“_There is some small fact thus far successfully suppressed, which, -when known, will alter the trend of public opinion and clarify the -whole situation_.” - -A sentence almost fatuous in its expression of a self-evident truth. -One, too, which had been uttered by myself. But foolish and fatuous as -it was, it kept ringing on in my brain all that day and far into the -night, until I formulated for myself another one less general and more -likely to lead to a definite conclusion: - -“Something occurred between the hour I left Uncle’s room and my visit -to his door at three o’clock in the morning which from its nature was -calculated to make Edgar indifferent to the destruction of the will -marked with red and Wealthy so apprehensive of harm to him that to save -him from the attention of the police she was willing to sacrifice me -and perjure herself before the Coroner.” What was it? - -You see from declining to connect Edgar with this crime, I had come to -the point of not only admitting the possibility of his guilt, but of -arguing for and against it in my own mind. I had almost rather have -died than do this; but the word having once passed between me and Mr. -Jackson, every instinct within me clamored for a confutation of my -doubt or a confirmation of it so strong that my duty would be plain and -the future of Orpha settled as her father would have it. - -To repeat then: to understand this crime and to locate the guilty hand -which dropped poison into the sick man’s soothing mixture it was -necessary to discover what had happened somewhere in the house between -the hours I have mentioned, of sufficient moment to account for Edgar’s -attitude and that of the faithful Wealthy. - -But one conjecture suggested itself after hours of thought. Was it -not possible that while I was below, Clarke in his room, and Wealthy -in Orpha’s, that Edgar had made his way for the second time into his -uncle’s presence, persuaded him to revoke his decision and even gone so -far as to obtain from him the will adverse to his own hopes? - -Thus fortified, but still fearful of further vacillation on the part -of one whose mind, once so strong, seemed now to veer this way or that -with every influence brought to bear upon it, what more natural than, -given a criminal’s heart, he should think of the one and only way of -ending this indecision and making himself safe from this very hour. - -A glass of water--a drop of medicine from the bottle labeled -_dangerous_--a quick good-night--and a hasty departure! - -It made the hair stir on my forehead to conceive of all this in -connection with a man like Edgar. But my thoughts, once allowed to -enter this groove, would run on. - -The deed is done; now to regain his room. That room is near. He has but -to cross the hall. A few steps and he is at the stair-head,--has passed -it, when a noise from below startles him, and peering down, he sees -Wealthy coming up from the lower floor. - -Wealthy! ready to tell any story when confronted as she soon would be -by the fact that death had followed his visit--death which in this case -meant murder. - -It was base beyond belief: hardly to be thought of, but did it not -explain every fact? - -I would see. - -First, it accounted for the empty envelope and the disappearance of -the will which it had held. Also for the fact that this will could not -be found in any place accessible to a man too feeble to leave his own -room. It had been given to Edgar and he had carried it away. - -(Had they searched his room for it? They had searched mine and they had -searched me. Had they been fair enough to search his room and to search -him?) - -Secondly: Edgar’s restlessness on that fatal night. The watch he kept -on Uncle’s door. The interest he had shown at seeing me there and -possibly his reluctance to incriminate me by any absolute assertion -which would link me to a crime which he, above all others, knew that I -had not committed. - -Thirdly: the comparative calmness with which he saw his uncle, still -undecided, or what was fully as probable, confused in mind by his -sufferings and the near approach of death, order the destruction of -the remaining will, to preserve which and make it operative he had -risked the remorse of a lifetime. He knew that with both wills gone, -the third and original one which at that time he believed to be still -in existence would secure for him even more than the one he saw being -consumed before his eyes, viz.: the undisputed possession of the -Bartholomew estate. - -So much for the time preceding the discovery that crime and not the -hazard of disease had caused our uncle’s sudden death. How about -Edgar’s conduct since? Was there anything in that to dispute this -theory? - -Not absolutely. Emotion, under circumstances so tragic, would be -expected from him; and with his quick mind and knowledge of the -worshipful affection felt for him by every member of the household, he -must have had little fear of any unfortunate results to himself and a -most lively recognition of where the blame would fall if he acted his -part with the skill of which he was the undoubted master. - -There was but one remote possibility which might turn the tables. -Perhaps, it came across him like a flash; perhaps, he had thought of -it before, but considered it of no consequence so long as it was the -universally accepted belief that Uncle had died at natural death. - -And this brings us to Fourthly: - -Was it in accordance with my theory or the reverse, for him, -immediately and before the doctor could appear, to rush upstairs in -company with Orpha and Nurse Wealthy to inspect the cabinet where the -medicines were kept? - -In full accordance with my theory. Knowing that he must have left -finger-marks there on bottle or shelf, he takes the one way to confound -suspicion: adds more of his own, and passes the phial into the hands of -the two who accompanied him on this very excusable errand. - -Was there any other fact which I could remember which might tip the -scale, so heavily weighted, even a trifle the other way? - -Yes, one--a big one. The impossibility for me even now to attribute -such deviltry to a man who had certainly loved the victim of this -monstrous crime. - -As I rose from this effort to sound the murky depths into which my -thoughts had groveled in spite of myself and all the proprieties, I -found by the strong feeling of revulsion which made the memory of the -past hour hateful to me, that I could never pursue the road which I -had thus carefully mapped out for myself. That, innocent or guilty, -Edgar Quenton Bartholomew, beloved by our uncle, was sacred in my eyes -because of that love, and that whatever might be done by others to fix -this crime upon him, I could do nothing--would do nothing to help them -even if I must continue to bear to the very end the opprobrium under -which I now labored. - -And Orpha? Had I forgotten my fears for her--the duty I had felt to -preserve her from a step which might mean more than unhappiness--might -mean shame? - -No; but in that moment of decision made for me by my own nature, the -conviction had come that I need not be apprehensive of Orpha marrying -Edgar or marrying me while this question between us remained unsettled. - -She would be neutral to the end, aye, even if her heart broke. I knew -my darling. - -In this mood and in this determination I remained for two weeks. I -tried to divert myself by reading, and I think my love for books which -presently grew into a passion had its inception in that monotonous -succession of day after day without a break in the suspense which held -me like a hand upon my throat. - -I was not treated ill, I was simply boycotted. This made it unpleasant -for me to walk the streets, though I never hesitated to do so when I -had a purpose in view. - -Of Orpha I heard little, though now and then some whiff of gossip from -Quenton Court would reach me. She had filled the house with guests, but -there was no gayety. The only young person among them was Lucy Colfax, -who was preparing for her wedding. The rest were relatives of humble -means and few pleasures to whom life amid the comforts and splendors -of Quenton Court was like a visit to fairyland. Edgar had followed -my example and taken up his abode in one of the hotels. But he spent -most of his evenings at the house where he soon became the idol of the -various aunts and cousins who possibly would never have honored me with -anything beyond a certain civility. - -Ere long I heard of his intention to leave town. With his position no -better defined than it was, he found C---- intolerable. - -I wondered if they would let him go! By _they_ I meant the police. If -they did, I meant to go too, or at least to make an effort to do so. I -wanted to work. I wanted to feel my manhood once again active. I wrote -to the firm in whose offices I had a desk. - -This is my letter robbed of its heading and signature. - - I am well aware in what light I have been held up to the public by - the New York press. No one accuses me, yet there are many who think - me capable of a great crime. If this were true I should be the most - despicable of men. For my uncle was my good friend and made a man of - me out of very indifferent material. I revered him and as my wish was - to please him while he was living so it is my present desire to do as - he would have me do now that he is gone. - - If on the receipt of this you advise me not to come, I shall not take - it as an expression of disbelief in what I have said but as a result - of your kindly judgment that my place is in my home town so long as - there is any doubt of the innocency of my relations towards my uncle. - -This dispatched, I waited three days for a response. Then I received -this telegram: - - Come. - -Going immediately to Headquarters, I sought out the Inspector and -showed him this message. - -“Shall I go or shall I not?” I asked. - -He did not answer at once; seemed to hesitate and finally left the room -for a few minutes. When he came back he smiled and said: - -“My answer is yes. You are young. If you wait for full justification -in this case, you may have to wait a lifetime. And then again you may -not.” - -I wrung his hand and for the next hour forgot everything but the manner -in which I would make the attempt to see Orpha. I could not leave -without a word of farewell to the one being for whose sake I kept my -soul from despair. - -I dared not call without permission. I feared a rebuff at the front -door; Orpha would certainly be out. Again, I might write and she -might get the letter, but I could not be sure. Bliss handled the mail -and--and--Of course I was unreasonably suspicious, but it was so -important for me to reach her very self, or to know that any refusal -or inability to see me came from her very self, that I wished to take -every precaution. In pursuance of this idea I ran over the list of -servants to see if there was one who in my estimation could be trusted -to hand her a note. From Wealthy down I named them one by one and shook -my head over each. Discouraged, I rose and went out and almost at the -first corner I ran upon Clarke. - -What came over me at the sight of his uncompromising countenance I do -not know, but I stopped him and threw myself upon his mercy. It was an -act more in keeping with Edgar’s character than with mine, and I cannot -account for it save by the certainty I possessed that if he did not -want to do what I requested, he would say so. He might be blunt, even -accusing, but he would not be insincere or play me false. - -“Clarke, well met.” Thus I accosted him. “I am going to leave town. -I may come back and I may not. Will you do me this favor? I am very -anxious to have Miss Bartholomew know that I greatly desire to say -good-by to her, but hardly feel at liberty to telephone. If she is -willing to see me I shall feel honored.” - -“I have left Quenton Court for the present,” he objected. “I hope to -return when it has a master.” - -If he noticed my emotion at this straightforward if crude statement, he -gave no sign of having done so. He simply remained standing like a man -awaiting orders, and I hastened to remark: - -“But you will be going there to see your old friends, to-day possibly, -to-night at latest if you have any good reason for it.” - -“Yes, I have still a trunk or two there. I will call for them to-night, -and I will give Miss Orpha your message. Where shall I bring the reply?” - -I told him and he walked off, erect, unmoved, and to all appearance -totally unconscious of the fact--or if conscious of it totally -unaffected by it--that he had thrown a ray of light into a cavern of -gloom, and helped a man to face life again who had almost preferred -death. - -Evening came and with it a telephone message. - - “She will see you to-morrow morning at eleven.” - - -XXXIX - -What should I say to her? How begin? How keep the poise due to her and -due to myself, with her dear face turned up to mine and possibly her -hand responding to my clasp? - -Futile questions. When I entered her presence it was to find that my -course was properly marked out. She was not alone. Lucy Colfax was with -her and the greeting I received from the one was dutifully repeated -by the other. I was caught as in a trap; but pride came to my rescue, -coupled with a recognition of the real service she was doing me in -restraining me to the formalities of a friendly call. - -But I would not be restrained too far. What in my colder moments I had -planned to say, I would say, even with Lucy Colfax standing by and -listening. Lucy Colfax! whose story I knew much better than she did -mine. - -“Cousin Orpha,” I began, with a side glance at Miss Colfax which that -brilliant brunette did not take amiss, “I am going almost immediately -to New York to take up again the business in which I was occupied when -all was well here and my duty seemed plain. Inspector Redding has my -address and I will always be at his call. And at that of any one else -who wants me for any service worth the journey. If you--” a little -catch in my voice warned me to be brief. “If you have need of me, -though it be but a question you want answered, I will come as readily -as though it were a peremptory summons. I am your cousin and there is -no reason in the world why I should not do a cousin’s duty by you.” - -“None,” she answered. But she did not reach out her hand. Only stood -there, a sweet, sane woman, bidding good-by to a friend. - -I honored her for her attitude; but my heart bade me begone. Bowing to -Miss Colfax whose eyes I felt positive had never left my face, I tried -to show the same deference to Orpha. Perhaps I succeeded but somehow I -think I failed, for when I was in the street again all I could remember -was the surprised look in her eyes which yet were the sweetest it had -ever been my good fortune to meet. - - -XL - -It was a dream,--nothing else--but it made a very strong impression -upon me. I could not forget it, though I was much occupied the next -morning and for several days afterwards. It was so like life and the -picture it left behind it was so vivid. - -What was the picture? Just this; but as plain to my eye as if presented -to it by a motion-picture film. Orpha, standing by herself alone, -staring at some object lying in her open palm. She was dressed in -white, not black. This I distinctly remember. Also that her hair which -I had never seen save when dressed and fastened close to her head, -lay in masses on her shoulders. A picture of loveliness but of great -mental perplexity also. She was intrigued by what she was looking at. -Astonishment was visible on her features and what I instinctively -interpreted as alarm gave a rigidity to her figure far from natural to -it. - -Such was my dream; such the picture which would not leave me, nor -explain itself for days. - -I had got well into the swing of work and was able, strange as it may -seem, to hold my own in all business matters, notwithstanding the -personal anxieties which devoured my mind and heart the moment I was -released from present duty. I had received one or two letters from Mr. -Jackson, which while encouraging in a general way, added little to my -knowledge of how matters in which I was so concerned were progressing -in C----. Edgar was no longer there. In fact, he was in the same city -as myself, but for what purpose or where located he could not tell me. -The press had ceased covering the first page with unmeaning headlines -concerning a tragedy which offered no new features; and although there -was a large quota of interested persons who inveighed against the -police for allowing me to leave town, there were others, the number of -which was rapidly growing, who ventured to state that time and effort, -however aided by an inexhaustible purse, would fail to bring to light -any further explanation of their leading citizen’s sudden death, for -the very good reason that there was nothing further to bring out,--the -doctor’s report having been a mistaken one, and the death simply -natural,--that is, the result of undue excitement. - -“But there remain some few things of which the public is ignorant.” - -In this manner Mr. Jackson ended his last letter. - - -XLI - -_There remain some few things of which the public is ignorant._ This -was equally true of the police, or some move would have been made by -them before this. - - * * * * * - -The clew afforded by the disappearance simultaneously with that of the -will of a key considered of enough importance by its owner to have -been kept upon his person had evidently led to nothing. This surprised -me, for I had laid great store by it; and it was after some hours of -irritating thought on this subject that I had the dream with which I -have opened this account of a fresh phase in my troubled life. - -Perhaps, the dream was but a natural sequence of the thought which had -preceded it. I was willing to believe so. But what help was there in -that? What help was there for me in anything but work; and to my work I -went. - -But with evening came a fresh trial. I was walking up Broadway when I -ran almost into the arms of Edgar. He recoiled and I recoiled, then, -with a quick nod, he hurried past, leaving behind him an impression -which brought up strange images. A blind prisoner groping in the dark. -A marooned sailor searching the boundless waste for a ship which will -never show itself above the horizon. A desert wanderer who sees the -oasis which promises the one drop of water which will save him fade -into ghastly mirage. Anything, everything which bespeaks the loss of -hope and the approach of doom. - -I was struck to the heart. I tried to follow him, when, plainly before -me--as plainly as he had himself appeared a moment previous, I saw her -standing in a light place looking down at something in her hand, and I -stopped short. - -When I was ready to move on again, he was gone, leaving me very -unhappy. The gay youth, the darling of society, the beloved of the -finest, of the biggest-natured, and, above all, of the tenderest heart -I knew--come to this in a few short weeks! As God lives, during the -days while the impression lay strongest upon me, I could have cursed -the hour I left my own country to be the cause, however innocently, of -such an overthrow. - -That he had shown signs of dissipation added poignancy to my distress. -Self-indulgence of any kind had never been one of his failings. The -serpent coiled about his heart must be biting deep into its core to -drive one so fastidious into excess. - -Three days later I saw him again. Strange as this may seem in a city -of over a million, it happened, and that is all there is to it. I -was passing down Forty-second Street on my way to the restaurant I -patronized when he turned the corner ahead of me and moved languidly on -in the same direction. I had still a block to walk, so I kept my pace, -wondering if he could possibly be bound for the same eating-place, -which, by the way, was the one where we had first met. If so, would it -be well for me to follow; and I was yet debating this point when I saw -another man turn that same corner and move along in his wake some fifty -feet behind him and some thirty in front of me. - -This was a natural occurrence enough, and would not even have attracted -my attention if there had not been something familiar in this man’s -appearance--something which brought vividly to mind my former encounter -with Edgar on Broadway. What was the connection? Then suddenly I -remembered. As I shook myself free from the apathy following this -startling vision of Orpha which, like the clutch of a detaining hand, -had hindered my mad rush after Edgar, I found myself staring at the -face of a man brushing by me with a lack of ceremony which showed that -he was in a hurry if I was not. He was the same as the one now before -me walking more and more slowly but still holding his own about midway -between us two. No coincidence in this. He was here because Edgar was -here, or--I had to acknowledge it to myself--because I was here, always -here at this time in the late afternoon. - -I did not stop to decide on which of us two his mind was most set--on -both perhaps--but pursued my course, entering the restaurant soon after -the plain clothes man who appeared to be shadowing us. - -Edgar was already seated when I stepped in, but in such a remote and -inconspicuous corner that the man who had preceded me had to look -covertly in all directions before he espied him. When he did, he took -a seat near the door and in a moment was lost to sight behind the -newspaper which he had taken from his pocket. There being but one empty -seat, I took it. It, too, was near the door. - -It seemed a farce to order a meal under these circumstances. But -necessity knows no law; it would not do to appear singular. And when my -dinner was served, I ate it, happy that I was so placed that I could -neither see Edgar nor he me. - -The man behind the newspaper, after a considerable wait, turned his -attention to the chafing-dish which had been set down before him. -Fifteen minutes went by; and then I saw from a sudden movement made -by this man that Edgar had risen and was coming my way. Though there -was some little disturbance at the time, owing to the breaking up of -a party of women all seeking egress through the same narrow passage, -it seemed to me that I could hear his footsteps amid all the rest, and -waited and watched till I saw our man rise and carelessly add himself -to the merry throng. - -As he went by me, I was sure that he gave me one quick look which -did not hinder me from rising, money in hand, for the waiter who -fortunately stood within call. - -My back was to the passage through which Edgar must approach, but I -was sure that I knew the very instant he went by, and was still more -certain that I should not leave the place without another encounter -with him, eye to eye. - -But this was the time when my foresight failed me. He did not linger as -usual to buy a cigar, and so was out of the door a minute or two before -me. When I felt the pavement under my feet and paused to look for him -in the direction from which he had come, it was to see him going the -other way, nonchalantly followed by the man I had set down in my mind -as an agent of police. - -That he really was such became a surety when they both vanished -together around the next corner. Edgar was being shadowed. Was I? I -judged not; for on looking back I found the street to be quite clear. - - -XLII - -That night, the vision came for the third time of Orpha gazing intently -down at her open palm. It held me; it gripped me till, bathed in sweat, -I started up, assured at last of its actual meaning. It was the key, -the missing key that was offered to my view in my darling’s grasp. She -had been made the repositor of it--or she had found it--and did not -know what to do with it. I saw it all, I was practical; above all else, -practical. - -However, I sent this letter to Mr. Jackson the next morning: “What have -the police done about the key? Have they questioned Miss Bartholomew?” -and was more restless than ever till I got the reply. - - Nothing doing. Clarke acknowledges that Mr. Bartholomew carried a key - around with him attached to a long chain about his neck. He had done - so when Clarke first entered his service and had continued to do so - ever since. But he never alluded to it but once when he said: “This is - my secret, Clarke. You will never speak of it, I know.” - - Asked when he saw it last, he responded in his blunt honest way, “The - night he died. It was there when I prepared him for bed.” “And not - when you helped the undertaker’s men to lay him out?” “No, I think I - would have seen it or they would have mentioned it if it had been.” - - Urged to tell whether he had since informed any one of the - existence and consequent disappearance of this key, his reply was - characteristic. “No, why should I? Did I not say that Mr. Bartholomew - spoke of it to me as his secret?” “Then you did not send the letter - received in regard to it?” His eyes opened wide, his surprise appeared - to be genuine. “Who--” he began; then slowly and repeatedly shook - his head. “I wrote no letter,” he asserted, “and I didn’t know that - any one else knew anything about this chain and key.” “It was not - written,” was the retort; at which his eyes opened wider yet and - he shook his head all the more vigorously. “Ask some one else,” he - begged; “that is, if you must know what Mr. Bartholomew was so anxious - to have kept secret.” Still loyal, you see, to a mere wish expressed - by Mr. Bartholomew. - - I have given in detail this unofficial examination of the man who from - his position as body servant must know better than any one else the - facts about this key. But I can in a few words give you the result - of questioning Miss Bartholomew and the woman Wealthy,--the only - other two persons likely to share his knowledge. Miss Bartholomew was - astonished beyond measure to hear that there was any such key and - especially by the fact that he had carried it in this secret way about - with him. Wealthy was astonished also, but not in the same way. She - had seen the chain many times in her attendance upon him as nurse, but - had always supposed that it supported some trinket of his dead wife, - for whom he seemed to have cherished an almost idolatrous affection. - She knew nothing about any key. - - You may rely on the above as I was the unofficial examiner; also why - I say “Nothing doing” to your inquiries about the key. But the police - might have a different story to tell if one could overcome their - reticence. Of this be sure; they are working as they never have worked - yet to get at the core of this mystery and lift the ban which has - settled over your once highly reputed family. - - -XLIII - -So! the hopes I had founded upon my dream and its consequent visions -had all vanished in mist. The clew was in other hands than Orpha’s. She -was as ignorant now as ever of the existence of the key, concerning -which I had from time to time imagined that she had had some special -knowledge. I suppose I should have been thankful to see her thus -removed from direct connection with what might involve her in unknown -difficulties. Perhaps I was. Certainly there was nothing more that I -could do for her or for any one; least of all for myself. I could but -add one more to the many persons waiting, some in patience, some in -indignant protest for developments which would end all wild guessing -and fix the blame where it rightfully belonged. - -But when it became a common thing for me to run upon Edgar at the -restaurant in Forty-second Street, sometimes getting his short nod, -sometimes nothing but a stare, I began to think that his frequent -appearance there had a meaning I could safely associate with myself. -For under the obvious crustiness of this new nature of his I observed -a quickly checked impulse to accost me--a desire almost passionate to -speak, held back by scorn or fear. What if I should accost him! Force -the words from his lips which I always saw hovering there? It might -precipitate matters. The man whom I had regarded as his shadow was -no longer in evidence. To be sure his place might have been taken by -some one else whom I had not yet identified. But that must be risked. -Accordingly the next time Edgar showed himself at the restaurant, I -followed him into his corner and, ignoring the startled frown by which -I was met, sat down in front of him, saying with blunt directness which -left him no opportunity for protest. - -“Let us talk. We are both suffering. I cannot live this way nor can -you. Let us have it out. If not here, then in some other place. I -will go anywhere you say. But first before we take a step you must -understand this. I am an honest man, Edgar, and my feeling for you is -one from which you need not shrink. If you will be as honest with me--” - -He laughed, but in a tone totally different from the merry peal which -had once brought a smile from lips now buried out of sight. - -“Honest with you?” He muttered; but rose as he said this and reached -for his overcoat, to the astonishment of the waiter advancing to serve -us. - -Laying a coin on the table, I rose to my feet and in a few minutes we -were both in the street, walking I knew not where, for I was not so -well acquainted with the city as he, and was quite willing to follow -where he led. - -Meantime we were silent, his breath coming quickly and mine far from -equable. I was glad when we paused, but surprised that it was in the -middle of a quiet block with a high boarded fence running half its -length, against which he took his stand, as he said: - -“Why go further? You have seen my misery and you want to talk. Talk -about what? Our uncle’s death? You know more about that than I do; and -more about the will, too, I am ready to take my oath. And you want to -talk! talk! You--” - -“No names, Edgar. You heard what I said at the inquest. I can but -repeat every word of denial which I uttered then. You may find it hard -to believe me or you may be just amusing yourself with me for some -purpose which I find it hard to comprehend. I am willing it should -be either, if you will be plain with me and say your say. For I am -quite aware, however you may seek to hide it, that there is something -you wish me to know; something that would clear the road between us; -something which it would be better for you to speak and for me to hear -than this fruitless interchange of meaningless words which lead nowhere -and bring small comfort.” - -“What do you mean?” He was ghastly white or the pale gleam from the -opposite lamp-post was very deceptive. “I don’t know what you mean,” he -repeated, stepping forward from the closely boarded fence that I might -not see how he was shaking. - -“I am very sorry,” I began; then abruptly, “I am sure that you do know -what I mean, but if you prefer silence,--prefer things to go on as they -are, I will try and bear it, hoping that some of these mysteries may -be cleared up and confidence restored again between us, if only for -Orpha’s sake. You must wish that too.” - -“Orpha!” He spoke the word strangely, almost mechanically. There was no -thought behind the utterance. Then as he looked up and met my eye, the -color came into his cheeks and he cried: - -“Do not remind me of all that I have lost. Uncle, fortune, love. I am -poorer than a beggar, for he--” - -He pulled himself up with a jerk, drew a deep breath and cast an uneasy -look up and down the street. - -“Do you know,” he half whispered, “I sometimes think I am followed. I -cannot seem to get away all by myself. There is always some one around. -Do you think that pure fancy? Am I getting to be a little batty? Are -they afraid that I will destroy myself? I have been tempted to do so, -but I am not yet ready to meet my uncle’s eye.” - -I heard this though it was rather muttered than said and my cold -heart seemed to turn over in my bosom, for despair was in the tone and -the vision which came with it was not that of Orpha but of another -woman--the woman he had lost as he had lost his fortune and lost the -man whose gaze he dared not cross death’s river to meet. - -I tried to take his hand--to bridge the fathomless gulf between us; but -he fixed me with his eye, and, laughing with an echo which caused the -two or three passers-by to turn their heads as they hurried on, he said -in measured tones: - -“You are the cause of it all.” And turned away and passed quickly down -the street, leaving me both exhausted and unenlightened. - - -XLIV - -Next day I received a telegram from Mr. Jackson. It was to the effect -that he would like some information concerning a man named John E. -Miller, who had his office somewhere on Thirty-fifth Street. He was an -attorney and in some way connected with the business in which we were -interested. - -This, as you will see, brings us to the incident related in the first -chapter of this story. Having obtained Mr. Miller’s address from -the telephone book, I was searching the block for his number when -the gentleman himself, anxious to be off to his injured child and, -observing how I looked this way and that, rushed up to me and making -sure that I answered to the name of Edgar Quenton Bartholomew, thrust -into my hands a letter and after that a package containing, as he said, -a key of much importance, both of which were obviously meant for Edgar -and not for me. - -Why, in the confusion of the moment, I let him go, leaving the key and -letter in my hand, and why, after taking them to my hotel, I had the -struggle of my life deciding what I should do with them, should now be -plain to you. For I felt as sure then as later, that the key which had -thus, by a stroke of Providence, come into my possession was _the_ key -found by some one and forwarded by some one, without the knowledge of -the police, to this Mr. Miller who in turn supposed he had placed it in -Edgar’s hands. - -Believing this, I also believed that it was the only _Open sesame_ to -some hitherto undiscovered drawer or cupboard in which the will might -be found. If passed on to Edgar what surety had I that if this will -should prove to be inimical to his interests it would ever see the -light. - -There is a devil in every man’s soul and mine was not silent that -night. I wanted to be the first to lay hands on that will and learn its -contents. Would I be to blame if I kept this key and made use of it to -find what was my own? I would never, never treat Edgar as I felt sure -that he would treat me, if this advantage should be his. The house and -everything in it had been bequeathed to me. Morally it was all mine and -soon would be legally so if I profited by this chance. So I reasoned, -hating myself all the while, but keeping up the struggle hour in and -hour out. - -Perhaps the real cause of my trouble, the furtive sting which kept -me on the offensive, was the fear--shall I not say the belief--that -the unknown person who had thus betrayed her love and sympathy for -Edgar was Orpha. Had I not seen her in my dream with a key lying in -her hand? That key was now in mine, but not by her intention. She had -meant it for him;--to give him whatever advantage might accrue from -its possession--she, whom I had believed to be so just that she would -decline to favor him at my expense. - -Jealousy! the gnawing fiend that will not let our hearts rest. I -might have gathered comfort from the thought that dreams were not be -relied upon; that I had no real foundation for my conclusions. The -hand-writing was not hers either on packet or letter; and yet the human -heart is so constituted that despite all this; despite my faith, my -love, the conviction remained, clouding my judgment and thwarting my -better instincts. - -But morning brought me counsel, and I saw my duty more clearly. To -some it may seem that there was but one thing to do, viz: to hand over -packet and letter to the police. But I had not the heart to place -Orpha in so compromising a position, without making an effort to save -her from their reprobation and it might be from their suspicion. I -recognized a better course. Edgar must be allowed to open his own mail, -but in my presence. I would seek him out as soon as I could hope to -find him and, together, we would form some plan by which the truth -might be made known without injuring Orpha. If it meant destruction to -him, I would help him face it. She must be protected at all hazards. He -was man enough still to see that. He had not lost all sense of chivalry -in the _débâcle_ which had sapped his courage and made him the wreck I -had seen him the night before. But where should I go? Where reach him? - -The police knew his whereabouts but as it was my especial wish to avoid -the complication of their presence, this afforded me small help. Mr. -Miller was my man. He must have Edgar’s address or how could he have -made an appointment with him. It was for me to get into communication -with this attorney. - -Hunting up his name in the telephone book, I found that he lived in -Newark. Calling him up I learned that he was at home and willing to -talk to me. Thereupon I gave him my name and asked him how his child -was, and, on hearing that she was better, inquired when he would be at -his office. He named what for me, in my impatience, was a very late -hour; and driven to risk all, rather than lose a possible advantage, I -told him of the mistake we had made, he in giving and I in receiving -a package, etc., belonging, as I now thought to my cousin of the same -name, and assuring him that I had not opened either package or letter, -asked for my cousin’s address that I might immediately deliver them. - -Well, that floored him for the moment, judging from the expletive -which reached my ear. No one could be ignorant of what my name stood -for with the mass of people. He had blundered most egregiously and -seemed to be well aware of it. - -But he was a man of the world and soon was explaining and apologizing -for his mistake. He had never seen my cousin, and, being in some -disorder of mind at the time, had been misled by a certain family -resemblance I bore to the other Edgar as he was presented to the public -in the newspapers. Would I pardon him, and, above all, ask my cousin to -pardon him, winding up by giving me the name of the hotel where Edgar -was to be found. - -Thanking him, I hung up the receiver, put on my hat and went out. - -I had not far to go; the steps I took were few, but my thoughts were -many. In what mood should I find my cousin? In what mood should I find -myself? Was I doing a foolish thing?--a wrong thing?--a dangerous -thing? What would be its upshot? - -Knowing that I was simply weakening myself by this anticipatory holding -of an interview which might take a very different course from any I was -likely to imagine, I yet continued to put questions and answer them in -my own mind till my arrival at the hotel I was seeking put a sudden end -to them. - -And well it might; for now the question was how to get speech with him. -I could not send up my name, which as you will remember was the same as -his; nor would I send up a false one. Yet I must see him in his room. -How was this to be managed? I thought a minute, then acted. - -Saying that I was a messenger from Mr. John E. Miller with an important -letter for Mr. Bartholomew, I asked if that gentleman was in his room -and if so, whether I might go up. - -They would see. - -While I waited I could count my own heart-beats. The hands of the clock -dragged and I wondered how long I could stand this. Finally, the answer -came: he was in and would see me. - -He had just finished shaving when I entered and for a moment did not -turn. When he did and perceived who it was, the oath he uttered showed -me what I might expect. - -But the resolution with which I faced him calmed him more quickly than -I had any reason to anticipate. Evidently, I had not yet found the key -to his nature. Edgar at that moment was a mystery to me. But he should -not remain so much longer. - -Waiting for nothing, I addressed him as brother to brother. The haggard -look in his eye had appealed to me. Would to God there was not the -reason for it that I feared! - -“Edgar, the message I sent up was a correct one. I come as an agent -from Mr. John E. Miller with a letter and a package addressed to your -name which you will remember is identical with my own. Do you know any -such man?” - -“I have heard of him.” Why did his eyes fall and his cheek take on a -faint flush? - -“Have you heard _from_ him?” - -“Yes, I got a message from him yesterday, asking me to call at his -office, but--but I did not go.” - -I wanted to inquire why, but felt it unwise to divert his attention -from the main issue for the mere purpose of satisfying my curiosity. - -“Then,” I declared, “these articles must belong to you. They were -handed to me under the supposition that I was the man to whom they -were addressed. But, having some doubts about this myself, I have -brought them to you in the same state in which I received them--that -is, intact. Edgar, there is a key in this package. I know this to be -so because Mr. Miller said so particularly. We are both interested in -a key. If this is the one our uncle wore about his neck I should be -allowed to inspect it as well as yourself.” - -I had expected rebuff--an assertion of rights which might culminate in -an open quarrel. But to my amazement the first gleam of light I had -discerned on his countenance since the inquest came with that word. - -“Give me it,” he cried. “I am willing that you should see me open it.” - -I laid down the package before him, but before he had more than touched -it, I placed the letter beside it, with the intimation that perhaps it -would be better for him to read that first. - -In an instant the package was pushed aside and the letter seized upon. -The action and the glance he gave it made my heart stand still. The -fervor and the devouring eagerness thus displayed was that of a lover. - -Had his affection for Orpha already reached the point of passion? - -Meanwhile, he had thrust the letter out of sight and taken up the -small package in which possibly lay our mutual fate. As he loosened -the string and pulled off the wrappers, I bent forward, and in another -moment we were gazing at a very thin key of the Yale type he held out -between us on his open palm. - -“It is according to description,” I said. - -To my astonishment he threw it down on the table before which we were -standing. - -“You are right,” he cried. “I had better read the letter first. It may -enlighten us.” - -Walking off to a window, he slipped behind a curtain and for a few -minutes the earth for me stood still. When he reappeared, it was -with the air and presence of the old Edgar, a little worse for the -dissipation of the last few weeks, but master of himself and master of -others,--relieved, happy, almost triumphant. - -“It was found by Orpha,” he calmly announced. (It was not like him -to be calm in a crisis like this.) “Found in a flower-pot which had -been in Uncle’s room at the time of his death. She had carried it to -hers and night before last, while trying to place it on a shelf, it -had fallen from her hands to the floor, breaking apart and scattering -the earth in every direction. Amid this débris lay the key with the -chain falling loose from it. There is no doubt that it is the one -we have been looking for; hidden there by a sick man in a moment of -hallucination. It may lead to the will--it may lead to nothing. When -shall we go?” - -“Go?” - -“To C----. We must follow up this clew. Somewhere in that room we shall -find the aperture this key will fit.” - -“Do you mean for us to go together?” I had a sensation of pleasure in -spite of the reaction in my spirits caused by Edgar’s manner. - -With an unexpected earnestness, he seized me by the arm and, holding -me firmly, surveyed me inquiringly. Then with a peculiar twitch of his -lips and a sudden loosening of his hand he replied with a short: - -“I do.” - -“Then let us go as quickly as the next train will take us.” - -He nodded, and, lifting the key, put it in his pocket. - -Ungenerously, perhaps, certainly quite foolishly, I wished he had -allowed me to put it in mine. - - -XLV - -We went out together. I did not mean to leave him by himself for an -instant, now that he had that precious key on his person. I had had -one lesson and that was enough. In coming down the stairs, he had -preceded me, which was desirable perhaps, but it had its disadvantages -as I perceived when on reaching the ground floor, we passed by a small -reception-room in which a bright wood-fire was burning. For with a -deftness altogether natural to him he managed to slip ahead of me and -enter that room just as a noisy, pushing group of incoming guests swept -in between us, cutting off my view. When I saw him again, he was coming -from the fireplace inside, where the sudden blaze shooting up showed -what had become of the letter which undoubtedly it would have been very -much to my advantage to have seen. - -But who can say? Not I. It was gone; and there was no help for it. -Another warning for me to be careful, and one which I should not have -needed, as I seemed to see in the eye of a man standing near us as we -two came together again on our way to the desk. - -“There’s a fellow ready to aid me in my work, or to hinder according to -his discretion,” I inwardly commented. - -But if so, and if he followed us and noted our several preparations -before taking the train, he did it like an expert, for I do not -remember running upon him again. - -The chief part which I took in these preparations was the sending of -two telegrams; one to the office and one to Inspector Redding in C----. -Edgar did not send any. The former was a notification of absence; the -latter, a simple announcement that I was returning to C---- and on what -train to expect me. No word about the key. Possibly he already knew as -much about it as I did. - - -XLVI - -Edgar continued to surprise me. On our arrival he showed gratification -rather than displeasure at encountering the Inspector at the station. - -“Here’s luck,” he cheerfully exclaimed. “This will save me a stop at -Headquarters. I hear that my cousin has found a key, presumably the one -for which we have all been searching. Quenton and myself are here to -see if we cannot find a keyhole to fit it. Any objections, Inspector?” - -His old manner, but a little over-emphasized. I looked to see if the -Inspector noticed this, but he was a man so quiet in his ways that it -would take one as astute as himself to read anything from his looks. - -Meantime he was saying: - -“That’s already been tried. We’ve been all the morning at it. But if -you have any new ideas on the subject I am willing to accompany you -back to the house.” - -The astonishment this caused me was hard to conceal. How could they -have made the trial spoken of when the key necessary for it was at -that very moment in Edgar’s pocket? But I remembered the last word he -had said to me before leaving the train, “If you love me--if you love -yourself--above all, if you love Orpha, allow me to run this business -in my own way;” and held myself back, willing enough to test his way -and see if it were a good one. - -“I don’t know as I have any new ideas,” Edgar protested. “I fear -I exhausted all my ideas, new and old, before I went to New York. -However, if you--” and here he drew the Inspector aside and had a few -earnest words with him, while I stood by in a daze. - -The end of it all was that we went one way and the Inspector another, -with but few more words said and only one look given that conveyed any -message and that was to me. It came from the Inspector and conveyed to -me the meaning, whether true or false, that he was leaving this matter -in my hands. - -And Edgar thought it was in his! - -One incident more and I will take you with me to Quenton Court. As we, -that is, Edgar and myself, turned to go down the street, he remarked in -a natural but perfectly casual manner: - -“Orpha has the key.” - -As the Inspector was just behind us on his way to the curb, I perceived -that this sentence was meant for his ear rather than for mine and let -it pass till we were well out of hearing when I asked somewhat curtly: - -“What do you mean by that? What has your whole conduct meant? You have -the key--” - -“Quenton, do you want the police hanging over us while we potter all -over that room, trying all sorts of ridiculous experiments in our -search for an elusive keyhole? Orpha has a key but not the right one. -That is in my pocket, as you know.” - -At this I stopped him short, right there in the street. We were not far -from Quenton Court, but much as I longed to enter its doors again I was -determined not to do so till I had had it out with this man. - -“Edgar, do you mean to tell me that Orpha has lent herself to this -deception?” - -“Deception? I call it only proper circumspection. She knew what this -key meant to me--to you--to herself. Why should she give up anything -so precious into hands of whose consequent action she could form -no opinion. I admire her for her spirit. I love--” He stopped short -with an apologetic shrug. “Pardon me, Quenton, I don’t mean to be -disagreeable.” Then, forcing me on, he added feverishly, “Leave it to -me. Leave Orpha to me. I do not say permanently--that depends--but for -the present. I’ll see this thing through and with great spirit. You -will be satisfied. I’m a better friend to you than you think. Will you -come?” - -“Yes, I will come. But, Edgar, I promise you this. As soon as I find -myself in Orpha’s presence I am going to ask her whether she realizes -what effect this deception played upon the police may have upon us all.” - -“You will not.” For the first and only time in all our intercourse a -dangerous gleam shot from his mild blue eye. “That is,” he made haste -to add with a more conciliatory aspect, “you will not wish to do so -when I tell you that whatever feelings of distrust or jealous fear I -once cherished towards you are gone. Now I have confidence in your word -and in the disinterestedness of your attentions to our uncle. You have -expressed a wish that we should be friends. I am ready, Quenton. Your -conduct for the last two days has endeared you to me. Will you take my -hand?” - -The old Edgar now, without any question or exaggeration. The -insouciant, the appealing, the fascinating youth, the child of happy -fortunes! I did not trust him, but my heart went out to him in spite of -all the past and of a future it took all my courage to face, and I took -his hand. - - -XLVII - -Haines’ welcome to us at the front door was a study in character which -I left to a later hour to thoroughly enjoy. - -The sudden flush which rose to his lank cheek gave evidence to his -surprise. The formal bow and respectful greeting, to the command he -had over it. Had one of us appeared alone, there would have been -no surprise, only the formal greeting. But to see us together was -enough to stir the blood of even one who had been for years under the -discipline of Edgar Quenton Bartholomew, the one and only. - -Edgar did not notice it but stepped in with an air which left nothing -for me to display in the way of self-assertion. I think at that moment -as he stood in face of the unrivalled beauties of the leaping fountain -against its Moorish background he felt himself as much the master of it -all as though he already had in his hand the will he was making this -final attempt to discover. So rapidly could this man of quick impulses -pile glorious hope on hope and soar into the empyrean at the least turn -of fate. - -As I was watching him I heard a little moan. It came from the stairway. -Alarmed, for the voice was Orpha’s, we both turned quickly. She was -looking at us from one of the arches, her figure swaying, eyes wide -with alarm. She, too, had felt the shock of seeing us together. - -Above, in strong contrast to her pathetic figure, Lucy Colfax stood -waiting, elegant in pose and attire, but altogether unmoved in face -and bearing and, as I thought, quite without feeling, till I saw her -suddenly step down and throw her arm about Orpha. Perhaps it was not -possible for her naturally composed features to change except under -heart-breaking emotions. But it was not upon her, interesting as she -was at that moment, that my glances lingered, but upon Orpha who had -rapidly regained her poise and was now on her way down. - -We met her as she stepped down into the court and I for one with a -smile. All my love and all my confidence had returned at the sight of -her face, which, if troubled, had never looked more ingenuous. - -“What does this mean?” she asked, a little tremulously, but with a -growing courage beaming in her eye. “Why are you both here! Do the -police know?” - -“Yes, and approve,” Edgar assured her. “We have come to test the key -which was such a failure in their hands.” And in his lordly way he -took possession of her, leading her across the court to the library, -leaving me to follow with Miss Colfax, who gave me her first smile -as she graciously consented to join me. He had got the better of me -at the start; but in my determination that he should not retain this -advantage, I proceeded to emulate the _sang froid_ of the glowing -creature at my side whom I had once seen with her soul bared in a -passionate parting from the man she loved, and who now, in close -proximity to that man moving ahead of her with the woman he hoped to -claim, walked like a goddess in anticipation of a marriage which might -bring her prestige but no romance. - -What we said when we were all four collected in the library is -immaterial. It was very near the dinner hour and after a hurried -consultation as to the manner and time of the search we had come there -to undertake, Edgar and I went upstairs, each to our several rooms to -prepare for the meal awaiting us, as if no interval of absence had -occurred and we were still occupants of the house. - -I had rather not have walked down that third story hall up to and past -the cozy corner. I did not want to see Wealthy’s rigid figure rise from -her accustomed seat, or hear the well-remembered voices of the maids -float up the spiral staircase. But I might have spared myself these -anticipations. I met nobody. That end of the hall was silent. It was -even cold; like my heart lying so heavily in my despairing breast. - - -XLVIII - -A gloomy evening. I am speaking of its physical aspects. A lowering -sky, a pelting rain with a wind that drove the lurching branches of the -closely encircling trees against windows reeking with wet. - -Every lamp in the electroliers from the ground floor to the top was -alight. Edgar would have it so. As he swung into Uncle’s room, that -too leaped vividly into view, under his hand. It was as of old; every -disturbed thing had been restored to order; the bed, the picture; ah, -the picture! the winged chair with its infinite memories, all stood in -their proper places. Had Uncle been entering instead of ourselves, he -would have found everything as he was accustomed to see it. Could it be -that he was there, unseen, impalpable but strong as ever in love and -purpose? - -We were gathered at the foot of the bed. - -“Let me have the key, Orpha.” - -She put up her hand to her neck and then I perceived there the -encircling glint of a very finely linked chain. As she drew this up a -key came with it. As she allowed this to fall to the full length of the -chain, it became evident that the latter was long enough to be passed -over her head without unclasping. But it was with an indifferent eye I -watched her do this and hand key and chain to Edgar, for a thought warm -with recovered joy had come to me that had she not believed the key -thus cherished to be the very one worn by her father she would never -have placed it thus over her heart. - -I think Edgar must have recognized my thought from the look he cast me -as he drew the key from the chain and laid the latter on the table -standing in its corner by the fire-place. Instantly I recognized his -purpose; and watched his elbows for what I knew would surely take place -before he turned around again. Always an adept at legerdemain it was a -simple thing for him to substitute the key he had brought from New York -for the one he had just received from Orpha; and in a moment he had -done this and was facing us as before, altogether his most interesting -self, ready for action and primed to succeed. - -“Do you know,” he began, taking us all in with one sweeping glance from -his proud eye, “I have felt for years, though I have never spoken of -it, that Uncle had some place of concealment in this room inaccessible -to anybody but himself. Papers which had not been sent to the bank and -had not been put away in his desk would disappear between night and -morning only to come into view again when wanted, and this without any -explanation. I used to imagine that he hid these things in the drawer -at the back of his bed, but I soon found out that this was not so, and, -losing all interest in the matter, scarcely gave it another thought. -But now its importance has become manifest; and what we must look for -is a crack in or out of this room, along which we can slip the point of -this key. It will find its home somewhere.” And he began to look about -him. - -I remained where I was but missed not one of his movements whether of -eye or hand. The girls, on the contrary, followed him step by step, -Lucy with an air of polite interest and Orpha eagerly if not hopefully. -But the cracks were few in that carefully paneled room, and the moments -sped by without apparent accomplishment. As Edgar’s spirits began to -give way before repeated disappointment, I asked him to grant me a -momentary trial with the key. - -“I have an idea.” - -He passed it over to me, without demur. Indeed, with some relief. - -It was the first time I had held it in my hand and a thrill ran through -me at the contact. Was my idea a good one? - -“Uncle was a large man and tall. He wore the chain about his neck. The -chain is long; I doubt if he found it necessary to take off the key in -using it. The crack, as you call it, must have been within easy reach -of his hand. Let us see.” - -Taking up the chain, I ran it through the hole in the end of the key -and snapping the clasp, threw the chain over my head. As I did so, -I chanced to be looking at Orpha. The change in her expression was -notable. With eyes fixed on the key dangling at my breast, the color -which had enlivened her checks slowly died out, leaving her pale and -slightly distraught as though she were struggling to revive some memory -or settle some question she did not quite understand. - -“Let me think,” she murmured dreamily. “Let me think.” - -And we, lost in our own wonder, watched her as the color came creeping -back to her cheeks, and order took place in her thoughts, and with -hands suddenly pressed against her eyes, she cried: - -“I see it all again. My father, with that chain hanging just so over -his coat. I am in his arms--a hole--all dark--dark. He draws my head -down--he stoops.... The rest is gone from me. I can remember nothing -further.” - -Edgar stared. Lucy glanced vaguely about the walls. Orpha dropped her -hands and her glance flew to my face and not to the key this time--when -with a crash! a burst of wind rushed upon the house, shaking the -windows blinded with wet, and ripping a branch from the tree whose -huge bulk nestled against the western wall. - -They shuddered, but not I. I was thinking as I had never thought -before. Memories of things said, of things done, were coming back -to match the broken and imperfect ones of my confused darling. My -reasoning faculties are not of the best but I used what I had in -formulating the theory which was fast taking on the proportions of a -settled conviction. When I saw that I had them all expectant, I spoke. -I had to raise my voice a little for the storm just then was at its -height. - -“What Orpha has said”--so I began--“has recalled the surprise which I -felt on first entering this room. To you who have been brought up in -it, its peculiarities have so long been accepted by you as a matter of -course that you are blind to the impression they make on a stranger. -Look at this wall.” - -I laid my hand on the one running parallel with the main hall--the one -in which was sunk the alcove holding the head of the bed. - -“You are used to the two passageways connecting the wall of this room -with that of the hall where the staircase runs down to the story below. -You have not asked why this should be in a mansion so wonderful in -its proportions and its finish, or if you have, you have accounted -for it by the fact that a new house with new walls had been joined -to an old one, whose wall was allowed to stand, thus necessitating -little oddities in construction which, on the whole, were interesting -and added to the quaintness of the interior. But what of the space -between those two walls? It cannot have been filled. If I see right and -calculate right there must run from here down to the second floor, if -no further, an empty space less than one yard in width, blocked from -sight by the wall of this room, by that of the hall and”--here I pulled -open the closet door--“by that of this closet at one end and by the -wall holding the medicine cabinet at the other. Isn’t that so, Edgar? -Has my imagination run away with me; or is my conclusion a reasonable -one?” - -“It--it looks that way,” he stammered; “but--but why--” - -“Ah! the why is another matter. That may be buried in Uncle’s grave. It -is the fact I want to impress upon you that there is a place somewhere -near us, a place dark and narrow, down which Orpha, when a child, was -once carried and which if we can reach it will open up for us the -solution of where Uncle used to hide the papers which, according to -Edgar, never went to the bank and not into any of the drawers which -this room contains.” - -“Oh,” exclaimed Orpha, “if I could only remember! But all is blank -except what I have already told you. The dark--my father stooping--and -a box--yes, I saw a box--he laid my hand upon it--but where or why I -cannot say. Only, there is no suggestion of fear in these strange, -elusive memories. Rather one of happiness,--of love,--of a soft peace -which was like a blessing. What does it all mean? You have got us thus -far, take us further.” - -“I will try.” But I hesitated over what I had to say next. I was -risking something. But it could not be helped. It was to be all or -nothing with me. I must speak, whatever the result. - -“Orpha, did you ever think, or you, Edgar, that there was some grain of -truth in the tradition that this house held a presence never seen but -sometimes felt?” - -Orpha started, and, gripping Edgar by the arm, stood thus, a figure of -amazement and dawning comprehension. Edgar, whom I had always looked -upon as a man of most vivid imagination, appeared on the contrary -to lack the power--even the wish to follow me into this field of -suggestion. - -“So, that’s coming in,” he exclaimed in a tone of open irony. - -“Yes,” I answered, “that is coming in; for I have had my own experience -with this so-called Presence. I was coming up the stairs outside one -night when I felt--Well, a little peculiar and knew that the experience -of which I had heard others speak was about to be mine. But when it -came, it came with a difference. I heard a cough. A sight--a sound may -be supernatural,--that is from the romanticist’s standpoint,--but not -a cough. I told Uncle about it once and I am sure he flushed. Edgar, -there is a second staircase between these walls, and the Presence was -Uncle.” - -“It may be.” His tone was hearty; he seemed glad to be convinced. -“And if so,” he added, with a gesture towards the key hanging over my -breast, “you have the means there of reaching it. How do you propose to -go about it?” - -“There is but one possible way. This closet provides that. Somewhere -along these shelves, among these shoes and hats we shall find the -narrow slit this key will fit.” - -Turning the bulb in the square of ceiling above me, the closet was -flooded with light. When they were all in, the narrow space was filled -and I was enabled to correct an impression I had previously formed. -Miss Colfax was so near me I could hear her pulses beat. For all her -lofty bearing she was as eager and interested as any one could be whose -fortunes were not directly wrapped up in the discoveries of the next -few minutes. - -Calling attention to a molding running along the edge of one of the -shelves, I observed quite boldly: “To my eyes there is a line there -dark enough to indicate the presence of something like a slit. Let us -see.” And lifting the key from my breast I ran its end along the line I -had pointed out till suddenly it came to a stop, entered, and, yielding -to the turn I gave it, moved the lock cunningly hidden beyond and the -whole series of shelves swung back, revealing an opening into which we -were very nearly precipitated in our hurry and surprise. - -Recovering our equilibrium, we stood with fascinated gaze fixed on what -we beheld slanting away into the darkness of this gap between two walls. - -A series of iron steps with a railing on one side--ancient of make, -but still serviceable, offered us a means of descent into depths which -the light from the closet ceiling, strong as it was, did not entirely -penetrate. - -“Will you go down?” I asked Edgar; “or shall I? The ladies had better -remain where they are.” - -I was quite confident what his answer would be and I was not -disappointed. - -“I will go down, of course. You can follow if you wish: Lucy, Orpha, -not one step after me, do you hear?” - -His tone and attitude were masterful; and instinctively they shrank -back. But my anxiety for their safety was equal to his. So I added my -appeal. - -“You will do as Edgar says,” I prayed. “We must go down, both of us; -but you will remain here?” - -“Unless you call us.” - -“Unless you are gone too long.” - -“I will not be gone too long.” And I hurried down, Edgar having got the -start of me by several steps. - -As I went, I noticed what settled a question which had risen in my mind -since I became assured of the existence of this secret stairway. - -My uncle was an unusually tall man. How could he with so many inches -to his credit manage to pass under the bridge between the two walls -made by the flooring of the intervening alcove. It must have caused -effort--an extraordinary effort for a man so weakened, so near to -being moribund. But I saw that it could be done if he had the strength -and knew just when to bend his body forward, for the incline of the -stairway was rapid and moreover began much further back from the alcove -than I had supposed in measuring the distance with my eye. Indeed the -whole construction, as I noted it in my hasty descent, was a remarkable -piece of masonry built by an expert with the evident intention of -defying detection except by one as knowing as himself. The wall of the -inn, which had been a wooden structure, had been reënforced by a brick -one into which was sunk the beams of the various bridges upholding the -passage-ways and the floor of the alcove already alluded to. Hundreds -of dollars must have been spent in perfecting this arrangement, but -why and to what end was a question which did not then disturb me, for -the immediate mystery of what we should find below was sufficiently -engrossing to drive all lesser subjects from my mind. - -Meanwhile Edgar had reached a small wooden platform backed by a wall -which cut off all further descent, and was calling up for more light. -As the stairs, narrowed by the brick reënforcement of which I have -spoken, were barely wide enough to allow the passage down of a goodly -sized man, I could not but see that it was necessary for me to remove -myself from his line of vision for him to get the light he wanted. So -with a bound or two I cleared the way and stood in a sort of demi-glow -at his side. - -A bare wall in front,--nothing there, and nothing at the right; but on -the left an old-fashioned box clamped to the wall at the height of a -man’s shoulder. It was indeed an ancient box, and stained brown with -dust and mold. There was a lid to it. This lid was half wrenched away -and hung over at one side, leaving the box open. From the top of this -box protruded the folded ends of what looked like a legal document. - -As our eyes simultaneously fell on this, we each made a movement and -our glances clashed. Then a long deep breath from him was answered by -the same from my own chest heaving to suffocation. - -“We have found it,” he muttered, choking; and reached out his hand. - -But I was quicker than he. - -“Wait,” said I, pulling him back. “Before either of us touch it, -listen to me. If that is the will we are looking for and if it makes -you the master here, I here swear to recognize your rights instantly -and without question. There will be no legal procedure and no -unpleasantness so far as I am concerned.” - -With this I loosened my clasp. - -Would he respond with a like promise? No, he could not. It was not in -his nature to do so. He tried,--I felt him make the struggle, but all -that resulted were some choked words in recognition of my generosity, -followed by a quick seizure of the paper and a rush up the first half -dozen steps. But there he stopped, his silhouette against the light -making a picture stamped indelibly upon my memory. - -“I’ve got it; I’ve got it!” he shouted to those above, waving the paper -over his head in a triumph almost delirious. - -I could not see their faces, but I heard two gasping cries and dashed -up, overtaking him just as he emerged into the full light. - -He was unfolding the document, all eagerness and anticipatory delight. -He could not wait to reach the room itself; he could not wait even to -reach the closet; he must see now--at once--while the woman he loved -was within reach. A minute lost was so much stolen from the coming -rapture. - -I was at his shoulder eager to know my own fate, as his trembling -fingers threw the covering leaf back. I knew where to look--I -endeavored to forget everything but the spot where the name should -be,--the name which would tell all; I wished to see it first. I wished-- - -A cloud came over me, but through it as if the words blazed beyond the -power of any mist to hide them I read: - -Edgar Quenton Bartholomew, son of James-- - -Myself! - - -XLIX - -He had not seen it yet. But he would. In one more moment he would. I -waited for his cry; but as it delayed, I reached over and put my finger -on the word _James_. Then I drew back, steadying myself by a clutch on -the rail running up at my side. - -Slowly he took it in. Slowly he turned and gave me one look; then with -a moan, rather than a cry he flung himself up and dashing by the two -girls who had started back at his wild aspect, threw himself into the -great room where he fell headlong to the floor. - -I stood back while they ministered to him. He had not fainted for I -heard him now and then cry out, “Wealthy! call Wealthy.” And this -they finally did. As Orpha passed me on her way to ring the bell -communicating with the cozy corner, I saw her full face for the first -time since Edgar’s action had told her the truth. It was pale, but as I -looked the blush came and as I looked again it was gone. I felt myself -reeling a trifle, and seeing the will lying on the floor where he had -dropped it, I lifted it up and folding it anew, put it in my pocket. -Then I walked away, wondering at the silence, for even the elements -warring without had their hushed moments, and creaking panes and -wrestling boughs no longer spoke of tumult. - -In this instant of quiet we heard a knock. Wealthy was at the door. - -As Orpha stepped to unlock it, I turned again. Edgar had leaped to his -feet, his eyes blazing, all his features working in rage. Lucy had -withdrawn into the background, the only composed one amongst us. As -the old nurse entered Edgar advanced to meet her. - -“I am ill,” he began. “Let me take your arm to my room. I have no -further rights here unless it is a night’s lodging.” Here he turned -towards me with a sarcastic bow. “There is your master,” he added, -indicating me with one hand as he reached with the other for her arm. -“The will has been found. He has it in his pocket. By that you may know -what it does for him and”--his voice falling--“what it does for me.” - -But his mood changed before he reached the door. With a quick twist -of his body he took us all again within the sweep of his vision. “But -don’t any of you think that I am going to yield my rights without a -struggle. I am no hypocrite. I do not say to my cousin, ‘No litigation -for me.’ I dare him to meet me without gloves in an open fight. He knew -that the will taken from the envelope and hidden in the box below there -was the one favoring himself. _How did he know it?_” - -For a moment I forebore to answer. Evil passions raged within me. The -Devil himself seemed whispering in my ear; then I remembered Uncle’s -own admonition and I turned and looked up at Orpha’s picture and that -old hour came back and my heart softened and, advancing towards him, I -replied: - -“I did not _know_ it; but I felt confident of it because our uncle told -me what to expect and I trusted him.” - -“You will never be master here,” stormed Edgar, livid with fury. - -“Yes, I will,” I answered mildly, “for this night.” - -Wealthy drew him away. It would have been hard to tell which was -trembling the most, he or the nurse. - -They left the door open. I was glad of this. I would have been gladder -if the whole household had come trooping in. Orpha standing silent -by the great bed; Lucy drawn up against my uncle’s old chair--and I -wishing the winds would blow and the trees crack,--anything to break -the deathly quiet in which we could hear the footfalls of those two -disappearing up the hall. - -Lucy, marking my trouble, was the first to move. - -“I am no longer needed here,” she said almost sweetly. “Orpha, if you -want to talk, come to me in my room.” - -At that I started forward. “We will all go.” And I closed the closet -door and seeing a key in the lock, turned it and, drawing it out, -handed it to Orpha, together with the one hanging from my neck. - -“They are yours,” I said; but did not meet her eyes or touch her -hand. “Go with Lucy,” I added, “and sleep; I pray you sleep. You have -suffered enough for one night.” - -I felt her leave me; felt every light step she took through the -passage-way press in anguish upon my heart. Then the storm rushed upon -us again and amid its turmoil I shut the door, dropped the hangings and -sat down with bursting heart and throbbing head before her picture. - -Another night of sleeplessness in this house which I had once entered -in such gayety of spirits. - - -L - -At an early hour I summoned Haines. He came quickly; he had heard the -news. - -But I ignored this fact, apparent as it was. - -“Haines,” said I, “you see me here. That is because my uncle’s will has -been found which grants me the right to give orders from this room. -But I shall not abuse the devotion you feel for my cousin. I have only -one order to give and that will please rather than disturb you. My -cousin, Mr. Edgar, is not satisfied with things as they are. He will -contest this will; he has told me so. This being so, I shall await -events elsewhere. You have a mistress. See that she is well cared for -and that everything goes on as it should. As for myself, do not look -for me at breakfast. I am going to the hotel; only see that this note -is delivered to Miss Bartholomew before she leaves her room. Good-by, -Haines; trust me.” - -He did not know what to say; or what to do. He looked from me to the -note which he held, and from the note back to me. I thought that his -lip quivered. Taking pity on his indecision, I spoke up more cheerfully -and asked him if he would be good enough to get my bag for me from -my old little room, and as he turned in evident relief to do this, I -started down the stairs, presently followed by him to the front door, -where he helped me on with my coat and handed me my hat. He wanted me -to wait for the car, but I refused, acceding only to his request that -I would allow him to send a boy to the hotel with my bag. As I passed -down the walk I noticed that he closed the door very slowly. - -The few lines I had left for Orpha were very simple, though they came -from my heart. I merely wrote: - - For your sake I leave thus unceremoniously. You are to be considered - first in everything I do. Have confidence in me. All I seek is your - happiness. - - QUENTON. - - - - -_BOOK IV_ - -LOVE - - -LI - -By night the whole town rang with the extraordinary news that I have -just endeavored to convey to you. I had visited Mr. Jackson at his -office and had a rather serious talk with the Inspector at the Police -Station while I myself had many visitors, to all of whom I excused -myself with the exception of one. That one was an elderly man who had -in his possession an old picture of the inn which had been incorporated -in the Bartholomew mansion. He offered to show it to me. I could not -resist seeing it, so I ordered him sent up to my room. - -At the first glimpse I got of this picture I understood much that -I had been doubtful about before. The eighteen or twenty steps we -had discovered leading down from Uncle’s closet, were but the upper -portion of the long flight originally running up from the ground to -the large hall where entertainments had been given. The platform where -we had found the box made the only break in the descent. This was on a -level with the floor of the second story of the inn and from certain -indications visible in this old print I judged that it acted as the -threshold of a door opening into this story, just as the upper one -now represented by the floor of Uncle’s closet opened into the great -hall. The remaining portions of the building had been so disguised and -added to by the clever architect, that only from the picture I was now -studying could one see what it had originally been. - -I thanked the man and seeing that for a consideration he was willing to -part with this picture, made myself master of it at once, wishing to -show it to Orpha. - -Orpha! Would I hear from her? Was my letter to her little more than a -pebble dropped into a bottomless well? - -I tried not to think of her. How could I with the future rising before -me an absolutely blank wall? Both the Inspector and Mr. Jackson advised -me to keep very quiet--as I certainly wished to do--and make no move -till the will had been offered for probate and the surrogate’s decision -obtained. The complications were great; time alone would straighten -them out. The murder charge not made as yet but liable to fall any day -like a thunderbolt on one or the other of us--Edgar’s violent character -hidden under an exterior so delightful--the embarrassing position of -Orpha--all combined to make it wise for me to walk softly and leave my -affairs to their sole manipulation. I was willing, but-- - -And instantly I became more than willing. A note was handed in. It was -from Orpha and vied with mine in its simplicity. - - To trust you is easy. It was because my father trusted you that he - laid his great fortune in your hands. - - ORPHA. - - -LII - -During the days which now passed I talked to no one, but I read with -avidity what was said in the various journals of the discovery of -the will under the bizarre circumstances I have already related, and -consequently was quite aware that public opinion was as much divided -over what bearing this latest phase had upon the main issue as it had -been over the main issue itself and the various mystifying events -attending it. - -Gaining advocates in one quarter, I lost them in another and my heart -frequently stood still with dismay as I realized the strength of the -prejudice which shut me away from the sympathy and understanding of my -fellow creatures. - -I was waiting with all the courage possible for some strong and -decisive move to be made by Edgar or his lawyers, when the news came -that he was ill. Greatly distressed by this, I begged Mr. Jackson -to procure for me such particulars as he could gather of the exact -condition of things at Quenton Court. He did so and by evening I had -learned that Edgar’s illness dated from the night of our finding the -will. That an attempt had been made to keep this fact from the public, -but it had gradually leaked out and with it the rumor that nobody but -those in attendance on him had been allowed to enter his part of the -house, though no mention of contagion had been made nor any signs -perceived of its being apprehended. That Orpha was in great distress -because she was included amongst those debarred from the sick room--so -distressed that she braved the displeasure of doctor and nurse and -crept up to his door only to hear him shouting in delirium. That some -of the servants wanted to leave, not so much because the house seemed -fated but because they had come to fear the woman Wealthy, who had -changed very markedly during these days of anxious nursing. She could -not be got to speak, hardly to eat. When she came down into the kitchen -as she was obliged to do at times, it was not as in the old days when -she brought with her cheer and pleasant fellowship to them all. She -brought nothing now but silence and a face contorted from its usual -kindly expression into one to frighten any but the most callous or the -most ignorant. - -For the last twenty-four hours Edgar had given signs of improvement, -but Wealthy had looked worse. She seemed to dread the time when he -would be out of her hands. - -All this had come to Mr. Jackson from private sources, but he assured -me that he had no reason to doubt its truth. - -Troubled, and fearing I scarcely knew what, I had another of my -sleepless nights. Nor was I quite myself all the next day till at -nightfall I was called to the telephone and heard Orpha’s voice in -anxious appeal begging me to come to her. - -“Wealthy is so strange that we none of us know what to do with her. -Edgar is better, but she won’t allow any of us in his room, though I -think some one of us ought to see him. She says the doctor is on her -side; that she is only fulfilling his orders, and I’m afraid this is -so, for when I telephoned him an hour ago he told me not to worry, that -in a few days we could see him, but that just now it was better for -him to see nobody whose presence would remind him of his troubles. The -doctor was very kind, but not quite natural--not quite like his old -self, and--and I’m frightened. There is certainly something very wrong -going on in this house; even the servants feel it, and say that the -master ought to be here if only to get the truth out of Wealthy.” - -The master! Dear heart, how little she knew! how little any of us knew -how much we should have to go through before either Edgar or myself -could assume that rôle. But I could assume that of her friend and -protector, and so with a good conscience I promised to go to her at -once. - -But I would not do this without notifying the Inspector. A premonition -that we were at a turn in the twisted path we were all treading which -might offer me a problem which it would be beyond my powers to handle -under present auspices, deterred me. So I telephoned to Headquarters -that I was going to make a call at Quenton Court; after which, I -proceeded through the well-known streets to the home of my heart and of -Orpha. - -I knew from the relieved expression with which Haines greeted me that -Orpha had not exaggerated the situation. - -He, however, said nothing beyond the formal announcement that Miss -Bartholomew awaited me in the library; and there I presently found -her. She was not alone (had I expected her to be?), but the lady I -saw sitting by the fire was not Miss Colfax this time but the elderly -relative of whom I have previously spoken. - -Oh, the peace and quiet look of trust which shone in Orpha’s eyes as -she laid her hand in mine. It gave me strength to withhold my lips -from the hand I had not touched in many, many weeks; to face her with -a smile, though my heart was sad to bursting; to face anything which -might lie before us with not only consideration for her but for him who -ever held his own in the background of my mind as the possible master -of all I saw here, if not of Orpha. - -I had noticed that Haines, after ushering me into the library had -remained in the court; and so I was in a degree prepared for Orpha’s -first words. - -“There is something Haines wants to show you. It will give you a better -idea of our trouble than anything I can say. Will you go up with him -quietly to--to the floor where--” - -“I will go anywhere you wish,” I broke in, in my anxiety to save her -distress. “Will you go, too, or am I to go up with him alone?” - -“Alone, and--and by the rear stairs. Do you mind? You will understand -when you are near your old room.” - -“Anything you wish,” I repeated; and conscious of Haines’ impatience, I -joined him without delay. - -We went up to the second floor by the Moorish staircase, but when -there, traversed the hall to the rear which, with one exception, is a -replica of the one above. It had no cozy corner, but there was the same -turn to the right leading to the little winding stairway which I knew -so well. - -As we reached the foot of this, Haines whispered: - -“I hope you will pardon me, sir, for taking you this way and for asking -you to wait in the small hall overhead till I beckon you to come on. We -don’t want to surprise any one, or to be surprised, do you see, sir?” -And, with a quick, light movement, he sprang ahead, beckoning me to -follow. - -There was not much light. Only one bulb had been turned on in the third -story hall, and that was at the far end. As I reached the top of the -little staircase and moved forward far enough to see down to the bend -leading away from the cozy corner, I could only dimly discern Haines’ -figure between me and the faintly illuminated wall beyond. He seemed to -be standing quietly and without any movement till suddenly I saw his -arm go up, and realizing that I was wanted, I stepped softly forward -and before I knew it was ensconced in Wealthy’s old place behind the -screen, with just enough separation between its central leaves for me -to see through. - -Haines was at my side, but he said nothing, only slightly touched my -elbow as if to bid me take the look thus offered me. - -And I did, not knowing what to expect. Would it be Edgar I should see? -Or would it be Wealthy? - -It was Wealthy. She was standing at the door of Edgar’s bedroom, with -her head bent forward, listening. As I stared uncomprehendingly at her -figure, her head rose and she began to pace up and down before his -door, her hands clenched, her arms held rigid at her side, her face -contorted, her mind in torture. Was she sane? I turned towards Haines -for explanation. - -“Like that all the time she is not in the room with him,” he whispered. -“Walking, walking, and sometimes muttering, but most often not.” - -“Does the doctor know?” - -“She is not like this when he comes.” - -“You should tell him.” - -“We have tried to; but you have to see her.” - -“How long has she been like this?” - -“Only so bad as this since noon. Miss Orpha is afeard of her, and there -being nobody here but Mrs. Ferris, I advised her to send for you to -comfort her a bit. I thought Dr. Cameron might heed what you said, sir. -He thinks us just foolish.” - -“Miss Colfax? Where is she?” - -“Gone to New York to buy her wedding-clothes.” - -“When did she go?” - -“To-day, sir.” - -I looked back at Wealthy. She was again bending at Edgar’s door, -listening. - -“Is his case so bad? Is this emotion all for him? Is she afraid he will -die?” - -“No; he is better.” - -“But still delirious?” - -“By spells.” - -“Has she no one to help her? Does she remain near him night as well as -day, without rest and without change?” - -“She has a helper.” - -“Ah! Who?” - -“A young girl, sir, but she--” - -“Well, Haines?” - -“Is in affliction, too. She is deaf--and she is dumb; a deaf mute, sir.” - -“Haines!” - -“The truth, sir. Miss Wealthy would have no other. They get along -together somehow; but the girl cannot speak a word.” - -“Nor hear?” - -“Not a thing.” - -“And the doctor?” - -“He brought her here himself.” - -The truth was evident. Delirium has its revelations. If one should -listen where I saw Wealthy listening, the mystery enveloping us all -might be cleared. Was it for me to do this? No, a thousand times, no. -The idea horrified me. But I could not leave matters where they were. -Wealthy might develop mania. For as I stood there watching her she -suddenly started upright again, presenting a picture of heart-rending -grief,--wringing her hands and sobbing heavily without the relief of -tears. - -She had hitherto remained at the far end of the hall close by Edgar’s -rooms; but now she turned and began walking slowly in our direction. - -“She is coming here. You know her room is just back of this,” whispered -Haines. - -I took a sudden resolution. Bidding him to stay where he was, I took a -few steps forward and pulled the chain of the large electrolier which -lighted this portion of the hall. - -She started; stopping short, her eyes opening wide and staring glassily -as they met mine. Then her hands went up and covered her face while her -large and sturdy form swayed dizzily till I feared she would fall. - -“Wealthy!” I cried, advancing hurriedly to her side. “Are you ill? Is -my presence so disagreeable to you? Why do you look at me like this?” - -She broke her silence with a gasp. - -“Because--because”--she moaned--“I--I--” With a despairing cry, she -grasped me by the arm. “Let us go somewhere and talk. I cannot keep my -secret any longer. I--I don’t know what to do? I tried to injure you--I -have injured you, but I never meant to injure Miss Orpha. Will--will -you listen?” - -“Yes, I will listen and with sympathy. But where shall we go? Into my -uncle’s room?” - -“No, no.” She shrank back in sick distaste. “Into my little cozy -corner.” - -“That is too far from Edgar’s room,” I protested. “He is alone, is he -not?” - -“Yes, yes; but he is sleeping. He is well enough for me to leave him -for a little while. I cannot talk in the open hall.” - -I felt that I was in a dilemma. She must not know of Haines’ near -presence or she would not open her mouth. I thought of my own room, -then of Clarke’s, but I dared not run the risk of her passing the cozy -corner lest she might for some reason pause and look in. Impulsively, I -made a bold suggestion. - -“Edgar has two rooms. Let us go into his den; you will be near him and -what is better, we shall be undisturbed.” - -Her mouth opened, but she said nothing; she was wholly taken aback. -Then some thought came which changed her whole aspect. She brightened -with some fierce resolve and, acceding to my request, led me quickly -down the hall. - -At the furtherest door of all she stopped; it was the door from which -Edgar had looked out on that fatal night to see if I were still -lingering in the hall opposite. It had been dark there then; it was -bright enough now. - -With finger on lip she waited for an instant while she listened for -any sounds from within. There were none. With a firm but quiet turning -of the knob, she opened the door and motioned me to enter. The room -was perfectly dark; but only for an instant. She had crossed the floor -while I was feeling my way, and opening the door communicating with the -bedroom, allowed the light from within to permeate the room where I -stood. As it was heavily shaded, the result was what one might call a -visible gloom, through which I saw her figure in a silhouette of rigid -outline, so tense had she become under the influence of this daring -undertaking. - -Next moment I felt her hand on my arm, and in another, her voice in my -ear. This is what she said: - -“I thought he loved Orpha. Before God I thought he loved her as much as -he loved fortune. Had I not, I would have let things alone and given -you your full chance. But--but--listen.” - -Edgar was stirring in the adjoining room, throwing his arms about and -muttering words which soon took on emphasis and I heard: - -“Lucy! Lucy! how could I help it? I had to do what Uncle said. Every -one had to. But you are my only love, you! you!” - -As these words subsided into moans, and moans into silence, I felt my -arm gripped. - -“That’s what’s killing me,” was breathed again into my ears. “I did -what I did and all for this. He will fight for the money but not to -spend on Orpha, and you, you love her. We all know that now.” - -“Be calm,” I said. “It is all coming right. Miss Colfax will soon be -married. And--and if Edgar is innocent--” - -“Innocent?” - -“Of anything worse than planning to marry one woman while loving -another--” - -“But he is not. He--” - -I stopped her in time. I was not there to listen to anything which -would force me to act. If there was action to be taken she must take it -or Edgar. - -“I don’t want to hear anything against Edgar,” I admonished her as soon -as I could get her attention. “I am not the one to be told his faults. -If they are such as Justice requires to have made known, you must seek -another confessor. What I want is for you to refrain from further -alarming the whole household. Miss Bartholomew is frightened, very much -frightened by what she hears of your manner below stairs and of the -complete isolation in which you keep your patient. It was she who sent -for me to come here. I do not want to stay,--I cannot. Will you promise -me to remain quiet for the rest of the night? To think out your problem -quietly and then to take advice either from the doctor who appears to -understand some of your difficulties or from--” - -“Don’t say it! Don’t say it,” she cried below breath. “I know what my -duty is, but, oh, I had rather die on the spot than do it.” - -“Remember your young mistress. Remember how she is placed. Forget -yourself. Forget your love for Edgar. Forget everything but what you -owe to your dead master whose strongest wish was to see his daughter -happy.” - -“How can she be? How can she be? How can any of us ever be -light-hearted again? But I will remember. I--will--try.” Then in a -burst, as another cry of “Lucy” came from the other room, “Do you think -Miss Orpha’s heart will go out to you if--if--” - -I shrank away from her; I groped for the door. That question here!--in -this semi-gloom--from such lips as these! A question far too sacred -and too fraught with possibilities of yea and nay for me to hear it -unmoved, bade me begone before I lost myself in uncontrollable anger. - -“Do not ask me that,” I managed to exclaim. “All I can say is that I -love my cousin sincerely and that some day I hope to marry her, fortune -or no fortune.” - -I thought I heard her murmur “And you shall,” but I was not sure and -never will be. What I did hear was a promise from her to be quiet and -to keep to the room where she was. - -However, when I had rejoined Haines and we had gone to the floor below, -I asked him if he would be good enough to relieve me for the night by -keeping a personal watch over his young mistress. “If only I could feel -assured that you were sitting here somewhere within sight of her door I -should rest easy. Will you do that for me, Haines?” - -“As I did that last night on my own account, I do not think it will be -very hard for me to do it to-night on yours. I am proud to think you -trust me, sir, to help you in your trouble.” - -And this was the man I had dared to stigmatize in my own thoughts as a -useful but unfeeling machine! - - -LIII - -I left Orpha cheered, and passing down the driveway came upon a plain -clothes man awaiting me in the shadow of the high hedge separating the -extensive grounds from the street. - -I was not surprised, and stopping short, paused for him to speak. - -He did this readily enough. - -“You will find a limousine waiting in front of one of the shops halfway -down on the next block. It’s the Inspector’s. He would be glad to have -a word with you.” - -“Very good. I’ll be sure to stop.” - -It could not be helped. We were in the toils and I knew it. Useless -to attempt an evasion. The lion had his paw on my shoulder. I walked -briskly that I might not have too much time for thought. - -“Well?” was the greeting I received, when seated at the Inspector’s -side I turned to see what mood he was in before we passed too far from -the street lamp for me to get a good look at his features. “Anything -new?” - -“No.” I could say this conscientiously because I had not learned -anything new. It was all old; long thought of, long apprehended. “Miss -Bartholomew was concerned over the illness in the house. She is young -and virtually alone, her only companion being an elderly relative with -about as little force and character as a jelly fish. I felt that a call -would encourage her and I went. Mrs. Ferris was present--” - -“Never mind that. I’ve been young myself. But--” We were passing -another lamp, the light was on my face, he saw my eyes fall before his -and he instantly seized his advantage--“Are you sure,” he asked, “that -you have nothing to tell me?” - -I gave him a direct look now, and spoke up resolutely. - -“Have pity, Inspector. You know how I am situated. I have no facts to -give you except--” - -“The young fellow talks in his sleep; we know that. I see that you know -it, too; possibly you have heard him--” - -“If I have I should not feel justified in repeating a man’s ravings -to an officer of the law intent on official business. Ravings that -spring from fever are not testimony. I’m sure you see that. You cannot -require--” - -“No, not to-night.” The words came slowly, reluctantly from his lips. - -I faced him with a look of gratitude and real admiration. This man -with a famous case on his hands, the solution of which would make his -reputation from one end of the continent to the other, was heeding -my plea--was showing me mercy. Or perhaps, he was reading in my -countenance (why, we were in business streets, the best lighted in the -city!) what my tongue so hesitated to utter. - -“Not to-night,” he repeated. “Nor ever if we can help it. I am willing -you should know that it is a matter of pride with me to get at the -truth of this matter without subjecting you to further inquisition. -Your position is a peculiar one and consideration should be shown you. -But, mark me, the truth has got to be reached. Justice, morality, the -future of your family and of the innocent girl who is its present -representative all demand this. I shall leave no stone unturned. I can -only say that, if possible, I shall leave your stone to be attended to -last.” - -“Inspector, you shall have this much from me. If you will wait two -days, I think--I am almost certain--that a strand will be drawn from -this tangle which will make the unravelling of the rest easy. It will -be by another hand than mine; but you can trust that hand; it is an -honest one.” - -“I will wait two days, unless circumstances should arise demanding -immediate action.” - -And with no further talk we separated. But he understood me and -I understood him and words would have added but little to our -satisfaction. - - -LIV - -The phone in my room rang early on the following morning. Haines had -promised to let me know what kind of a night they had had, and he was -promptly keeping his word. - -All had gone well, so far as appeared. If he learned to the contrary -later he would let me know. With this I had to be content for some -three hours, then the phone rang again. It was Haines calling and this -time to the effect that Nurse Wealthy was going out; that she had -demanded an hour off, saying that she must have a breath of air or die. -Miss Orpha had gladly given her the leave of absence she desired, and, -to Haines’ own amazement, he had been put in charge of the sick room -till her return, Mr. Edgar being much better this morning. No one knew -where she was going but the moment she came back I should hear of it. - -This was as I expected. But where was Wealthy going? Could she -possibly be coming to see me in my hotel or was her destination Police -Headquarters? - -Strangely neither guess was correct. A third ring at the phone and I -was notified that my presence was urgently desired at Mr. Jackson’s -office, and upon hastening there I found her closeted with the lawyer -in his private room. Her veil--a heavy mourning one,--was down and her -attitude one of humility; but there was no mistaking her identity, and -Mr. Jackson made no attempt at speaking her name, entering at once upon -the momentous reason for which I had been summoned. - -“I am sorry to have made you this trouble, Mr. Bartholomew,” said he, -after having given orders that we were to be left undisturbed. “But -this woman whom I am sure you recognize would not speak without your -presence; and I judge that she has something important to tell.” - -“Yes,” she insisted, moving a trifle in her restlessness. “I thought -that nothing would ever make me talk; but we don’t know ourselves. I -have not slept and do not think I shall ever sleep again unless I tell -you--” - -“Don’t you remember what I insisted upon in our talk last night, -Wealthy? How it was not to me you must tell your story, but to--” - -“I know whom you mean,” she interrupted breathlessly. “But it’s not -for the police to hear what I have to say; only yourself and lawyer. -I did you a wrong. You must know just what that wrong was. I have a -conscience, sir. It’s troubled me all my life but never so much as now. -Won’t you listen? Tell him to listen, Mr. Jackson, or I’ll leave this -place and keep silence till I die.” - -It was no idle threat. If she had been motherly and sweet in the old -days, she was inflexible and determined in these. Under the kindliness -of an affectionate nature there lay forces such as give constancy to -the martyr. She would do what she said. - -Looking away, I encountered the eye of Mr. Jackson. Its language was -unmistakable. I felt myself in a trap. - -But I would not yield without another effort. Smiling faintly, I said: - -“You have never liked me, Nurse Wealthy; why, then, drag me into this? -Let me go. Mr. Jackson will be a sympathetic listener, I know.” - -“I cannot let you go; but I can go myself,” she retorted, rising slowly -and turning her back upon me. She was trembling in sheer desperation as -she took a step towards the door. - -I could not see her go. I was not her sole auditor as on the night -before. My duty seemed plain. - -“Come back,” I called to her. “Speak, and I will listen.” - -She drew a deep breath, loosened her veil, but did not lift it; then -quietly reseated herself. - -“I loved the Bartholomew family, all of them, till--You will excuse me, -sir, I can hide nothing in telling my story--till you came to visit us -and things began to go wrong. - -“It was not liking I felt for them, but a passionate devotion, -especially for Mr. Edgar, whose like I had never seen before. That he -would marry Miss Orpha and that I should always live with them was as -much a settled fact in my mind as the knowledge that I should some -day die. And I was happy. But trouble came. The night which should -have seen their engagement announced saw Mr. Bartholomew stricken with -illness, and the beginning of changes, for which I blamed nobody but -you.” - -She was addressing me exclusively. - -“I felt that you were working against us--against Mr. Edgar I -mean,--and my soul turned bitter and my hatred grew till I no longer -knew myself. That Mr. Edgar could do anything wrong--that he could -deceive himself or Miss Orpha or the uncle who doted on him you could -not have made me believe in those days. It was you, _you_ who did all -the harm, and Mr. Bartholomew, weakened by illness, was your victim. -So I reasoned as I saw how things went and how you were given an equal -chance with Mr. Edgar to sit with him and care for him, nights as well -as days. - -“Then the lawyers came, and though I am not over bright, it was plain -enough to me that something very wrong was being done, and I got all -wrought up and listened and watched to see if I could get hold of the -truth; and I saw and heard enough to convince me that Mr. Edgar’s -chance of fortune and happiness with Miss Orpha needed guarding and -that if worst came to worst, I must be ready to do my part in saving -him from losing the property destined for him since he was a little -child. - -“I said nothing of this to any one, but I hardly slept in my eagerness -to know whether the two documents your uncle kept in the little drawer -near his head were really two different wills. I had never heard of -anybody keeping two wills ready to hand before. But Mr. Bartholomew was -not like other men and you could not judge him by what other men do. -That I was right in thinking that these two documents were really two -wills I soon felt quite sure from his actions. There was not a day he -did not handle them. I often found him poring over them, and he always -seemed displeased if I approached him too closely at these times. Then -again he would simply lie there holding them, one in each hand, as if -weighing them one against the other,--his eyes on the great picture of -Miss Orpha and a look of sore trouble on his face. It was the same look -with which I saw him in the last few days glance from your cousin Edgar -to yourself, and back again, when by any chance you were both in the -room at the same time. - -“I often wanted to have a good talk with Miss Orpha about these strange -unnatural doings; but I didn’t dare. I knew she wouldn’t listen; and so -with a heart eaten into by anxiety, I went on with my nursing, loving -her and Mr. Edgar more than ever and hating you almost to the point of -frenzy. - -“You must pardon me for speaking so plainly, but it is necessary for -you to know just how I felt or you would never understand what got into -me on that last night of your uncle’s life. I could see long before any -of the rest of you that something of great importance was going to -happen in the house before we slept. I had watched him too long and -too closely not to draw certain conclusions from his moods. When he -ordered his evening meal to be set out near the fireplace and sent for -Clarke to dress him, I felt confident that the great question which was -driving him into his grave was on the eve of being settled. But how? -This was what I was determined to find out, and was quite prepared if I -found things going against Mr. Edgar to do whatever I could to help him. - -“You will think this very presumptuous in a woman in my position; but -those two motherless children were like my own so far as feeling went, -and if there is any excuse for me it lies in this, that I honestly -thought that your uncle was under an influence which might force him to -do in his present condition what in his right mind he would never dream -of doing, no, not if it were to save his life.” - -Here she paused to catch her breath and gather strength to proceed. Her -veil was still down, but her breast was heaving tumultuously with the -fierce beating of her heart. We were watching her carefully, both Mr. -Jackson and myself, but we made no move, nor did we speak. Nothing must -check her at this point of her narrative. - -We showed wisdom in this, for after a short interval in which nothing -could be heard but her quick gasps for breath, she spoke again and in -the same tone and with the same fervor as before. - -“The supper cleared and everything made right in the room, he asked for -Clarke, and when he came bade him go for Mr. Edgar. I could not stay -after that. I knew his wishes. I knew this, too, that the prospect of -doing something, after his many days of worriful thinking, had brought -him strength;--that he was in one of those tense moods when to cross -him meant danger; and that I must be careful what I said and did if I -was to serve him, and that I must urge Mr. Edgar to be careful, too. - -“But no opportunity was given me to speak to him. He came up, with -Clarke following close behind, and went directly to your uncle’s room -just as I stole away to the cozy corner. When he came out my eye was at -the slit in my screen. From the way he walked I knew that things had -gone wrong with him and later when you came out, I saw that they had -gone well with you. Your head was high; his had been held low. - -“I like Clarke, and perhaps you think, because we were sitting there -together waiting for orders that I took him into my confidence. But -I didn’t. I was too full of rage and fear for that. Nobody must know -my heart, nobody, at least not during this uncertainty. For I was -still determined to act; to say or do something if I got the chance. -When after going to your uncle’s room, he came back and said that Mr. -Bartholomew was not yet ready to go to bed,--that he wanted to be left -alone for a half hour and that I was to see from the place where I was -that no one came to disturb him, I felt that the chance I wanted was -to be mine, and as soon as Clarke went on to his room, I got up and -started to go down the hall. - -“I am giving a full story, Mr. Quenton, for I want you to know it all; -so I will not omit a little thing of which I ought to be ashamed, but -of which I was rather proud at the time. When I had taken a few steps -I remembered that a half hour was a long time, and that Clarke might -find it so and be tempted to take a look to see if I was keeping watch -as he had bid me. Not that he seemed to doubt me, but because he was -always over particular in every matter where his master was concerned. -So I came back and going to my room brought out a skirt like the one -I had on and threw it over a chair behind the screen so that a little -bit of the hem would show outside. Then I went to your uncle’s door and -with a slow turn of the knob opened it without a sound and stepped into -the passage-way. To my great satisfaction the portières which separated -it from the room itself were down and pulled closely together. I could -stand there and not be seen, same as in the cozy corner. - -“Hearing nothing, I drew the heavy hangings apart ever so slightly and -peered through the slit thus made at his figure sitting close by the -fireside. He was in his big chair with the wings on either side and -placed as it was, only his head was visible. I trembled as I saw him, -for he was too near the hearth. What if he should fall forward! - -“But as I stood there hesitating, I saw one of his hands come into -view from the side of his chair--the side nearest the fire. In it was -one of the big envelopes and for an instant I held my breath, for -he seemed about ready to toss it into the fire. But he soon drew it -back again and I heard a moan, then the low cry, ‘My boy! my boy! I -cannot.’ And I knew then what it all meant. That there were really -two wills and that he was trying to summon up courage to destroy the -one which would disinherit his favorite nephew. Rebelling against the -act and determined to stop it if I could, I slipped into the room and -without making any noise, for I had on my felt slippers, I crept across -the floor nearer and nearer till I was almost at his back. His head -was bent a little forward, but he gave no sign of being aware of my -presence. I could hear the fire crackle and now and then the little -moan which left his lips, but nothing else. The house was like the -house of the dead; not a sound disturbed it. - -“Taking another step, I looked over his shoulder. He was holding those -two documents, just as I had frequently seen him in his bed, one in -each hand. He seemed to be staring at them and now one hand would -tremble and now the other, and I was so close that I could see a red -cross scrawled on the envelope he held in his right--the one he had -stretched out to the fire and drawn back again a few minutes before. - -“Dared I speak? Dared I plead the cause of the boy I loved, that he -loved? No, I didn’t dare do that; he was a terrible man when he was -roused and this might rouse him, who could tell. Besides, words were -leaving his lips, he was muttering aloud to himself and soon I could -understand what he was saying and it was something like this: - -“‘I’m too old--too weak--some one else must do it--Orpha, who will -not know what she is doing, not I,--not I. There’s time yet--I asked -the doctor--two weeks was what he said--Edgar! my boy, my boy.’ Every -murmur ending thus, ‘My boy! my boy!’ - -“All was well then; I need not fear for to-night. To-morrow I would -pray Edgar to exert himself to some purpose. Better for me to slide -back to my place behind the portière; the half hour would soon be -up--But just then I heard a different cry, his head had turned, he was -looking up at his daughter’s picture and now a sob shook him, and then -came the words: - -“‘Your mother was a just woman; and she says this must be done. I have -always heeded her voice. To-morrow you shall burn--’ - -“There he stopped. His head sank back against the chair top, and, -frightened out of my senses, I was about to start forward, when I saw -the one will--the one with the red mark on it slip from his hand and -slide across the hearth close to the burning logs. - -“That was all I needed to make me forget myself and rush to the rescue -of Edgar’s inheritance. I was on my knees in front of the fire before I -realized what I had done, and clutching at the paper, knelt there with -it in my hand looking up at your uncle. - -“He was staring straight at me but he saw nothing. One of the spells -of brief unconsciousness which he sometimes had had come upon him. I -could see his breast rise and fall but he took no note of me, and, -thanking God in my heart, I reached up and drew the other will from his -unresisting hand and finding both of the envelopes unsealed, I changed -the will in the marked one for that in the other and laid them both in -his lap. - -“I was behind his chair again before I heard the deep sigh with which -he woke from that momentary trance; and I was already behind the -portière and watching as before when I heard a slight rattle of paper -and knew that he had taken the two wills again into his hands. - -“But he did nothing further; simply sat there and as soon as I reckoned -that the half hour was nearly up and that Clarke would be coming from -his room to attend him, I stole out of the door and into my cozy corner -in time to greet Clarke when he showed himself. I was as tired as I had -ever been in my life, and doubtful as to whether what I had done would -be helpful to Edgar or the reverse. What might not happen before the -morrow of which he spoke. I was afraid of my own shadow creeping ahead -of me along the wall as I hurried to take my place at your uncle’s -bedside. - -“But I was more doubtful yet and much more frightened when upon asking -him if I should not put away the documents I saw on the stand at his -side (a pile such as I had often taken from his little drawer in the -bed-head with the two I was most interested in on top) he said that he -wanted me for another purpose and sent me in great haste downstairs on -a foolish little errand to Miss Orpha’s room. He was again to be left -alone and for a long while, too. - -“I wanted to call Clarke, but while your uncle looked at me as he was -looking then, I knew that it would be madness to interfere, so I sped -away on my errand, conscious that he was listening for the opening and -shutting of the door below as proof that I had obeyed him. - -“Was it a whim? It could easily be that, for the object he wanted had -belonged to his dead wife and men as sick as he have such whims. But it -might just as well be that he wanted to be alone so as to look at the -two wills again, and if that was his purpose, what would happen when I -got back? - -“The half hour during which I helped my poor, tired young lady to hunt -through drawers and trunks for the little old-fashioned shawl he had -sent for was one of great trial to me. But we found it at last and -when I saw it in her hand and the sweetness of her face as she stooped -to kiss it, I wanted to take her in my arms, but did not dare to, for -something stood between us which I did not understand then but which I -know now was my sin. - -“There was a clock on her dresser and when I saw how late it was I -left her very suddenly and started on my way back. What happened to me -on my way up you’ve already heard me tell;--the Presence, which was -foolishness, and afterwards, on reaching the stair-head, something -which was not foolishness,--I mean the hearing of the two doors of your -uncle’s room being unlocked, one after the other, in expectation of -my coming. What had he been doing? Why had he locked himself in? The -question agitated me so that it was quite a few minutes before I could -summon up courage to enter the room. When I did, it was with a sinking -heart. Should I find the two wills still lying where I had last seen -them, huddled with the other papers on the little stand? If they were, -I need not fret; but if they were in his hands or had been hidden away -somewhere, the fear and anxiety would be insupportable. - -“But my first glance towards the little stand reassured me. They were -still there. There was no mistaking those stiff dark envelopes; and, -greatly heartened, I stepped to the bedside and took my first look at -him. He was lying with closed eyes, panting a little but otherwise -peaceful. I spoke his name and held out the little shawl. As he took it -he smiled. I shall never forget that smile, never. Had it been meant -for me I would have fallen on my knees, and told him what I had done, -but it was for that young wife of his, dead for some seventeen years -now; and the delight I saw in it hardened rather than softened me and -gave me courage to keep silent. - -“He was ready now to have those papers put away, and drawing the key -to the little drawer from under the pillow, he handed it to me and -watched me while I lifted the whole pile of business documents and put -them back in the place from which they had been taken; and as nothing -in his manner showed that he felt the least suspicion that any of these -papers had been tampered with, I was very glad to see them put away for -the night. I remember thinking as I gave him back the key that nothing -must hinder me from seeking an early opportunity to urge Mr. Edgar to -exert himself to win his uncle’s favor back. I knew that he could if he -tried; and, satisfied so far, I was almost happy. - -“Now we know that your uncle himself had tampered with them while I -was gone that good half hour after the little shawl. He had taken out -one of the wills from its envelope and carried it--he who could hardly -stand--down that concealed stairway to the box dangling from one of -the walls below. But how could I dream of anything so inconceivable as -that--I who had been in and out of that room and up and down the main -staircase for fifteen years without a suspicion that the Presence which -sometimes haunted that spot was actual and not imaginary. I thought -that all was well for the night at least and was bustling about when he -suddenly called me. - -“Running to his bedside, I found him well enough but in a very earnest -mood. ‘Wealthy,’ he said, ‘I am old and I am weak. I no longer trust -myself. The doctor said when he left to-day that I had two full weeks -before me; but who knows; a whiff of air may blow me away at any -minute, and the thing I want done might go undone and infinite trouble -ensue. I am resolved to act as though my span of life was that of a day -instead of a fortnight. To-morrow morning we will have the children all -in and I will wind up the business which will set everything right. -And lest I should not feel as well then as I do now, I will tell you -before I sleep just what I want you to do.’ And then he explained about -the bowl and the candles which I was to put on the stand when the time -came and made it all so clear that I was now thoroughly convinced that -it was really his intention to have Miss Orpha burn the will he had not -had the courage to burn himself, and this speedily,--probably in the -early morning. - -“I stared at him, stupefied. What if they looked at the will before -they burned it. This, Mr. Edgar would be likely to do, and give himself -away in his surprise and so spoil all. I must hinder that; and when Mr. -Bartholomew fell into a doze I crept to Mr. Edgar’s room, putting out -the lights as I went, and, finding him awake, I told him what I had -done and said that he need not worry if we found his uncle in the same -mind in the morning as now and ordered the will burned which was in the -marked envelope, for that was the one which should be burned and which -he would himself burn if he were the man he used to be and had not -been influenced by a stranger. Meaning you, sir, of course. God forgive -me.” - -“So he _knew_!” I burst forth, leaping to my feet in my excitement. -“That’s why he took it all so calmly. Why from that day to this he has -found it so difficult to meet my eye. Why he has followed me, seeming -to want to speak--to tell me something--” - -I did not go on--a thousand questions were rising in my mind. I cast -a quick glance at Mr. Jackson and saw that he was startled too and -waited, with every confidence in his judgment, for him to say what was -in his mind. - -“At what time was this?” he asked, leaning forward and forcing her to -meet his eye. - -“I don’t know.” She tried to shun his gaze; her hands began to tremble. -“I didn’t take any notice. I just ran to his room and back; I had -enough to think of without looking at clocks.” - -“Was it before you heard the glass set back on the shelf?” - -She gave a start, and pressing the two arms of her chair with those -trembling hands of hers tried to rise, but finding that her knees would -not support her, fell back. In the desperation of the moment she turned -towards me, putting up her veil as she did so. “Don’t ask me any more -questions,” she pleaded. “I am all unstrung; I’ve had no sleep, no -rest, no ease for days. When I found that Mr. Edgar--you know what I -would say, sir--I don’t want to repeat it here--” - -“Yes, we know,” Mr. Jackson broke in. “You cannot bridle the curiosity -of servants. We know that he loves another woman than your young -mistress with all her advantages. You may speak plainly.” - -“Oh, but it hurts!” she moaned. Then, as if no break had occurred, -“When I found that he was not the man I thought him--that nothing I -could do would ever make good the dream of years, I hated myself and -what I had done and above all my treatment of you, Mr. Quenton. I did -not succeed in the wrong I planned,--something happened--God knows -what--to upset all that, but the feeling was there and I am sorry; and -now that I have said so, may I not go? I have heard that you are kind; -that none of us knew how kind; let me go--” - -She paused, her lips half closed, every sense on the alert. She was no -longer looking at me but straight ahead of her though the danger was -approaching from the rear. A door behind her was opening. I could see -the face of the man who entered and felt my own heart sink. Next moment -he was at her side, his finger pressing on her shoulder. - -“Let us hear your answer to the question which Mr. Jackson has just put -to you. Was your visit to Mr. Bartholomew’s room before or after you -heard the setting down of the medicine glass on the shelf?” - -“Before.” - -She spoke like one in a dream. She seemed to know who her interlocutor -was though she did not turn to look at him. - -“You lied when you said that you saw this gentleman here hurrying down -the hall immediately after you had heard some one carefully shutting -the door next to the medicine cabinet?” - -“Yes, I lied.” - -Still like one in a dream. - -“Did you see him or his shadow pass down the hall at any time that -night?” - -“No.” - -“Why these stories then? Why these lies?” - -She was silent. - -“Was it not Edgar Bartholomew you heard or saw at that door; and did -you not know it was he?” - -Again silence; but now a horrified one. - -“Are you sure that he did not come in at that door you heard shut? -That the only mistake made that night was that the dose was not strong -enough--that your patient did not die in time for the will in this -gentleman’s favor to be abstracted and destroyed, leaving the other one -as the final expression of Mr. Bartholomew’s wishes and testamentary -intentions? You need not answer. It is a law of this country that no -one can be compelled to incriminate himself. But that is how it looks -to us, Mrs. Starr. That is how it looks.” - -With this he lifted his finger; and the breath held back in all our -throats broke from us in a simultaneous gasp. She only did not move, -but sat gazing as before, cheek and brow and even lips growing whiter -and whiter till we all shrank back appalled. As the silence grew longer -and heavier and more threatening I covered my face with my hands. I -could not look and listen too. A vision of Edgar in his most buoyant -mood, with laughter in his eye and winsome _bonhomie_ in every feature -flashed before me and passed. I could hardly bear it. Then I heard her -voice, thin, toneless, and ringing like a wire which has been struck: - -“Edgar is innocent. He never entered the room. No one entered it. That -was another lie. I alone mixed the dose. I thought he would die at once -and let me do what you said. It came to me as I sat there waiting for -the morning--the morning I did not feel myself strong enough to face.” - - -LV - -We believed her. I, because it lifted a great load from my heart; -Lawyer Jackson and the Inspector because of their long experience with -criminal humanity. Misery has its own voice! So has conscience; and -conscience, despite the strain she had put upon it during these last -few evil days was yet alive within her. - -Notwithstanding this, the Inspector would not let the moment pass -without a warning. - -“Mrs. Starr,” said he, “it is my duty to tell you that you will be -making a great mistake in taking upon yourself the full burden of this -crime if you are simply its accessory before or after. The real culprit -cannot escape by any such means as that, and you will neither help him -or yourself by taking such a stand.” - -The dullness which had crept into her eyes, the loose set of her lips, -the dejection, with every purpose gone, which showed in the collapse of -her hitherto firmly held body offered the best proof which had yet been -given that she had not exaggerated her position. Even her voice had -changed; all its ringing quality was gone; it sounded dead, utterly, -without passion, almost without feeling: - -“I did it myself when I was alone with--with my patient and this--this -is why. If I must tell all, I will tell all, though the shame of it -will kill me. When I got back from Mr. Edgar’s room, I took another -look at Mr. Bartholomew. He was still sleeping and as much of his face -as I could see for the little shawl, was calmer than before and his -breath even more regular. I should have been happy, but I was not, and -stood looking at him, asking myself again and again what he had been -doing while I was below and if I were right in thinking that he had not -looked into the envelopes. If he had and had changed the wills back -where should we be? Mr. Edgar would lose his inheritance and all my -wicked work would go for nothing. I could not bear the thought. If only -I dared open that little drawer, and have a peep at those documents. I -had not the least suspicion that one of them had been withdrawn from -its envelope. The full one was on top and I was so nervous handling -them under his eye that the emptiness of the under one had escaped me. -So I had not that to worry about, only the uncertainty as to which was -in the marked envelope--the envelope he had held over the fire and drew -back saying that Orpha must do what he could not. - -“I knew that if he should wake and detect me fumbling under his pillow -for his key that I should fall at his bedside in shame and terror; -yet I was putting out my hand, when he moved and turned his head, -disarranging the shawl, and I saw projecting from under the pillow not -the key but his eye-glasses and started back and let the curtain fall -and sank into the chair I always had near, overcome by a certainty -which took away all my strength just when I needed it for fresh thought. - -“For there was no mistaking now what he had been doing in my absence. -He could not read without his glasses, though he could see other things -quite well. He had risen to get them--for I remembered only too clearly -that they had been lying on his desk when I left the room. I can see -them now, just where they lay close against the inkstand; and having -got them, and being on his feet, he had locked the doors so that he -would not be interrupted while he satisfied himself that the will he -had resolved to destroy was in the marked envelope. That he had done -more than this--taken the will he wished kept and carried it out of the -room, was not within the mind of a poor woman like me to conceive. I -was in a bad enough case as it was. He knew in which envelope was the -will which would give Edgar his inheritance and I did not. Should I -go and consult Edgar as to what we should do now? No; whatever was to -be done should be done by me alone; he should not be dragged into it. -That is how I felt. But what to do? I did not know. For an hour I sat -there, the curtain drawn between us, listening to his breathing. And I -thought it all out. I would do just what you said here a little moment -ago. Open the drawer and take out the will I hated and burn it to ashes -in the fireplace, leaving only the one which would make everything -right. But to be free to do this he--must--first--die. I loved Edgar; -I was willing to do anything for him but meet his uncle’s accusing -eye. That would take bravery I did not possess. So I rose at last, -very determined now my mind was made up, and moving quietly around the -foot of the bed, crept stealthily to the medicine cabinet, and lifting -out the phial I wanted, set it on a lower shelf and then returning for -the glass of soothing mixture already prepared, dropped into it what I -thought was a heavy dose, and putting back the medicine phial, carried -the glass to the bedside where I put it on a chair close to his hand; -for he had turned over again by this time and lay with his face toward -the windows. - -“The light from the fire added to that of the lamp on the other side -of the bed made the room bright enough for me to do all this; but -when I got back and had seated myself again, the lamp-light seemed an -offense and I put it out. The glow from the fire was enough! He could -see to reach the glass--and I waited--waited--till I heard a sigh--then -a movement--then a quietly whispered _Wealthy?_--and then, a slight -tinkle as though the button at his wrist had touched the glass--and -_then_-- - -“Oh, God! will I ever forget it? Or how I waited and waited for what -must follow, watching the shadows gather on the ceiling, and creep -slowly down the walls till they settled upon my head and about the bed -where I still heard him moving and muttering now and then words which -had no meaning. Why moving? Why muttering? I had expected silence long -before this. And why such a chill and so heavy a darkness? Then I -realized that the fire he so loved was out for the first time since his -illness,--the fire that was to destroy the will I had not yet touched -or even sought out, and I rose to rebuild it, when he suddenly cried -out, ‘Light!’ and shaken by the tone, subdued in one instant to my old -obedient self, I turned on the lamp and pulled back the curtain. - -“He was looking at me, not unkindly, but in the imperious way of one -who knows he has but to speak to have his least wish carried out. - -“He was ill. I was to rouse the house--bring the bowl--the candles--no -waiting,--I knew what I was to do; he had told me the night before. - -“And I did each and every thing just as he commanded. Alive to seeming -failure, to possible despair, I went about my task, hoping against hope -that all would yet go right; that Fate would step in and make my sin of -some avail at this terrible crisis. Though the hands I wrung together -in my misery as I ran through the hall were like ice to the touch, -I was all on fire within. Now there is no more fire left here”--her -hand falling heavy on her breast--“than on the stones of the desolated -hearth;--only ashes! ashes!” - -The Inspector moved, and was about to speak, but ceased as her voice -rose again in that same awful monotone. - -“I loved my Mr. Edgar then.” She spoke as though years had intervened -instead of a few flitting days. “I used to think that in return for one -of his gay smiles I would put my hands under his feet. But to-day, I do -not seem to care enough for him to be glad that he is not guilty. If he -were, and had to face what I have to face--shame, when I have always -prided myself on my good-name--isolation, when to help others has been -my life--death, when--” She paused at that, her head falling forward, -her eyes opening into a wide stare, as though she saw for the first -time the abyss into which she was sinking,--“I should not now be so -lonely.” - -The Inspector drew back, Mr. Jackson turned away his head. I could not -move feature or limb. I was beholding for the first time the awakening -of a lost soul to the horror of its own sin. - -“I don’t know why it is,” she went on, still in that toneless voice -more moving than any wail or even shriek. “It did not seem such a -dreadful thing to do that night. It was but hastening his death by a -few days, possibly by only a few hours. But now--now--” Suddenly to -our amazement she was on her feet, her eyes roaming from one face to -the other of us three, all signs of apathy gone, passion restored to -her heart, feeling restored to her voice, as she cried out: “Will Miss -Orpha have to know? I wish I could see her before she knows. I wish--I -wish--” - -It was my turn now. Leaping to her side, I held her while the sobs came -in agony from her breast, shaking her and distorting her features till -in mercy I pulled down her veil and seated her again in her chair. - -As I withdrew my arm she managed to press my hand. And I heard very -faintly from behind that veil: - -“I am glad something happened to give you what you wanted.” - - -LVI - -I thought I had only to go now, and leave her to the Inspector who I -felt would deal with her as mercifully as he could. But Mr. Jackson -shook his head as I was about to depart, and stepping up to the -Inspector said a few earnest words to him after which the former sat -down at his desk and wrote a few lines which he put in the official’s -hands. Then he drew me apart. - -“Wait,” he said; “we may want your signature.” - -It was a written confession which the Inspector took upon himself to -ask her to sign. - -She was sitting back in her chair, very quiet now, her veil down, her -figure immovable. The slow heaving of her chest bespoke life and that -was all. The Inspector bent down as he reached her and after a minute’s -scrutiny of her veiled features said to her not unkindly: - -“It will save you much mental suffering if you will sign these words -which I first ask you to listen to. Are you ready to hear them?” - -She nodded, her hands which were clasped about a little bag she was -carrying, twitching convulsively. - -“Water, first,” she begged, turning up her eyes till they rested on his -face. - -He made me a motion, but did not stir from where he stood before her. -Instead, he directed his full glance at her hands, and unclasping -them gently from the bag she was clutching, opened them out and took -away the bag which he laid aside. Then he raised her veil, and handed -her the glass which I had brought and watched her while she drank. A -few drops seemed to suffice to reinvigorate her, and giving back the -glass, she waited for him to read. - -The words were mercifully few but they told the full story. As she -listened, she sank back into her old pose, only that her hands missing -the little bag clutched the arms of the chair in which she sat, and -seemed to grow rigid there. But they loosed their grasp readily enough -as the Inspector brought a pad and a pen and laying the pad in her lap -with the words she had listened to plainly before her, handed her the -pen and asked her to sign them. - -She roused herself to do this, and when he would draw her veil again -she put up her hand in protest, after which she wrote somehow, almost -without seeing what she did, the three words which formed her name. -Then she sank back again and as he carried away the pad, and, laying -the signed confession on the desk for Mr. Jackson and myself to affix -our signatures to it as witnesses, she clutched again the arms of her -chair and so sat as before, without further word or seeming interest in -what was being done. - -Should I go now without a word to her, without asking if she had any -message to send to Edgar or to Orpha? While I was hesitating, whether -or not to address her, I saw the Inspector start and laying his hand -on Mr. Jackson’s arm point to her silent figure. A coldness, icy and -penetrating struck my heart. I saw them hurriedly advance, I saw the -Inspector for the second time slowly lift her veil, give one look and -drop it again. And I saw nothing more for a minute, then as my senses -cleared, I met the eyes of the two men fixed on me and not on her, and -summoning up my strength I said: - -“It is better so.” - -They did not answer, but in each man’s eye I saw that had they spoken -it would have been in repetition of my words: - -“It is better so.” - - -LVII - -My first duty, now as ever, was to Orpha. Before rumor reached her -she must know, and from no other lips than mine, what had happened. -Then,--I did not get much beyond that _then_, for mortal foresight is -of all things most untrustworthy, and I had fought too long with facts -to wish to renew my battle with delusive fancies. - -To shut out every imagining which might get the better of my good -sense, I forced myself to recall the foolish reasoning in which I -had indulged when the possibility of Uncle having been the victim -of Edgar’s cupidity was obsessing my brain. How I had attributed to -him acts of which he had been entirely guiltless. How in order to -explain our uncle’s death by poison I had imagined him going to the -sick room upon seeing Wealthy leave it, and winning the old gentleman -to his mind, had carried off the will whose existence threatened his -rights, and burned it, with our uncle’s consent, in his own room. All -this, while uncle was really behind locked doors making his painful -journey down between the walls of his house, in order to place in safe -keeping,--possibly from his own vacillation,--the will which endowed -myself with what had previously been meant for Edgar alone. - -That I had thus allowed my imagination to run so far away from facts -was another lesson of the danger we incur in trusting to fanciful -reasoning where our own interests are involved; and that I should have -carried my futile deductions further, even to the point of supposing -that after the question of poisoning was mooted he had taken Orpha -and Wealthy upstairs in order to confuse his former finger-prints with -fresh ones of his own and theirs, brought me a humiliation in my own -eyes now that I knew the truth, which possibly was the best preparation -I could have for the interview which now lay before me. - -That I was not yet out of the woods,--that I was still open to the -attack of vituperative tongues I knew full well; but that could not -be helped. What I wanted was to square myself with my own conscience -before I faced Orpha and turned another leaf in our heavy book of -troubles. - - -LVIII - -Haines, for all his decorum, showed an anxious face when he opened the -door to me. It changed, however, to one of satisfaction as he saw who -had come. - -“Oh, sir!” he cried, as I stepped in, “where is Wealthy? Mr. Edgar has -been asking for her this half hour. The girl is no good and he will -have none of the rest of us in his room.” - -“I will go to him. Is Miss Bartholomew in?” - -“Yes, sir; he won’t see her either.” - -“Haines, I have something serious to say to Miss Bartholomew. You may -tell her that I should be very glad to have a few words with her. But -first I must quiet him; and while I am in the third story, whether it -be for a few minutes or half an hour, I rely on you to see that Miss -Bartholomew receives no callers and no message from any one. If the -phone rings, choke it off. Cut the wire if necessary. I am in earnest, -Haines. Will you do as I ask?” - -“I will, sir.” - -I could see how anxious he was to know what all this meant, but he did -not ask and I should not have told him if he had. It was for Edgar -first, and then for Orpha to hear what I had to relate. - - -LIX - -When I entered Edgar’s room he was sitting propped up in bed, a woeful -figure. He had just flung a book at the poor mute who had vainly tried -to find for him the thing he wanted. When he saw me he whitened and -slid down half out of sight under the bed-clothes. - -“Where is Wealthy?” he shouted out. “I want her and nobody else.” But -before I could answer, he spoke again and this time with a show of his -old-time lightness. “Not but what it is good of you to come and see a -poor devil like me.” - -“Edgar,” I said, advancing straight to his bedside and sitting down -on its edge, “I have come, not only to see what can be done for you -to-day, but to ask if you will let me stay by you till you are well -enough and strong enough to kick me out.” - -“But where is Wealthy?” he cried, with a note of alarm in his voice. -“She went out for an hour. She should be back. I--I must have Wealthy, -glum as she is.” - -Should I shock him with the truth? Would it prove to be too much for -him in his present feverish state? For a moment I feared so, then as I -noticed the restlessness which made his every member quiver, I decided -that he would be less physically disturbed by a full knowledge of -Wealthy’s guilt and the events of the last hour, than by a prolonged -impatience at her absence and the vexation which any attempt at -deception would occasion him. - -“Won’t I possibly do for a substitute?” I smiled. “Wealthy cannot come. -She will not come any more, Edgar. Though you may not have known it -she was a great sufferer--a great sinner--a curse to this house during -the last few weeks. It was she--” - -“Ah!” - -He had me by the arm. He had half raised himself again so that his -eyes, hot with fever and the horror of this revelation burned close -upon mine. His lips shook; his whole body trembled, but he understood -me. I did not need to complete my unfinished sentence. - -“You must take it calmly,” I urged. “Think what this uncertainty has -done to the family. It has almost destroyed us in the eyes of the -world. Now we can hold up our heads again; now _you_ can hold up your -head again. It should comfort you.” - -“You don’t know,” he muttered, turning his head away. Then quickly, -violently, “I can never get away from the shame of it. She did it for -me. I know that she did it for me and people will think--” - -“No,” I said, “they will not think. She exonerates you completely. -Edgar, I have to tell this news to Orpha. She must not hear it first -from one of the servants or from some newspaper man. Let me go down -to her. I will come back, but not to weary you, or allow you to weary -yourself with talk. When you are better we will have it all out. What -you have to do now is to get well, and I am going to help you.” - -I started to rise but he drew me back again. - -“There is something I must confess to you before you undertake that. I -have not been fair--” - -I took him by both hands. - -“Let us forget that. It has come between us long enough. It must not do -so any longer.” - -“You know--” - -“I had to listen to Wealthy’s story.” - -Letting go of his hands, I again tried to rise; but for the second time -he drew me back. - -“You are going to tell Orpha. Are you going to tell Lucy, too?” - -“Miss Colfax is not in the house; she left this noon for New York.” - -He stiffened where he lay. I was glad I had let go of his hands. I -could affect more easily a nonchalant manner. “She has an aunt there, I -believe. Is there anything you want before I go down?” - -Oh, the hunger in his stare! “Nothing now, nothing but to get well. You -have promised to help me and you shall.” Then as I crossed to the door, -“Where have they put her? Wealthy, I mean. I ought to do something.” - -“No, Edgar, she is being cared for. She confessed, you know, and they -will not be too harsh with her. I will tell you another time all that -I have failed to say to-day. For two days we will not speak her name. -After that you may ask me anything you will.” - -With that I closed the door behind me. The greater trial was to come. - - -LX - -So I thought, but the first view I had of Orpha’s face reassured me. -Haines had successfully carried out the rôle I had assigned him and she -was still ignorant of what had occurred to change the aspect of all our -lives. Her expression was not uncheerful, only a little wistful; and we -were alone, which made the interview both easier and harder. - -“How is Edgar?” - -Those were her first words. - -“Better. I left him in a much calmer mood. He has been worrying about -Wealthy. Have you been worrying, too?” - -“Not worrying. I think she has been a long time gone, but she was very -tired and needed a change and the air.” - -“Orpha, how much faith do you put in this woman who has been so useful -here?” - -“Why, all there is in the world. She has never failed us. What do you -mean?” - -“You have found her good as well as useful?” - -“Always. She has seemed more like a friend than a housekeeper. Why do -you ask? Why are we discussing her when there are so many other things -we ought to talk about?” - -“Because this nurse of Edgar concerns us more than any one else in -the world to-day. Because through her we nearly came to grief and now -through her we are to see the light again. Will you try to understand -me? Without further words, understand me?” - -I could see the knowledge coming, growing, flaming in her face. - -“Wealthy!” she cried. “Wealthy! Not any one nearer and dearer! I could -never bring myself to believe that it was. But not to know! I could not -have borne it much longer.” - -And I had to sit there, with her dear hand so near and not touch it. To -explain, counsel and console, with that old adjuration from lips whose -dictates still remained authoritative over me, not to pass the line -from cousinship to lover till he had taken off the ban or was dead. He -was dead, but the ban had not yet been removed, for there were some -things I must be sure of before love could triumph; one of which I was -resolved to settle before I left Orpha’s presence. - -So when we had said all there was to say of the day’s tragedy and what -was to be expected from it, I spoke to her of the odd little key which -had opened the way to the hidden stairway and asked her if she had it -about her as I greatly desired to see it again. - -“I am wearing it for a little while,” she answered and drawing the -chain from her neck she laid both that and the key in my hand. - -I studied the latter closely before putting the inquiry: - -“Is this the key you found in the earth of the flower-pot, Orpha?” - -“Yes, Quenton.” - -“Is it the one you gave to the police when they came the next day?” - -“Of course. It was still on the chain. But I took it off when I gave it -to them. They had only the key.” - -“Did you know that while they were working with that key here, another -one--the one which finally found lodgment in the slit in the molding -upstairs was traveling up from New York in Edgar’s pocket?” - -Oh, the joy of seeing her eyes open wide in innocent amazement! She -had had nothing to do with that trick! I was convinced of it before; -but now I was certain. - -“But how can that be? This key opens the way to the secret staircase. I -know because I have tried it. How could there be another?” - -“If Wealthy were still living I think she could tell you. At some time -when you were not looking, she slipped the one key off and slipped on -the other. She was used to making exchanges and her idea was to give -him a chance to try the key, and, if possible, find the will unknown -to you or the police. She had a friend in New York to whom she sent -the key and a letter enclosing one for Edgar; and had not Providence -intervened and given them both into my hands--” - -Orpha had shaken her head in protest more than once while I was -speaking but now she looked so piteously eager that I stopped. - -“Am I not right?” I asked. - -“No, no. Wealthy never knew anything about the key till the police came -to try it. I told nobody but--” - -The change in her countenance was so sudden and so marked that I turned -quickly about, thinking that some one had entered the room. But it was -not that; it was something quite different--something which called up -more than one emotion--something which both lifted her head and caused -it to droop again as if pride were battling with humiliation in her -dismayed heart. - -“Won’t you finish, Orpha?” I begged. “You said that you had told only -one person about it and that this person was not Wealthy. Who, then, -was it?” - -“Lucy,” she breathed, bringing her hands, which had been lying supine -in her lap, sharply together in a passionate clutch. - -“Lucy! Ah!” - -“She was with me the night I dropped the flower pot and picked up -the chain and key from the scattered dirt. I had brought the pot -from Father’s room the morning he died, for the flower in it was -just opening and it seemed to speak of him. But I did not like the -place where I had put it and was carrying it to another shelf, when -it slipped from my hands. If I had left it in Father’s room the key -might have been found long before; for I noticed on first watering -it that the soil on top gave evidences of having been lately stirred -up--something which made no impression on me, but which might have made -a decisive one on the Inspector. Who do you think hid the key there? -Father?” - -“I wish I knew, Orpha; there are several things we do not know and -never may now Wealthy is gone. But Miss Colfax? Tell me what passed -between you when you talked about the key?” - -It was a subject Orpha would have liked to avoid; which she would have -avoided if I had not been insistent. Why? Had she begun to suspect the -truth which made it hard for her to discuss her friend? Had some echo -from the cry which for days had filled the spaces of the overhead rooms -drifted down to her through the agency of some gossiping servant? It -was likely; it was more than likely; it was true. I saw it in the proud -detached air with which she waited for me to urge her into speech. - -And I did urge her. It would not do at a moment when the shadows -surrounding the past were so visibly clearing to allow one cloud to -remain which might be dissipated by mutual confidence. So, gently, but -persistently, I begged her to tell me the whole story that I might know -just what pitfalls remained in our path. - - -LXI - -Thus entreated, she no longer hesitated, though I noticed she stammered -every time when obliged to speak the name of the woman who had shared -with her--so much more than shared with her--Edgar’s affection. - -“The flower-pot lay broken on the floor and I was surveying with the -utmost surprise the key which I had picked up from the mold lying all -about on the rug, when Lucy came in to say good night. When she saw -what I held in my hand, she showed surprise also, but failed to make -any remark,--which was like--Lucy. - -“But I could not keep still. I had to talk if only to express my wonder -and obtain a little sisterly advice. But she was in no hurry to give -it, and not till I reminded her how lonely I was for all my host of -so-called friends, and had convinced her by showing the chain, that -this was the very key my father had worn about his neck and for which -we had all been looking, did she show any real interest. - -“‘And if it were?’ she asked. To which I answered eagerly, ‘Then, -perhaps, we have in our hands the clew to where the will itself lies -hidden.’ This roused her, for a spot of red came out on her cheek which -had been an even white before; and glad to have received the least sign -that she recognized the importance of my dilemma, I pressed her to tell -me what I should do with this key now that I had found it. - -“Even then she was slow to speak. She began one sentence, then broke -it off and began another, ending up at last by entreating me to let -her consider the subject before offering advice. You will acknowledge -that it was a difficult problem for two ignorant girls like ourselves -to solve, so I felt willing to wait; though I could not but wonder -at her showing all at once so much emotion over what concerned me so -much and herself so little--our cold Lucy always so proper, always so -perfectly the mistress of herself whatever the occasion. Never had I -seen her look as she was looking then nor observed in her before that -slow moving of the eye till it met mine askance; nor heard her speak as -she did when she finally asked: - -“‘Who do you want to have it?’” - -Orpha shot me a sudden glance as she repeated this question of Lucy’s, -but did not wait for any comment, rather hastened to say: - -“I am telling you just what she said and just how she looked because -it means something to me now. Then it simply aroused my curiosity. Nor -did I dream what was in her mind, when upon my protesting that it was -not a question of what I wanted, but of what it was right for me to do, -she responded by asking if I needed to be told that. The right thing, -of course, for me to do was to call up the police and get from them the -advice I needed. - -“But, Quenton, I have a great dread of the police; they know too much -and too little. So I shook my head, and seeing that Lucy was anxious to -examine the key more closely, I put it in her hands and watched her as -she ran her fingers over it remarking as she called my attention to it -that she had never seen one quite so thin before--that she could almost -bend it. Then in a quick low tone altogether unlike her own, added, as -she handed it back that we had somebody’s fate in our hands, whose, she -would not say. But this much was certain, mine was indissolubly linked -with it. And when I shuddered at the way she spoke, she threw her arms -about my neck and begged me to believe that she was sorry for me. - -“This gave me courage to ask,”--and here Orpha’s lip took a sarcastic -curve more expressive of self-disdain than of any scorn she may have -felt for her confidant--“whether she thought Dr. Hunter would be -willing to act as my advisor; that I did not like Mr. Dunn and never -had, and now that my two cousins were away I could think of no one but -him. - -“But she rejected the idea at once--almost with anger, saying that it -was a family matter and that he was not one of the family yet. That we -must wait; come to no decision to-night, unless I was willing to try -what we two could do with the key. Perhaps we might find the lock it -fitted somewhere in my father’s room. - -“But I refused, remembering that some member of the police is always -in or near the grounds ready to remark any unusual lighting up of the -third story windows. She did not seem sorry and, begging me to put the -whole matter out of my mind till the next day, stood by while I dropped -the chain and key into one of my bureau drawers, and then kissing me, -went smilingly away. - -“Quenton, I thought her manner strange,--at once too hurried and too -affectionate to seem quite real--but I never thought of doubting her or -of--of--Tell me if you know what I find it so difficult to say. Have -the servants--” - -“Yes, Orpha, I know through them what I have long known from other -sources.” And waited with a chill at my heart to see how she took this -acknowledgment. - -Gratefully. Almost with a smile. She was so lovely that never was a man -harder put to it to restrain his ardor than I was at that moment. But -my purpose held. It had to; the time was not yet. - -“I am glad,” fell softly from her lips; then she hurried on. “How could -I doubt her or doubt him? We have been a thousand times together--all -three, and never had I seen--or felt--Perhaps it is only he, not she. -Listen, for I’m not through. Something happened in the night, or I -dreamed it. I do not really know which. From what you say, I think it -happened. I didn’t then, but I do now.” - -“Go on; I am listening, Orpha.” - -“I was very troubled. I slept, but only fitfully. My mind would -be quite blank, then a sudden sharp realization would come of my -being awake and seeing my room and the things in it with unusual -distinctness. The moon would account for this, the curtains being drawn -from one of the western windows, allowing a broad beam of unclouded -light to pour into the room and lie in one large square on the floor. I -once half rose to shut it out, but forgot myself and fell asleep again. -When I woke the next time things were not so distinct, rather they were -hazy as if seen through a veil. But I recognized what I saw; it was my -own image I was staring at, standing with my hand held out, the key in -my open palm with the chain falling away from it. Dazed, wondering if -I were in a dream or in another world--it was all so strange and so -unreal,--I was lost in the mystery of it till slowly the realization -came that I was standing before my mirror, and that I was really -holding in my hand the chain and key which I had taken from my bureau -drawer. What is the matter, Quenton? Why did you start like that?” - -“Never mind now. I will tell you some other time.” - -She looked as if she hated to lose the present explanation; but, with a -little smile charming in its naïveté, she went bravely on: - -“As I took this quite in, I started to move away, afraid of my image, -afraid of my own self, for I had never done anything like this before. -And what seems very strange to me, I don’t remember the walk back to my -bed; and yet I was in my bed when the next full consciousness came, and -there was daylight in the room and everything appeared natural again -and felt natural, with the one exception of my arm, which was sore, and -when I came to look at it, it was bruised, as if it had been clutched -strongly above the elbow. Yet I had no remembrance of falling or of -hitting myself. I spoke to Lucy about it later, and about the image in -the glass, too, which I took to be a dream because--” - -“Because what, Orpha?” - -“Because the chain and key were just where I had put them the night -before,--the same chain and what I supposed to be the same key or I -would never have said so when Lucy asked me about it.” - -“Orpha, Miss Colfax has a streak of subtlety in her nature. I think -you know that now, so there is no harm in my saying so. She was in the -room when you laid by that key. She was watching you. It was she who -helped you into your bed. She had a key of her own not unlike the one -belonging to your father. She went for this and while you slept put it -on the chain you may have dropped in crossing the floor or which she -may have taken from your unresisting hand. And it was she who carefully -restored it to the place it had occupied in the bureau drawer, ready -to hand, in case the police should want it the next day. The other -one--the real one, she mailed to Edgar. Did you ever hear her speak of -a New York lawyer by the name of Miller?” - -“Oh, yes; he is her aunt’s husband. It is to them she has gone. She is -to be married in their house. They live in Newark.” - -I own that I was a little startled by this information. In handing -me the key and his letter two days before in Thirty-fifth Street he -had taken me for Edgar. This he could not have done had he ever met -him. Could it be that they were strangers? To settle the question, I -ventured to remark: - -“Edgar goes everywhere. Do you suppose he ever visited the Millers?” - -“Oh, no. Lucy has not been there herself in years.” - -“Then you do not think they are acquainted with him?” - -“I have no reason to. They have never met Dr. Hunter. Why should they -have met Edgar?” - -Her cheek was aglow; she seemed to misunderstand my reason for these -questions; so I hastened to explain myself by relating the episode -which had had such an effect on all our lives. This once made clear I -was preparing to consult with her about my plans for Edgar, when she -cast a swift glance towards the door, the portières of which were drawn -wide, and observing nobody in the court, said with the slightest hint -of trouble in her voice: - -“There is something else I ought to speak about. You remember that you -advised me to make use of my first opportunity to visit the little -stairway hidden these many years from everybody but my father? I did -so, as I have already told you, and in that box, from which the will -was drawn I found, doubled up and crushed into the bottom of it, -_this_.” - -Thrusting her hand into a large silken bag which lay at her side on the -divan on which she was seated, she drew out a crumpled document which I -took from her with some misgiving. - -“The first will of all,” I exclaimed on opening it. “The one he was -told by his lawyer to destroy, and did not.” - -“But it is of no use now,” she protested. “It--it--” - -“Take it,” I broke in almost harshly. The sight of it had affected me -far beyond what it should have done. “Put it away--keep it--till I have -time to--” - -“To do what?” she asked, eyeing me with some wonder as she put the -document back in the bag. - -“To think out my whole duty,” I smiled, recovering myself and waving -the subject aside. - -“But,” she suggested timidly but earnestly as well, “won’t it -complicate matters? Mr. Dunn bade Father to destroy it.” And her eye -stole towards the fireplace where some small logs were burning. - -“He would not tell us to do so now,” I protested. “You must keep it -religiously, as we hope to keep our honor. Don’t you see that, cousin -mine?” - -“Yes,” came with pride now. But from what that pride sprung it would -take more than man to tell. - -And then I spoke of Edgar and won her glad consent to my intention of -taking care of him as long as he would suffer it or need me. After -which, she left me with the understanding that I would summon all the -remaining members of the household and tell them from my personal -knowledge what they would soon be learning, possibly with less -accuracy, from the city newspapers. - - -LXII - -Night again in this house of many mysteries. Late night. Quiet had -succeeded intense excitement; darkness, the flashing here and there of -many lights. Orpha had retired; even Edgar was asleep. I alone kept -watch. - -To these others peace of a certain nature had come amid all the -distraction; but not to me. For me the final and most desperate -struggle of all was on,--that conflict with self which I had foreseen -with something like fear when I opened the old document so lately found -by Orpha, and beheld Edgar’s name once more in its place as chief -beneficiary. - -Till then, my course had seemed plain enough. But with this previous -will still in existence, signed and attested to and openly recognized -as it had been for many years as the exact expression of my uncle’s -wishes, confusion had come again and with it the return of old doubts -which I had thought exorcized forever. - -Had the assault been a feeble one--had these doubts been mere shadows -cast by a discarded past, I might not have quailed at their onslaught -so readily. But their strength was of the present and bore down upon me -with a malignancy which made all their former attacks seem puerile and -inconsequent. - -For the events of the day previous to Orpha’s production of the old -will had shown to my satisfaction that I might yet look for happiness -whether my claim would be allowed or disallowed by the surrogate. -If allowed, it left me free to do my duty by Edgar, now relieved -forever in my eyes of all complicity in our uncle’s tragic death. If -disallowed, it left Orpha free, as heiress and mistress of her own -fortunes, to follow her inclination and formulate her future as her -heart and reason dictated. - -But now, with this former will still in existence, the question was -whether I could find the strength to carry out the plan which my better -nature prompted, when the alternative would be the restoration of Edgar -to his old position with all the obligations it involved. - -This was a matter not to be settled without a struggle. I must fight -it out, and as I have said, alone. No one could help me; no one could -advise me. Only myself could know myself and what was demanded of me by -my own nature. No other being knew what had passed between Uncle and -myself in those hours when it was given me to learn his heart’s secrets -and the strength of the wish which had dominated his later life. Had -Wealthy not spoken--had she not cleared Edgar from all complicity in -Uncle’s premature death,--had I possessed a doubt or even the shadow -of one, that in this she had spoken the whole unvarnished truth, there -would have been no question as to my duty in the present emergency and -I should have been sleeping, at this midnight hour just as Edgar was, -or at the most, keeping a nurse’s watch over him, but no vigil such as -I was holding now. - -He was guilty of deception--guilty of taking an unfair advantage of me -at a critical point in my life. He did not rightly love Orpha, and was -lacking in many qualities desirable in one destined to fill a large -place in civic life. But these were peccadilloes in comparison to what -we had feared; and remembering his good points and the graces which -embellished him, and the absolute certainty which I could not but feel -that in time, with Lucy married and irrevocably removed from him, he -would come to appreciate Orpha, I felt bound to ask myself whether I -was justified in taking from him every incentive towards the higher -life which our uncle had foreseen for him when he planned his future--a -future which, I must always remember, my coming and my coming only had -disturbed. - -I have not said it, but from the night when, lying on my bed I saw my -uncle at my side and felt his trembling arms pressing on my breast -and heard him in the belief that it was at Edgar’s bedside he knelt, -sobbing in my ear, “I cannot do it. I have tried to and the struggle is -killing me,” I had earnestly vowed and, with every intention of keeping -my vow, that I would let no ambition of my own, no love of luxury or -power, no craving for Orpha’s affection, nothing which savored entirely -of self should stand in the way of Edgar’s fortunes so long as I -believed him worthy of my consideration. This may explain my sense of -duty towards Orpha and also the high-strung condition of my nerves from -the day tragedy entered our home and with it the deep felt fear that he -did not merit that consideration. - -I was aware what Mr. Jackson would say to all this--what any lawyer -would say who had me for a client. They would find reason enough for me -to let things take their natural course. - -But would that exonerate me from acting the part of a true man as I had -come to conceive it? - -Would my days and nights be happier and my sleep more healthful if with -a great fortune in hand, and blessed with a wife I adored, I had to -contemplate the lesser fortunes of him who was the darling of the man -from whom I had received these favors? - -I shuddered at the mere thought of such a future. Always would his -image rise in shadowy perspective before me. It would sit with me at -meals, brood at my desk, and haunt every room in this house which had -been his home from childhood while it had been mine for the space only -of a few months. Together, we had fathomed its secret. Together, we had -trod its strangely concealed stairway. The sense of an unseen presence -which had shaken the hearts of many in traversing its halls was no -longer a mystery; but the by-ways in life which the harassed soul -must tread have their own hidden glooms and their own unexpectedness; -and the echoes of steps we hear but cannot see, linger long in the -consciousness and do not always end with the years. Should I brave -them? Dare I brave them when something deep within me protested with an -insistent, inexorable disclaimer? - -The conflict waxed so keen and seemed destined to be so prolonged--for -self is a wily adversary and difficult to conquer--that I grew -impatient and the air heavy with the oppression of the darkness in -which I sat. I was in Edgar’s den and comfortable enough; but such -subjects as occupied me in this midnight hour call for light, space -and utmost freedom of movement if they would be viewed aright and -settled sensibly. Edgar was sleeping quietly; why not visit Uncle’s -old room and do what he once told me to do when under the stress of an -overwhelming temptation--sit within view of Orpha’s portrait and test -my wishes by its wordless message. - -But when I had entered the great room and, still in solitude though -not in darkness, pulled the curtain from before that breathing canvas, -the sight of features so dear bursting thus suddenly upon me made me -forget my errand--forget everything but love. But gradually as I gazed, -the purity of those features and the searching power they possessed -regained its influence over me and I knew that if I would be true to -her and true to myself,--above all, if I would be true to my uncle and -the purpose of his life, I should give Edgar his chance. - -For, in these long hours of self-analysis, I had discovered that deep -in the inmost recesses of my mind there existed a doubt, vitiating -every hope as it rose, whether we were right in assuming that the will -we had come upon at the bottom of the walled-in stairway was the one -he meant us to find and abide by. The box in which it was thrust held -a former testament of his manifestly discarded. What proof had we that -in thus associating the two he had not meant to discard both. None -whatever. We could not even tell whether he knew or did not know which -will he was handling. The right will was in the right envelope when -we found it, he must therefore have changed them back, but whether in -full knowledge of what he was doing, or in the confusion of a mind -greatly perturbed by the struggle Wealthy had witnessed in him at the -fireside, who could now decide. The intention with which this mortally -sick man, with no longer prospect of life before him than the two weeks -promised him by the doctor, forced himself to fit a delicate key into -an imperceptible lock and step by step, without assistance, descend a -stairway but little wider than his tread, into depths damp with the -chill of years for the purpose of secreting there a will contradictory -to the one he had left in the room above, could never now be known. -We could but guess at it, I in my way, and Edgar in his, and the -determining power--by which I mean the surrogate’s court--in its. - -And because intention is all and guessing would never satisfy me, I -vowed again that night, with my eyes fixed on Orpha’s as they shone -upon me from her portrait, that come weal, or come woe, - -_Edgar should have his chance._ - - -LXIII - -The next day I took up my abode in Edgar’s room, not to leave him -again till he was strong enough to face the importunities of friends -and the general talk of the public. The doctor, warned by Orpha of my -intention, fell into it readily enough after a short conversation we -had together, and a week went by without Edgar hearing of Wealthy’s -death or the inevitable inquest which had followed it. Then there came -a day when I told him the whole story; and after the first agitation -caused by this news had passed, I perceived with strengthening hope -that the physical crisis had passed and that with a little more care he -would soon be well and able to listen to what I had to say to him about -the future. - -Till then we both studiously avoided every topic connected with the -present. This, strange as it may appear, was at his request. He wanted -to get well. He was bent upon getting well and that as quickly as -it was in his power to do so. Whether this desire, which was almost -violent in its nature, sprang from his wish to begin proceedings -against me in the surrogate’s court or from a secret purpose to -have one last word with Lucy Colfax before her speedily approaching -marriage, the result was an unswerving control over himself and a -steady increase in health. - -Miss Colfax was in Newark where the ceremony was to take place. The -cards were just out and in my anxiety to know what was really seething -in his mind--for his detached air and effort from time to time at -gayety of manner and speech had not deceived me--I asked the doctor if -it would be safe for me to introduce into my conversation with Edgar -any topic which would be sure to irritate, if not deeply distress him. - -“Do you consider it really necessary to broach any such topic at this -time?” - -“I certainly do, Doctor; circumstances demand it.” - -“Then go ahead. I think your judgment can be depended upon to know at -what moment to stop.” - -I was not long in taking advantage of this permission. As soon as the -doctor was gone, I drew from my pocket the cards which had come in the -morning’s mail and handed them to Edgar, with just the friendly display -of interest which it would be natural for me to show if conditions had -been what they seemed to be rather than what they were. - -I heard the paper crunch under the violent clutch which his fingers -gave it but I did not look at him, though the silence seemed long -before he spoke. When he did, there was irony in his tone which poorly -masked the suffering underlying it. - -“Lucy will make a man like Dr. Hunter a model wife,” was what he -finally remarked; but the deliberate way in which he tore up the cards -and threw the fragments away--possibly to hide the marks of his passion -upon them--troubled me and caused me to listen eagerly as he went on to -remark: “I have never liked Dr. Hunter. We could never hit it off. Talk -about a crooked stick! She with all her lovers! What date is it? The -seventeenth? We must send her a present!” - -I sat aghast; his tone was indescribable. I felt that the time had come -to change the subject. - -“Edgar,” said I, “the doctor has assured me that so far as symptoms -go your condition is satisfactory. That all you need now is rest of -mind; and that I propose to give you if I can. You remember how when we -two were at the bottom of that stairway with the unopened will between -us that I declared to you that I would abide by the expression of our -uncle’s wishes when once they were made plain to me? My mind has not -changed in that regard. If you can prove to me that his last intention -was to recur--” - -“You know I cannot do that,” he broke in petulantly, “why talk?” - -“Because I cannot prove that he did not so intend any more than you can -prove that he did.” - -I felt a ghostly hand on my arm jerking me back. I thought of Mr. -Jackson and of how it would be like him to do this if he were standing -by and heard me. But I shook off this imagined clutch, just as I would -have withdrawn my arm from his had he been there; and went quietly on -as Edgar’s troubled eyes rose to mine. - -“I am not going to weary you by again offering you my friendship. I -have done that once and my mind does not easily change. But I here -swear that if you choose to contest the will now in the hands of the -surrogate, I will not offer any defense, once I am positively assured -that Orpha’s welfare will not suffer. The man who marries the daughter -of Edgar Quenton Bartholomew must have no dark secret in his life. -Tell me--we are both young, both fortunate enough, or shall I say -unfortunate enough, to have had very much our own way in life up to the -difficult present--what was the cause of your first rupture with Uncle? -It is not as a father confessor I ask you this, but as a man who cannot -rightfully regulate his own conduct till he has a full knowledge of -yours.” - -With starting eyes he rose before me, slowly and by jerks as though his -resisting muscles had to be coerced to their task. But once at his -full height, he suddenly sank back into his chair with a loud shout of -laughter. - -“You should have been a lawyer,” he scoffed. “You put your finger -instinctively on the weakest spot in the defense.” Then as I waited, he -continued in a different tone and with a softer aspect: “It won’t do, -Quenton. If you are going to base your action on Orpha’s many deserts -and my appreciation of them, you had better save yourself the trouble. -I”--his head fell and he had to summon up courage to proceed--“I love -her as my childhood’s playmate, and I admire her as a fine girl who -will make a still finer woman, but--” - -I put up my hand. “You need not say it, Edgar. I will spare you that -much. I know--we all know where your preference lies. You shouted it -out in your sickness. But that is something which time will take care -of if--” - -“There is no if; and time! That is what is eating me up; making me the -wretch you have found me. It is not the fortune that Uncle left which -I so much want,” he hurried on as his impulsive nature fully asserted -itself. “Not for myself I mean, but for its influence on her. She is -a queen and has a queen’s right to all that this world can give of -splendor and of power. But Orpha has her rights, too; Lucy can never -be mistress here. I see that as well as you do and so thanking you for -your goodness, for you have been good to me, let us call it all off. I -am not penniless. I can go my own way; you will soon be rid of me.” - -Why couldn’t I find a word? Now was the time to speak, but my lips were -dumb; my thoughts at a standstill. He, on the contrary, was burning -to talk--to free himself from the bitterness of months by a frank -outpouring of the hopes and defeats of his openly buoyant but secretly -dissatisfied young life. - -“You asked me what came between Uncle and myself on that wretched night -of the ball,” he hurried on. “I have a notion to tell you. Since you -know about Lucy--” His tongue tripped on the word but he shook his -head and began volubly again. “I am not a fellow given to much thought -unless it is about art or books or music, so I was deep in love before -I knew it. She had come back from school--But I cannot go into that. -You have seen her, and perhaps can understand my infatuation. I had -supposed myself happy in the prospects always held out to me. But a -few days of companionship with her convinced me that there was but one -road to happiness for me and that was closed against me. That was when -I should have played the man--told Uncle, and persuaded him to leave -his fortune directly to Orpha. Instead of which, I let Uncle dream his -dreams while Lucy and I met here and there, outwardly just friends, but -inwardly--Well, I won’t make a fool of myself by talking about it. Had -Orpha been older and more discerning, things might have been different; -but she was a child, happy in the pleasures of the day and her father’s -affection. When he, eager to see his plans matured, proposed a ball -and the announcement of our engagement at this ball, she consented -joyfully, more because she was in love with the ball than with me. But -to Lucy and me it was quite another matter. We woke to the realities -of life and saw no way of opposing them. For me to be designated as my -uncle’s heir and marry Orpha had been the expectation of us all for -years. Besides, there is no use in my concealing from you who know me -so well, I saw no life ahead of me without fortune. I was accustomed to -it and it was my natural heritage; nor would Lucy have married a poor -man; it was not in her; there are some things one can never accept. - -“I am speaking of affairs as they were that week when Lucy and I -virtually parted. Before it was over she had engaged herself to Dr. -Hunter, in order, as she said, to save ourselves from further folly. -This marked the end of my youth and of something good in me which has -never come back. I blamed nobody but I began to think for myself and -plan for myself with little thought of others, unless it was for Lucy. -If only something would happen to prevent that announcement! Then it -might be possible for me to divert matters in a way to secure for me -the desires I cherished. How little I dreamed what would happen, and -that within a short half hour! - -“I have asked the doctor and he says that he thinks Uncle’s health -had begun to wane before that day. That is a comfort to me; but there -are times when I wish I had died before I did what I did that night. -You have asked to know it and you shall, for I am reckless enough now -to care little about what any one thinks of me. I had come upon Uncle -rather unexpectedly, as, dressed for the ball, he sat at his desk which -was then as you know in the little room off his where we afterwards -slept. He was looking over his will--he said so--the one which had -been drawn up long before and which had been brought to the house that -day by Mr. Dunn. As I met his eye he smiled, and tapping the document -which he had hurriedly folded, remarked cheerfully, ‘This will see you -well looked after,’ and put it back in one of the drawers. With some -affectionate remark I told him my errand--I forget what it was now--and -left him just as he rose from his desk. But the thought which came to -me as he did this went with me down the stairs. I wanted to see that -will. I wanted to know just how much it bound me to Orpha--Don’t look -at me like that. I was in love, I tell you, and the thought which had -come to me was this; _he had not locked the drawer_. - -“Uncle was happy as a king as he joined us below that night. He looked -at Orpha in her new dress as if he had never seen her before, and the -word or two he uttered in my ear before the guests came made my heart -burn but did not disturb my purpose. When I could--when most of the -guests were assembled and the dance well under way--I stole through the -dining-room into the rear and so up the back stairs to Uncle’s study. -No one was on that floor; all the servants were below, even Wealthy. I -found everything as we had left it; the drawer still unlocked, and the -will inside. - -“I took it out--yes, I did that--and I read it greedily. Its provisions -were most generous so far as I was concerned. I was given almost -everything after some legacies and public bequests had been made; -but it was not this which excited me; it was that no conditions were -attached to my inheriting this great fortune. Orpha’s name was not even -mentioned in connection with it. I should be free-- - -“My thoughts had got thus far--dishonorable as they may appear--when I -felt a sudden chill so quick and violent that the paper rattled in my -hands; and looking up I beheld Uncle standing in the doorway with his -eyes fixed upon me in a way no man’s eyes had ever been before; his, -least of all. He had remembered that he had not locked up his desk and -had come back to do so and found me reading his will. - -“Quenton, I could have fallen at his feet in my shame and humiliation, -for I loved him. I swear to you now that I loved him and do now -above every one in the world but--but Lucy. But he was not used to -such demonstrations, so I simply rose and folding up the paper laid -it between us on the desk, not looking at him again. I felt like a -culprit. I do yet when I think of it, and I declare to you that bad -as I am, when, as sometimes happens I awake in the night fresh from -a dream of orchestral music and the tread of dancing feet, I find -my forehead damp and my hands trembling. That sound was all I heard -between the time I laid down the will and the moment when he finally -spoke: - -“‘So eager, Edgar?’ - -“I was eager or had been, but not for what he thought. But how could I -say so? How could I tell _him_ the motive which had driven me to unfold -a personal document he had never shown me? I who can talk by the hour -had not a word to say. He saw it and observed very coldly: - -“‘A curiosity which defies honor and the trust of one who has never -failed you has its root in some secret but overpowering desire. What is -that desire, Edgar? Love of money or love of Orpha?’ - -“A piercing thrust before which any man would quail. I could not say -‘Love of Orpha,’ that was too despicable; nor could I tell the truth -for that would lose me all; so after a moment of silent agony, I -faltered: - -“‘I--I’m afraid I rate too high the advantages of great wealth. I am -ashamed--’ - -“He would not let me finish. - -“‘Haven’t you every advantage now? Has anything ever been denied you? -Must you have all in a heap? Must I die to satisfy your cupidity? I -would not believe it of you, boy, if you had not yourself said it. I -can hardly believe it now, but--’ - -“At that he stumbled and I sprang to steady him. But he would not let -me touch him. - -“‘Go down,’ he said. ‘You have guests. I may forget this, in time, but -not at once. And heed me in this. No announcement of any engagement -between you and Orpha! We will substitute for that the one between Lucy -and Dr. Hunter. That will satisfy the crowd and please the two lovers. -See to it. I shall not go down again.’ - -“I tried to protest, but the calamity I had brought upon myself -robbed me of all initiative and I could only stammer useless if not -meaningless words which he soon cut short. - -“‘Your guests are waiting,’ came again from his lips as he bent -forward, but not with his usual precision, and took up the will. - -“And I had to go. When halfway down the stairs I heard him lock the -door of his room. It gave me a turn, but I did not know then how deeply -he had been stricken--that before another hour he would be really ill. -I had my own ordeal to face; you know what it was. My degeneration -began from that hour. Quenton, it is not over. I--” He flung his hands -over his face; when he dropped them I saw a different man--one whom I -hardly understood. - -“You see,” he now quietly remarked, “I am no fit husband for Orpha.” - -And after that he would listen to nothing on this or any other serious -topic. - - -LXIV - -Two flights of stairs and two only, separated Edgar’s rooms from the -library in which I hoped to find Orpha. But as I went down them step -by step they seemed at one moment to be too many for my impatience and -at another too few for a wise decision as to what I should say when I -reached her. As so frequently before my heart and my head were opposed. -I dared not yield to the instincts of the former without giving -ear to the monitions of the latter. Edgar had renounced his claim, -ungraciously, doubtless, but yet to all appearance sincerely enough. -But he was a man of moods, guided almost entirely by impulses, and -to-morrow, under a fresh stress of feeling, his mood might change, with -unpleasant if not disastrous results. True, I might raise a barrier -to any decided change of front on his part by revealing to Orpha -what had occurred and securing her consent to our future union. But -the indelicacy of any such haste was not in accord with the reverent -feelings with which I regarded her; and how far I would have allowed -myself to go had I found her in one of the rooms below, I cannot say, -for she was not in any of them nor was she in the house, as Haines -hastened to tell me when I rang for him. - -The respite was a fortunate one perhaps; at least, I have always -thought so; and accepting it with as much equanimity as such a -disappointment would admit of, I decided to seek an interview with Mr. -Jackson before I made another move. He was occupied when I entered his -office, but we ultimately had our interview and it lasted long enough -for considerable time to have elapsed before I turned again towards -home. When I did, it was with the memory of only a few consecutive -sentences of all he had uttered. These were the sentences: - -“You will get your inheritance. You will be master of Quenton Court and -of a great deal besides. But what I am working for and am very anxious -to see, is your entrance upon this large estate with the sympathy -of your fellow-citizens. Therefore, I caution restraint till Edgar -recovers his full health and has had time to show his hand. I will give -him two weeks. With his head-long nature that should be sufficient. You -can afford to wait.” - -Yes, I could afford to wait with such a prospect before me; and I had -made up my mind to do so by the time I had rung the bell on my return. - -But that and all other considerations were driven from my mind when I -saw a renewal of the old anxiety in Haines’ manner as he opened the -door to admit me. - -“Oh, sir!” was his eager cry as I stepped in. “We don’t know how it -happened or how he was ever able to get away; but Mr. Edgar is gone. -When I went to his room a little while ago to see if he wanted anything -I found it in disorder and this--this note, for you, sir.” - -I took it from his hand; looked at it stupidly, feeling afraid to open -it. Like a stray whiff of wind soaring up from some icy gulf, I heard -again those final words of his, “You will soon be rid of me.” I felt -the paper flutter in my hand; my fingers were refusing to hold it. -“Take it, and open it,” I said to Haines. - -He did so, and when he had drawn out the card it held and I had caught -a glimpse of the few words it contained, my fear became a premonition; -and, seizing it, I carried it into the library. - -Once there and free to be myself; to suffer and be unobserved, I looked -down at those words and read: - - Do not seek me and do not worry about me. I have money and I have - strength. When I can face the world again with a laugh you shall see - me. This I will do in two weeks or never. - - -LXV - -Two weeks! What did he mean by two weeks? Mr. Jackson had made use of -the same expression. What did he mean? Then it came to me what Edgar -meant, not what Mr. Jackson had. Lucy Colfax was to be married in two -weeks. If he could face the world after that with a smile-- - -Ah, Edgar, my more than brother! Weak, faulty, but winsome even when -most disturbing,--if any one could face a future bereft of all that -gives it charm, you can. But the limit may have been reached. Who -knows? It was for me to follow him, search him out and see. - -“Haines,” I called. - -He came with a rush. - -“Has Miss Bartholomew returned?” - -“No, sir, not yet. She and Mrs. Ferris are out for a long ride.” - -“When she does come back, give her this note.” And I scribbled a few -lines. “And now, Haines, answer me. Mr. Edgar could not have left on -foot. Who drove him away?” - -“Sammy.” - -He mentioned a boy who helped in the garage. - -“In what car?” - -“The Stutz. Mr. Edgar must have come down the rear stairs, carrying -his own bag, and slipped out at the side without any one seeing him. -Bliss is out with Miss Orpha and Mrs. Ferris and so he could have every -chance with Sammy, who is overfond of small change, sir.” - -“Has Sammy shown up since? Is the car in the garage?” - -“No, sir.” - -“Haines, don’t give me away. Understand that this is to be taken -quietly. Mr. Edgar told me that he was going to leave, but he did not -say when. If he had, I would have seen that he went more comfortably. -The doctor made his last call this morning and gave him permission to -try the air, and he is doing so. We don’t know when he will return; -possibly in two weeks. He said something to that effect. This is what -you are to say to the other servants and to every inquirer. But, -Haines, to Clarke--You know where Clarke is?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Can you reach him by telephone?” - -“Easily, sir.” - -“Then telephone him at once. Go to my room to do it. Say that I have -need of his services, that Mr. Edgar, who is just off a sick bed, -has left the house to go we don’t know where, and that he and I must -find him. Bid him provide for a possible trip out of town, though I -hope that a few hours will suffice to locate Mr. Bartholomew. Add -that before coming here he is to make a few careful inquiries at the -stations and wherever he thinks my cousin would be apt to go on a -sudden impulse. That when he has done so he is to call you up. Above -all, impress upon him that he is to give rise to no alarm.” - -“I will, sir. You may rely upon me.” And as though to give proof of his -sincerity, Haines started with great alacrity upstairs. - -I was not long in following him. When I reached my room I found that he -had got into communication with Clarke and been assured that all orders -received by him from me would be obeyed as if they had come from his -old master. - -This relieved me immensely. Confident that he would perform the task -I had given him with much better results than I could and at the same -time rouse very much less suspicion, I busied myself with preparations -for my own departure in case I should be summoned away in haste, -thankful for any work which would keep me from dwelling too closely -on what I had come to regard with increasing apprehension. When I had -reached the end, I just sat still and waited; and this was the hardest -of all. Fortunately, the time was short. At six o’clock precisely my -phone rang. Haines had received a message from Clarke and took this way -of communicating it to me. - -No signs of the Stutz at either station, but Clarke had found a man who -had seen it going out Main Street and another who had encountered it -heading for Morrison. What should he do next? - -I answered without hesitation. “Tell him to get a fast car and follow. -After dinner, I will get another somewhere down street and take the -same road. If I go before dinner, questions will be asked which it will -be difficult for me to answer. Let me find a message awaiting me at -Five Oaks.” - -Five Oaks was a small club-house on the road to Morrison. - - -LXVI - -When at a suitable time after dinner I took my leave of Orpha, it was -with the understanding that I might not return that night, but that she -would surely hear from me in the morning. I had not confided to her -all my fears, but possibly she suspected them, for her parting glance -haunted me all the way to the club-house I have mentioned. - -Arriving there without incident, I was about to send in the man acting -as my chauffeur to make inquiries when a small auto coming from the -rear of the house suddenly shot past us down the driveway and headed -towards Houston. - -Though its lights were blinding I knew it at a glance; it was Edgar’s -yellow Stutz. He was either in it and consequently on his way back -home, or he was through with the car and I should find him inside the -club-house. - -Knowing him well enough to be sure that I could do nothing worse than -to show myself to him at this time, I reverted to my first idea and -sent in the chauffeur to reconnoiter and also see if any message had -been left for James E. Budd--the name under which I thought it best to -disguise my own. - -He came back presently with a sealed note left for me by Clarke. It -conveyed the simple information that Edgar had picked up another car -and another chauffeur and had gone straight on to Morrison. I was to -follow and on reaching the outskirts of the town to give four short -toots with the horn to which he would respond. - -It was written in haste. He was evidently close behind Edgar, but -I had no means of knowing the capacity of his car nor at what speed -we could go ourselves. However, all that I had to do was to proceed, -remembering the signal which I was to use whenever we sighted anything -ahead. - -It was a lonely road, and I wondered why Edgar had chosen it. A -monotonous stretch of low fences with empty fields beyond, broken here -and there by a poorly wooded swamp or a solitary farmhouse, all looking -dreary enough in the faint light of a half-veiled gibbous moon. - -A few cars passed us, but there was but little life on the road, and -I found myself starting sharply when suddenly the quick whistle of an -unseen train shrilled through the stagnant air. It seemed so near, yet -I could get no glimpse of it or even of its trailing smoke. - -I felt like speaking--asking some question--but I did not. It was a -curious experience--this something which made me hold my peace. - -My chauffeur whom I had chosen from five others I saw lounging about -the garage was a taciturn being. I was rather glad of it, for any talk -save that of the most serious character seemed out of keeping with -these moments of dread--a dread as formless as many of the objects we -passed and as chill as the mist now rising from meadow and wood in a -white cloud which soon would envelop the whole landscape as in a shroud. - -To relieve my feelings, I ordered him to sound the four short blasts -agreed upon as a signal. To my surprise they were answered, but by -three only. There was a car coming and presently it dashed by us, but -it was not Clarke’s. - -“Keep it up,” I ordered. “This mist will soon be a fog.” My chauffeur -did so,--at intervals of course--now catching a reply but oftener not, -until from far ahead of us, through the curtain of fog shutting off the -road in front, there came in response the four clear precise blasts -for which my ears were astretch. - -“There are my friends,” I declared. “Go slowly.” - -At which we crawled warily along till out of the white gloom a red -spark broke mistily upon our view, and guided us to where a long low -racing machine stood before a house, the outlines of which were so -vague I could not determine its exact character. - -Next minute Clarke was by my side. - -“I shall have to ask you to get out here,” he said, with a sidelong -glance at my chauffeur. “And as the business you have come to settle -may take quite a little while, it would be better for the car to swing -in beside mine, so as to be a little way off the road.” - -“Very good,” I answered, joining him immediately and seeing at the same -time that the house was a species of tavern, illy-lit, but open to the -public. - -“What does it mean?” I questioned anxiously as he led me aside, not -towards the tavern’s entrance, but rather to the right of it. - -“I don’t know, sir. He is not inside. He drove up here about ten -minutes ago, dismissed the car which brought him from the club-house, -went in,--which was about the time I appeared upon the scene--and came -out again with a man carrying a lantern. As I was then on my feet and -about where we are standing now, I got one quick look at him as he -passed through the doorway. I didn’t like his looks, sir; he must be -feeling very ill. And I didn’t like the way he carried himself as he -went about the turn you see there at the rear of the building. And I -wanted to follow, though of course he is safe enough with the man he is -with; but just then I heard your signal and ran to answer. That is all -I have to tell you. But where is he going in such a mist? Shall I run -in and ask?” - -“Do,” I said; and waited impatiently enough for his reappearance which -was delayed quite unaccountably, I thought. But then minutes seem hours -in such a crisis. - -When he did come, he, too, had a lantern. - -“Let us follow,” said he, not waiting to give me any explanations. And -keeping as closely to him as I could lest we should lose each other in -the fog, I stumbled along a path worn in the stubbly grass, not knowing -where I was going and unable to see anything to right or left or even -in front but the dancing, hazy glow of the swinging lantern. - -Suddenly that glow was completely extinguished; but before I could -speak Clarke had me by the arm. - -“Step aside,” he whispered. “The man is coming back; he has left Mr. -Edgar to go on alone.” - -And then I heard a hollow sound as of steps on an echoing board. - -“That must be a bridge Mr. Edgar is crossing,” whispered Clarke. “But -see! he is doing it without light. The man has the lantern.” - -“Where is your lantern?” I asked. - -“Under my coat.” - -We held our breath. The man came slowly on, picking his way and -mumbling to himself rather cheerfully than otherwise. I was on the -point of accosting him when Clarke stopped me and, as soon as the man -had gone by, drew me back into the path, whispering: - -“The steps on the bridge have stopped. Let us hurry.” - -Next minute he had plucked out his lantern from under his coat and we -were pressing on, led now by the sound of rushing water. - -“It’s growing lighter. The fog is lifting,” came from Clarke as I felt -the boards of the bridge under my feet. - -Next minute he had the lantern again under his coat, but for all that, -I found, after a few more steps, that I could see a little way ahead. -Was that Edgar leaning against one of the supports of the bridge? - -I caught at Clarke’s hand. - -“Shall we go forward?” I asked. - -His fingers closed spasmodically on mine, and as suddenly loosened. - -“Let me,” he breathed, rather than whispered, and started to run, but -almost instantly stopped and broke into a merry whistle. I thought I -heard a sigh from that hardly discerned figure in front; but that was -impossible. What did happen was a sudden starting back from the brink -over which he had been leaning and the sound of two pairs of feet -crossing the bridge to the other side. - -Clarke’s happy thought had worked. One dangerous moment was passed. How -soon would another confront us? - -I was on and over that bridge almost as soon as they. And then I began -to see quite clearly where we were. The lights of a small flagging -station winked at me through the rapidly dissolving mist, and I -remembered having often gone by it on the express. Now it assumed an -importance beyond all measurement, for the thunder of an approaching -train was in the air and Edgar poised on the brink of the platform was -gazing down the track as a few minutes before he had gazed down at the -swirling waters under the bridge. - -Ah, this was worse! Should I shout aloud his name? entreat him to -listen, rush upon him with outstretched arms? There was not time even -for decision--the train was near--upon us--slackening. _It was going to -stop._ As he took this in I distinctly heard him draw a heavy breath. -Then as the big lumbering train came to a standstill, he turned, bag -still in his hand, and detecting me standing not a dozen steps behind -him, uttered the short laugh I had come to know so well and with a -bow of surpassing grace which yet had its suggestion of ironic humor, -leaped aboard the train and was gone before I could recover from my -terror and confusion. - -But it was not so with Clarke. As the last car went whizzing by I -caught sight of him on the rear platform and caught his shout: - -“Home, sir, and wait for news!” - -All was not lost, then. But that station with the brawling stream -beyond, and the square and ugly tavern overlooking it all, have a -terror for me which it will take years for me to overcome. - - -LXVII - -I did not tell Orpha of this episode, then or ever. Why burden her -young heart with griefs and fears? I merely informed her when I met her -the next morning at breakfast that having seen Edgar take a late train -for New York my anxieties were quelled and I had returned to tell her -so before starting out again for the city on an errand of my own. - -When I came to say good-by, as I did after receiving a telegram from -Clarke--of which I will say more later--I told her not to be anxious -or to worry while I was away; that being in New York, I should be able -to keep a watch over Edgar and see that he was well looked after if -by any chance he fell ill again; and the smile I received in return, -though infinitely sad, had such confidence in it that I would not -have exchanged it for the gayest one I had seen on her lips on that -memorable night of the ball. - -The telegram I have mentioned was none too encouraging. It had been -sent from New York and ran thus: - - Trouble. Man I want has escaped me. Hope to pick him up soon. Wait for - second telegram. - - C. - - -It was two hours before the second one came. It was to the point as -witness: - - Sick. Safe in a small hospital in the Bronx. Will await trains at the - Grand Central Station till you come. - - C. - - -This sent me off in great haste without another interview with Orpha. -On reaching the station in New York I found Clarke waiting for me -according to promise. His story was short but graphic. He had had no -difficulty on the train. He had been able to keep his eye on Edgar -without being seen by him; but some excitement occurring at the short -stop made at One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street--a pickpocket run down -or something of that kind--he had leaned from his window to look out -and in that instant Edgar had stepped from the train and disappeared in -the crowd. - -He had tried to follow but was checked in doing so by the quick -starting up of the train. But he had a talk with the conductor, who -informed him that the man to whom he probably referred had shown -decided symptoms of illness, and that he himself had advised him to -leave the train and be driven to a hospital, being really afraid that -he would break out in delirium if he stayed. This was a guide to Clarke -and next morning by going the rounds of upper New York hospitals he -had found him. He had been registered under his own name and might be -seen if it was imperative to identify him, but at present he was in a -delirious condition and it would be better for him not to be disturbed. - -Thankful that it was not worse, but nevertheless sufficiently alarmed, -a relapse being frequently more serious than the original attack, I -called a taxi and we rode at once to the hospital. Good news awaited -us. Edgar had shown some favorable symptoms in the last hour and if -kept quiet, might escape the worst consequence of a journey for which -he had not had the necessary strength. The only thing which puzzled -the doctors was his desire to write. He asked for paper and pen -continually; but when they were brought to him he produced nothing but -a scrawl. But he would have this put in an envelope and sealed. But he -failed to address it, saying that he would do that after he had a nap. -But though he had his nap he did not on waking recur to the subject, -though his first look was at the table where the so-called letter had -been laid. It was there now and there they had decided to let it lie, -since his eyes seldom left it and if they did, returned immediately to -it again as if his whole life were bound up in that wordless scrawl. - -This was pitiful news to me, but I could do nothing to save the -situation but wait, leaving it to the discretion of the doctors to say -when an interview with my cousin would be safe. I did not hesitate to -tell them that my presence would cause him renewed excitement, and -they, knowing well enough who we were, took in the situation without -too much explanation. They succeeded in startling me, however, with the -statement that it would probably be two weeks before I could hope to -see him. - -Two weeks again! Why always two weeks? - -There was no help for it. All I could do was to settle down nearby -and wait for the passing of those two weeks as we await the falling -of a blow whose force we have no means of measuring. Short notes -passed between Orpha and myself, but they were all about Edgar, whose -condition was sensibly improving, but hardly so rapidly as we had -hoped. Clarke had been given access to him; and as Clarke had wisely -forborne from mentioning my name in the matter, simply explaining his -own presence there by the accounts which had appeared in the papers of -his former young master’s illness, he was greeted so warmly that he -almost gave way under it. Thereafter, he spent much time at Edgar’s -bedside, reporting to me at night the few words which had passed -between them. For, Edgar, so loquacious in health, had little to say -in convalescence; but lay brooding with a wild light coming and going -in his eyes, which now as before were turned on that table where the -unaddressed letter still lay. - -For whom was that indecipherable scrawl meant? We knew; for Lucy. - - -LXVIII - -I think that it was on the tenth day of my long wait,--I know that it -was just two before Miss Colfax’s wedding--that Clarke came in looking -a trifle out of sorts and said that he had done something which I -might not approve of. He had mailed the letter which Edgar had finally -addressed to Miss Colfax. A few words in explanation, and I perceived -that he could hardly have helped it; Edgar was so appealing and so -entirely unconvinced by what the nurse said concerning the incoherence -of its contents. “I know what I have written,” he kept saying; and made -Clarke swear that he would put it in the first box he saw on leaving -the hospital. - -“What harm can it do?” Clark anxiously inquired. “It may perplex and -trouble Miss Colfax; but we can explain later; can we not, sir?” - -I thought of the haughty self-contained Lucy, with a manner so cold and -a heart so aflame, receiving this jumble of words amid the preparation -for her marriage,--perhaps when her bridal veil was being tried on, or -a present displayed,--and had nothing to say. Explanations would not -ease the anguish of that secretly distracted heart. - -“Shall we do anything about it, sir? I know where Miss Colfax lives.” - -“No, we can do nothing. A matter of that sort is better left alone.” - -But I was secretly very uneasy until Clarke came in from the hospital -the following day with the glad story that Edgar had improved so much -since the sending of this letter that he had been allowed to take an -airing in the afternoon. “And to-morrow I am to go early and accompany -him to a jeweler’s shop where he proposes to buy a present for the -bride-to-be. He seemed quite cheerful about it, and the doctors have -given their consent. He looks like another man, Mr. Bartholomew. You -will find that when this wedding is over he will be very much like his -old self.” - -And again I said nothing; but I took a much less optimistic view of my -cousin’s apparent cheerfulness. - -“He sent me away early. He says that he is going to rest every minute -till I come for him in one of Jones’ fine motor cars.” - -“It’s a late hour for sending presents,” I remarked. “Three hours -before the ceremony.” - -“I am to bring him back to the hospital and then take the car and -deliver it.” - -“Very well, Clarke; only watch him and don’t be surprised if you find -us on the road behind you. There is something in all this I don’t -understand.” - - -LXIX - -But when on the following morning I actually found myself riding in -the wake of these two and saw Edgar alight with almost a jaunty air -before one of the smallest, but most fashionable jeweler shops on the -Avenue, I could not but ask myself if my fears had any such foundation -as I had supposed. He really did look almost cheerful and walked with a -perfectly assured air into the shop. - -But he went alone; and when quite some little time had elapsed and he -did not reappear, I was ready to brave anything to be sure that all was -right. So taking advantage of a little break in the traffic, I ordered -my chauffeur to draw up beside the auto waiting at the curb; and when -we got abreast of it, I leaned out and asked Clarke, who hastily -lowered his window, why he had not gone in with Mr. Bartholomew. - -“Because he would not let me. He wanted to feel free to take his own -time. He told me that it would take him at least half an hour to choose -the article he wanted. He has been gone now just twenty-seven minutes.” - -“Can you see the whole length of the shop from where you sit?” - -“No, sir. There are several people in front--” - -“Get out and go in at once. Don’t you see that this shop is next to the -corner? That it may have a side entrance--” - -He was out of the car before I had finished and in three minutes came -running back. - -“You are right, sir. He did not buy a thing. There is no sign of him -in the shop or in the street. I deserve--” - -“We won’t talk. Pay your chauffeur and dismiss him. Then get in with -me, and we will drive as fast as the law allows to that house in Newark -where he said the present was to go. If we do not find him there we may -as well give up all hope; we shall never see him again.” - - -LXX - -It was a wild ride. If he had been fortunate enough to secure a taxi -within a few minutes after reaching the street, he must have had at -least twenty minutes the start of us. But the point was not to overtake -him, but to come upon him at Mr. Miller’s before any mischief could -take place. I was an invited guest, though probably not expected; and -it being a house-wedding, I felt sure of being received even if I was -not in a garb suited to the occasion. - -There were delays made up by a few miles of speeding along the country -roads, and when we finally struck the street in which Mr. Miller lived, -it lacked just one hour of noon. - -What should we do? It was too soon to present ourselves. The few autos -standing about were business ones, with a single exception. Pointing -this out to Clarke, I bade him get busy and find out if this car were a -local or a New York one. - -He came back very soon to the spot where we had drawn up to say that it -belonged to some relative of the bride; and satisfied from this and the -quiet aspect of the house itself that nothing of a disturbing character -had yet occurred, I advised Clarke to hang about and learn what he -could, while I waited for the appearance of Edgar whom we had probably -outridden in crossing the marshes. - -We had a place on the opposite side of the street, from which I could -see the windows of Mr. Miller’s house. I took note of every automobile -which drove up before me, but I took note also of those windows and -once got a glimpse in one of the upper ones of a veiled head and a -white face turned eagerly towards the street. - -She was expecting him. Nothing else would account for so haggard a look -on a face so young; and with a thought of Orpha and how I would rather -die than see her in the grip of such despair, I nerved myself for what -might come, without a hope that any weal could follow such a struggle -of unknown forces as apparently threatened us. - -The house in which my whole interest was centered at this moment was of -somewhat pretentious size, built of brick painted brown and set back -far enough from the sidewalk to allow for a square of turf, in the -center of which rose a fountain dry as the grass surrounding it. From -what conjunction of ideas that fountain with its image of a somewhat -battered Cupid got in my way and inflicted itself upon my thoughts, -I cannot say. I was watching for Edgar’s appearance, but I saw this -fountain; and now when the memory of that day comes back, first and -foremost before anything else rises a picture of that desolate basin -and its almost headless Cupid. I was trying to escape this obsession -when I saw him. He had alighted by that time and was halfway up the -walk, but I entered the door almost at his heels. - -He was stepping quickly, but I was close behind and was looking for -an opportunity to speak to him when he took a course through the -half-filled hall which led him into a portion of the house where it -would have been presumptuous in me to follow. - -We had been asked to go upstairs, but with a shake of the head and -the air of one at home, he had pressed straight on to the rear and so -out of my sight. There was nothing left for me to do but to mount the -stairs in front which I did very unwillingly. - -However, once at the top and while still in the shadow of a screen -of palms running across this end of the hall, I heard his voice from -behind these palms asking for Miss Colfax. He had come up a rear -staircase. - -By this time there were others in the hall besides myself making for -the dressing-rooms opening back and front, and I saw many heads turn, -but nobody stop. The hour for the ceremony was approaching. - -What to do? The question was soon answered for me. Edgar had stepped -from behind the palms and was rapidly going front in the direction of -the third story staircase. She was above, as I knew, and any colloquy -between them must be stopped if my presence would prevent it. - -Following in his wake, but not resorting to the leaps and bounds by -which he reached the top of the stairs in a twinkling, I did not see -the rush of the white-clad figure which fell into his arms with a moan -which was more eloquent of joy than despair. But I was in time to hear -him gasp out in wild excitement: - -“I am here. I have come for you. You shall never marry any one but me. -Sickness has held me back--hospital--delirium. I cannot live without -you. I will not. Lucy, Lucy, take off that veil. We do not need veils, -or wedding guests or orchestra or luncheon. We only need each other. -Do you consent? Will you take me weakened by illness, deprived of my -inheritance but true to you when the full realization came.” - -And listening for her answer I heard just a sigh. But that sigh was -eloquent and it had barely left her lips when I heard a rush from below -and, noting who it was, I slipped quickly up to Edgar and touching him -on the arm, said quietly but very firmly: - -“Dr. Hunter.” - -They started apart and Edgar, drawing back, cried under his breath: - -“You here!” - -“Would you wish it otherwise?” I asked; and stepped aside as Dr. -Hunter, pale to the lips, but very dignified and very stern, advanced -from the top of the stairs followed by a lady and gentleman who, as I -afterwards learned, were Lucy’s aunt and uncle. There was a silence; -which, repeated as it was below stairs, held the house in a hush for -one breathless moment. Then I took the lead, and, pointing to an open -door in front, I addressed the outraged bridegroom with all the respect -I felt for him. - -“Pardon me, Dr. Hunter. As the cousin and friend of Edgar Bartholomew, -allow me to urge that we say what we have to say behind closed doors. -The house is rapidly filling. Everything said in this hall can be heard -below. Let us disappoint the curiosity of Mrs. Miller’s guests. Miss -Colfax, will you lead the way?” - -With a quick gesture she turned, and moving with the poise of a queen, -entered the room from which I had seen her looking down into the -street, followed by the rest of us in absolute silence. I came last and -it was I who closed the door. When I turned, Dr. Hunter and Edgar were -confronting each other in the middle of the room. Lucy was standing -by herself, an image of beauty but cold to the eye as the marble she -suggested. Mr. and Mrs. Miller stood aghast, speechless, and a little -frightened. I hastened to put in a word. - -“Edgar left a hospital bed to be here this morning. Have a little care, -Dr. Hunter. His case has been a serious one.” - -The doctor’s lips took a sarcastic curve. - -“I have a physician’s eye,” was his sole return. Then without a word to -Edgar, he stepped up to Lucy. “Will you take my arm?” he asked. “The -clergyman who is to marry us is waiting.” - -The image moved, but, oh, so slightly. “I cannot,” she replied. “It -would be an outrage to you. All my heart goes out to the man behind -you. It always has. He was not free--not really free--and I thought to -help him do his duty by marrying you. But I cannot--I cannot.” And now -all the fire in that woman’s soul flamed forth in one wild outburst as -she cried aloud in undisguised passion, “I cannot so demean you, and I -cannot so discourage Edgar. Free me, or--or I shall go mad.” Then she -became quiet again, the old habit of self-restraint returned, the image -resumed its calm, only her eyes steady and burning with the inner flame -she sought to hide, held his with an undeviating demand. - -He bowed before it, wincing a little as she lifted her arms and with -a slow, deft movement, took the veil from her head and as slowly and -deftly began to fold it up. I see her now as she did this and the -fascination which held those two men in check--the one in a passion -of rejoicing, the other in the agitation of seeing, for the first -time, doubtless, in his placid courtship, the real woman beneath the -simulated one who had accepted his attentions but refused him her love. - -When she had finished and laid the veil aside, she had the grace to -thank him for his forbearance. - -But this he could not stand. - -“It is for me to thank you,” said he. “It were better if more brides -thought twice before bringing a loveless heart to their husband’s -hearthstone.” And always dignified; always a man to admire, he turned -towards the door. - -Mr. Miller sought to stop him--to hold him back until the guests had -been dismissed and the way prepared for him to depart, unseen and -uncommiserated. But he would have none of that. - -“I have been honest in my wish to make your niece happy and I need not -fear the looks of any one. I will go alone. Take care of the sick man -there. I have known great joy kill as effectually as great pain.” - -Lucy’s head fell. Edgar started and reached out his hand. But the door -was quickly opened and as quickly shut behind the doctor’s retreating -form. - -A sob from Lucy; an instant of quiet awe; then life came rushing back -upon us with all its requirements and its promise of halcyon days to -the two who had found their souls in the action and reaction of a few -months of desperate trial and ceaselessly shifting circumstances. - -And what of myself, as, with peace made with the Millers and -arrangements entered into whereby Edgar was to remain with them till -his health was restored, I rode back to New York and then-- - -Home! As the bee flies, _home_! - - -LXXI - -When I entered C---- in the late afternoon I was met by a very -different reception from any which had ever been accorded me before. - -It began at the station. News travels fast, especially when it concerns -people already in the public eye, and in every face I saw, and in -every handshake offered me, I read the welcome due to the change in my -circumstances made by Edgar’s choice of a wife. The Edgar whom they -had held in preference above all others was a delightful fellow, a -companion in a thousand and of a nature rich and romantic enough to -give up fortune and great prestige for love; but he was no longer the -Edgar of Quenton Court, and they meant me to realize it. - -And I did. But there was one whose judgment I sought--whose judgment -I awaited--whom I must see and understand before I could return these -amenities with all the grace which they demanded. There was nothing for -me in this open and unabashed homage, rendered after weeks of dislike -and suspicion, if the welcome I should not fail to receive from Orpha’s -courtesy should be shot through with the sorrow of a loss too great for -any love of mine to offset. - -So I hastened and came to Quenton Court, and entering there found the -court ablaze with color and every servant which the house contained -drawn up in order to receive me. It was English, but then by birth I -am an Englishman and the tribute pleased me. For their faces were no -longer darkened by distrust and some even were brightened by liking; -and were I to remain master here-- - -But that was yet to be determined; and when they saw with what an -eager glance I searched the gallery for the coming of their youthful -mistress, they filed quickly away till I was left alone with the -leaping water and the rainbow hues and the countless memories of joy -and terror with which the place was teeming. - -Orpha had a favorite collie which from the first had shown a preference -for my company that was sometimes embarrassing but oftener pleasing, -since it gave me an opportunity to whisper many secrets in his ear. As -I stood there with my eyes on the gallery, he came running to me with -so many evidences of affection that I was fain to take it as an omen -that all would be well with me when she who held him dear would greet -me in her turn. - -When would she come? The music of the falling drops plashing in their -basin behind me was sweet, but I longed for the tones of her voice. -Why did she linger? Dare I guess, when at last I heard her footfall in -the gallery above, and caught the glimpse of her figure, first in one -opening of its lattice work and then in another as she advanced towards -the stairs which were all that now separated us, unless it were the -sorrow whose ravages in her tender breast she might seek to hide, and -might succeed in hiding from every eye but mine? - -No, I would guess at nothing. I would wait; but my heart leaped high, -and when she had passed the curve marking the turn of the great -staircase, I bounded forward and so had the sweetest vision that ever -comes to love--the descent, from tread to tread of the lady of one’s -heart into the arms which have yearned for her in hope and in doubt for -many weary days. - -For I knew before she reached me that she loved me. It was in her garb -of white, filmy and virginal, in her eager, yet timid step, in the glow -of youth--of joyous expectation which gave radiance to her beauty and -warmth to my own breast. But I said not a word nor did I move from my -position at the foot of the stairs till she reached the last step but -one and paused; then I uttered her name. - -Had I uttered it before? Had she ever heard it before? Surely not as -at that moment. For her eyes, as she slowly lifted them to mine, had a -look of wonder in them which grew as I went on to say: - -“Before I speak a word of all that has been burning in my heart since -first I saw you from the gallery above us, I want you to know that I -consider all the splendor surrounding us as yours, both by right of -birth and the love of your father. I am ready to sign it all over--what -we see and what we do not see--if you desire to possess it in freedom, -or think you would be happier with a mate of your own choosing. I love -you. There! I have said it, Orpha--but I love you so well that I would -rather lose all that goes with your hand than be a drag upon your life, -meant as you are for peace and joy and an unhampered existence. Do you -believe that?” - -“Yes, I believe that. But--” Oh, the delicious naïveté of her smile, -bringing every dimple into play and lighting up into radiance the -gravity of her gaze, “why should you think that I might want to be free -to live in this great house alone? For me, that would be desolation.” - -“Desolation because you would be alone or because--” even now I hardly -dared to say it--“because it would be life without reality--without -love? Orpha, I must know;--know beyond the shadow of a doubt. I cannot -take the great gift bequeathed me by your father, unless with it -receive the greatest gift of all--your undivided heart. You are young -and very lovely--a treasure which many men will crave. I should never -be satisfied for you to be merely content. I want you to know the -thrill--the ecstasy of love--such love as I feel for you--” - -I could not go on. The pressure of all the past was upon me. The story -of the days and nights when in rapture and in tragedy she was my chief -thought, my one unfailing inspiration to hold to the right and to dare -misapprehension and the calumny of those who saw in me an interloper -here without conscience or mercy, passed in one wild phantasmagoria -through my mind, rendering me speechless. - -With that fine intuition of hers--or perhaps, because she had shared -alike my pains and my infinite horrors--she respected my silence till -the time came for words and then she spoke but one: - -“Quenton!” - -Had she ever spoken it before? Or had I ever heard it as it fell at -this moment from her lips? Never. It linked us two together. It gave -the nay to all my doubts. I felt sure now, sure; and yet such is the -hunger of a lover’s heart that I wanted her assurance in words. Would -she grant me that? - -Yes; but it came very softly and with a delicate aloofness at first -which gave me the keenest delight. - -“When you spoke of the first time you saw me and said it was from the -gallery above us, you spoke as if life had begun for you that night. -Did you never think that possibly it might have begun for me also? -That content had revealed itself as content, not love? That I was -happy that what we had expected to take place that night did not take -place--that--that--” - -Here her aloofness all vanished and her soul looked through her eyes. -We were very near, but the collie was leaping about us, and the place -was large and the gorgeousness of it all overpowering; so I contented -myself with laying my hand softly on hers where it pressed against the -edge of the final pillar supporting the lattice work. - -“Let us go into the library,” I whispered. - -But she led me elsewhere. Quieting the dog, she drew me away into a -narrow hall, the purpose of which I had never understood till I had -learned the secret of the hidden stairway and how this hall denoted the -space which the lower end of the inn’s outside stairway had formerly -occupied. Pausing, she gave me an earnest look, then, speaking very -softly: - -“It was here--on the steps which once united the ground with those -still remaining above, that my father and my mother pledged themselves -to each other in a love that has survived death. Shall we--” - -She said no more: I had her in my arms and life had begun for us in -very truth. - - -LXXII - -Lovers have much to say when the barriers which have separated them -are once down, and I will not hazard a guess at the hour when after a -moment of delicious silence I ventured to remark: - -“We have talked much about ourselves and our future. Shall we not talk -a little now about Edgar?” - -“Oh, yes; tell me the whole story. I’ve only heard that he arrived in -time to prevent the marriage. That Dr. Hunter generously released her -from all obligation to him and that she and Edgar will be united very -soon.” - -I was glad to comply. Glad to throw light into that darksome corner -none of us had ever penetrated, our Lucy’s heart. When I had finished, -we sat a moment in awe of the passionate tale, then I said: - -“We must do something for Edgar. He will have no wedding, but he must -have a wedding present.” - -“Let it be much.” - -“It shall be much.” - -“But not too much. Edgar is reckless with money and even queens in -these days sometimes come to grief. Shall we not put by a fund for the -time when we see the sparkle leaving his eye and anxiety making Lucy’s -pale cheeks still more pallid?” - -“You shall do just as you wish, Orpha.” - -“No; just as Father would wish.” - -Ah! my beloved one! - - -LXXIII - -I have one more memory of that night. As I was leaving--for I was -resolved to remain at my hotel until our marriage, which, for many -reasons, was to be an immediate one without preparation and with but -little ceremony,--I asked my love why in the months of her father’s -illness, and during the time when perplexities of various kinds were in -all our hearts, she never allowed herself to remain alone with me or to -go where I went even with her father’s permission. - -And her answer, given with a smile and a blush was this: - -“I did not dare.” - -She did not dare! My conscientious darling. - -And _I_ had not dared. But my fears were not her fears. I had feared to -be presumptuous; of building up a fairyland out of dreams; of yielding -to my imagination rather than to my good sense. And yet, deep down -in some inner consciousness, a faint insidious hope had whispered to -itself that if I showed myself worthy, perhaps--perhaps-- - -And now _perhaps_ had become reality, and all doubt and mistrust a -vanished dream. - -But though I had walked in clouded ways and had not known my Orpha’s -heart, there had been one in the household who had. I learned it that -night from a few words uttered by Clarke on my return to the hotel. - -I was not surprised to find him waiting for me in the lobby; we had -come into such close contact during the strenuous days that had just -passed, that it would have seemed unnatural not to have found him -there. But what did astonish me was to see the wistful look with which -he contemplated me as I signified to him my wish for him to follow me -upstairs. But once together in my room, I understood, and letting the -full joyousness of my heart to appear, I smilingly said: - -“You may congratulate me, Clarke. My good fortune is complete.” - -And this is what he uttered in response, greatly to my surprise and -possibly to his own: - -“I thought it would all come right, sir.” - -But it was not till he was on the point of leaving me for the night -that I learned his full mind. - -His hand was on the knob of the door and he was about to turn it, when -he suddenly loosened his hold and came back. - -“Excuse me, sir, but I shan’t feel quite right till I tell you all the -truth about myself. Did you, when things looked a little dark after the -terrible news the doctors gave us, get a queer looking sort of note -hidden in your box of cigars?” - -“Yes, I did, Clarke; and I don’t know yet who took that much compassion -on me?” - -“It was I, Mr. Bartholomew.” (Never had he called me that before. I -wonder if it came with a long dreaded effort.) “But it was not from -compassion for you, sir--more’s the pity; but because I knew my young -lady’s heart and felt willing to help her that much in her great -trouble.” - -“You knew--” - -“Not by any words, sir; but by a look I saw on her face one day as she -stood in the window watching you motor away. You were to be gone a week -and she could not stand the thought of it. I hope you will pardon me -for speaking so plainly. I have always felt the highest regard for Miss -Bartholomew.” - -Oh, the pictures that came back! Pictures I had not seen at the time -but which now would never leave me. - -Perhaps he saw my emotion; perhaps he only realized it, but an instant -of silence passed before he quietly added: - -“A man thinks he’s honest till he comes to the point of trial. When -they asked me if I wrote anything to anybody about that key, I said No, -for I didn’t _write_ anything as you must know who read the printed -letters I pasted in such crooked lines on a slip of paper.” - -I smiled; it was easy to smile that night. - -“You know where the key was found. How do you think it got there?” - -“In the flower-pot? Of course, I can’t say for certain, but this is how -I’ve figured it out. On the morning he died, you found him, as you must -remember, in the same flannel robe which he had worn while sitting up. -This was because he would not allow me as he had always done before -to remove it. That robe was buttoned close to his neck when we left -him, but it was not so buttoned in the morning, and we know why. He -had wanted to use the key he wore strung on a chain about his neck, -and that key hung under his pajama jacket. To get it he had first to -unfasten his dressing-gown and then his pajama jacket, or if he did not -want to go to that trouble, to simply pull it up into his hand by means -of the chain which held it. He probably did the latter, being naturally -impatient with buttons and such like and letting it fall within reach, -went about the business he had planned. - -“So far excitement had kept him up, but when, after an act which would -have tired a well man, he came back into his room--Well! that was -different. He could draw into place the shelves which had hidden the -secret stairway, and he could put out the light in his closet; for all -this had to be done if he did not want to give away his secret. And -he could manage, though not without difficulty, I’m sure, to reach -and unlock his two doors; but that done, the little job of unbuttoning -his jacket, throwing the chain over his head and rearranging his whole -clothing so that the key would be invisible to his nurse when she came -in, was just a little too much. But the key had to be hidden, and -hidden quickly and easily, and he being, as there is every reason to -believe on the further side of the bed where he had gone to unlock the -upper door, he was at this time of failing strength within a foot of -the potted plant standing in the window, and this gave him his idea. - -“Gathering up the chain and key in his hand, he made use of the latter -to push aside the soil in the pot sufficiently to make a hole large -enough to hold anything so thin and slight as that chain and key. A -flick given by his fingers to the loose mold and they were covered. -That’s how I’ve reasoned it out; and if it is not all true some of it -is for his slippers were found lying on that side of the bed, instead -of under the stand by the closet where I had placed them on taking them -off. What do you think, sir? Doesn’t that answer your question?” - -“Yes, Clarke, as well as it ever will be answered. Have you given this -explanation to Miss Bartholomew, or to any one else in fact?” - -“No, sir. I’m not quick to talk and I should not have said as much to -you if you had not asked me. For after all it is only my thoughts, sir. -We shall never know all that passed through the mind of your uncle -during those last three hours.” - - * * * * * - -It was after our return from a very short wedding journey, during which -we had seen Edgar married to Lucy, that one evening when life seemed -very sweet to us, Orpha put into my hands a sheet of discolored paper, -folded letter-wise, saying softly: - -“My last secret, Quenton. That is an old, old letter written by my -father and found by me at the same time I found the early will in the -old box at the foot of the hidden stairway. It was lying underneath the -will and would have escaped my notice if the box had not fallen from -its peg while I was pulling at the crumpled-up document in my effort to -get it out. It is a treasure and the time has come for you to share it -with me. Read it, Quenton.” - -And this is what I read: - - Some day, my darling child, you will find this letter. When you do, - you will wonder why in building this house, I took such pains to - retain within its walls a portion of the old iron stairway belonging - to the ancient inn against which I chose to rear this structure. - - I am going to tell you. You are a child now, thirteen last Tuesday. I - hope you will be a woman when you read these lines, and a fine one, as - just and as generous-hearted as your mother. You will understand me - better so, especially if that great alchemist, Love, has wrought his - miracle in your heart. - - For Love is my theme, dear child, the love I felt for your mother. - The stairway down which you have stepped in such amazement was - our trysting place in those days. At its base was the spot where - we pledged our young love. She lived within with her father and - mother, but there were moments when she could steal out under the - stars,--moments so blessed to me, a thoughtless lad, that their - influence is with me yet though the grave has her sweet body, and - Immortal Love her soul. - - You will be like her. You will be to Edgar what your mother has been - to me. When you are that--when a woman is a guiding star to her - husband--she may face the ills of life without fear, for the blessing - of Heaven is upon her. - - As is that of your father, - - EDGAR QUENTON BARTHOLOMEW. - - -THE END - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE: - -Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - -Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - -Spelling and grammar have been left as originally printed. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STEP ON THE STAIR *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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