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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7d84867 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #68153 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68153) 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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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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The step on the stair</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Anna Katharine Green</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: May 22, 2022 [eBook #68153]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>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)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STEP ON THE STAIR ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter illowp50" id="cover" style="max-width: 53.125em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter illowp58" id="frontis" style="max-width: 122.25em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/frontis.png" alt="" /> - <div class="caption"><p>A RUDE DRAWN DIAGRAM, LARGE ENOUGH TO BE SEEN -FROM ALL PARTS OF THE COURT ROOM, FELL INTO VIEW.</p> - -<p> -<a href="#Page_146"><i>Page 146</i></a><br /> -</p> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="figcenter illowp47" id="titlepage" style="max-width: 68.75em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/titlepage.png" alt="" /> -</div> - -<h1>THE STEP ON -<br /> -THE STAIR</h1> - -<p class="center spaced space-above"><big>BY</big> -<br /> -<big>ANNA KATHARINE GREEN</big></p> - -<p class="center"><small>AUTHOR OF</small></p> -<p class="center"><small>“THE LEAVENWORTH CASE,” “THE FILIGREE BALL,”</small></p> -<p class="center"><small>“THE MYSTERY OF THE HASTY ARROW,” ETC.</small></p> - -<p class="center spaced space-above"><big>NEW YORK -<br /> -DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY -<br /> -1923</big> -</p> - - -<p class="center spaced space-above"><span class="smcap">Copyright 1923 -<br /> -By DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, Inc.</span></p> - - -<p class="center spaced space-above">PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. BY -<br /> -The Quinn & Boden Company</p> - -<p class="center">BOOK MANUFACTURERS -<br /> -RAHWAY NEW JERSEY -</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2> -</div> - - -<table class="autotable" summary=""> -<tr> -<td class="tdc"></td> -<td class="tdc"></td> -<td class="tdr"><span class="smcap">Page</span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><a href="#BOOK_I"><span class="smcap">Book I</span></a></td> -<td class="tdl"><a href="#BOOK_I"><span class="smcap">The Three Edgars</span></a></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><a href="#BOOK_II"><span class="smcap">Book II</span></a></td> -<td class="tdl"><a href="#BOOK_II"><span class="smcap">Hidden</span></a></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><a href="#BOOK_III"><span class="smcap">Book III</span></a></td> -<td class="tdl"><a href="#BOOK_III"><span class="smcap">Which of Us Two?</span></a></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_191">191</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><a href="#BOOK_IV"><span class="smcap">Book IV</span></a></td> -<td class="tdl"><a href="#BOOK_IV"><span class="smcap">Love</span></a></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_277">277</a></td> -</tr> -</table> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_I"><i>BOOK I</i> -<br /> -THE THREE EDGARS -</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span></p> - - -<p class="center spaced space-above"><big>THE STEP ON THE STAIR</big></p> - - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Mr. Bartholomew, is it not?”</p> - -<p>I bowed. He had spoken my name.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span> -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?”</p> - -<p>“No; but—”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“You are Mr. Bartholomew, are you not? Edgar Quenton -Bartholomew?”</p> - -<p>I smiled a polite acquiescence and, taking a card from -my pocketbook, handed it to him.</p> - -<p>He gave it one glance and passed it back. The -name corresponded exactly with the one he had just uttered.</p> - -<p>With a muttered apology and a hasty nod, he turned -and fairly ran to the waiting taxi-cab. Had he looked -back—</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><i>And I knew the man.</i></p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span> -would have saved him from an error the consequences of -which no one, not even myself, could at that moment -foresee.</p> - -<p>Why did I do this? I call myself a gentleman; moreover -I believe myself to be universally considered as such. -Why, then—</p> - -<p>Let events tell. Follow my next move and look for -explanations later.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span> -building, was soon at a door on the third floor bearing the -name of</p> - -<p> -<span class="smcap">John E. Miller</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="allsmcap">ATTORNEY AT LAW</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span> -it or was it not in me to hand them over without a -fuller knowledge of what I might lose in doing so?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Five minutes—ten went by—and still a rush of strangers, -none of whom paused even for a moment at Mr. Miller’s -door.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Why should I have expected anything different? Was -he not always himself and no other? <i>He</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span></p> - - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>That in doing this I was to quit a safe and quiet life, and -enter upon personal hazard and many a disturbing problem,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span> -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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>More startled than gratified by this discovery, I impulsively -reversed the bag I was carrying so as to effectively<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span> -conceal from view the initials which gave away my -own identity.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>While this new and unusual feeling lightened my heart<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Begging him to pardon me for intruding myself upon -him at such a moment, I smilingly remarked:</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“You are James’ son?”</p> - -<p>I nodded.</p> - -<p>“You have crossed the ocean and found your way here -to see me?”</p> - -<p>I nodded again; words did not come with their usual -alacrity.</p> - -<p>“I do not see your father in your face.”</p> - -<p>“No, I favor my mother.”</p> - -<p>“She must have been a handsome woman.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“She was the belle of her village, when my father married -her,” I nevertheless answered. “She died six weeks<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>It is an hour I love to look back upon.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span></p> - - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>It is built of stone with a curious admixture of wood -at one end for which there seems to be no artistic reason.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Uncle was watching me. Evidently I was not as successful<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span> -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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Here he ushered me inside.</p> - -<p>Was I prepared for what I saw?</p> - -<p>Hardly. I had looked for splendor but not for such a -dream of beauty as recalled the wonders of old Granada.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>And it was enough; artistry could go no further.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span></p> - -<p>“You like it?”</p> - -<p>The hearty tone called me from my dreams.</p> - -<p>“There is but one thing lacking,” I smiled; “the figure of -my cousin Orpha descending those wonderful stairs.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Orpha is in the Berkshires.” Then laughingly, as we -proceeded to enter one of the rooms, “Orpha does look well -coming down those stairs.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span></p> - - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span> -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:</p> - -<p>“If he has, neither he nor ourselves have ever been able -as yet to discover it.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Was I generous enough to be glad of the favor so unconsciously<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Or her father changed them for her,” laughed a merry -voice. “The handsome cousin might put the other out.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, don’t you think it,” was the quick retort. -“No one could put our Mr. Edgar out.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Nor did I blame him.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span></p> - - -<h3>V</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“I was told that I should be sure to find you here. I -have been entrusted with a message from those at home.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>But we continued outwardly cordial. Likewise, I accepted -the invitation he had taken so long a trip to deliver<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“This ball is in celebration of an event you will be the -first to congratulate me upon when you see our pretty -cousin.”</p> - -<p>“I am told that she is more than pretty; that she is very -lovely,” I observed somewhat coldly.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span></p> - - -<h3>VI</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Most assuredly,” I replied, bounding up the narrow -staircase used on such occasions.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>There is but one factor in life potent enough to work a -miracle of this nature.</p> - -<p>Love!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span> -every smile with a delight in which self if assertive triumphed -more in its power to give than in its expectation of -reward.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Sitting with face turned my way but with head lowered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Have you seen Edgar? Does he know that you are -here?”</p> - -<p>I shook my head, in secret wonder that I had given him -a thought since setting foot in the house.</p> - -<p>“I have had no opportunity of seeing him,” I hastened -to explain. “He is doubtless with the dancers.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>He saw I was pleased and so spoke the name again but -this time with a gravity which secured my earnest attention.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You do not answer.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span></p> - -<p>It was not harshly said but very anxiously.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“By him?”</p> - -<p>I nodded; the room was whirling about me.</p> - -<p>“Did he tell you like a man in love?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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 <i>her</i> if I misled him -for an instant in so important a matter.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>He laughed, snapping his finger and thumb, in his recovered -spirits. “<i>That</i>,” 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—”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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—</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The idol of my thoughts was she, whose father had just -asked me if I could love her enough to marry her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span></p> - - -<h3>VII</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“There is no other. She is the one, she only.”</p> - -<p>And I told him my story.</p> - -<p>He listened, gaining strength with every word I uttered.</p> - -<p>“So for a mere hope which might never have developed, -you were ready to give up a fortune,” was all he said.</p> - -<p>“It was not that which troubled me,” was my reply, -uttered in all candor. “It was the thought that I must<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span> -disappoint you in a matter you seem to have taken to -heart.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes,” he muttered as if to himself.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“She seemed very happy,” I assured him. “Evidently -she does not know that you are upstairs and ill.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Shall I call Wealthy?” I asked, for his temporary excitement -was fast giving away to a renewed lassitude.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“If I ever win her love,” I returned with some -solemnity, “I will remember this hour and what I owe to -you.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span></p> - -<p>He made a slight gesture and taking it for dismissal I -turned to go.</p> - -<p>But the sigh I heard drew me back.</p> - -<p>“Is there nothing I can do for you before I go?”</p> - -<p>“Keep <i>him</i> 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?”</p> - -<p>“Implicitly in this.”</p> - -<p>He made another gesture and I opened the door.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>And I knew why. Edgar was in the hall; Edgar was -coming our way and in haste; he was almost running.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span></p> - - -<h3>VIII</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>A few minutes later we were whirling in the dance.</p> - -<p>I will not dwell on that dance or on the many introductions<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span> -“This is a farewell,” my heart stood still in my breast and -my mind lost itself for the instant in infinite confusion.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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—</p> - -<p>This inner mention of his name brought me up standing. -I owed a duty to that uncle. He had entrusted me with a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Papa, ill? I don’t understand,” she murmured. “He -is never ill.” Then suddenly, “Where is Edgar?”</p> - -<p>The question as she uttered it struck me keenly. However -I managed to reply in a purposely careless tone:</p> - -<p>“In the library, I think, where they are practicing some -new steps. Shall I take you to him?”</p> - -<p>She shook her head, but accepted my arm after a show -of hesitation quite unconscious I was sure. “No, I will go -right up.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span></p> - -<p>“Shall I go up with you?” I asked.</p> - -<p>She shook her head as before, and with a strange wavering -smile I found it hard to interpret, sped lightly upward.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>What was in the air? What would the next half hour -bring to him—to me—to all of us?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Fortunately I had not long to wait. She presently appeared,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span> -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. -<i>They understood each other.</i></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span></p> - - -<h3>IX</h3> - -<p>“<i>Friends!</i>”</p> - -<p>Was that Edgar speaking? Surely this was not -his voice I heard.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>sang-froid</i> -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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>He drank—we all drank—and joy ran high.</p> - -<p>“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!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>At four o’clock precisely we three stood in an empty -parlor.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>And Uncle? And Orpha? What of them? Reminded -thus of other sufferings than my own, I asked, with what -calmness I could:</p> - -<p>“Have you had any further news from upstairs? I -thought our uncle looked far from well when I saw him in -the early evening.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>I nodded and he stepped to the foot of the stairs. But -there he turned.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>This ended our interview.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Miss Orpha is not to know the worst. Mr. Bartholomew -is in no immediate danger; but he will never be a strong -man again.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span></p> - - -<h3>X</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Convinced of this I sought an interview with him. -Though constantly in the house I had not seen him since -that fateful night.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span> -in ascribing it to nothing more serious than the discovery, -at the last minute, of Edgar’s passion for another -woman than Orpha.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Unless it was Orpha.</p> - -<p>But why should I except Orpha? Had I any reason -whatever for doing so? No; a thousand times, no. Yet—</p> - -<p>I was still astonished at my own persistence in formulating -in my mind that word <i>yet</i> when my uncle spoke.</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>We were alone and as he hesitated, he, the strong man, -I put out my hand with a momentary show of my real -feelings.</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>But here he stopped me.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>I rose, and advanced to his side. I even ventured to -take him by the hand.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span></p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>What more was said is of no consequence to my story.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span></p> - - -<h3>XI</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>Presence</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>But the person telling me did not smile.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Did—did you feel it? They say that it catches you -by the hair and—and—just in this very spot.”</p> - -<p>I stared up at him in amazement.</p> - -<p>“Feel it? Feel what?” And joining him I surveyed -him with some attention to see if he were intoxicated.</p> - -<p>He was not; only a little ashamed of himself; and drawing -back to let me pass, he stammered apologetically:</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“Of what? Speak it.”</p> - -<p>He looked behind him, and very carefully in the direction -of the short passage-way leading to Uncle’s room; -then whispered:</p> - -<p>“Ask the girls, Mr. Bartholomew, or—or—Miss<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span> -Wealthy. They’ll tell you.” And was gone before I -could hold him back for another word.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>It was then I smiled.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span></p> - - -<h3>XII</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>He started and looked up with his kindly smile as I -approached with the morning papers, then spoke quickly:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>I turned impulsively, casting one glance at Orpha.</p> - -<p>“You may take Orpha.”</p> - -<p>But she would not go. In a flurry of excitement and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span> -with every sign of subdued agitation, she hurriedly rose -and came our way.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The tears were in her eyes more than once when she -impulsively turned my way. And no explanation followed,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span> -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:</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span> -me and I don’t know whether or not I ought to tell Dr. -Cameron. What do you advise?”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I hardly think Dr. Cameron would say any different. -You can put the question to him when he comes in.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Had he not sent me out of the house and on a long -enough trip to cover the time likely to be consumed by<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span> -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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>She had seen me through a slit in the screen and for -some purpose or other showed a disposition to speak.</p> - -<p>Of course, I paused to hear what she had to say.</p> - -<p>It was nothing important in itself; but to her devotion -everything was important which had any connection with -her sick master.</p> - -<p>“It is late,” she said. “Clarke is out and I have been -waiting for Mr. Bartholomew’s bell. It does not ring.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span></p> - - -<h3>XIII</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Uncle is speaking.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span> -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?”</p> - -<p>I was silent, what could <i>I</i> say?</p> - -<p>“Quenton?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span> -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—”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, uncle, I have been told of this. I heard something -of the kind once myself.”</p> - -<p>“You did? When?” The glance he shot at me was -quick and searching.</p> - -<p>I told him and for a long time he sat very still gazing -with retrospective eyes into the fire.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Uncle, if this house needed a finishing touch to make -it the most romantic in the world, this suggestion of mystery -supplies it.”</p> - -<p>I shall never forget his quick bend forward or the long, -long look he gave me.</p> - -<p>It emboldened me to ask almost seriously:</p> - -<p>“Uncle, have you ever felt this presence yourself?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span></p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>No lover’s voice could have been more tender; no poet’s -eye more dreamy.</p> - -<p>I locked the remembrance away in my mind, for I doubted -if I ever should see him in just such a mood again.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span></p> - - -<h3>XIV</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span> -his thoughts would recommence, all the stronger and more -unendurable because of this momentary break.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>It also, to my prejudiced mind, tinged his smile, as slipping -by me, he remarked:</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span></p> - -<p>“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—</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The light which I had been told to extinguish was near -my uncle’s hand as he lay in bed.</p> - -<p>Seeing that he was, as Edgar said, peacefully asleep, I -carefully pulled the chain attached to the flaming bulb.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span> -glass, allowed the full play of the dancing flames to be -seen.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Yet I had heard no sound and had no real expectation<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span> -of seeing any one behind me unless it was my uncle who -had wakened and needed me.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Something impends!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span></p> - -<p>But what that something was, was very far from my -thoughts as are all spiritual upheavals when we are looking -for material disaster.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I stirred and started up. I had no right to listen further.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span> -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—”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Another log, Edgar. The fire is low; it mustn’t go -out. Whatever happens, it must never go out.”</p> - -<p>And he, burning up with fever!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span> -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.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>However, I uttered no promises myself. I would wait -till my judgment sanctioned them; and the time for that -had not yet come.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span></p> - - -<h3>XV</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>As she said this her look wandered anywhere but to my -face.</p> - -<p>“It is growing to be very hard for Edgar,” she added -in a tone full of feeling.</p> - -<p>“And for you,” I answered, with careful attention to -voice and manner.</p> - -<p>She shuddered, and crept from my side lest she should -be tempted to say how hard.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p>Wealthy was present; consequently my visit was a brief<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span> -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:</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I had begun to understand his mind.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>A drawer! Within his own reach—at all times—by -night and day! It must contain—</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span></p> - -<p>“Am I wanted?” I asked, unable to control my impatience.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>When he spoke it was hurriedly as though he felt his -time was short.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span> -I cannot cut him off from the great hopes I have always -fostered in him. I want you to—”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Oh! She is devoted to Edgar,” he made haste to assert. -“I have never doubted her feeling for <i>him</i>.”</p> - -<p>“Uncle, have you <i>asked</i> her to aid your decision?”</p> - -<p>He shook his head and muttered sadly:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>He rose to his feet—rose suddenly and without any -seeming effort, letting the two wills fall unheeded to the -floor.</p> - -<p>“Quenton!” he cried, “<i>You are the man!</i> 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—”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span> -listen if there is anything you want me to hear before you -call in Clarke.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Then addressing him while pointing to the picture, I -said:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>Suppose he changed his mind again!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Mr. Bartholomew is worse, come quickly.”</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span></p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>I saw her eyes leave my face and pass rapidly over my -person. I was fully dressed.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“What does that mean?” She whispered or rather uttered -with throat half closed in fear and trepidation.</p> - -<p>“Shall we explain?” I asked, with a quick turn towards -Edgar.</p> - -<p>“Leave it to him,” was the low, undisturbed reply. “He -has heard her voice, and is going to speak.”</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Father.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span></p> - -<p>“Yes, Father.”</p> - -<p>“In which hand do you see it?”</p> - -<p>“In this one,—the one nearest me.”</p> - -<p>“You are sure?”</p> - -<p>“Very sure. Edgar, look too, and tell him that I am -right.”</p> - -<p>“I will take your word, my darling child. Now pull -that envelope,—the one with the mark on it, from under -my hand.”</p> - -<p>“I have it, Father.”</p> - -<p>A moment’s silence. Edgar’s breath stopped on his -lips; mine had come haltingly from my breast ever since -I entered the room.</p> - -<p>“Now, burn it.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>We never knew. The light in his eye went out before -his glance reached its goal.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span></p> - -<p>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 -<i>greater</i> rightfully belonged.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_II"><i>BOOK II</i> -<br /> -HIDDEN -</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span></p> - - -<h3>XVI</h3> - -<p>“<i>DEAD?</i>”</p> - -<p>The word was spoken in such astonishment that -it had almost the emphasis of unbelief.</p> - -<p>From whose lips had it come?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>It was Edgar who answered.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span> -daughter have prevented him?” And looking very noble, -Edgar met the doctor’s eye unflinchingly.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“The performance of duty brings relief to both mind -and body. Then why this look of alarm with which he -met his end—”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Tell.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span></p> - - -<h3>XVII</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And was he obeyed?”</p> - -<p>“Clarke says that he was. Wealthy was sitting in her -usual place in the hall as he went by to his room; and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“Looking at them as she did so?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Who got them out this morning? The two envelopes, -I mean.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“What do you know of this woman?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing but what is good. She has had the confidence -of many people for years.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>And he did, and fully as much as I expected.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I have reason to, Edgar.”</p> - -<p>“How much reason, Quenton?”</p> - -<p>“Only my uncle’s word.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“That I was the man.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You the man! He said that?”</p> - -<p>“Those were his exact words.”</p> - -<p>“The man to administer his wealth? To take his place -in this community? To—” his voice sank lower, there<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span> -was even an air of apology in his manner—“to wed his -daughter?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“Truly, Edgar?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I regard myself as engaged to her.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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>I love Orpha</i>.”</p> - -<p>Like a flash he wheeled at that and came hastily back.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Then you saw those two wills—read them—became -acquainted with their contents before I knew of their -existence?”</p> - -<p>“Fortunately, yes,” he allowed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span></p> - -<p>“There you have the advantage of me. I have only a -general knowledge of the same. They were not unfolded -before my eyes.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“No mention of Orpha?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Was this will made previous to my coming or after?”</p> - -<p>“Before.”</p> - -<p>“How long before, Edgar? You cannot question my -right to know.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span></p> - -<p>“I question nothing but the good taste of this conversation -on the part of both of us, while Uncle lies cold in the -house!”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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 <i>if</i> mind you, -but <i>when</i>—then we will talk of friendship.”</p> - -<p>Not the sort of harangue calculated to calm my spirits -or to make this day of mourning lose any of its gloom.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span></p> - - -<h3>XVIII</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Might we but have shared each other’s suffering!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>And Edgar knew it.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I did not know.</p> - -<p>Did Edgar? Had he taken any pains to find out?</p> - -<p>Fruitless to conjecture. Impertinent to inquire.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>It did not seem possible, and I gave but little credence<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>The study, since the time when Uncle’s condition became -serious enough to have a nurse within call, had been occupied<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span> -by Wealthy. Certainly he would have hidden nothing -in her room which he wished kept from Edgar.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>Hardly; but if he had, where would he have found -a cubby-hole for the will, short of Edgar’s room or -mine?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>The only object to be seen between the door of this closet<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span> -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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span></p> - - -<h3>XIX</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span> -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?</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>And Edgar, in spite of his irregular features possessed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span> -this appeal to the imagination above and beyond any other -man I have ever met.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>So little are we able to foresee one hour, nay, one minute -into the future.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span> -looking back like a guilty man, for brain and heart were yet -crying out “No.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“What is it?” she cried. “What has happened?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>As we all crowded in line at the foot of the first flight,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span> -the door of Orpha’s room opened and she stepped out and -faced us.</p> - -<p>“What is it? Who is hurt?” were her first words. -“Somebody cried out. The voice sounded like Martha’s.”</p> - -<p>Martha was the name of one of the girls.</p> - -<p>“We don’t know,” replied Clarke. “We are going to -see.”</p> - -<p>She made as if to follow us.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>She paused for a moment then pressed hastily on.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>So she too doubted me. Oh, God! my lot was indeed a -hard one.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span></p> - - -<h3>XX</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Oh, what is it? what is it?” she moaned, her eyes meeting -mine for the first time in days.</p> - -<p>“I will go and see, if you think you can stand alone.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span></p> - -<p>“Wealthy will take care of me,” she murmured, as another -arm than mine drew her forcibly away.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Would you blame the girl for what you yourself have -brought upon us?” came in a hiss to my ear.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span></p> - - -<h3>XXI</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span></p> - -<p>He started and, turning very slowly, gave me look for -look.</p> - -<p>“Do you advise that?” he asked.</p> - -<p>With a glance at the dear features which were hardly -recognizable, I said:</p> - -<p>“I not only advise it, but as one who believes himself -entitled to full authority here, I demand it.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>This forced a word from Edgar.</p> - -<p>“We will not dispute authority in this presence or disagree -as to the action you propose. Let some one call Dr. -Cameron.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span></p> - - -<h3>XXII</h3> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>That she was beautiful thus, with a beauty which put -her girlhood’s charms to blush, did not detract from her -power.</p> - -<p>Eagerly we waited for what she had to say. When it -came it was very simple.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span> -return every man and woman now present in the precise -place in which I leave them.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Quenton, do you consent?”</p> - -<p>“To remain here?” I asked. “Certainly.” Indeed, I -had no other wish.</p> - -<p>But Orpha was not of my mind. With a glance at Edgar -as firm as it was considerate, she quietly said:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>The flush which this brought to his cheek was the first -hint of color I had seen there since the evening began.</p> - -<p>“This from you, Orpha?” he muttered. “You would -place this stranger—”</p> - -<p>“Where my father put him,—on a level with yourself. -But why leave us, Edgar? Why not wait till the doctor -comes?”</p> - -<p>They were standing near each other but they now stepped -closer.</p> - -<p>Instinctively I turned my back. I even walked away -from them. When I wheeled about again, I saw that they -were both approaching me.</p> - -<p>“<i>I</i> am going up with Edgar,” said she. “Will you sit -in my place till I come back?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>They were going to Uncle’s room of which Wealthy had -the key.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Discolorations such as you see here, however soon they -appear, are in themselves no proof that poison has entered<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Shrinking from so stringent a test of my own generosity -I turned aside, not wishing to see anything further, only -to hear.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>It came just as my endurance had reached the breaking-point. -Dr. Cameron spoke, addressing Edgar.</p> - -<p>“The funeral I understand is to be held to-morrow. At -what hour, may I ask?”</p> - -<p>“At eleven in the morning.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span></p> - - -<h3>XXIII</h3> - -<p>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! <i>She</i> our leader? The one to take her -stand in the breach yawning between the old life and the -new?</p> - -<p>“You mean,” she forced herself to say, “that what had -happened to Martha’s brother may have happened to my -beloved father?”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>She bowed her head.</p> - -<p>“And you, Edgar and Quenton?”</p> - -<p>We did, alas!</p> - -<p>“And his nurses, and the man Clarke, all who were at -liberty to enter his room?”</p> - -<p>“They knew.” It was Orpha who spoke. “I called -their attention to what you had said more than once.”</p> - -<p>“Is the phial containing that poison still in the house? -I have not ordered it lately.”</p> - -<p>“It is. Edgar and I have just been up to see. We -found it among the other bottles in the medicine cabinet.”</p> - -<p>“When did he receive the last dose of it under my instructions?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span></p> - -<p>“Wealthy can tell you. She kept very close watch of -that bottle.”</p> - -<p>“Wealthy,” he called, with a glance towards the gallery, -“come down. I have a question or two to put to you.”</p> - -<p>She obeyed him quickly, almost eagerly.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>He greeted her kindly; she had always been a favorite of -his; then spoke up quickly:</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>Her eyes, filled with tears, rose slowly to his face.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Holding the same amount as when you saw it last?”</p> - -<p>“To all <i>appearance</i>, yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>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 <i>appearance</i>. But was it the -same fear which held him back from pursuing his inquiries, -and led him to say instead:</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span> -Wealthy will go up with me. Meantime, let Edgar take -you away to some spot where you can rest till I come back.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I could rest, with these two sitting thus in full view—rest -in the present; the future must take care of itself.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span> -star which had shone in upon me two hours before had -vanished in clouds.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span></p> - - -<h3>XXIV</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>What if the report should be one of which I dared not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span> -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—</p> - -<p>Was it coming? The whole house had been so still that -the least sound shook me. And it was a <i>least</i> sound. A -low but persistent knocking at my door.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Come in.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I knew him for what he was before he spoke a word.</p> - -<p>The police were in the house. There was no need to ask -what the doctor’s report had been.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span></p> - - -<h3>XXV</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span> -the consciousness that an ear was somewhere near which recognized -the cessation of my steps and waited to hear them -recommence.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>This done I returned as I had come, only with a lighter -step, for some portion of the peace for which I longed had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span> -fallen upon me with the utterance of that solemn promise.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span></p> - - -<h3>XXVI</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span> -same or its successful suppression was most to be desired -who could tell.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>But there was one face I encountered which told a different -story. Mr. Jackson had his own ideas and they were<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span> -favorable to me. With a sigh of relief I turned my attention -back to the heavily veiled figure of Orpha.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Your father and mother?”</p> - -<p>“Both dead before I was five years old. Uncle Edgar -then took me into his home.”</p> - -<p>“Adopted you?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Did he ever call you <i>Son</i>?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span></p> - -<p>“I have no remembrance of his ever having done so. -His favorite way of addressing me was Boy.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Did he ever talk to you of his intentions in regard to -his property, and if so when?”</p> - -<p>“Often, before I became of age.”</p> - -<p>“And not since?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, since. But not so often. It did not seem -necessary, we understood each other.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir. You see, as I said before, we understood -each other.”</p> - -<p>“Understood? How?”</p> - -<p>“We never meant, he nor I, that his daughter should lose -anything by my inheritance of his money.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>them</i>.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile another question had been put.</p> - -<p>“Did your uncle at any time ever suggest to you that -under a change of circumstances he might change his -mind?”</p> - -<p>“Never, till the day before he died.”</p> - -<p>“There was no break between you? No quarrel?”</p> - -<p>“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 <i>break</i>? No. He loved me better than I -deserved.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>The Coroner probably had his own private opinions on -this subject, for taking no notice of these wordless suggestions -he proceeded to ask:</p> - -<p>“Was your cousin ever present when these not altogether -agreeable discussions occurred between yourself and -uncle?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! I see. Then that was the topic of these unfortunate -conversations between you, and not the virtues or -vices of your cousin.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span> -and not you might be made the chief beneficiary in a new -will.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Coroner, if you will pardon me I must take exception -to that word <i>positive</i>. He could never have been -positive at any time as to what he would finally do. Else -why <i>two</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The question, if you will remember, was when and where -he received definite confirmation of what had been told him -concerning two wills.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Can you repeat his words?”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“On what terms did you leave him? Surely you can -remember that?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>In a tone which sounded sharp enough in contrast to the -mellow one which had preceded it, he said:</p> - -<p>“That is what you <i>thought</i>. We had rather listen to -facts.”</p> - -<p>Edgar bowed, still gracious, still the darling of the men<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“You did not visit him again?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Where did you go?”</p> - -<p>“To my room.”</p> - -<p>“Will you state to the jury just where your room is -located?”</p> - -<p>“On the same floor as Uncle’s, only further front and -on the opposite side of the hall.”</p> - -<p>“We have here a chart of that floor. Will you be good -enough to step to it and indicate the two rooms you mention?”</p> - -<p>Here, at a gesture from the Coroner, an official drew a -string attached to a roll suspended on one of the walls and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span> -a rudely drawn diagram, large enough to be seen from all -parts of the court-room, fell into view.<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a></p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[A]</a> <a href="#frontis">A reduced copy of the plan will be found facing the title page -of this book.</a></p> - -</div> - -<p>Edgar was handed a stick with which he pointed out the -two doors of his uncle’s room and those of his own.</p> - -<p>What was coming?</p> - -<p>“Mr. Bartholomew, will you now tell the jury what you -did on returning to your room?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing. I threw myself into a chair and just -waited.”</p> - -<p>“Waited for what?”</p> - -<p>“To hear my cousin enter my uncle’s room.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“And did you hear this?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“If you heard this, you must also have heard when he -left your uncle’s room.”</p> - -<p>“I did.”</p> - -<p>“Was the interview a long one?”</p> - -<p>“I was sitting in front of the clock on my mantel-piece. -He was in there just twenty minutes.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span></p> - -<p>The Coroner, who was the only person in the room who -had not looked my way, went undeviatingly on.</p> - -<p>“In what part of the house does this gentleman of whom -we are speaking have his room?”</p> - -<p>“On the same floor as mine; but further back at the -end of a short hall.”</p> - -<p>“Will you take the pointer from the officer and show -the location of the second Mr. Bartholomew’s room?”</p> - -<p>The witness did so.</p> - -<p>“Did you hear in which direction your cousin went on -leaving your uncle? Did he go immediately to his room?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“How long was he below?”</p> - -<p>“A long time. I had moved from my seat and my eye -was no longer on the clock so I cannot say how long.”</p> - -<p>“Did you hear him when he came up for a second time?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; he is not a light stepper.”</p> - -<p>“Where did he go? Directly to his room?”</p> - -<p>“No, he stopped on the way.”</p> - -<p>“How, stopped on the way?”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Was the hall dark?”</p> - -<p>“Very.”</p> - -<p>“Darker than usual?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, much.”</p> - -<p>“How was that? What had happened?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span></p> - -<p>“The electric light usually kept burning at my end of -the hall had been switched off.”</p> - -<p>“When? Before your cousin came up or after?”</p> - -<p>“I do not know. It simply was not burning when I -opened my door.”</p> - -<p>“Will you say from which of the doors in your suite you -were looking?”</p> - -<p>“From the one marked C on the chart.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Enough, you say, to make your uncle’s door visible?”</p> - -<p>“Quite enough.”</p> - -<p>“And what did you see there? Your cousin standing?”</p> - -<p>“No; he was gone.”</p> - -<p>“How gone? Could he not have been in your uncle’s -room?”</p> - -<p>“Not then.”</p> - -<p>“Why do you say ‘not then’?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span> -<i>stopped</i>; 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.</p> - -<p>“You say that you heard him moving down the hall. You -did not see him at your uncle’s door?”</p> - -<p>“No, I did not.”</p> - -<p>“But you are confident he was there, previous to your -looking out?”</p> - -<p>“I am very sure that he was; my ear seldom deceives -me.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>He hesitated; he did not want to answer. Why? I -would have given all that I possessed to know; but he only -said:</p> - -<p>“I did not look at my watch; I did not need to. The -clock was striking three.”</p> - -<p>“Three! The jury will note the hour.”</p> - -<p>Why did he say that?—<i>the jury will note the hour?</i> -My action was harmless. Everything I did that night was -harmless. What did he mean then by <i>the hour</i>? The -mystery of it troubled me—a mystery he was careful to -leave for the present just where it was.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span> -how long your cousin lingered at your uncle’s door before -starting down the hall.”</p> - -<p>“No, I should not like to do that.”</p> - -<p>“Five minutes?”</p> - -<p>“I cannot say.”</p> - -<p>“Long enough to have entered that room and come out -again?”</p> - -<p>“You ask too much. I am not ready to swear to that.”</p> - -<p>“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:</p> - -<p>“What did you do then?”</p> - -<p>“I went to bed.”</p> - -<p>“Did you see or hear anything more of your cousin that -night?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Tell us where it was you met him then.”</p> - -<p>“In the hall near Uncle’s door—the one marked 2 on the -chart.”</p> - -<p>“How did he look? Was there anything peculiar in his -appearance or manner?”</p> - -<p>“He was fully dressed.”</p> - -<p>“And you?”</p> - -<p>“I had had no time to do more than wrap a dressing-gown -about me.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span></p> - -<p>“At what time was this? You remember the hour no -doubt?”</p> - -<p>“Half past four in the morning; any one can tell you -that.”</p> - -<p>“And he was fully dressed. In morning clothes or evening?”</p> - -<p>“In the ones he wore to dinner the night before.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Was he in these same clothes when you finally entered -your uncle’s room?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly; there was no time then for changing.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Were you near enough to see the red mark on the one -he had ordered burned?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; I took note of it.”</p> - -<p>“Had you seen it before?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; when, in the interview of which I have spoken,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span> -my uncle showed me the two envelopes and informed me -of their several contents.”</p> - -<p>“Did he tell you or did you learn in any way which will -was in the one marked with red?”</p> - -<p>“No. I did not ask him and he did not say.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“I did not.”</p> - -<p>He said it firmly, but he said it with effort. Again, -why?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Yet it was not so, or I did not think it so, in the beginning.</p> - -<p>Asked to describe his uncle’s last moments he did so -shortly, simply, feelingly.</p> - -<p>Then came the question for which I waited.</p> - -<p>“Your uncle died, then, without a sign as to where the -remaining will was to be found?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span></p> - -<p>“He did not have time. Death came instantly, leaving -the words unsaid. It was a great misfortune.”</p> - -<p>With a gesture of reproof, for he would not have it seem -that he liked these comments, the Coroner pressed eagerly -on:</p> - -<p>“What of his looks? Did his features betray any emotion -when he found that he could no longer speak?”</p> - -<p>Edgar hesitated. It was the first time we had seen him -do so and my heart beat in anticipation of a lie.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“He looked frightened, or so I interpreted his expression; -and his head moved a little. Then all was over.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“If Miss Bartholomew would like to retire into the adjoining -room she is at liberty to do so,” came from the -Coroner’s seat.</p> - -<p>But she shook her head, murmuring quietly:</p> - -<p>“Thank you, I will stay.”</p> - -<p>I blessed her in my heart. Still neutral. Still resolute -to hear and know all.</p> - -<p>The inquiry went on.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Bartholomew, did you search for that will?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span></p> - -<p>“And since?”</p> - -<p>“The room has been in the hands of the police. I have -not heard that they have been any more successful.”</p> - -<p>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 <i>somewhere</i>! 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?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span></p> - - -<h3>XXVII</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span> -is, when you were sent to summon one or other of his two -nephews to Mr. Bartholomew’s room.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“You are right, that is the beginning. Go on with your -story.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Did he do it?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, immediately.”</p> - -<p>“Before you moved away?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Then you caught a glimpse of the papers he selected?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And you did this?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; I took them from his hand and laid them on the -table to which he pointed.”</p> - -<p>“Now for the ones he kept. Describe them.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Had you ever seen any envelopes like these before?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, on Mr. Bartholomew’s desk the day I was called in -to witness his signature.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span></p> - -<p>“Very good. There were two of them, you say?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir, two.”</p> - -<p>“Were they alike?”</p> - -<p>“Exactly, I should say.”</p> - -<p>“Any mark on either one?”</p> - -<p>“Not that I observed, sir. But I only saw the face of -one of them and that was absolutely blank.”</p> - -<p>“No red marks on either.”</p> - -<p>“Not that I saw, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Very good. Proceed, Mr. Clarke. What did Mr. -Bartholomew say, after you had laid the other papers -aside?”</p> - -<p>“He bade me look for Mr. Edgar; said he was in a hurry -and wanted to see him at once.”</p> - -<p>“Was that all?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Where were you when he did this?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Did you see Mr. Edgar, as you call him, when he came -out?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir; crossing over to his room.”</p> - -<p>“And what did you do after that?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Was Mr. Bartholomew still sitting by the fire when you -went in?”</p> - -<p>“He was.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span></p> - -<p>“With the two big envelopes in his hands?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Never mind the <i>might have beens</i>; just the plain answer, -Mr. Clarke.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Is there a clock in the cozy corner?”</p> - -<p>“There is, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Did you look at it as you came and went?”</p> - -<p>“I did this time.”</p> - -<p>“Why this time?”</p> - -<p>“First, because I was anxious for Mr. Bartholomew not -to tire himself too much and—and—”</p> - -<p>“Go on; we want the whole truth, Mr. Clarke.”</p> - -<p>“I was curious to see whether Mr. Bartholomew would -keep Mr. Quenton any longer than he did Mr. Edgar.”</p> - -<p>“And did he?”</p> - -<p>“A little, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Did you and the woman Wealthy exchange remarks -upon this?”</p> - -<p>“We—we did, sir.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span></p> - -<p>The Coroner evidently was not of my mind, which certainly -was not strange, seeing where his sympathies -were.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean by little?”</p> - -<p>“Ten minutes.”</p> - -<p>“By the clock?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” said rather sheepishly.</p> - -<p>“Proceed; what happened next?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And did you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir; and left her on the watch.”</p> - -<p>“And where did you go?”</p> - -<p>“To my room for a smoke.”</p> - -<p>“Were you concerned at leaving Mr. Bartholomew alone -for so long a time?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Did you spend the whole half hour in smoking?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Not leaving your room at all?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I left my room several times, going no further, -though, than the end of my small hall.”</p> - -<p>“Why did you do this?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“With what result?”</p> - -<p>“She was always there. I did not speak to her, not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Did your duties in Mr. Bartholomew’s room during -these months of illness include at any time the handling of -his medicines?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Did you ever visit his medicine cabinet, or take anything -from its shelves?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir.”</p> - -<p>“You must often have poured him out a glass of water?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, I have done that.”</p> - -<p>“Did you do so on that night? Think carefully before -you answer.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Not on the stand at his side?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span></p> - -<p>“No, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing of the kind near him?”</p> - -<p>“Not that I saw, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Very good; you may step down.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span></p> - - -<h3>XXVIII</h3> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I took in that look well; the time might come when I -should find it wise to recall it.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span> -every one in the house, even by my poor unappreciated -self.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>It came at last and was welcomed by a long drawn breath -from many an overburdened breast.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span> -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.’</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“You may cut that out,” came kindly but peremptorily -from the Coroner, probably to the immense disappointment -of half the people there.</p> - -<p>The Presence on that night!</p> - -<p>I myself felt a superstitious thrill at the thought, though -I had laughed a dozen times at this old wives’ tale.</p> - -<p>“Tell your story straight,” admonished the Coroner.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span> -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 <i>there</i>, 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—”</p> - -<p>“One moment. In handling the papers you speak of -did you notice them particularly?”</p> - -<p>“Not very, sir. I remember that the top one was in a -dark brown envelope and bulky.”</p> - -<p>“Which side was up?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span></p> - -<p>“The flap side.”</p> - -<p>“Sealed?”</p> - -<p>“No, open; that is loose, not fastened down.”</p> - -<p>“You noticed that?”</p> - -<p>“I couldn’t help it. It was right under my eyes.”</p> - -<p>“Did you notice anything else? That there was a -second envelope in the pile similar to the one on top.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Why quickly?”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Bartholomew was looking at me, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Then you did not note that there was another envelope -in that pile, just like the top one, only empty?”</p> - -<p>“I did not, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Very good. You may go on now. You dropped the -curtain. What did you do next?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“A soothing medicine! Where was that kept?”</p> - -<p>“With the rest of the medicines in the cabinet built into -the small passage-way leading to the upper door.”</p> - -<p>“And you went there for the soothing medicine. At -about what time?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Go on; what about the medicine? Did you give it to -him every night?”</p> - -<p>“Not every night, but frequently. I always had it -ready.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span></p> - -<p>“Will you step down a minute? I want to ask Dr. -Cameron a few questions about this soothing medicine.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“The powerful one would act, whatever it was mixed -with.”</p> - -<p>“How about the color? Would one affect the other?”</p> - -<p>“If plenty of water were used, the change in color would -hardly be perceptible.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, doctor; we can release you now.”</p> - -<p>The doctor stepped down, whereupon a recess was called, -to the disappointment and evident chagrin of a great many.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span></p> - - -<h3>XXIX</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“And where did you put this soothing mixture after you -had prepared it?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Starr, when did you prepare this soothing medicine -as you call it?”</p> - -<p>“Soon after I entered the room.”</p> - -<p>“Before Mr. Bartholomew slept?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, sir.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Was this before or after you dropped the curtain on -the other side of the bed.”</p> - -<p>“After.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Usually. You see Miss Orpha’s picture hangs between -the windows and was company for him if he chanced to -wake in the night.”</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>The heads which turned at this low but pathetic sound -were soon turned back again as the steady questioning -went on:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span></p> - -<p>“You speak of going to the medicine cabinet. It was -your business, no doubt, to go there often.”</p> - -<p>“Very often; I was his nurse, you see.”</p> - -<p>“There was another bottle of medicine kept there—the -one labeled ‘Dangerous’?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Did you see that bottle when you went for the soothing -mixture you speak of?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“This other bottle—the dangerous one—where was that -kept?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“If you went to this cabinet so often you must have a -very good idea of just how it looked inside.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Then tell us if everything looked natural to you when -you went to it this time; everything in order,—nothing -displaced.”</p> - -<p>“I did not notice. I was too intent on what I was after. -Besides, if I had—”</p> - -<p>“Well, go on.”</p> - -<p>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—</p> - -<p>But she was speaking.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Both of them?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“What should take them there?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And this took them to the cabinet?”</p> - -<p>“Undoubtedly; it held a great variety of things besides -his medicines.”</p> - -<p>The Coroner paused. During the most trying moment of -my life every eye in the room turned on me, not one on -Edgar.</p> - -<p>I bore it stoically; a feeling I endeavored to crush making -havoc in my heart.</p> - -<p>Then the command came:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>He seemed to understand her and made a kindly effort -to help her in this sudden crisis of feeling.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span></p> - -<p>“A man—or, rather, the shadow of a man outlined very -dimly on the further wall of the hall.”</p> - -<p>“What man?”</p> - -<p>“I do not know, sir.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Was it so dark?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir. The electrolier at the stair-head had been put -out probably by him as he passed, for—”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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—</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“A man’s, though?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly, a man’s.”</p> - -<p>“And what became of this shadow?”</p> - -<p>“It was gone in a minute; disappeared at the turn of the -wall.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span> -me, and yet felt compunction over what she was thus forced -into saying.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“And what did you do? Did you give him the dose his -condition seemed to call for?”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span> -<i>any one</i> would tamper with the medicines in that cabinet. -That any one would—”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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; <i>act</i>!’ 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.’</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span> -Mr. Bartholomew’s room, to the rear hall and Mr. Quenton’s -door.”</p> - -<p>“What did you do there?”</p> - -<p>“I both knocked and called.”</p> - -<p>“What did you say?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Did he answer?”</p> - -<p>“Instantly; opening the door and coming out. He was in -Mr. Bartholomew’s room almost as soon as the others.”</p> - -<p>“How could that be? Did he not stop to dress?”</p> - -<p>“He was already dressed, just as he rose from dinner.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span></p> - - -<h3>XXX</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>This was where the proceedings had ended; and it was at -this point they were taken up the next day.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span> -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 <i>poison</i>. 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span> -me the clew to the hand which had really lifted that glass -and set it down a little further along the shelf.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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:</p> - -<p>“A few drops wouldn’t be missed. My memory isn’t -good enough for me to be sure of a fact like that.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span></p> - -<p>She stopped to think; contracting her brows and stealing -what I felt sure was a look at Edgar.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Then in your opinion this could have been done?”</p> - -<p>(I heard afterwards that it had been done by one of the -police operatives.)</p> - -<p>“It could have been done.”</p> - -<p>Almost doggedly she said it.</p> - -<p>“Without making much noise?”</p> - -<p>“Without making any if the person doing it knew exactly -where the phial was to be found.”</p> - -<p>Not doggedly now, but incisively.</p> - -<p>“And how many of the household, to your definite knowledge, -did?”</p> - -<p>“Three, besides myself. Miss Orpha, Mr. Edgar and -Mr. Quenton, all of whom shared my nursing.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>And I innocent!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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—</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span></p> - - -<h3>XXXI</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The result of my examination must be given, however, -even if I have to indulge in some repetition.</p> - -<p>My testimony, if accepted as truth, established certain -facts.</p> - -<p>They were these:</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>That he had shown positive decision only on the night -preceding his death, declaring to me that I was his final -choice:</p> - -<p>That, notwithstanding this, he had not then and there -destroyed the will antagonistic to this decision, as would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span> -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:</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>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.)</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Miss Bartholomew, do you know or have you any suspicion -as to where your father concealed the will which will -settle this question?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span></p> - -<p>“None whatever.”</p> - -<p>And now, the sweet voice wavered.</p> - -<p>“You know your father’s room well?”</p> - -<p>“Every inch of it.”</p> - -<p>“And can imagine no place in it where he might have -thrust this document on taking it out of the envelope?”</p> - -<p>“None.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“He has said that he found my foreign cousin admirable.”</p> - -<p>“That hardly answers my question, Miss Bartholomew.”</p> - -<p>The pink came out on her cheeks. Ah; how lovely she -was! But in what trouble also.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“You mean—”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Can you remember just when this occurred? Was it -before or after the ball held in your house?”</p> - -<p>“It was after; some weeks after.”</p> - -<p>“After he had been ill for some little time, then?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span> -woman without taking from the winsomeness of her girlishness -so well known to all.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span></p> - -<p>“No, sir. We were all too absorbed in caring for my -sick father to think of anything of that kind.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Murder by poison administered by a person unknown.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_III"><i>BOOK III</i> -<br /> -WHICH OF US TWO? -</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span></p> - - -<h3>XXXII</h3> - -<p>Solitude! How do we picture it?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Bartholomew, are you sure she saw your figure -fleeing down the hall?”</p> - -<p>I was on the point of saying, “Whose else? I did rush -down the hall,” when he sharply interrupted me.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Greatly excited, I stared at him.</p> - -<p>“How can that be done?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“The Inspector who was the first to examine you does -not believe in your guilt.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span></p> - -<p>“I know this, because he is a friend of mine,” he averred -by way of explanation.</p> - -<p>“And will help us?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Jackson, I give you the case. Do what you can -for me; but—”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“But first, I want your advice. Shall I return to the -house, or go to the hotel and send for my clothes?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“But—but—my cousin, Orpha? The real owner, as I -look at it, of everything there?”</p> - -<p>“Miss Bartholomew has a just mind. She will accept -your point of view—for the present, at least.”</p> - -<p>I dared not say more. I was never quite myself when I -had to speak her name.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span></p> - - -<h3>XXXIII</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I want nothing but a refuge,” I hastily announced.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span> -“The crowd below there will soon be gone. Will it incommode -you if I remain here till the street is clear?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>By “some of them,” I gathered that he meant his wife, -and I stepped back.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>And with this ignominious episode associated with my -return, I finally approached the house I had entered so -often under very different auspices.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Would he reveal himself in face of my intrusion? I was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>Without any hesitation I approached him, but stopped -before I was too near. I was resolved to speak very plainly -and I did.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span> -to the real question you mentioned first. The verdict was -<i>murder</i>. There is no murder without an active hand. -Whose hand? You say that it was not yours. I—I want -to believe you, but—”</p> - -<p>“You do not.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You do not?” I repeated.</p> - -<p>“I know nothing about it. It is all a damnable mystery.</p> - -<p>“Edgar, shall I pack up my belongings and go?”</p> - -<p>He controlled himself.</p> - -<p>“Stay the night,” he said, and, turning on his heel, went -back into the library.</p> - -<p>Then it was that I became aware of the dim figure of a -man sitting quietly in an inconspicuous corner near the -stairway.</p> - -<p>It needed no perspicacity on my part to recognize in him -a police detective.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span> -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—</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp100" id="image199" style="max-width: 93.75em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/image199.png" alt="" /> - <div class="caption"> -<p> -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 -</p></div> -</div> - -<p>No signature; the letters, as shown above, had been cut -carefully from some magazine or journal. Was it a trap<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span> -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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span></p> - - -<h3>XXXIV</h3> - -<p>“Miss Bartholomew wishes me to say that she -would be glad to see you at dinner.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span> -the embarrassment of further conversation by sauntering -in from the conservatory side by side with Miss Colfax.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>But then she had not had my opportunities for enlightenment.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span></p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Was it Clarke? I smiled grimly at the very thought.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>No, no.</p> - -<p>There was but one name left—the most unlikely of all—Edgar’s. -Could it be possible—</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span></p> - - -<h3>XXXV</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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—</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span> -seen about that time flitting by on the wall further down -would be visible from the place where she stood.</p> - -<p>Had they been trying this?</p> - -<p>Had he been the one—</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span></p> - - -<h3>XXXVI</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You did not telephone me last night,” were his first -words.</p> - -<p>“No,” I said, “there was really no occasion.”</p> - -<p>“Yet something very important happened in your house -between three and four in the morning.”</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“Go on, I want to hear.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“It was odd. You had heard nothing previously, then?”</p> - -<p>“No, I was fortunate enough to be asleep.”</p> - -<p>“And this being a silent drama you did not wake.”</p> - -<p>“Not till the time I said.”</p> - -<p>He was very slow, and I very eager, but I restrained<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>It was several minutes later and after much had been -said before I learned. He began with explanations.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“‘Do you recognize it?’ the Inspector whispered in her -ear. ‘Is it the same?’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span></p> - -<p>“She nodded wildly and drew back, suppressing the sob -which gurgled in her throat.</p> - -<p>“‘The Englishman?’ he asked again.</p> - -<p>“Again she nodded.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span></p> - - -<h3>XXXVII</h3> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“What do you make of it, Mr. Jackson? This seems to -place me on a very different footing; but—”</p> - -<p>“The woman spoke at random. She saw no shadow. -Her whole story was a fabrication.”</p> - -<p>“A fabrication?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“Don’t!” The word burst from me unawares. “Don’t<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>At this Mr. Jackson’s face broke into a smile half quizzical -and half kindly:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span></p> - -<p>“Does she love him?”</p> - -<p>The question came too quickly and the hot flush would -rise. But I answered him.</p> - -<p>“He is loved by all who know him. It would be strange -if his lifelong playmate should be the only one who did -not.”</p> - -<p>“Deuce take it!” burst from the irate lawyer’s lips, “I -was speaking of a very different love from that.”</p> - -<p>And <i>I</i> was thinking of a very different one.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>He shot out one word at me.</p> - -<p>“Nothing.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing?” My face brightened, but my heart sank.</p> - -<p>“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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span> -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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Jackson, with a quick motion, held out his hand. I -took it. We were friends from that hour.</p> - -<p>“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:</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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 <i>two</i>, alike in all respects save in -the essential point with which we are both acquainted.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span> -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?”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“That is why our hands are held.”</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span> -But first I must make some acknowledgment of the -conclusion to which this all pointed, and I did it in these -words.</p> - -<p>“You see! The boy is innocent.”</p> - -<p>“I have not said that.”</p> - -<p>“But I have said it.”</p> - -<p>“Very good, you have said it; now go on.”</p> - -<p>This was not so easy. But the lawyer was waiting -and watching me and I finally stammered forth:</p> - -<p>“There is some small fact thus far successfully suppressed -which when known will change the trend of public -opinion and clarify the whole situation.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I have been wondering if they did that.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span></p> - -<p>“Where do you want to go?”</p> - -<p>“Back to work; to my desk at Meadows & Waite in -New York.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think that I would do that. You will meet -with much unpleasantness.”</p> - -<p>“I must learn to endure cold looks and hypocritical -smiles.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>My heart leaped. His advice was good. I should at -least be in the same town as Orpha.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You speak of Edgar looking on. At what, may I ask?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span> -At Uncle’s handling of the wills or in a general way at -Uncle himself?”</p> - -<p>“He said that he kept his eye on the two wills.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! and did he note into which envelope the one went -in which he was most interested,—the one favoring himself?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, the red mark was put on later?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. The pencil with which he did it was found on the -floor.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>And I told him of the note made up of printed letters -which I had found in my box of cigars.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span></p> - -<p>He was much interested in it and regretted exceedingly -that I had obeyed the injunction to burn it.</p> - -<p>“From whom did this communication come?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>The lawyer threw back his head with a good-natured -snort and I stopped confused.</p> - -<p>“I know that it is ridiculous for me,” I began—</p> - -<p>But he cut me short very quickly.</p> - -<p>“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 <i>dangerous</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“My finger-prints? What do they know of my finger-prints. -I never had them taken.”</p> - -<p>Again that characteristic snort.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Yes, he is quite capable of putting over a little thing -like that. Bless him for it.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, you are a fortunate lad to have won his good -will.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Just a little buoyed up by my success in this venture, -I attempted another.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span></p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>And he, being, I suspect, somewhat at sea himself, accepted -my “Good day,” and allowed me to go.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span></p> - - -<h3>XXXVIII</h3> - -<p>“<i>There is some small fact thus far successfully suppressed, -which, when known, will alter the trend -of public opinion and clarify the whole situation</i>.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>To repeat then: to understand this crime and to locate -the guilty hand which dropped poison into the sick man’s<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>A glass of water—a drop of medicine from the bottle -labeled <i>dangerous</i>—a quick good-night—and a hasty departure!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>It was base beyond belief: hardly to be thought of, but -did it not explain every fact?</p> - -<p>I would see.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>(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?)</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span> -he acted his part with the skill of which he was the undoubted -master.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>And this brings us to Fourthly:</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Was there any other fact which I could remember which -might tip the scale, so heavily weighted, even a trifle the -other way?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span> -I must continue to bear to the very end the opprobrium -under which I now labored.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>She would be neutral to the end, aye, even if her heart -broke. I knew my darling.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Ere long I heard of his intention to leave town. With<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span> -his position no better defined than it was, he found C—— -intolerable.</p> - -<p>I wondered if they would let him go! By <i>they</i> 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.</p> - -<p>This is my letter robbed of its heading and signature.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> -</div> - -<p>This dispatched, I waited three days for a response. -Then I received this telegram:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>Come.</p> -</div> - -<p>Going immediately to Headquarters, I sought out the -Inspector and showed him this message.</p> - -<p>“Shall I go or shall I not?” I asked.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“My answer is yes. You are young. If you wait for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span> -full justification in this case, you may have to wait a lifetime. -And then again you may not.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span></p> - -<p>“I have left Quenton Court for the present,” he objected. -“I hope to return when it has a master.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Evening came and with it a telephone message.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“She will see you to-morrow morning at eleven.”</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span></p> - - -<h3>XXXIX</h3> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span></p> - -<p>“None,” she answered. But she did not reach out her -hand. Only stood there, a sweet, sane woman, bidding -good-by to a friend.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span></p> - - -<h3>XL</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Such was my dream; such the picture which would not -leave me, nor explain itself for days.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“But there remain some few things of which the public -is ignorant.”</p> - -<p>In this manner Mr. Jackson ended his last letter.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span></p> - - -<h3>XLI</h3> - -<p><i>There remain some few things of which the public -is ignorant.</i> This was equally true of the police, -or some move would have been made by them before -this.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</span></p> - - -<h3>XLII</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</span></p> - - -<h3>XLIII</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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:</p> - -<p>“Do not remind me of all that I have lost. Uncle, fortune, -love. I am poorer than a beggar, for he—”</p> - -<p>He pulled himself up with a jerk, drew a deep breath -and cast an uneasy look up and down the street.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>I heard this though it was rather muttered than said<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“You are the cause of it all.” And turned away and -passed quickly down the street, leaving me both exhausted -and unenlightened.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</span></p> - - -<h3>XLIV</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>the</i> 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.</p> - -<p>Believing this, I also believed that it was the only <i>Open -sesame</i> to some hitherto undiscovered drawer or cupboard -in which the will might be found. If passed on to Edgar<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</span> -what surety had I that if this will should prove to be inimical -to his interests it would ever see the light.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</span> -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 <i>débâcle</i> -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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Well, that floored him for the moment, judging from the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Thanking him, I hung up the receiver, put on my hat -and went out.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</span></p> - -<p>They would see.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“I have heard of him.” Why did his eyes fall and his -cheek take on a faint flush?</p> - -<p>“Have you heard <i>from</i> him?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I got a message from him yesterday, asking me to -call at his office, but—but I did not go.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Give me it,” he cried. “I am willing that you should -see me open it.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Had his affection for Orpha already reached the point -of passion?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“It is according to description,” I said.</p> - -<p>To my astonishment he threw it down on the table before -which we were standing.</p> - -<p>“You are right,” he cried. “I had better read the letter -first. It may enlighten us.”</p> - -<p>Walking off to a window, he slipped behind a curtain -and for a few minutes the earth for me stood still. When<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Go?”</p> - -<p>“To C——. We must follow up this clew. Somewhere -in that room we shall find the aperture this key will fit.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“I do.”</p> - -<p>“Then let us go as quickly as the next train will take us.”</p> - -<p>He nodded, and, lifting the key, put it in his pocket.</p> - -<p>Ungenerously, perhaps, certainly quite foolishly, I wished -he had allowed me to put it in mine.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</span></p> - - -<h3>XLV</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“There’s a fellow ready to aid me in my work, or to -hinder according to his discretion,” I inwardly commented.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</span> -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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</span></p> - - -<h3>XLVI</h3> - -<p>Edgar continued to surprise me. On our arrival he -showed gratification rather than displeasure at encountering -the Inspector at the station.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Meantime he was saying:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</span> -he drew the Inspector aside and had a few earnest words -with him, while I stood by in a daze.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>And Edgar thought it was in his!</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Orpha has the key.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“What do you mean by that? What has your whole -conduct meant? You have the key—”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Edgar, do you mean to tell me that Orpha has lent -herself to this deception?”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</span> -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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</span></p> - - -<h3>XLVII</h3> - -<p>Haines’ welcome to us at the front door was a -study in character which I left to a later hour to -thoroughly enjoy.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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 <i>sang froid</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</span> -the meal awaiting us, as if no interval of absence had occurred -and we were still occupants of the house.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</span></p> - - -<h3>XLVIII</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>We were gathered at the foot of the bed.</p> - -<p>“Let me have the key, Orpha.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I think Edgar must have recognized my thought from -the look he cast me as he drew the key from the chain and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I have an idea.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</span></p> - -<p>He passed it over to me, without demur. Indeed, with -some relief.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Let me think,” she murmured dreamily. “Let me -think.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</span> -with wet, and ripping a branch from the tree whose huge -bulk nestled against the western wall.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</span> -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?”</p> - -<p>“It—it looks that way,” he stammered; “but—but -why—”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</span> -power—even the wish to follow me into this field of suggestion.</p> - -<p>“So, that’s coming in,” he exclaimed in a tone of open -irony.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Recovering our equilibrium, we stood with fascinated -gaze fixed on what we beheld slanting away into the darkness -of this gap between two walls.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Will you go down?” I asked Edgar; “or shall I? The -ladies had better remain where they are.”</p> - -<p>I was quite confident what his answer would be and I -was not disappointed.</p> - -<p>“I will go down, of course. You can follow if you wish: -Lucy, Orpha, not one step after me, do you hear?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You will do as Edgar says,” I prayed. “We must go -down, both of us; but you will remain here?”</p> - -<p>“Unless you call us.”</p> - -<p>“Unless you are gone too long.”</p> - -<p>“I will not be gone too long.” And I hurried down, -Edgar having got the start of me by several steps.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>My uncle was an unusually tall man. How could he with -so many inches to his credit manage to pass under the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“We have found it,” he muttered, choking; and reached -out his hand.</p> - -<p>But I was quicker than he.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>With this I loosened my clasp.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I’ve got it; I’ve got it!” he shouted to those above, waving -the paper over his head in a triumph almost delirious.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</span> -A minute lost was so much stolen from the coming rapture.</p> - -<p>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—</p> - -<p>A cloud came over me, but through it as if the words -blazed beyond the power of any mist to hide them I read:</p> - -<p>Edgar Quenton Bartholomew, son of James—</p> - -<p>Myself!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</span></p> - - -<h3>XLIX</h3> - -<p>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 <i>James</i>. Then I drew back, steadying myself by -a clutch on the rail running up at my side.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>In this instant of quiet we heard a knock. Wealthy was -at the door.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</span> -the only composed one amongst us. As the old nurse entered -Edgar advanced to meet her.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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. -<i>How did he know it?</i>”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“I did not <i>know</i> it; but I felt confident of it because our -uncle told me what to expect and I trusted him.”</p> - -<p>“You will never be master here,” stormed Edgar, livid -with fury.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I will,” I answered mildly, “for this night.”</p> - -<p>Wealthy drew him away. It would have been hard to -tell which was trembling the most, he or the nurse.</p> - -<p>They left the door open. I was glad of this. I would -have been gladder if the whole household had come trooping<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Lucy, marking my trouble, was the first to move.</p> - -<p>“I am no longer needed here,” she said almost sweetly. -“Orpha, if you want to talk, come to me in my room.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Another night of sleeplessness in this house which I had -once entered in such gayety of spirits.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</span></p> - - -<h3>L</h3> - -<p>At an early hour I summoned Haines. He came -quickly; he had heard the news.</p> - -<p>But I ignored this fact, apparent as it was.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</span></p> - -<p>The few lines I had left for Orpha were very simple, -though they came from my heart. I merely wrote:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p> -<span class="smcap">Quenton.</span><br /> -</p> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="BOOK_IV"><i>BOOK IV</i> -<br /> -LOVE -</h2> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</span></p> - - -<h3>LI</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</span></p> - -<p>Orpha! Would I hear from her? Was my letter to her -little more than a pebble dropped into a bottomless well?</p> - -<p>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—</p> - -<p>And instantly I became more than willing. A note was -handed in. It was from Orpha and vied with mine in its -simplicity.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>To trust you is easy. It was because my father trusted -you that he laid his great fortune in your hands.</p> - -<p> -<span class="smcap">Orpha.</span><br /> -</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</span></p> - - -<h3>LII</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>All this had come to Mr. Jackson from private sources, -but he assured me that he had no reason to doubt its truth.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I knew from the relieved expression with which Haines -greeted me that Orpha had not exaggerated the situation.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I had noticed that Haines, after ushering me into the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</span> -library had remained in the court; and so I was in a -degree prepared for Orpha’s first words.</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Alone, and—and by the rear stairs. Do you mind? -You will understand when you are near your old room.”</p> - -<p>“Anything you wish,” I repeated; and conscious of -Haines’ impatience, I joined him without delay.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>As we reached the foot of this, Haines whispered:</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</span> -it was ensconced in Wealthy’s old place behind the screen, -with just enough separation between its central leaves for -me to see through.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>And I did, not knowing what to expect. Would it be -Edgar I should see? Or would it be Wealthy?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Like that all the time she is not in the room with him,” -he whispered. “Walking, walking, and sometimes muttering, -but most often not.”</p> - -<p>“Does the doctor know?”</p> - -<p>“She is not like this when he comes.”</p> - -<p>“You should tell him.”</p> - -<p>“We have tried to; but you have to see her.”</p> - -<p>“How long has she been like this?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Miss Colfax? Where is she?”</p> - -<p>“Gone to New York to buy her wedding-clothes.”</p> - -<p>“When did she go?”</p> - -<p>“To-day, sir.”</p> - -<p>I looked back at Wealthy. She was again bending at -Edgar’s door, listening.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</span></p> - -<p>“Is his case so bad? Is this emotion all for him? Is she -afraid he will die?”</p> - -<p>“No; he is better.”</p> - -<p>“But still delirious?”</p> - -<p>“By spells.”</p> - -<p>“Has she no one to help her? Does she remain near -him night as well as day, without rest and without -change?”</p> - -<p>“She has a helper.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! Who?”</p> - -<p>“A young girl, sir, but she—”</p> - -<p>“Well, Haines?”</p> - -<p>“Is in affliction, too. She is deaf—and she is dumb; a -deaf mute, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Haines!”</p> - -<p>“The truth, sir. Miss Wealthy would have no other. -They get along together somehow; but the girl cannot speak -a word.”</p> - -<p>“Nor hear?”</p> - -<p>“Not a thing.”</p> - -<p>“And the doctor?”</p> - -<p>“He brought her here himself.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</span></p> - -<p>“She is coming here. You know her room is just back -of this,” whispered Haines.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>She broke her silence with a gasp.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I will listen and with sympathy. But where shall -we go? Into my uncle’s room?”</p> - -<p>“No, no.” She shrank back in sick distaste. “Into my -little cozy corner.”</p> - -<p>“That is too far from Edgar’s room,” I protested. “He -is alone, is he not?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</span></p> - -<p>“Edgar has two rooms. Let us go into his den; you will -be near him and what is better, we shall be undisturbed.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Next moment I felt her hand on my arm, and in another, -her voice in my ear. This is what she said:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Edgar was stirring in the adjoining room, throwing his -arms about and muttering words which soon took on emphasis -and I heard:</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</span></p> - -<p>As these words subsided into moans, and moans into -silence, I felt my arm gripped.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Be calm,” I said. “It is all coming right. Miss Colfax -will soon be married. And—and if Edgar is innocent—”</p> - -<p>“Innocent?”</p> - -<p>“Of anything worse than planning to marry one woman -while loving another—”</p> - -<p>“But he is not. He—”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Remember your young mistress. Remember how she is -placed. Forget yourself. Forget your love for Edgar.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</span> -Forget everything but what you owe to your dead master -whose strongest wish was to see his daughter happy.”</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>And this was the man I had dared to stigmatize in my -own thoughts as a useful but unfeeling machine!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</span></p> - - -<h3>LIII</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I was not surprised, and stopping short, paused for him -to speak.</p> - -<p>He did this readily enough.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Very good. I’ll be sure to stop.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“Never mind that. I’ve been young myself. But—” -We were passing another lamp, the light was on my face,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</span> -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?”</p> - -<p>I gave him a direct look now, and spoke up resolutely.</p> - -<p>“Have pity, Inspector. You know how I am situated. -I have no facts to give you except—”</p> - -<p>“The young fellow talks in his sleep; we know that. I -see that you know it, too; possibly you have heard him—”</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“No, not to-night.” The words came slowly, reluctantly -from his lips.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“I will wait two days, unless circumstances should arise -demanding immediate action.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</span></p> - - -<h3>LIV</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I am sorry to have made you this trouble, Mr. Bartholomew,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Looking away, I encountered the eye of Mr. Jackson. -Its language was unmistakable. I felt myself in a trap.</p> - -<p>But I would not yield without another effort. Smiling -faintly, I said:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</span></p> - -<p>I could not see her go. I was not her sole auditor as on -the night before. My duty seemed plain.</p> - -<p>“Come back,” I called to her. “Speak, and I will -listen.”</p> - -<p>She drew a deep breath, loosened her veil, but did not lift -it; then quietly reseated herself.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>She was addressing me exclusively.</p> - -<p>“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, <i>you</i> 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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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!</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Taking another step, I looked over his shoulder. He -was holding those two documents, just as I had frequently<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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:</p> - -<p>“‘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!’</p> - -<p>“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:</p> - -<p>“‘Your mother was a just woman; and she says this -must be done. I have always heeded her voice. To-morrow -you shall burn—’</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“That was all I needed to make me forget myself and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</span> -on a foolish little errand to Miss Orpha’s room. He -was again to be left alone and for a long while, too.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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?</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</span> -had not been influenced by a stranger. Meaning you, sir, -of course. God forgive me.”</p> - -<p>“So he <i>knew</i>!” 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—”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“At what time was this?” he asked, leaning forward -and forcing her to meet his eye.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Was it before you heard the glass set back on the -shelf?”</p> - -<p>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—”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, but it hurts!” she moaned. Then, as if no break -had occurred, “When I found that he was not the man I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</span> -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—”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Before.”</p> - -<p>She spoke like one in a dream. She seemed to know who -her interlocutor was though she did not turn to look at him.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I lied.”</p> - -<p>Still like one in a dream.</p> - -<p>“Did you see him or his shadow pass down the hall at -any time that night?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Why these stories then? Why these lies?”</p> - -<p>She was silent.</p> - -<p>“Was it not Edgar Bartholomew you heard or saw at -that door; and did you not know it was he?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</span></p> - -<p>Again silence; but now a horrified one.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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 -<i>bonhomie</i> 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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</span></p> - - -<h3>LV</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Notwithstanding this, the Inspector would not let the -moment pass without a warning.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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 <i>Wealthy?</i>—and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</span> -then, a slight tinkle as though the button at his wrist had -touched the glass—and <i>then</i>—</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>The Inspector moved, and was about to speak, but ceased -as her voice rose again in that same awful monotone.</p> - -<p>“I loved my Mr. Edgar then.” She spoke as though<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>As I withdrew my arm she managed to press my hand. -And I heard very faintly from behind that veil:</p> - -<p>“I am glad something happened to give you what you -wanted.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</span></p> - - -<h3>LVI</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Wait,” he said; “we may want your signature.”</p> - -<p>It was a written confession which the Inspector took upon -himself to ask her to sign.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>She nodded, her hands which were clasped about a little -bag she was carrying, twitching convulsively.</p> - -<p>“Water, first,” she begged, turning up her eyes till they -rested on his face.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</span> -her, and giving back the glass, she waited for him to read.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“It is better so.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“It is better so.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</span></p> - - -<h3>LVII</h3> - -<p>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 <i>then</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</span></p> - - -<h3>LVIII</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I will go to him. Is Miss Bartholomew in?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir; he won’t see her either.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“I will, sir.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</span></p> - - -<h3>LIX</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Won’t I possibly do for a substitute?” I smiled. -“Wealthy cannot come. She will not come any more,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</span> -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—”</p> - -<p>“Ah!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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 <i>you</i> can hold up your head again. -It should comfort you.”</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>I started to rise but he drew me back again.</p> - -<p>“There is something I must confess to you before you -undertake that. I have not been fair—”</p> - -<p>I took him by both hands.</p> - -<p>“Let us forget that. It has come between us long -enough. It must not do so any longer.”</p> - -<p>“You know—”</p> - -<p>“I had to listen to Wealthy’s story.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</span></p> - -<p>Letting go of his hands, I again tried to rise; but for the -second time he drew me back.</p> - -<p>“You are going to tell Orpha. Are you going to tell -Lucy, too?”</p> - -<p>“Miss Colfax is not in the house; she left this noon for -New York.”</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>With that I closed the door behind me. The greater trial -was to come.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</span></p> - - -<h3>LX</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“How is Edgar?”</p> - -<p>Those were her first words.</p> - -<p>“Better. I left him in a much calmer mood. He has been -worrying about Wealthy. Have you been worrying, too?”</p> - -<p>“Not worrying. I think she has been a long time gone, -but she was very tired and needed a change and the air.”</p> - -<p>“Orpha, how much faith do you put in this woman who -has been so useful here?”</p> - -<p>“Why, all there is in the world. She has never failed -us. What do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“You have found her good as well as useful?”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>I could see the knowledge coming, growing, flaming in -her face.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>I studied the latter closely before putting the inquiry:</p> - -<p>“Is this the key you found in the earth of the flower-pot, -Orpha?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Quenton.”</p> - -<p>“Is it the one you gave to the police when they came the -next day?”</p> - -<p>“Of course. It was still on the chain. But I took it off -when I gave it to them. They had only the key.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>Oh, the joy of seeing her eyes open wide in innocent<span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</span> -amazement! She had had nothing to do with that trick! -I was convinced of it before; but now I was certain.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>Orpha had shaken her head in protest more than once -while I was speaking but now she looked so piteously eager -that I stopped.</p> - -<p>“Am I not right?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“No, no. Wealthy never knew anything about the key -till the police came to try it. I told nobody but—”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Lucy,” she breathed, bringing her hands, which had -been lying supine in her lap, sharply together in a passionate -clutch.</p> - -<p>“Lucy! Ah!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</span></p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</span></p> - - -<h3>LXI</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“‘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.</p> - -<p>“Even then she was slow to speak. She began one sentence, -then broke it off and began another, ending up at<span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</span> -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:</p> - -<p>“‘Who do you want to have it?’”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</span> -spoke, she threw her arms about my neck and begged me -to believe that she was sorry for me.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Go on; I am listening, Orpha.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Never mind now. I will tell you some other time.”</p> - -<p>She looked as if she hated to lose the present explanation; -but, with a little smile charming in its naïveté, she -went bravely on:</p> - -<p>“As I took this quite in, I started to move away, afraid<span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</span> -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—”</p> - -<p>“Because what, Orpha?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</span></p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Edgar goes everywhere. Do you suppose he ever -visited the Millers?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no. Lucy has not been there herself in years.”</p> - -<p>“Then you do not think they are acquainted with him?”</p> - -<p>“I have no reason to. They have never met Dr. Hunter. -Why should they have met Edgar?”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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, <i>this</i>.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“The first will of all,” I exclaimed on opening it. “The -one he was told by his lawyer to destroy, and did not.”</p> - -<p>“But it is of no use now,” she protested. “It—it—”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</span></p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“To do what?” she asked, eyeing me with some wonder -as she put the document back in the bag.</p> - -<p>“To think out my whole duty,” I smiled, recovering -myself and waving the subject aside.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” came with pride now. But from what that pride -sprung it would take more than man to tell.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</span></p> - - -<h3>LXII</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>But would that exonerate me from acting the part of a -true man as I had come to conceive it?</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>I shuddered at the mere thought of such a future. -Always would his image rise in shadowy perspective before<span class="pagenum" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</span> -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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</span> -if I would be true to my uncle and the purpose of his -life, I should give Edgar his chance.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,</p> - -<p><i>Edgar should have his chance.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</span></p> - - -<h3>LXIII</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“Do you consider it really necessary to broach any such -topic at this time?”</p> - -<p>“I certainly do, Doctor; circumstances demand it.”</p> - -<p>“Then go ahead. I think your judgment can be depended -upon to know at what moment to stop.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>I sat aghast; his tone was indescribable. I felt that the -time had come to change the subject.</p> - -<p>“Edgar,” said I, “the doctor has assured me that so -far as symptoms go your condition is satisfactory. That<span class="pagenum" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</span> -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—”</p> - -<p>“You know I cannot do that,” he broke in petulantly, -“why talk?”</p> - -<p>“Because I cannot prove that he did not so intend any -more than you can prove that he did.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>With starting eyes he rose before me, slowly and by -jerks as though his resisting muscles had to be coerced to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</span> -their task. But once at his full height, he suddenly sank -back into his chair with a loud shout of laughter.</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>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—”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</span></p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“I am speaking of affairs as they were that week when<span class="pagenum" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</span> -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!</p> - -<p>“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; <i>he had not locked -the drawer</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</span></p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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—</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</span> -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:</p> - -<p>“‘So eager, Edgar?’</p> - -<p>“I was eager or had been, but not for what he thought. -But how could I say so? How could I tell <i>him</i> 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:</p> - -<p>“‘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?’</p> - -<p>“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:</p> - -<p>“‘I—I’m afraid I rate too high the advantages of -great wealth. I am ashamed—’</p> - -<p>“He would not let me finish.</p> - -<p>“‘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—’</p> - -<p>“At that he stumbled and I sprang to steady him. But -he would not let me touch him.</p> - -<p>“‘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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</span> -Hunter. That will satisfy the crowd and please the two -lovers. See to it. I shall not go down again.’</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“‘Your guests are waiting,’ came again from his lips -as he bent forward, but not with his usual precision, and -took up the will.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“You see,” he now quietly remarked, “I am no fit husband -for Orpha.”</p> - -<p>And after that he would listen to nothing on this or -any other serious topic.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</span></p> - - -<h3>LXIV</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</span> -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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</span></p> - -<p>Once there and free to be myself; to suffer and be unobserved, -I looked down at those words and read:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>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.</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</span></p> - - -<h3>LXV</h3> - -<p>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—</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Haines,” I called.</p> - -<p>He came with a rush.</p> - -<p>“Has Miss Bartholomew returned?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir, not yet. She and Mrs. Ferris are out for a -long ride.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Sammy.”</p> - -<p>He mentioned a boy who helped in the garage.</p> - -<p>“In what car?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Has Sammy shown up since? Is the car in the -garage?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</span></p> - -<p>“No, sir.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Can you reach him by telephone?”</p> - -<p>“Easily, sir.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I will, sir. You may rely upon me.” And as though -to give proof of his sincerity, Haines started with great -alacrity upstairs.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>This relieved me immensely. Confident that he would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>Five Oaks was a small club-house on the road to Morrison.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</span></p> - - -<h3>LXVI</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>It was written in haste. He was evidently close behind<span class="pagenum" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I felt like speaking—asking some question—but I did -not. It was a curious experience—this something which -made me hold my peace.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</span> -front, there came in response the four clear precise blasts -for which my ears were astretch.</p> - -<p>“There are my friends,” I declared. “Go slowly.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Next minute Clarke was by my side.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</span></p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>When he did come, he, too, had a lantern.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>Suddenly that glow was completely extinguished; but -before I could speak Clarke had me by the arm.</p> - -<p>“Step aside,” he whispered. “The man is coming -back; he has left Mr. Edgar to go on alone.”</p> - -<p>And then I heard a hollow sound as of steps on an -echoing board.</p> - -<p>“That must be a bridge Mr. Edgar is crossing,” whispered -Clarke. “But see! he is doing it without light. -The man has the lantern.”</p> - -<p>“Where is your lantern?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Under my coat.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“The steps on the bridge have stopped. Let us hurry.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“It’s growing lighter. The fog is lifting,” came from -Clarke as I felt the boards of the bridge under my feet.</p> - -<p>Next minute he had the lantern again under his coat,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</span> -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?</p> - -<p>I caught at Clarke’s hand.</p> - -<p>“Shall we go forward?” I asked.</p> - -<p>His fingers closed spasmodically on mine, and as suddenly -loosened.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>Clarke’s happy thought had worked. One dangerous -moment was passed. How soon would another confront -us?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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. <i>It was going to stop.</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Home, sir, and wait for news!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</span></p> - - -<h3>LXVII</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The telegram I have mentioned was none too encouraging. -It had been sent from New York and ran thus:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>Trouble. Man I want has escaped me. Hope to pick -him up soon. Wait for second telegram. C.</p> -</div> - -<p>It was two hours before the second one came. It was -to the point as witness:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>Sick. Safe in a small hospital in the Bronx. Will await -trains at the Grand Central Station till you come.</p> - -<p class="right">C.</p> -</div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Two weeks again! Why always two weeks?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>For whom was that indecipherable scrawl meant? We -knew; for Lucy.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</span></p> - - -<h3>LXVIII</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“What harm can it do?” Clark anxiously inquired. “It -may perplex and trouble Miss Colfax; but we can explain -later; can we not, sir?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Shall we do anything about it, sir? I know where -Miss Colfax lives.”</p> - -<p>“No, we can do nothing. A matter of that sort is -better left alone.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>And again I said nothing; but I took a much less optimistic -view of my cousin’s apparent cheerfulness.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“It’s a late hour for sending presents,” I remarked. -“Three hours before the ceremony.”</p> - -<p>“I am to bring him back to the hospital and then take -the car and deliver it.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</span></p> - - -<h3>LXIX</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Can you see the whole length of the shop from where -you sit?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir. There are several people in front—”</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>He was out of the car before I had finished and in three -minutes came running back.</p> - -<p>“You are right, sir. He did not buy a thing. There is<span class="pagenum" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</span> -no sign of him in the shop or in the street. I deserve—”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</span></p> - - -<h3>LXX</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</span> -glimpse in one of the upper ones of a veiled head and a -white face turned eagerly towards the street.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>However, once at the top and while still in the shadow<span class="pagenum" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Dr. Hunter.”</p> - -<p>They started apart and Edgar, drawing back, cried under -his breath:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</span></p> - -<p>“You here!”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Edgar left a hospital bed to be here this morning. -Have a little care, Dr. Hunter. His case has been a serious -one.”</p> - -<p>The doctor’s lips took a sarcastic curve.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>When she had finished and laid the veil aside, she had -the grace to thank him for his forbearance.</p> - -<p>But this he could not stand.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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—</p> - -<p>Home! As the bee flies, <i>home</i>!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</span></p> - - -<h3>LXXI</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</span> -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—”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Quenton!”</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>Yes; but it came very softly and with a delicate aloofness -at first which gave me the keenest delight.</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“Let us go into the library,” I whispered.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>She said no more: I had her in my arms and life had -begun for us in very truth.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</span></p> - - -<h3>LXXII</h3> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“We have talked much about ourselves and our future. -Shall we not talk a little now about Edgar?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“We must do something for Edgar. He will have no -wedding, but he must have a wedding present.”</p> - -<p>“Let it be much.”</p> - -<p>“It shall be much.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“You shall do just as you wish, Orpha.”</p> - -<p>“No; just as Father would wish.”</p> - -<p>Ah! my beloved one!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</span></p> - - -<h3>LXXIII</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>And her answer, given with a smile and a blush was -this:</p> - -<p>“I did not dare.”</p> - -<p>She did not dare! My conscientious darling.</p> - -<p>And <i>I</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—</p> - -<p>And now <i>perhaps</i> had become reality, and all doubt and -mistrust a vanished dream.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</span> -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:</p> - -<p>“You may congratulate me, Clarke. My good fortune is -complete.”</p> - -<p>And this is what he uttered in response, greatly to my -surprise and possibly to his own:</p> - -<p>“I thought it would all come right, sir.”</p> - -<p>But it was not till he was on the point of leaving me -for the night that I learned his full mind.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I did, Clarke; and I don’t know yet who took that -much compassion on me?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“You knew—”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</span></p> - -<p>Oh, the pictures that came back! Pictures I had not -seen at the time but which now would never leave me.</p> - -<p>Perhaps he saw my emotion; perhaps he only realized -it, but an instant of silence passed before he quietly added:</p> - -<p>“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 <i>write</i> anything -as you must know who read the printed letters I pasted -in such crooked lines on a slip of paper.”</p> - -<p>I smiled; it was easy to smile that night.</p> - -<p>“You know where the key was found. How do you -think it got there?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“My last secret, Quenton. That is an old, old letter<span class="pagenum" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>And this is what I read:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>As is that of your father,</p> - -<p> -<span class="smcap">Edgar Quenton Bartholomew</span>.<br /> -</p> -</div> - - -<p class="center">THE END</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class = "transnote"> -<h2>Transcriber’s Note</h2> -<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p> -<p>Spelling and grammar have been left as originally printed.</p> -</div></div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STEP ON THE STAIR ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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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