“But you followed him? You know where he is? And Philippa? What took
her out, too?”
“Wait,” I said, “have they come back?”
“Who? Lawrence and Philippa?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“I fear they will not come, then,” said I.
“They? Why do you associate Lawrence’s name with Philippa’s?”
I was spared the answer. At that instant I heard the well-known call of
my colleague without, and simultaneously with this encouraging sound,
the click of the night-key in the door proclaiming the return of Mr.
Sutton.
“No,” cried I, “here they are; and as I am sure they will have
something to say to you which it would embarrass them to utter before a
stranger, I will just step out of sight for the moment.” And making a
dash for the portière behind me, I pulled it aside and stepped into the
darkness beyond.
Mr. Winchester made no effort to stop me; he was too much astonished
at the sight of his step-son entering with Philippa on his arm. And
I, who, without calculation, had stumbled into the first refuge I
espied, was equally surprised, not at what I saw, but at the quarters
in which I found myself; for the portière, instead of shutting off a
room, shielded a closet, and it was amongst a litter of bric-à-brac and
old pictures that I now drew myself up, prepared to listen and to see,
since this was all that was left to my indiscretion.
“Father,”——it was Mr. Sutton who spoke,——“will you call mother down?
There is something I wish to say to her before I take another step in
this house.”
“But——but no matter about your mother,” came in Mr. Winchester’s hasty
and now deeply agitated tones. “If you have the diamonds, give them to
me; give them to me quickly, and nothing more shall ever be said about
them. I am not hard on young folks, and——”
“The diamonds? I know nothing about the diamonds,” the other broke in,
with an impatience that was more startling than anger would have been.
“What I wish to say is on a wholly different subject.” And I judge that
he turned with a look towards Philippa, for the old man’s voice became
quite shrill as he cried:
“What do you want to say? That you and Philippa are friends? That she
did not see you come out of your mother’s room two minutes before the
diamonds were missed? That you are a saint and every one knows it, and
she——”
“Stop!”
Was that the voice of a man stained by the meanest of crimes? I pushed
aside the portière and looked out. He was standing like a statue
of wrath between Mr. Winchester and the glowing, brilliant, almost
transformed Philippa.
“When you speak of her,” cried he, letting his hand fall on her arm,
with the pride of triumphant possession, “you are speaking of my wife.”
Mr. Winchester fell slowly back. It was the only surprise, perhaps,
that could have taken his mind off the diamonds.
“Your wife,” he repeated, and his eyes slowly traveled to Philippa’s
face, as if he found it difficult to take in a statement so unexpected.
Mr. Sutton took advantage of the moment to step to the foot of the
stairs.
“Mother!” he called, “will you come here?”
She was already in the hall as he, doubtless, perceived, for he
hastened back and took Philippa by the hand, and was standing thus when
the stately woman crossed the threshold in all the splendor of the rich
garments I have hitherto endeavored to describe.
“My son!” was her first startled exclamation, quickly followed by an
indescribable murmur, as she saw whom he held by the hand, and noted
the fervor of that clasp, and the expression with which he regarded
her. “What does this mean?” she asked at length, her hauteur battling
with an anger that was yet new, but terrible in its promise of growth.
“Happiness, I hope,” was the steady reply. “If not, it at least means a
better life on my part and a less humble and dependent one on hers. We
are married, mother, and it is my wish——”
He did not finish; at that word _married_, the haughty woman, struck
in the full pride of her hopes and ambitious projects, tottered, and
before help could reach her, fell, laying her gray but queenly head at
the feet of her whom an hour back she would have scorned to associate
with herself in any higher connection than she did the inanimate
objects that surrounded her and ministered to her comfort.
There was a rush, a hurried murmur, a pause, then a sudden cry so
fraught with wonder and yet so surcharged with triumph, that I could
scarcely believe it proceeded from Mr. Winchester’s lips, till a sudden
swaying in the bended form of Philippa revealed to me Mrs. Winchester
lying with the neck of her dress thrown back, and on the throat thus
displayed, a glistening cordon of gems which by their brilliancy and
size could only be the famous and costly ones for which we had been
seeking.
It was the culmination of the evening’s surprises.
“The diamonds, the diamonds!” exclaimed Mr. Winchester, and regardless
of the still insensible condition of his wife, he stooped and dragged
them from her neck, and stood holding them out and looking at them, as
if he could hardly credit his good fortune.
As for Mr. Sutton and Philippa, they gave one startled glance at the
jewels, another at each other, and then set about restoring their
mother.