RAIN
Mr. Ransom had never heard of Sitford, but upon inquiry learned that it
was a small manufacturing town some ten miles from the direct route of
travel, to which it was only connected by a stage-coach running once a
day, late in the afternoon.
What a spot for a meeting of this kind! Why chosen by her? Why submitted
to by this busy New York lawyer? Was this another mystery; or had he
misinterpreted Mr. Harper's purpose in passing over to him the address of
this small town? He preferred to think the former. He could hardly
contemplate now the prospect of failing to see her again which must
follow any mistake as to this being the place agreed upon for the signing
of her will.
Meantime he had said nothing to Gerridge. This was a hope too personal to
confide in a man of his position. He would go to Sitford and endeavor to
catch a glimpse of his wife there. If successful, the whole temper of his
mind might change towards the situation, if not toward her. He would at
least have the satisfaction of seeing her. The detective had enough to do
in New York.
April the fifteenth fell on Tuesday. He was not minded to wait so long
but took the boat on Monday afternoon. This landed him some time before
daylight at the time-worn village from which the coach ran to Sitford. A
railway connected this village with New York, necessitating no worse
inconvenience than crossing the river on a squat, old-fashioned ferry
boat; but he calculated that both the lawyer and Mrs. Ransom would make
use of this, and felt the risk would be less for him if he chose the
slower and less convenient route.
He had given his name on the boat as Roger Johnston, which was true so
far as it went, and he signed this same name at the hotel where he put
up till morning. The place was an entirely unknown one to him and he was
unknown to it. Both fortuitous facts, he thought, in the light of his own
perplexity as to the position in which he really stood towards this
mysterious wife of his.
The coach, as I have said, ran late in the afternoon. This was to
accommodate the passengers who came by rail. But Mr. Ransom had not
planned to go by coach. That would be to risk a premature encounter with
his wife, or at least with the lawyer. He preferred to hire a team, and
be driven there by some indifferent livery-stable man. Neither prospect
was pleasing. It had been raining all night, and bade fair to rain all
day. The river was clouded with mist; the hills, which are the glory of
the place, were obliterated from the landscape, and the road--he had
never seen such a road, all little pools and mud.
However, there was no help for it. The journey must be made, and seeing
a livery-stable sign across the road, lost no time in securing the
conveyance he needed. At nine o'clock he started out.
The rain drove so fiercely from the northwest,--the very direction in
which they were traveling,--that enjoyment of the scenery was impossible.
Nor could any pleasure be got out of conversation with the man who drove
him. Rain, rain, that was all; and the splash of mud over the wheels
which turned all too slowly for his comfort. And there were to be ten
miles of this. Naturally he turned to his thoughts and they were all of
her.
Why had he not known her better before linking his fate to hers? Why had
he never encouraged her to talk to him more about herself and her early
life? Had he but done so, he might now have some clew to the mystery
devouring him. He might know why so rich and independent a woman had
chosen this remote town on an inaccessible road, for the completion of
an act which was in itself a mystery. Why could not the will have been
signed in New York? But he was not inquisitive in those days. He had
taken her for what she seemed--an untrammeled, gay-hearted girl, ready
to love and be his happy wife and lifelong companion; and he had been
contented to keep all conversation along natural lines and do no probing.
And now,--this brother whom all had thought dead, come to life with
menace in his acts and conversation! Also a sister,--but this sister he
had no belief in. The coincidence was too startlingly out of nature for
him to accept a brother and a sister too. A brother or a sister; but not
both. Not even Mr. Harper's assurances should influence his credulity to
this extent. "Money! money is at the bottom of it all," was his final
decision. "She knows it and is making her will, as a possible protection.
But why come here?"
Thus every reflection ended.
Suddenly a vanished, half-forgotten memory came back. It brought a gleam
of light into the darkness which had hitherto enveloped the whole matter.
She had once spoken to him of her early life. She had mentioned a place
where she used to play as a child; had mentioned it lovingly, longingly.
There were hills, she had said; hills all around. And woods full of
chestnut-trees, safe woods where she could wander at will. And the
roads--how she loved to walk the roads. No automobiles then, not even
bicycles. One could go miles without meeting man or horse. Sometimes a
heavily-laden cart would go by drawn by a long string of oxen; but they
were picturesque and added to the charm. Oxen were necessary where there
was no railroad.
As he repeated these words to himself, he looked up. Through the downpour
his eyes could catch a glimpse of the road before him, winding up a long
hillside. Down this road was approaching a dozen yoke of oxen dragging a
wagon piled with bales of some sort of merchandise. One question in his
mind was answered. This spot was not an unknown one to her. It was
connected with her childhood days. There was reason back of her choice
of it as a place of meeting between her and her lawyer, or if not reason,
association, and that of the tenderest kind. He felt himself relieved of
the extreme weight of his oppression and ventured upon asking a question
or two about Sitford, which he took pains to say he was visiting for the
first time.
The information he obtained was but meager, but he did learn that there
was a very fair tavern there and that the manufactures of the place were
sufficient to account for a stranger's visit. The articles made were
mostly novelties.
This knowledge he meant to turn to account, but changed his mind when
they finally splashed into town and stopped before the tavern which had
been so highly recommended by his driver. The house, dripping though it
was from every eave, had such a romantic air that he thought he could
venture to cite other reasons for his stay there than the prosaic one of
business. That is, if the landlady should give any evidence of being at
all in accord with her quaint home and picturesque surroundings.
She showed herself and he at once gave her credit for being all he could
wish in the way of credulity and good-nature, and meeting her with the
smile which had done good execution in its day, he asked if she had a
room for a writer who was finishing a book, and who only asked for quiet
and regular meals before his own cosy fire. This to rouse her imagination
and make her amenable to his wishes for secrecy.
She was a simple soul and fell easily into the trap. In half an hour Mr.
Ransom was ensconced in a pleasant room over the porch, a room which he
soon learned possessed many advantages. For it not only overlooked the
main entrance, but was so placed as to command a view of all the rooms on
his hall. In two of those rooms he bade fair to be greatly interested,
Mrs. Deo having remarked that they were being prepared for a lady who was
coming that night. As he had no doubt who this lady was, he encouraged
the good woman to talk, and presently had the satisfaction of hearing her
say that she was very happy over this lady's coming, as she was a Sitford
girl, one of the old family of Hazens, and though married now and very
rich was much loved by every one in town because she had never forgotten
Sitford or Sitford people.
She was coming! He had made no mistake. And this was the place of her
birth, just as he had decided when he saw that long line of oxen! He
realized how fortunate he was, or rather how indebted he was to Mr.
Harper, since in this place only could he hope to gain satisfaction on
the mooted point raised by that same gentleman. If she had been born
here, so had her twin sister; so had the brother whose claims lay counter
to that sister's. Both must have been known to these people, their
persons, their history and the circumstances of their supposed deaths.
The clews thus afforded must prove invaluable to him. From them he must
soon be able to ascertain in which story to place faith and which
claimant to believe. He might have interrogated his hostess, but feared
to show his interest in the supposed stranger. He preferred to wait a few
hours and gather his facts from other lips.
Meantime it rained.