THE SECRET STAIRWAY.
"God bless you!" said Andrew as he handed her a gourd of water to revive
her. "You are as faithful as Hero. You are another Heloise. You are as
brave as the Maid of Orleans. I will never say that women are unfaithful
again. God bless you, my daughter! You have given me faith in your sex.
I have been a lonely man; a boughless, leafless trunk, shaken by the
winter winds. But _you_ are my niece. _You_ know how to be faithful. I
am proud of you! Henceforth I call you my daughter. If you _were_ my
daughter, you would be to me all that Margaret Roper was to Sir Thomas
More." And the shaggy man of egotistic and pedantic speech, but of
womanly sensibilities, was weeping.
The reviving Julia begged to know how August was.
"Ah, constant heart! And he is constant as you are. Noble fellow! I will
not deceive you. The doctors think that he will not live more than
twenty-four hours. But he is only dying to see you, now. Your coming may
revive him. We sent for you this morning by Jonas, hoping you might
escape and come in some way. But Jonas could not get his message to
you. Some angel must have brought you. It is an augury of good."
The hopefulness of Andrew sprang out of his faith in an ideal, right
outcome. Julia could not conceal from herself the fact that his opinion
had no ground. But in such a strait as hers, she could not help clinging
even to this support.
Andrew was a little perplexed. How to take Julia up-stairs? Mrs. Wehle
and Wilhelmina and the doctor went in regularly, not by the rope-ladder,
but by a more secure wooden one which he had planted against the outside
of the house. But Andrew had suddenly conceived so exalted an opinion of
his niece's virtues that he was unwilling to lead her into the upper
story in that fashion. His imagination had invested her with all the
glories of all the heroines, from Penelope to Beatrice, and from
Beatrice to Scott's Rebecca. At last a sudden impulse seized him.
"My dear daughter, they say that genius is to madness close allied. When
I built this house I was in a state bordering on insanity, I suppose. I
pleased my whims--my whims were my only company--I pleased my whims in
building an American castle. These whims begin to seem childish to me
now. I put in a secret stairway. No human foot but my own has ever
trodden it. August, whom I love more than any other, and who is one of
the few admitted to my library, has always ascended by the rope-ladder.
But you are my niece; I would you were my daughter. I will signalize my
reverence for you by showing up the stairway the woman who knows how to
love and be faithful, the feet that would be worthy of golden steps if I
had them. Come."
Spite of her grief and anxiety, Julia was impressed and oppressed with
the reverence shown her by her uncle. She had a veneration almost
superstitious for the Philosopher's learning. She was not accustomed to
even respectful treatment, and to be worshiped in this awful way by such
a man was something almost as painful as it was pleasant.
The entrance to the stairway, if that could be called a stairway which
was as difficult of ascent as a ladder, was through a closet by the side
of the donjon chimney, and the logs had been so arranged without and
within that the space occupied by the narrow and zigzag stairs was not
apparent. Up these stairs he took Julia, leaving her in a closet above.
As this closet was situated alongside the chimney, it opened, of course,
into the small corner room which I have before described, and in which
August was now lying. Andrew descended the stairs and entered the upper
story again by the outside ladder. He thought best to prepare August for
the coming of Julia, lest joy should destroy a life that was so
far wasted.