A QUICKENING TERROR
Mrs. Fetzer, the housekeeper, received Hilda's dinner guests on the
evening of the visit to Levis. It was not a convenient season for
guests, it being Sunday and the larger part of the staff of servants
having been dismissed yesterday, but Hilda had extended her invitation
with her usual indifference to the comfort of others. Her trunks were
not yet packed nor had she indicated what articles were to go into
them. Miss Knowlton and Miss MacVane, who had expected to receive that
afternoon directions about a rearrangement of Stephen's records and the
preparation of data for a series of articles, had come at five o'clock
and waited until seven.
Fetzer was annoyed, but not in the least dismayed, having been prepared
for this event by many similar experiences. She put on her best black
silk dress and welcomed the two women and two men who, undisturbed,
settled themselves in the library for a game of cards; then she changed
to less elegant attire, since in the absence of the waitress she would
serve their dinner. Neither the black patch over her eye, nor the
quick motions by which she compelled one eye to serve as two, made her
repulsive or grotesque.
Waiting upon the table she saw that something more serious had occurred
than the puncturing of a tire which had delayed the Lanfairs after
leaving Levis's house. Hilda hailed her friends carelessly and asked
that dinner be served at once. She ate little, watched impatiently
Fetzer's deliberate ways, and announced as she rose from the table that
her packing was still to be done. The guests departed amiably with loud
good wishes for the journey.
Fetzer, going into the hall to tell Stephen that Miss Knowlton and
Miss MacVane waited, approached the library door slowly. Observing him
furtively during dinner, she had been shocked by his expression; he
looked to her like a beaten child who appealed from earth to heaven,
and she sent up several fervent petitions in his behalf. She longed
desperately to help him, but she was wholly powerless.
To Fetzer Hilda was a wicked woman; no other explanation for her
mistress's behavior had ever occurred to her. Even Stephen's patience
suggested no different explanation.
She did not advance far into the hall. Hilda had restrained herself
in the presence of Fickes, the chauffeur, and with greater difficulty
before her guests, and the postponement of the expression of her wrath
had not in the least softened her heart. It had, on the contrary,
exaggerated the grievance and sharpened the tongue which was to utter
her wrongs.
"But she was a child!" Fetzer heard Stephen protest. His voice was like
his eyes, childlike in its earnestness. It was bitter, indeed, that
this old friendship which had been without exception the happiest in
his life was now finally spoiled. What would Levis think of him? He
regretted with sickening self-reproach his call. He might have known
better; now he could never see him again, he hoped that it might never
be necessary to see him--a hope, indeed, which was already granted.
Hilda accepted no apology.
"Child!" she repeated. "That was a pose to attract. How ridiculous to
show you her books! She didn't look at you like a child, nor you at
her."
For a moment silence prevailed. Fetzer meditated advancing. But Hilda
had not finished; she found Stephen's silence far more irritating than
his speech. She turned fiercely upon him with a remark which, while it
was not new, was uttered with truly original ferocity.
"You'd like me to be dead; then you could live as you pleased on my
money!"
Fetzer withdrew. She went through a passageway to the office where
again Miss Knowlton and Miss MacVane waited.
"I guess Doctor'll be out soon."
Neither of the women answered--sometimes she believed that they
observed nothing, sometimes she believed that they knew everything.
After loitering for about ten minutes in the passage she again
approached the library. Now Stephen was alone, sitting with his back to
the door.
"Miss Knowlton and Miss MacVane are here, Doctor." She spoke as though
they had arrived at this moment.
"Thank you," said Stephen, without turning. Fetzer saw that though his
head was bent there was no book on his knee. For the thousandth time
she breathed a silent petition in his behalf. The ways of the Creator
were, indeed, past all finding out.
Stephen sat for a long time looking down at his clasped hands. He
believed that his life was at times in danger, but he did not believe
that a committee of inquiry could find proof of the madness whose
outbursts were reserved for him alone. It was a pleasant prospect for a
European journey!