knew not whether it would give me most relief to find myself shunned by
the one or the other. My final conclusion, that I wished to have
nothing further to do with either of them, received, notwithstanding, a
rude shock when I arrived at the gate-post. For there, on its broad
top, lay a magnificent blossom, the choicest fruit of the hot-house,
and it was to beg my acceptance of this that the gentleman had made the
peculiar gesture I had noticed--an act which, if it came from Dwight,
certainly possessed a significance which I was not yet ready to ignore;
while, if it proceeded from his cold and crafty brother--But I would
not allow myself to dwell upon that possibility. The flower must be
mine, and if afterwards I found that it was to Guy I owed its
possession, it would be time enough then for me to determine what to
do. So I took the gorgeous blossom off the post and was speeding away
down the street, when I was suddenly stopped by the thought that only
Guy would have the egotism to bestow a gift upon me in this way; that
Dwight, if he had wished to present it at all, would have done so with
his own hand, and not left it lying on a gate-post with the assurance
it would be gathered up by the fortunate recipient of his favor.
Disgusted with myself, and instantly alive to the possible consequences
of my act, I opened my fingers with the laudable intention of dropping
the flower to the ground, when I saw standing in the road directly in
front of me the beautiful idiot boy whose peculiarities of appearance
and conduct had so attracted my attention in the summer-house the day
before. He was looking at me with a strange gaze of mingled curiosity
and imbecile good-nature, and his hands, white as milk, trembled in the
air before him, as if he could scarcely restrain himself from snatching
out of my grasp the superb flower I seemed so willing to throw away.
A happy impulse seized me.
"Here," said I, proffering him the blossom. "This will give you more
pleasure than it will me."
But, to my great astonishment, he turned on his heel with a loud laugh,
and then, shaking his head, and rolling it curiously from side to side,
exclaimed, with his usual repetition:
"No, no, it is a lover's gift, a lover's gift; you will wear it in your
hair." And he danced about me with grotesque gayety for a moment, then
flitted away to a position from which he could still see me without
being within reach of my hand.
Under these circumstances I was too proud to fling the flower away; so
I dropped it into a basket I held, and walked swiftly down the street.
The idiot boy followed me; now skipping a pace or two in advance, and
now falling back till I had passed far beyond him. As he flashed back
and forth, I saw that his eyes were always on my face, and once, as I
confronted him with mine, he broke out into a series of chuckles, and
cried: "Do they like you now? do they like you now?" and laughed and
danced, and laughed again, till I began to find the situation somewhat
embarrassing, and was glad enough when at the corner of a street he
disappeared from my view, with the final cry of: "One day, two days;
wait till you have been there ten; wait till you have been there
twenty!"
Hot and trembling with apprehension lest his foolish speeches had been
heard by some passer-by, I hurried on my way to the house where I
lived. I reached it in a few minutes, and being so fortunate as to find
my landlady in, succeeded before another half-hour had passed in
learning all that was generally known about the serious occurrences in
which I was just then so profoundly interested.
I heard first that the vat in the old mill had been examined for the
purpose of ascertaining how it came to be full enough of water to drown
a man; and it was found that, owing to a heavy storm which had lately
devastated the country, a portion of the wall above the vat had been
broken in by a falling tree, allowing the rain to enter in floods from
a jutting portion of the roof. Next, that although an inquest had been
held over Mr. Barrows' remains, and a verdict been given of accidental
death, the common judgment of the community ascribed his end to
suicide. This was mainly owing to the fact that the woman in whose
house he had lived had testified to having observed a great change in
his appearance during the last few weeks; a change which many were now
ready to allow they had themselves perceived; though, from the fact of
its having escaped the attention of Ada, I cannot but think they were
greatly helped to this conclusion by their own imagination.
The last thing I made sure of was that the two deaths which had
followed his so tragically had awakened on all sides the deepest
interest and pity, but nothing more. That although the general features
of Mrs. Pollard's end were well enough known, no whisper of suspicion
had been breathed against her or hers, that showed in the faintest way
that any doubt mingled with the general feeling of commiseration. And
yet it was too evident she was no favorite with the world at large, and
that the respect with which she was universally mentioned was rather
the result of the pride felt in her commanding manners and position,
than from any personal liking for the woman herself.
As for the sons, they were fine young men in their way, and had the
sympathy of everybody in their bereavement; but gossip, if it busied
itself with their names at all, was much more interested in wondering
what disposition they would make of the property now coming to them,
than in inquiring whether or not they could have had any secret
relations with the man now dead, which were calculated to explain in
any way his mysterious end.
Finally I learned that Ada and Mr. Barrows were to be buried the next
day.
Satisfied with the information obtained, I started immediately for the
Pollard mansion. It was my wish to re-enter it before dark. But the
twilight fell fast, and by the time I reached the gate I could barely
discern that a masculine figure was again leaning there, waiting, as it
appeared, for my return. The discovery caused me a sensation of relief.
Now I should at least learn which of the two brothers showed this
interest in my movements, for this time the gentleman betrayed no
disposition to leave at my approach; on the contrary, he advanced, and
in the mellow accents I had learned in so short a time to listen for,
observed:
"I knew you wished to go alone, Miss Sterling, or I should have offered
you my protection in your dismal walk. I am glad to see you return
before it is quite dark."
"Thank you," I responded, with almost a degree of joyousness in my
tone, I was so glad to be rid of the perplexity that had weighed down
my spirits for the last half-hour. "It is not pleasant to walk the
streets at dusk alone, but necessity has accustomed me to it, and I
scarcely think of its dangers now."
"You utter that in a proud tone," he declared, reaching out and taking
the basket that hung on my arm.
"I have reason to," I replied, glad it was so dark he could not see the
blush which his action had caused. "It was no slight struggle for me to
overcome certain prejudices in which I have been reared. That I have
been able to do so gives me wholesome satisfaction. I am no longer
ashamed to own that I stand by myself, and work for every benefit I
obtain."
"Nor need you be," he murmured. "In this age and in this country a
woman like you forfeits nothing by maintaining her own independence. On
the contrary, she gains something, and that is the respect of every
true-hearted man that knows her." And his step lagged more and more in
spite of my conscientious efforts to maintain the brisk pace in which I
had indulged before I had encountered him at the gate.
"This is a grand old place," I remarked, vaguely anxious to change the
drift of the conversation.
"Yes," he answered, moodily; "but it is shadowed." And with a sudden
relapse into his most sombre self, he walked at my side in silence,
till the sight of the high porch showing itself through the trees
warned him that if he had any thing further to say to me, it must be
said soon. He therefore paused, forcing me by the action to pause too,
and earnestly observed: "I know, however you may address me, Miss
Sterling, you cherish a doubt of me in your heart. I cannot resent
this, much as my natural pride might prompt me to do so. During the
short time in which I have known you, you have won so deeply upon my
esteem, that the utmost which I feel able to ask of you under the
circumstances is, that, in the two or three days you will yet remain
with us, you will allow yourself but one thought concerning me, and
that is, that I aspire to be an honest man, and to do not only what the
world thinks right, but even what such a conscientious soul as yours
must consider so. Are you willing to regard me in this light, and will
my mere word be sufficient to cause you to do so?"
It was a searching question after his proffer, and my acceptance of the
flower I held concealed, and I hesitated a moment before replying to
it. I am so intensely proud; and then I could not but acknowledge to
myself that, whatever my excuse, I was certainly running a risk of no
ordinary nature in listening to the addresses of a man who could
inspire me, or ever had inspired me, with the faintest element of
distrust.
He noted my silence and drew back, uttering a sigh that was half
impatient and half sorrowful. I felt this sigh, nondescript as it was,
re-echo painfully in my heart, and hung my head in remorse; but not
before I had caught a glimpse of his face, and been struck by its
expression of deep melancholy.
"You have no favor to show me, then?" he asked.
Instantly and without premeditation I seized upon the basket he held in
his hand, and impetuously opened the lid.
"Have I not shown you one?" I inquired.
A sound--it never came from him or from me--made us both start. With a
fierce expression he turned towards the bushes at our right, but not
before I had seen, by the look of astonishment he had cast upon the
flower, that, notwithstanding the coincidence of finding him at the
gate, he had had nothing to do with its culling or presentation.
"Some one is presuming to play the spy upon us," said he, and drawing
my hand through his arm, he led me swiftly towards the porch. "You need
not tremble so," he whispered, as we halted an instant between the
cedars before mounting the steep steps. "No one in this house wishes to
annoy you--or if there should be any one who does," he corrected in a
quick tone, while he cast a glance of quick suspicion at the basket in
my hand, "that person and I will soon come to an understanding."
"I was only startled," was my quick rejoinder, glad to explain my
tremulousness in this way. "Let us go in," I added, feeling that I must
escape to some place of solitude, if only to hide my shame and chagrin
from every eye.
He acquiesced in my wishes at once, and we were proceeding slowly up
the steps, when suddenly a shrill, strange laugh broke from amid the
bushes, and the weird voice of the idiot boy, whom I thought had been
left behind me in the town, rose once more to my ear, uttering those
same words which had so annoyed me earlier in the evening.
"Oh, do you think they like you now? Say, say, do you think they like
you now?" But the tone with which he addressed me this time had a ring
of menace in it, and I was not surprised to see Dwight Pollard start,
though I was somewhat affected by the deep agitation he showed as I
tried to explain:
"Oh, it is only the little idiot boy whom you must have seen running
about the streets. He seems to have taken a fancy to me, for he
followed me nearly all the while I was gone, with something of the same
senseless remarks as now."
"The idiot boy!" repeated Mr. Pollard. "Well, we will leave the idiot
boy outside." And he held the door open till I had hurried in, when he
vehemently closed it, looking at the same time as if he had shut the
door on a threatening evil, or, at the most, on a bitter and haunting
memory.
That night I did an unworthy thing; I listened to conversation
which was not intended for my ears. It happened in this wise: I had
been down-stairs on an errand for Mrs. Harrington, and was coming back
through the dimly lighted hall, when I saw Dwight Pollard step out of a
room in front of me and accost a man that was locking and bolting the
front door.
"Simon," I heard him say, "you remember that beautiful flower I noticed
yesterday in the conservatory?"
"Yes, sir," the man replied, with some embarrassment in his voice.
"Well, I want it picked to-morrow for my mother's funeral. You will
bring it to my room."
"Oh, sir," I heard the man hurriedly interpose, "I'm sure I'm very
sorry, sir; but it has already been picked, and there won't be another
out before next week."
I knew I ought not to stay there and listen, especially as I could
easily have gone on my way without attracting attention; but having
heard thus much, I found it impossible to go on till I had at least
learned if Mr. Pollard had the motive I suspected in these inquiries of
his. His next words satisfied me on this point.
"And who was the fortunate one to obtain this flower?" he asked, in an
accent indifferent enough to deceive a merely casual listener.
"Mr. Guy, sir."
"Ah, so he noticed it too!" was the remark with which Mr. Pollard
dropped the subject, and hurried away from the gardener's side.
The next instant I perceived him pass into Guy's room, and I saw that
an explanation of some kind was about to take place between the
brothers.
IX.
AN UNEXPECTED DISCOVERY.
Hold, hold my heart!
And you, my sinews, grow not instant old.
But bear me stiffly up!
Whether intentionally or unintentionally, I was saved the embarrassment
of meeting Guy Pollard at the breakfast-table the next morning. I was,
therefore, left in ignorance as to the result of the conversation
between the brothers, though from the softened manner of Dwight, and
the quiet assurance with which he surrounded me with the delicate
atmosphere of his homage, I could not but argue that he had come out
master of the situation.
It was, therefore, with mingled feelings of pleasure and apprehension
that I left the house at the hour appointed for the double funeral;
feelings that would have been yet more alive had I realized that I
should not re-enter those gates again, or see the interior of that
fatal house, till I had passed through many bitter experiences.
The ceremonies, in spite of the latent suspicion of the community that
Mr. Barrows' death had been one of his own seeking, were of the most
touching and impressive description. I was overcome by them, and left
the churchyard before the final prayer was said, feeling as if the life
of the last three days had been a dream, and that here in the memory of
my lovely Ada and her griefs lay my true existence and the beginning
and ending of my most sacred duty.
Pursuant to this thought I did not turn immediately back to the gloomy
mansion which claimed me for the present as its own, but wandered away
in an opposite direction, soothing my conscience by the thought that it
was many hours yet before the services would be held for Mrs. Pollard,
and that neither the brothers nor Mrs. Harrington could have any use
for me till that time.
The road I had taken was a sequestered one, and strange as it may seem
to some, did not awaken special memories in my mind till I came to a
point where an opening in the trees gave to my view the vision of two
tall chimneys; when like a flash it came across me that I was on the
mill road, and within a few short rods of the scene of Mr. Barrows'
death.
The sensation that seized me at this discovery was of the strangest
kind. I felt that I had been led there; and without a thought of what I
was doing, pressed on with ever-increasing rapidity till I came to the
open doorway with its dismantled entrance.
To pass over the now much-trodden grass and take my stand by the dismal
walls was the work of an instant; but when I had done this and
experienced in a rush the loneliness and ghostly influence of the
place, I was fain to turn back and leave it to the dream of its own
fearful memories. But the sight of a small piece of paper pinned or
pasted on the board that had been nailed in futile precaution across
the open doorway deterred me. It was doubtless nothing more important
than a notice from the town authorities, or possibly from the
proprietors of the place, but my curiosity was excited, and I desired
to see it. So I hastened over to where it was, and with little
apprehension of the shock that was destined to overwhelm me, read these
words:
"Those who say Mr. Barrows committed suicide lie. He was murdered, and
by parties whose position places them above suspicion, as their wealth
and seeming prosperity rob them of even the appearance of motive for
such a terrible deed."
No names mentioned; but O God! And that word _murdered_. It swam before
my eyes; it burned itself into every thing upon which I looked, it
settled like a weight of iron upon my heart, pressing me nearer and
nearer and nearer to the ground, till finally----Ah! can it be that
this is really I, and that I am standing here in a desolate place
alone, with no human being in sight, and with a paper in my hand that
seems to grow larger and larger as I gaze, and ask me what I mean to do
now, and whether in tearing it from the wall where it hung, I allied
myself to the accused, or by one stroke proclaimed myself that avenger
which, if the words on this paper were true, I owed it to my Ada and
the promise which I had given her to be? The cloud that enveloped my
brain pressed upon me too closely for me to give an answer to questions
so vital and terrific. I was in a maze,--a horrible dream; I could not
think, I could only suffer, and at last creep away like a shadow of
guiltiness to where a cluster of pine-trees made a sort of retreat into
which I felt I could thrust my almost maddened head and be lost.
For great shocks reveal deep secrets, and in the light of this pitiless
accusation, this fact had revealed itself without disguise to my eyes,
that it was love I felt for Dwight Pollard; not admiration, not
curiosity, not even the natural desire to understand one so seemingly
impenetrable, but love, real, true, yearning, and despotic love, which
if well founded might have made my bliss for a lifetime, and which
now----I thrust the paper between my lips to keep down the cry that
rose there, and hiding my face deep down in the turf, mourned the
weakness that made me so ready a victim, while at the same time I
prepared to sustain the struggle which I knew must there and then be
waged and decided if I was ever to face the world again with the
strength and calmness which my nature demanded, and the extraordinary
circumstances of my position imposed.
The result was an hour of misery, with a sensation of triumph at the
end; though I do not pretend to say that in this one effort I overcame
the admiration and interest which attached my thoughts to this man. The
accusation was as yet too vague, and its source too doubtful, to blot
his image with ineffaceable stains; but I did succeed in gaining
sufficient mastery over myself to make it possible to review the
situation and give what I meant should be an unbiased judgment as to
the duty it imposed upon me.
The result was a determination to hold myself neutral till I had at
least discovered the author of the lines I held in my hand. If they
came from a credible person--but how could they do so and be written
and posted up in the manner they were? An honest man does not seek any
such roundabout way to strike his blow. Only a coward or a villain
would take this method to arouse public curiosity, and perhaps create
public suspicion.
And yet who could say that a coward and a villain might not be speaking
the truth even in an accusation of this nature? The very fact that it
met and gave form and substance to my own dim and unrecognized fears,
proved that something as yet unknown and unsounded connected the
mysterious death of Mr. Barrows with the family towards which this
accusation evidently pointed. While my own heart beat with dread, how
could I ignore the possibility of these words being the work of an
accomplice disgusted with his crime, or of a tool anxious to save
himself, and at the same time to avenge some fancied slight? I could
not. If peace and hope were lost in the effort, I must learn the truth
and satisfy myself, once and for all, as to whose hatred and fear the
Pollards were indebted for insinuations at once so tremendous and so
veiled.
That I was the only person who had probably seen and read these fatal
words, lent purpose to my resolution. If, as I madly hoped, they were
but the expression of suspicion, rather than of knowledge, what a
satisfaction it would be for me to discover the fact, and possibly
unmask the cowardly author, before the public mind had been infected by
his doubts.
But how could I, a woman and a stranger, with no other talisman than my
will and patience, accomplish a purpose which would be, perhaps, no
easy one for a trained detective to carry out to a successful issue?
The characters in which the fatal insinuations had been conveyed
offered no clue. They were printed, and in so rough and commonplace a
manner that the keenest mind would have found itself baffled if it had
attempted to trace its way to the writer through the mere medium of the
lines he had transcribed. I must, therefore, choose some other means of
attaining my end; but what one?
I had never, in spite of the many trials and embarrassments of my life,
been what is called an intriguing woman. Nor had I ever amused myself
with forming plots or devising plans for extricating imaginary
characters out of fancied difficulties by the mere exercise of their
wits. _Finesse_ was almost an unknown word to me, and yet, as I sat
there with this fatal bit of paper in my hand, I felt that a power
hitherto unguessed was awakening within me, and that if I could but
restrain the emotions which threatened to dissipate my thoughts, I
should yet hit upon a plan by which my design could be attained with
satisfaction to myself and safety to others.
For--and this was my first idea--the paper had not been on the wall
long. It was too fresh to have hung there overnight, and had, moreover,
been too poorly secured to have withstood even for an hour the assaults
of a wind as keen as that which had been blowing all the morning. It
had, therefore, been put up a few moments before I came, or, in other
words, while the funeral services were being held; a fact which, to my
mind, argued a deep calculation on the part of the writer, for the hour
was one to attract all wanderers to the other end of the town, while
the following one would, on the contrary, see this quarter overflow
with human beings, anxious to complete the impression made by the
funeral services, by a visit to the scene of the tragedy.
That the sky had clouded over very much in the last half-hour, and that
the first drops of a heavy thunder-shower were even now sifting through
the branches over my head, was doubtless the reason why no one besides
myself had yet arrived upon the scene; and, should the storm continue,
this evil might yet be averted, and the one person I was most anxious
to see, have an opportunity to show himself at the place, without being
confounded with a mass of disinterested people. For I felt he would
return, and soon, to note the result of his daring action. In the
crowd, if a crowd assembled, or alone, if it so chanced that no one
came to the spot, he would draw near the mill, and, if he found the
notice gone, would betray, must betray, an interest or an alarm that
would reveal him to my watchful eye. For I intended to take up my stand
within the doorway, using, if necessary, the storm as my excuse for
desiring its shelter; while as a precaution against suspicions that
might be dangerous to me, as well as a preventive against any one else
ever reading these accusatory lines, I determined to dip the paper in
the stream, and then drop it near the place where it had been tacked,
that it might seem as if it had been beaten off by the rain, now
happily falling faster and faster.
All this I did, not without some apprehension of being observed by a
watchful eye. For what surety had I that the writer of these words was
not even now in hiding, or had not been looking at me from some secret
retreat at the very moment I tore the paper off the wall and fled with
it into the bushes?
But this fear, if fear it was, was gradually dispelled as the moments
sped by, and nothing beyond the wind and the fast driving rain
penetrated to where I stood. Nor did it look as if any break in what
seemed likely to become a somewhat dread monotony would ever occur. The
fierce dash of the storm was like a barrier, shutting me off from the
rest of the world, and had my purpose been less serious, my will less
nerved, I might have succumbed to the dreariness of the outlook and
taken myself away while yet the gruesome influences that lay crouched
in the darkness at my back remained in abeyance, and neither ghost's
step nor man's step had come to shake the foundations of my courage and
make of my silent watch a struggle and a fear.
But an intent like mine was not to be relinquished at the first call of
impatience or dread. Honor, love, and duty were at stake, and I held to
my resolution, though each passing moment made it more difficult to
maintain my hope as well as to sustain my composure.