"This man tells me," continued Mr. Armstrong, "that just a few minutes
previous to the time the whole household was aroused last night he heard
a step in the hall overhead, then the sound of a light foot descending
the little staircase in the servants' hall. Being anxious to find out
what this person wanted at an hour so late, he lowered the gas, closed
his door, and listened. The steps went by his door. Satisfied that it
was a woman he heard, he pulled open the door again and looked out. A
young girl was standing not very far from him in a thin streak of
moonlight. She was gazing intently at something in her hand, and that
something had a purple gleam to it. He is ready to swear to this. Next
moment, frightened by some noise she heard, she fled back, and vanished
again in the region of the little staircase. It was soon, very soon,
after this that the shriek came. Now, Mr. Worthington, what am I to do
with this knowledge? I have advised this man to hold his peace till I
can make inquiries, but where am I to make them? I cannot think that
Miss Camerden----"
The ejaculation which escaped me was involuntary. To hear her name for
the second time in this association was more than I could bear.
"Did he say it was Miss Camerden?" I hurriedly inquired, as he looked at
me in some surprise. "How should he know Miss Camerden?"
"He described her," was the unanswerable reply. "Besides, we know that
she was circulating in the halls at that time. I declare I have never
known a worse business," this amiable man bemoaned. "Let me send for
Sinclair; he is more interested than any one else in Gilbertine's
relatives; or, stay, what if I should send for Miss Camerden herself?
She should be able to tell how she came by this box."
I subdued my own instincts, which were all for clearing Dorothy on the
spot, and answered as I thought Sinclair would like me to answer.
"It is a serious and very perplexing piece of business," said I; "but if
you will wait a short time I do not think you will have to trouble Miss
Camerden. I am sure that explanations will be given. Give the lady a
chance," I stammered. "Imagine what her feelings would be if questioned
on so delicate a topic. It would make a breach which nothing could
heal. Later, if she does not speak, it will be only right for you to ask
her why."
"She did not come down this morning."
"Naturally not."
"If I could take counsel of my wife! But she is of too nervous a
temperament. I am anxious to keep her from knowing this fresh
complication as long as possible. Do you think I can look for Miss
Camerden to explain herself before the doctors return, or before Mrs.
Lansing's physician, for whom I have telegraphed, can arrive from New
York?"
"I am sure that three hours will not pass before you hear the truth.
Leave me to work out the situation. I promise that if I cannot bring it
about to your satisfaction, Sinclair shall be asked to lend his
assistance. Only keep the gossips from Miss Camerden's good name. Words
can be said in a moment that will not be forgotten in years. I tremble
at such a prospect for her."
"No one knows of her having been seen with the box," he protested; and,
relieved as much by his manner as by his words, I took my leave of him,
and made my way at once to the dining-room. Should I find Miss Lane
there? Yes, and what was better still, the fortunes of the day had
decreed that the place beside her should be unoccupied.
I was on my way to that place when I was struck by the extreme quiet
into which the room had fallen. It had been humming with talk when I
first entered, but now not a voice was raised and scarcely an eye. In
the hurried glance I cast about the board, not a look met mine in
recognition or welcome.
What did it mean? Had they been talking about me? Possibly; and in a
way, it would seem, that was not altogether flattering to my vanity.
Unable to hide my sense of the general embarrassment which my presence
had called forth, I passed to the seat I have indicated, and let my
inquiring look settle on Miss Lane. She was staring, in imitation of the
others, straight into her plate; but as I saluted her with a quiet
"Good-morning," she looked up and acknowledged my courtesy with a faint,
almost sympathetic, smile. At once the whole tableful broke again into
chatter, and I could safely put the question with which my mind was
full.
"How is Miss Murray?" I asked. "I do not see her here."
"Did you expect to? Poor Gilbertine! This is not the bridal-day she
expected." Then, with irresistible naivete, entirely in keeping with her
fairy-like figure and girlish face, she added: "I think it was just
horrid in the old woman to die the night before the wedding, don't you?"
"Indeed I do," I emphatically rejoined, humouring her in the hope of
learning what I wished to know. "Does Miss Murray still cherish the
expectation of being married to-day? No one seems to know."
"Nor do I. I haven't seen her since the middle of the night. She didn't
come back to her room. They say she is sobbing out her terror and
disappointment in some attic corner. Think of that for Gilbertine
Murray! But even that is better than----"
The sentence trailed away into an indistinguishable murmur, the murmur
into silence. Was it because of a fresh lull in the conversation about
us? I hardly think so, for though the talk was presently resumed, she
remained silent, not even giving the least sign of wishing to prolong
this particular topic. I finished my coffee as soon as possible and
quitted the room, but not before many had preceded me. The hall was
consequently as full as before of a gossiping crowd.
I was on the point of bowing myself through the various groups blocking
my way to the library door, when I noticed renewed signs of
embarrassment on all the faces turned my way. Women who were clustered
about the newel-post drew back, and some others sauntered away into
side-rooms with an appearance of suddenly wishing to go somewhere. This
certainly was very singular, especially as these marks of disapproval
did not seem to be directed so much at myself as at some one behind me.
Who could this some one be? Turning quickly, I cast a glance up the
staircase, before which I stood, and saw the figure of a young girl
dressed in black hesitating on the landing. This young girl was Dorothy
Camerden, and it took but a moment's contemplation of the scene for me
to feel assured that it was against her this feeling of universal
constraint had been directed.