"Daughter of whom?"
"Hudson Westonhaugh," she gently faltered. "My father is dead--died last
night. I am his only heir."
A grumble of dissatisfaction and a glint of unrelieved hate came from
the doubled-up figure, whose malevolence had so revolted me.
But the lawyer was not to be shaken.
"Very good! It is fortunate you trusted your feet rather than the train.
And now you? What is your name?"
He was looking, not at me, as I had at first feared, but at the man next
to me, a slim but slippery youth, whose small red eyes made me shudder.
"William Witherspoon."
"Barbara's son?"
"Yes."
"Where are your brothers?"
"One of them, I think, is outside"--here he laughed--"the other
is--_sick_."
The way he uttered this word made me set him down as one to be
especially wary of when he smiled. But then, I had already passed
judgment on him at my first view.
"And you, madam?"--this to the large, dowdy woman with the uncertain
eye, a contrast to the young and melancholy Eunice.
"Janet Clapsaddle," she replied, waddling hungrily forward and getting
unpleasantly near the speaker, for he moved off as she approached, and
took his stand in the clear space at the head of the table.
"Very well, Mistress Clapsaddle. You were a Westonhaugh, I believe?"
"You _believe_, sneak-faced hypocrite that you are!" she blurted out. "I
don't understand your lawyer ways. I like plain speaking myself. Don't
you know me, and Luke and Hector, and--and most of us, indeed, except
that puny, white-faced girl yonder, whom, having been brought up on the
other side of the Ridge, we have none of us seen since she was a
screaming baby in Hildegarde's arms. And the young gentleman over
there"--here she indicated me--"who shows so little likeness to the rest
of the family, he will have to make his connection to us pretty plain
before we shall feel like acknowledging him, either as the son of one of
Eustace's girls, or a chip from Brother Salmon's hard old block."
As this caused all eyes to turn upon me, even _hers_, I smiled as I
stepped forward. The lawyer did not return that smile.
"What is your name?" he asked shortly and sharply, as if he distrusted
me.
"Hugh Austin," was my quiet reply.
"There is no such name on the list," snapped old Smead, with an
authoritative gesture toward those who seemed anxious to enter a
protest.
"Probably not," I returned, "for I am not a Witherspoon, a Westonhaugh,
nor yet a Clapsaddle. I am merely a chance wayfarer passing through the
town on my way West. I thought this house was a tavern, or at least a
place I could lodge in. The man I met in the doorway told me as much,
and so I am here. If my company is not agreeable, or if you wish this
room to yourselves, let me go into the kitchen. I promise not to meddle
with the supper, hungry as I am. Or perhaps you wish me to join the
crowd outside; it seems to be increasing."
"No, no," came from all parts of the room. "Don't let the door be
opened. Nothing could keep Lemuel and his crowd out if they once got
foot over the threshold."
The lawyer rubbed his chin. He seemed to be in some sort of quandary.
First he scrutinised me from under his shaggy brows with a sharp gleam
of suspicion; then his features softened, and, with a side-glance at the
young woman who called herself Eunice (perhaps, because she was worth
looking at, perhaps because she had partly risen at my words), he
slipped toward a door I had before observed in the wainscoting on the
left of the mantelpiece, and softly opened it upon what looked like a
narrow staircase.
"We cannot let you go out," said he; "and we cannot let you have a
finger in our viands before the hour comes for serving them; so if you
will be so good as to follow this staircase to the top, you will find it
ends in a room comfortable enough for the wayfarer you call yourself. In
that room you can rest till the way is clear for you to continue your
travels. Better we cannot do for you. This house is not a tavern, but
the somewhat valuable property of----" He turned with a bow and smile,
as every one there drew a deep breath; but no one ventured to end that
sentence.
I would have given all my future prospects (which, by the way, were not
very great) to remain in that room. The oddity of the situation; the
mystery of the occurrence; the suspense I saw in every face; the
eagerness of the cries I heard redoubled from time to time outside; the
malevolence but poorly disguised in the old lawyer's countenance; and,
above all, the presence of that noble-looking woman, which was the one
off-set to the general tone of villainy with which the room was charged,
filled me with curiosity, if I might call it by no other name, that made
my acquiescence in the demand thus made upon me positively heroic. But
there seemed no other course for me to follow, and with a last lingering
glance at the genial fire and a quick look about me, which, happily,
encountered hers, I stooped my head to suit the low and narrow doorway
opened for my accommodation, and instantly found myself in darkness. The
door had been immediately closed by the lawyer's impatient hand.