THE SECRET CIPHER.
Some time passed away, and Gualtier made his usual visits. Zillah's
moods were variable and capricious. Sometimes she would languidly
declare that she could not take her lesson; at other times she would
take it for about ten minutes; and then, rising hastily from the
piano, she would insist that she was tired, and refuse to study any
more for that day. Once or twice, by an extreme effort, she managed
to devote a whole half hour, and then, as though such exertion
was superhuman, she would retire, and for several weeks afterward
plead that half hour as an excuse for her negligence. All this
Gualtier bore with perfect equanimity. Hilda said nothing; and
generally, after Zillah's retirement, she would go to the piano
herself and take a lesson.
These lessons were diversified by general conversation. Often they
spoke about Zillah, but very seldom was it that they went beyond
this. Miss Krieff showed no desire to speak of the subject which they
once had touched upon, and Gualtier was too cunning to be obtrusive.
So the weeks passed by without any renewal of that confidential
conversation in which they had once indulged.
While Zillah was present, Hilda never in any instance showed any sign
whatever of anger or impatience. She seemed not to notice her
behavior, or if she did notice it she seemed to think it a very
ordinary matter. On Zillah's retiring she generally took her place at
the piano without a word, and Gualtier began his instructions. It was
during these instructions that their conversation generally took
place.
One day Gualtier came and found Hilda alone. She was somewhat
_distrait_, but showed pleasure at seeing him, at which he felt both
gratified and flattered. "Where is Miss Pomeroy?" he asked, after the
usual greetings had been exchanged.
"You will not have the pleasure of seeing her to-day," answered
Hilda, dryly.
"Is she ill?"
"Ill? She is never ill. No. She has gone out."
"Ah?"
"The General was going to take a drive to visit a friend, and she
took it into her head to accompany him. Of course he had to take her.
It was very inconvenient--and very ridiculous--but the moment she
proposed it he assented, with only a very faint effort at dissuasion.
So they have gone, and will not be back for some hours."
"I hope you will allow me to say," remarked Gualtier, in a low voice,
"that I consider her absence rather an advantage than otherwise."
"You could hardly feel otherwise," said Hilda. "You have not yet got
a broken head, it is true; but it is coming. Some day you will not
walk out of the house. You will be carried out."
"You speak bitterly."
"I feel bitterly."
"Has any thing new happened?" he asked, following up the advantage
which her confession gave him.
"No; it is the old story. Interminable troubles, which have to be
borne with interminable patience."
There was a long silence. "You spoke once," said Gualtier at last, in
a low tone, "of something which you promised one day to tell me--some
papers. You said that you would show them some day when we were
better acquainted. Are we not better acquainted? You have seen me now
for many weeks since that time, and ought to know whether I am worthy
to be trusted or not."
"Mr. Gualtier," said Hilda, frankly, and without hesitation, "from my
point of view I have concluded that you are worthy to be trusted. I
have decided to show you the paper."
Gualtier began to murmur his thanks, Hilda waved her hand. "There is
no need of that," said she. "It may not amount to any thing, and then
your thanks will be thrown away. If it does amount to something you
will share the benefit of it with me--though you can not share the
revenge," she muttered, in a lower tone.
"But, after all," she continued, "I do not know that any thing can be
gained by it. The conjectures which I have formed may all be
unfounded."
"At any rate, I shall be able to see what the foundation is," said
Gualtier.
"True," returned Hilda, rising; "and so I will go at once and get the
paper."
"Have you kept it ever since?" he asked.
"What! the paper? Oh, you must not imagine that I have kept the
original! No, no. I kept it long enough to make a copy, and returned
the original to its place."
"Where did you find it?"
"In the General's private desk."
"Did it seem to be a paper of any importance?"
"Yes; it was kept by itself in a secret drawer. That showed its
importance."
Hilda then left the room, and in a short time returned with a
paper in her hand.
"Here it is," she said, and she gave it to Gualtier. Gualtier took
it, and unfolding it, he saw this:
Gualtier took this singular paper, and examined it long and
earnestly. Hilda had copied out the characters with painful
minuteness and beautiful accuracy; but nothing in it suggested to
him any revelation of its dark meaning, and he put it down with a
strange, bewildered air.
"What is it all?" he asked. "It seems to contain some mystery,
beyond a doubt. I can gather nothing from the characters. They are
all astronomical signs; and, so far as I can see, are the signs of
the zodiac and of the planets. Here, said he, pointing to the
character [Sun image], is the sign of the Sun; and here, pointing to
[Libra image], is Libra; and here is Aries, pointing to the sign
[Aries image].
"Yes," said Hilda; "and that occurs most frequently."
"What is it all?"
"I take it to be a secret cipher."
"How?"
"Why, this--that these signs are only used to represent letters of
the alphabet. If such a simple mode of concealment has been used the
solution is an easy one."
"Can you solve cipher alphabets?"
"Yes, where there is nothing more than a concealment of the letters.
Where there is any approach to hieroglyphic writing, or syllabic
ciphers, I am baffled."
"And have you solved this?"
"No."
"I thought you said that you had, and that it contained charges
against General Pomeroy."
"That is my difficulty. I have tried the usual tests, and have made
out several lines; but there is something about it which puzzles me;
and though I have worked at it for nearly a year, I have not been
able to get to the bottom of it."
"Are you sure that your deciphering is correct?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because it ought to apply to all, and it does not. It only applies
to a quarter of it."
"Perhaps it is all hieroglyphic, or syllabic writing."
"Perhaps so."
"In that case can you solve it?"
[Illustration.]
"No; and that is one reason why I have thought of you. Have you ever
tried any thing of the kind?"
[Illustration: "'What Is It All?' He Asked."]
"No; never. And I don't see how you have learned any thing about it,
or how you have been able to arrive at any principle of action."
"Oh, as to that," returned Hilda, "the principle upon which I work is
very simple; but I wish you to try the solution with your own unaided
ingenuity. So, simple as my plan is, I will not tell you any thing
about it just now."
Gualtier looked again at the paper with an expression of deep
perplexity.
"How am I even to begin?" said he. "What am I to do? You might as
well ask me to translate late the Peschito version of the Syriac
gospels, or the Rig-Veda."
"I think," said Hilda, coolly, "that you have sufficient ingenuity."
"I have," said Gualtier; "but, unfortunately, my ingenuity does not
lie at all in this direction. This is something different from any
thing that has ever come in my way before. See," he said, pointing to
the paper, "this solid mass of letters. It is a perfect block, an
exact rectangle. How do you know where to begin? Nothing on the
letters shows this. How do you know whether you are to read from left
to right, or from right to left, like Hebrew and Arabic; or both
ways, like the old Greek Boustrephedon; or vertically, like the
Chinese; or, for that matter, diagonally? Why, one doesn't know even
how to begin!"
"That must all be carefully considered," said Hilda. "I have weighed
it all, and know every letter by heart; its shape, its position, and
all about it."
"Well," said Gualtier, "you must not be at all surprised if I fail
utterly."
"At least you will try?"
"Try? I shall be only too happy. I shall devote to this all the time
that I have. I will give up all my mind and all my soul to it. I will
not only examine it while I am by myself, but I will carry this paper
with me wherever I go, and occupy every spare moment in studying it.
I'll learn every character by heart, and think over them all day, and
dream about them all night. Do not be afraid that I shall neglect it.
It is enough for me that _you_ have given this for me to attempt its
solution."
Gualtier spoke with earnestness and impetuosity, but Hilda did not
seem to notice it at all.
"Recollect," she said, in her usual cool manner, "it is as much for
your interest as for mine. If my conjecture is right, it may be of
the utmost value. If I am wrong, then I do not know what to do."
"You think that this implicates General Pomeroy in some crime?"
"That is my impression, from my own attempt at solving it. But, as I
said, my solution is only a partial one. I can not fathom the rest of
it, and do not know how to begin to do so. That is the reason why I
want your help."