CHAPTER I.

E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Project

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THE OLD STONE HOUSE AND OTHER STORIES

by

ANNA KATHARINE GREEN

Short Story Index Reprint Series

Books for Libraries Press

Freeport, New York

First Published 1891

CONTENTS.

THE OLD STONE HOUSE

A MEMORABLE NIGHT

THE BLACK CROSS

A MYSTERIOUS CASE

SHALL HE WED HER?

THE OLD STONE HOUSE.

I was riding along one autumn day through a certain wooded portion of

New York State, when I came suddenly upon an old stone house in which

the marks of age were in such startling contrast to its unfinished

condition that I involuntarily stopped my horse and took a long survey

of the lonesome structure. Embowered in a forest which had so grown in

thickness and height since the erection of this building that the

boughs of some of the tallest trees almost met across its decayed

roof, it presented even at first view an appearance of picturesque

solitude almost approaching to desolation. But when my eye had time to

note that the moss was clinging to eaves from under which the

scaffolding had never been taken, and that of the ten large windows in

the blackened front of the house only two had ever been furnished

with frames, the awe of some tragic mystery began to creep over me,

and I sat and wondered at the sight till my increasing interest

compelled me to alight and take a nearer view of the place.

The great front door which had been finished so many years ago, but

which had never been hung, leaned against the side of the house, of

which it had almost become a part, so long had they clung together

amid the drippings of innumerable rains. Close beside it yawned the

entrance, a large black gap through which nearly a century of storms

had rushed with their winds and wet till the lintels were green with

moisture and slippery with rot. Standing on this untrod threshold, I

instinctively glanced up at the scaffolding above me, and started as I

noticed that it had partially fallen away, as if time were weakening

its supports and making the precipitation of the whole a threatening

possibility. Alarmed lest it might fall while I stood there, I did not

linger long beneath it, but, with a shudder which I afterwards

remembered, stepped into the house and proceeded to inspect its

rotting, naked, and unfinished walls. I found them all in the one

condition. A fine house had once been planned and nearly completed,

but it had been abandoned before the hearths had been tiled, or the

wainscoting nailed to its place. The staircase which ran up through

the centre of the house was without banisters but otherwise finished

and in a state of fair preservation. Seeing this and not being able to

resist the temptation which it offered me of inspecting the rest of

the house, I ascended to the second story.

Here the doors were hung and the fireplaces bricked, and as I wandered

from room to room I wondered more than ever what had caused the

desertion of so promising a dwelling. If, as appeared, the first owner

had died suddenly, why could not an heir have been found, and what

could be the story of a place so abandoned and left to destruction

that its walls gave no token of ever having offered shelter to a human

being? As I could not answer this question I allowed my imagination

full play, and was just forming some weird explanation of the facts

before me when I felt my arm suddenly seized from behind, and paused

aghast. Was I then not alone in the deserted building? Was there some

solitary being who laid claim to its desolation and betrayed jealousy

at any intrusion within its mysterious precincts? Or was the dismal

place haunted by some uneasy spirit, who with long, uncanny fingers

stood ready to clutch the man who presumed to bring living hopes and

fears into a spot dedicated entirely to memories? I had scarcely the

courage to ask, but when I turned and saw what it was that had alarmed

me, I did not know whether to laugh at my fears or feel increased awe

of my surroundings. For it was the twigs of a tree which had seized

me, and for a long limb such as this to have grown into a place

intended for the abode of man, necessitated a lapse of time and a

depth of solitude oppressive to think of.

Anxious to be rid of suggestions wellnigh bordering upon the

superstitious, I took one peep from the front windows, and then

descended to the first floor. The sight of my horse quietly dozing in

the summer sunlight had reassured me, and by the time I had recrossed

the dismal threshold, and regained the cheerful highway, I was

conscious of no emotions deeper than the intense interest of a curious

mind to solve the mystery and understand the secret of this remarkable

house.

Rousing my horse from his comfortable nap, I rode on through the

forest; but scarcely had I gone a dozen rods before the road took a

turn, the trees suddenly parted, and I found myself face to face with

wide rolling meadows and a busy village. So, then, this ancient and

deserted house was not in the heart of the woods, as I had imagined,

but in the outskirts of a town, and face to face with life and

activity. This discovery was a shock to my romance, but as it gave my

curiosity an immediate hope of satisfaction, I soon became reconciled

to the situation, and taking the road which led to the village, drew

up before the inn and went in, ostensibly for refreshment. This being

speedily provided, I sat down in the cosy dining-room, and as soon as

opportunity offered, asked the attentive landlady why the old house in

the woods had remained so long deserted.

She gave me an odd look, and then glanced aside at an old man who sat

doubled up in the opposite corner. "It is a long story," said she,

"and I am busy now; but later, if you wish to hear it, I will tell you

all we know on the subject. After father is gone out," she whispered.

"It always excites him to hear any talk about that old place."

I saw that it did. I had no sooner mentioned the house than his white

head lifted itself with something like spirit, and his form, which had

seemed a moment before so bent and aged, straightened with an interest

that made him look almost hale again.

"I will tell you," he broke in; "I am not busy. I was ninety last

birthday, and I forget sometimes my grandchildren's names, but I never

forget what took place in that old house one night fifty years

ago--never, never."

"I know, I know," hastily interposed his daughter, "you remember

beautifully; but this gentleman wishes to eat his dinner now, and must

not have his appetite interfered with. You will wait, will you not,

sir, till I have a little more leisure?"

What could I answer but Yes, and what could the poor old man do but

shrink back into his corner, disappointed and abashed. Yet I was not

satisfied, nor was he, as I could see by the appealing glances he gave

me now and then from under the fallen masses of his long white hair.

But the landlady was complaisant and moved about the table and in and

out of the room with a bustling air that left us but little

opportunity for conversation. At length she was absent somewhat longer

than usual, whereupon the old man, suddenly lifting his head, cried

out:

"_She_ cannot tell the story. She has no feeling for it; she wasn't

_there_."

"And you were," I ventured.

"Yes, yes, I was there, always there; and I see it all now," he

murmured. "Fifty years ago, and I see it all as if it were happening

at this moment before my eyes. But she will not let me talk about it,"

he complained, as the sound of her footsteps was heard again on the

kitchen boards. "Though it makes me young again, she always stops me

just as if I were a child. But she cannot help my showing you--"

Here her steps became audible in the hall, and his words died away on

his lips. By the time she had entered, he was seated with his head

half turned aside, and his form bent over as if he were in spirit a

thousand miles from the spot.

Amused at his cunning, and interested in spite of myself at the

childish eagerness he displayed to tell his tale, I waited with a

secret impatience almost as great as his own perhaps, for her to leave

the room again, and thus give him the opportunity of finishing his

sentence. At last there came an imperative call for her presence

without, and she hurried away. She was no sooner gone than the old man

exclaimed:

"I have it all written down. I wrote it years and years ago, at the

very time it happened. She cannot keep me from showing you that; no,

no, she cannot keep me from showing you that." And rising to his feet

with a difficulty that for the first time revealed to me the full

extent of his infirmity, he hobbled slowly across the floor to the

open door, through which he passed with many cunning winks and nods.

"It grows quite exciting," thought I, and half feared his daughter

would not allow him to return. But either she was too much engrossed

to heed him, or had been too much deceived by his seeming indifference

when she last entered the room, to suspect the errand which had taken

him out of it. For sooner than I had expected, and quite some few

minutes before she came back herself, he shuffled in again, carrying

under his coat a roll of yellow paper, which he thrust into my hand

with a gratified leer, saying:

"There it is. I was a gay young lad in those days, and could go and

come with the best. Read it, sir, read it; and if Maria says anything

against it, tell her it was written long before she was born and when

I was as pert as she is now, and a good deal more observing."

Chuckling with satisfaction, he turned away, and had barely

disappeared in the hall when she came in and saw me with the roll in

my hand.

"Well! I declare!" she exclaimed; "and has he been bringing you that?

What ever shall I do with him and his everlasting manuscript? You will

pardon him, sir; he is ninety and upwards, and thinks everybody is as

interested in the story of that old house as he is himself."

"And I, for one, am," was my hasty reply. "If the writing is at all

legible, I am anxious to read it. You won't object, will you?"

"Oh, no," was her good-humored rejoinder. "I won't object; I only hate

to have father's mind roused on this subject, because he is sure to be

sick after it. But now that you have the story, read it; whether you

will think as he did, on a certain point, is another question. I

don't; but then father always said I would never believe ill of

anybody."

Her smile certainly bore out her words, it was so good-tempered and

confiding; and pleased with her manner in spite of myself, I accepted

her invitation to make use of her own little parlor, and sat down in

the glow of a brilliant autumn afternoon to read this old-time

history.

* * * * *

Will Juliet be at home to-day? She must know that I am coming. When I

met her this morning, tripping back from the farm, I gave her a look

which, if she cares anything about me, must have told her that I would

be among the lads who would be sure to pay her their respects at early

candle-light. For I cannot resist her saucy pout and dancing dimples

any longer. Though I am barely twenty, I am a man, and one who is

quite forehanded and able to take unto himself a wife. Ralph

Urphistone has both wife and babe, and he was only twenty-one last

August. Why, then, should I not go courting, when the prettiest maid

that has graced the town for many a year holds out the guerdon of her

smiles to all who will vie for them?

To be sure, the fact that she has more than one wooer already may be

considered detrimental to my success. But love is fed by rivalry, and

if Colonel Schuyler does not pay her his addresses, I think my chances

may be considered as good as any one's. For am I not the tallest and

most straightly built man in town, and have I not a little cottage all

my own, with the neatest of gardens behind it, and an apple-tree in

front whose blossoms hang ready to shower themselves like rain upon

the head of her who will enter there as a bride? It is not yet dark,

but I will forestall the sunset by a half hour and begin my visit now.

If I am first at her gate, Lemuel Phillips may look less arrogant

when he comes to ask her company to the next singing school.

* * * * *

I was not first at her gate; two others were there before me. Ah, she

is prettier than ever I supposed, and chirper than the sparrow which

builds every year a nest in my old apple-tree. When she saw me come up

the walk, her cheeks turned pink, but I do not know if it was from

pleasure or annoyance, for she gave nothing but vexing replies to

every compliment I paid her. But then Lemuel Phillips fared no better;

and she was so bitter-sweet to Orrin Day that he left in a huff and

vowed he would never step across her threshold again. I thought she

was a trifle more serious after he had gone, but when a woman's eyes

are as bright as hers, and the frowns and smiles with which she

disports herself chase each other so rapidly over a face both

mischievous and charming, a man's judgment goes astray, and he

scarcely knows reality from seeming. But true or false, she is pretty

as a harebell and bright as glinting sunshine; and I mean to marry

her, if only Colonel Schuyler will hold himself aloof.

Colonel Schuyler may hold himself aloof, but he is a man like the rest

of us for all that. Yesterday as I was sauntering in the churchyard

waiting for the appearance of a certain white-robed figure crowned by

the demurest of little hats, I caught a glimpse of his face as he

leaned on one of the tombstones near Patience Goodyear's grave, and I

saw that he was waiting also for the same white figure and the same

demure hat. This gave me a shock; for though I had never really dared

to hope he would remain unmoved by a loveliness so rare in our

village, and indeed, as I take it, in any village, I did not think he

would show so much impatience, or await her appearance with such

burning and uncontrollable ardor.

Indeed I was so affected by his look that I forgot to watch any longer

for her coming, but kept my gaze fixed on his countenance, till I saw

by the change which rapidly took place in it that she had stepped out

of the great church door and was now standing before us, making the

sunshine more brilliant by her smiles, and the spring the sweeter for

her presence.

Then I came to myself and rushed forward with the rest of the lads.

Did he follow behind us? I do not think so, for the rosy lips which

had smiled upon us with so airy a welcome soon showed a discontented

curve not to be belied by the merry words that issued from them, and

when we would have escorted her across the fields to her father's

house, she made a mocking curtsy, and wandered away with the ugliest

old crone who mouths and mumbles in the meeting-house. Did she do this

to mock us or him? If to mock him he had best take care, for beauty

scorned is apt to grow dangerous. But perhaps it was to mock us? Well,

well, there would be nothing new in that; she is ever mocking us.

* * * * *

They say the Colonel passes her gate a dozen times a day, but never

goes in and never looks up. Is he indifferent then? I cannot think so.

Perhaps he fears her caprices and disapproves of her coquetry. If that

is so, she shall be my wife before he wakens to the knowledge that her

coquetry hides a passionate and loving heart.

Colonel Schuyler is a dark man. He has eyes which pierce you, and a

smile which, if it could be understood, might perhaps be less

fascinating than it is. If she has noticed his watching her, the

little heart that flutters in her breast must have beaten faster by

many a throb. For he is the one great man within twenty miles, and so

handsome and above us all that I do not know of a woman but Juliet

whose voice does not sink a tone lower whenever she speaks of him. But

he is a proud man, and seems to take no notice of any one. Indeed he

scarcely appears to live in our world. Will he come down from his high

estate at the beck of this village beauty? Many say not, but I say

yes; with those eyes of his he cannot help it.

* * * * *

Juliet is more capricious than ever. Lemuel Phillips for one is tired

of it, and imitating Orrin Day, bade her a good-even to-night which I

am sure he does not intend to follow with a blithe good-morrow.

I might do the same if her pleading eyes would let me. But she seems

to cling to me even when she is most provokingly saucy; and though I

cannot see any love in her manner, there is something in it very

different from hate; and this it is which holds me. Can a woman be too

pretty for her own happiness, and are many lovers a weariness to the

heart?

* * * * *

Juliet is positively unhappy. To-day when she laughed the gayest it

was to hide her tears, and no one, not even a thoroughly spoiled

beauty, could be as wayward as she if there were not some bitter arrow

rankling in her heart. She was riding down the street on a pillion

behind her father, and Colonel Schuyler, who had been leaning on the

gate in front of his house, turned his back upon her and went inside

when he saw her coming. Was this what made her so white and reckless

when she came up to where I was standing with Orrin Day, and was it

her chagrin at the great man's apparent indifference which gave that

sharp edge to the good-morning with which she rode haughtily away? If

it was I can forgive you, my lady-bird, for there is reason for your

folly if I am any judge of my fellow-men. Colonel Schuyler is not

indifferent but circumspect, and circumspection in a lover is an

insult to his lady's charms.

* * * * *

She knows now what I knew a week ago. Colonel Schuyler is in love with

her and will marry her if she does not play the coquette with him. He

has been to her house and her father already holds his head higher as

he paces up and down the street. I am left in the lurch, and if I had

not foreseen this end to my hopes, might have been a very miserable

man to-night. For I was near obtaining the object of my heart, as I

know from her own lips, though the words were not intended for my

ears. You see I was the one who surprised him talking with her in the

garden. I had been walking around the place on the outer side of the

wall as I often did from pure love for her, and not knowing she was on

the other side was very much startled when I heard her voice speaking

my name; so much startled that I stood still in my astonishment and

thus heard her say:

"Philo Adams has a little cottage all his own and I can be mistress of

it any day,--or so he tells me. I had rather go into that little

cottage where every board I trod on would be my own, than live in the

grandest room you could give me in a house of which I would not be the

mistress."

"But if I make a home for you," he pleaded, "grand as my father's, but

built entirely for you--"

"Ah!" was her soft reply, "that might make me listen to you, for I

should then think you loved me."

The wall was between us, but I could see her face as she said this as

plainly as if I had been the fortunate man at her side. And I could

see his face too, though it was only in fancy I had ever beheld it

soften as I knew it must be softening now. Silence such as followed

her words is eloquent, and I feared my own passions too much to linger

till it should be again broken by vows I had not the courage to hear.

So I crept away conscious of but one thing, which was that my dream

was ended, and that my brave apple-tree would never shower its bridal

blossoms upon the head I love, for whatever threshold she crosses as

mistress it will not now be that of the little cottage every board of

which might have been her own.

* * * * *

If I had doubted the result of the Colonel's offer to Juliet, the news

which came to me this morning would have convinced me that all was

well with them and that their marriage was simply a matter of time.

Ground has been broken in the pleasant opening on the verge of the

forest, and carts and men hired to bring stone for the fine new

dwelling Colonel Schuyler proposes to rear for himself. The whole town

is agog, but I keep the secret I surprised, and only Juliet knows that

I am no longer deceived as to her feelings, for I did not go to see

her to-night for the first time since I made up mind that I would have

her for my wife. I am glad I restrained myself, for Orrin Day, who had

kept his word valiantly up to this very day, came riding by my house

furiously a half hour ago, and seeing me, called out:

"Why didn't you tell me she had a new adorer? I went there to-night

and Colonel Schuyler sat at her side as you and I never sat yet,

and--and--" he stammered frantically, "_I did not kill him._"

"You--Come back!" I shouted, for he was flying by like the wind. But

he did not heed me nor stop, but vanished in the thick darkness, while

the lessening sound of his horse's hoofs rang dismally back from the

growing distance.

So this man has loved her passionately too, and the house which is

destined to rise in the woods will throw a shadow over more than one

hearthstone in this quiet village. I declare I am sorry that Orrin has

taken it so much to heart, for he has a proud and determined spirit,

and will not forget his wrongs as soon as it would be wise for him to

do. Poor, poor Juliet, are you making enemies against your bridal day?

If so, it behooves me at least to remain your friend.

* * * * *

I saw Orrin again to-day, and he looks like one haunted. He was riding

as usual, and his cloak flew out behind him as he sped down the street

and away into the woods. I wonder if she too saw him, from behind her

lattice. I thought I detected the curtain move as he thundered by her

gate, but I am so filled with thoughts of her just now that I cannot

always trust my judgment. I am, however, sure of one thing, and that

is that if Colonel Schuyler and Orrin meet, there will be trouble.

* * * * *

I never thought Orrin handsome till to-day. He is fair, and I like

dark men; and he is small, and I admire men of stature. But when I

came upon him this morning, talking and laughing among a group of lads

like ourselves, I could not but see that his blue eye shone with a

fire that made it as brilliant as any dark one could be, and that in

his manner, verging as it did upon the reckless, there was a spirit

and force which made him look both dangerous and fascinating. He was

haranguing them on a question of the day, but when he saw me he

stepped out of the crowd, and, beckoning me to follow him, led the way

to a retired spot, where, the instant we were free from watching eyes,

he turned and said: "You liked her too, Philo Adams. I should have

been willing if you--" Here he choked and paused. I had never seen a

face so full of fiery emotions. "No, no, no," he went on, after a

moment of silent struggle; "I could not have borne it to see any man

take away what was so precious to me. I--I--I did not know I cared for

her so much," he now explained, observing my look of surprise. "She

teased me and put me off, and coquetted with you and Lemuel and

whoever else happened to be at her side till I grew beside myself and

left her, as I thought, forever. But there are women you can leave and

women you cannot, and when I found she teased and fretted me more at a

distance than when she was under my very eye, I went back only to

find--Philo, do you think he will marry her?"

I choked down my own emotions and solemnly answered: "Yes, he is

building her a home. You must have seen the stones that are being

piled up yonder on the verge of the forest."

He turned, glared at me, made a peculiar sound with his lips, and then

stood silent, opening and closing his hands in a way that made my

blood run chill in spite of myself.

"A house!" he murmured, at last; "I wish I had the building of that

house!"

The tone, the look he gave, alarmed me still further.

"You would build it well!" I cried. It was his trade, the building of

houses.

"I would build it slowly," was his ominous answer.

* * * * *

Juliet certainly likes me, and trusts me, I think, more than any other

of the young men who used to go a-courting her. I have seen it for

some time in the looks she has now and then given me across the

meeting-house during the long sermon on Sunday mornings, but to-day I

am sure of it. For she has spoken to me, and asked me--But let me

tell you how it was: We were all standing under Ralph Urphistone's big

tree, looking at his little one toddling over the grass after a ball

one of the lads had thrown after her, when I felt the slightest touch

on my arm, and, glancing round, saw Juliet.

She was standing beside her father, and if ever she looked pretty it

was just then, for the day was warm and she had taken off her great

hat so that the curls flew freely around her face that was dimpled and

flushed with some feeling which did not allow her to lift her eyes.

Had she touched me? I thought so, and yet I did not dare to take it

for granted, for Colonel Schuyler was standing on the edge of the

crowd, frowning in some displeasure at the bare head of his provoking

little betrothed, and when Colonel Schuyler frowns there is no man of

us but Orrin who would dare approach the object of his preference,

much less address her, except in the coldest courtesy.

But I was sure she had something to say to me, so I lingered under the

tree till the crowd had all dispersed and Colonel Schuyler, drawn away

by her father, had left us for a moment face to face. Then I saw I was

right.

"Philo," she murmured, and oh, how her face changed! "you are my

friend, I know you are my friend, because you alone out of them all

have never given me sharp words; will you, will you do something for

me which will make me less miserable, something which may prevent

wrong and trouble, and keep Orrin--"

Orrin? did she call him Orrin?

"Oh," she cried, "you have no sympathy. You--"

"Hush!" I entreated. "You have not treated me well, but I am always

your friend. What do you want me to do?"

She trembled, glanced around her in the pleasant sunshine, and then up

into my face.

"I want you," she murmured, "to keep Orrin and Colonel Schuyler apart.

You are Orrin's friend; stay with him, keep by him, do not let him run

alone upon his enemy, for--for there is danger in their

meeting--and--and--"

She could not say more, for just then her father and the Colonel came

back, and she had barely time to call up her dimples and toss her head

in merry banter before they were at her side.

As for myself, I stood dazed and confused, feeling that my six feet

made me too conspicuous, and longing in a vague and futile way to let

her know without words that I would do what she asked.

And I think I did accomplish it, though I said nothing to her and but

little to her companions. For when we parted I took the street which

leads directly to Orrin's house; and when Colonel Schuyler queried in

his soft and gentlemanlike way why I left them so soon, I managed to

reply:

"My road lies here"; and so left them.

* * * * *

I have not told Orrin what she said, but I am rarely away from his

vicinity now, during those hours when he is free to come and go about

the village. I think he wonders at my persistent friendship,

sometimes, but he says nothing, and is not even disagreeable to--_me_.

So I share his pleasures, if they are pleasures, expecting every day

to see him run across the Colonel in the tavern or on the green; but

he never does, perhaps because the Colonel is always with her now, and

we are not nor are ever likely to be again.

Do I understand her, or do I understand Orrin, or do I even understand

myself? No, but I understand my duty, and that is enough, though it is

sometimes hard to do it, and I would rather be where I could forget,

instead of being where I am forced continually to remember.

* * * * *

Am I always with Orrin when he is not at work or asleep? I begin to

doubt it. There are times when there is such a change in him that I

feel sure he has been near her, or at least seen her, but where or

how, I do not know and cannot even suspect. He never speaks of her,

not now, but he watches the house slowly rising in the forest, as if

he would lay a spell upon it. Not that he visits it by daylight, or

mingles with the men who are busy laying stone upon stone; no, no, he

goes to it at night, goes when the moon and stars alone shed light

upon its growing proportions; and standing before it, seems to count

each stone which has been added through the day, as if he were

reckoning up the months yet remaining to him of life and happiness.

I never speak to him during these expeditions. I go with him because

he does not forbid me to do so, but we never exchange a word till we

have left the forest behind us and stand again within the village

streets. If I did speak I might learn something of what is going on in

his bitter and burning heart, but I never have the courage to do so,

perhaps because I had rather not know what he plans or purposes.

She is not as daintily rounded as she was once. Her cheek is thinner,

and there is a tremulous move to her lip I never saw in it in the old

coquettish days. Is she not happy in her betrothal, or are her fears

of Orrin greater than her confidence in me? It must be the latter, for

Colonel Schuyler is a lover in a thousand, and scarcely a day passes

without some new evidence of his passionate devotion. She ought to be

happy, if she is not, and I am sure there is not another woman in town

but would feel herself the most favored of her sex if she had the half

of Juliet's prospects before her. But Juliet was ever wayward; and

simply because she ought to increase in beauty and joy, she pales and

pines and gets delicate, and makes the hearts of her lovers grow mad

with fear and longing.

* * * * *

Where have I been? What have I seen, and what do the events of this

night portend? As Orrin and myself were returning from our usual visit

to the house in the woods--it is well up now, and its huge empty

square looms weirdly enough in the moonlighted forest,--we came out

upon the churchyard in front of the meeting-house, and Orrin said:

"You may come with me or not, I do not care; but I am going in amongst

these graves. I feel like holding companionship with dead people

to-night."

"Then so do I," said I, for I was not deceived by his words. It was

not to hold companionship with the dead, but with the living, that he

chose to linger there. The churchyard is in a direct line with her

house, and, sitting on the meeting-house steps one can get a very good

view of the windows of her room.

"Very well," he sighed, and disdained to say more.

As for myself, I felt too keenly the weirdness of the whole situation

to do more than lean my back against a tree and wait till his fancy

wearied of the moonlight and silence. The stones about us, glooming

darkly through the night, were not the most cheerful of companions,

and when you add to this the soughing of the willows and the

flickering shadows which rose and fell over the face of the

meeting-house as the branches moved in the wind, you can understand

why I rather regretted the hitherto gloomy enough hour we were

accustomed to spend in the forest.

But Orrin seemed to regret nothing. He had seated himself where I knew

he would, on the steps of the meeting-house, and was gazing, with chin

sunk in his two hands, down the street where Juliet dwelt. I do not

think he expected anything to happen; I think he was only reckless and

sick with a longing he had not the power to repress, and I watched him

as long as I could for my own inner sickness and longing, and when I

could watch no longer I turned to the gnomish gravestones that were no

more motionless or silent than he.

Suddenly I felt myself shiver and start, and, turning, beheld him

standing erect, a black shadow against the moonlighted wall behind

him. He was still gazing down the street but no longer in apathetic

despair, but with quivering emotion visible in every line of his

trembling form. Reaching his side, I looked where he looked, and saw

Juliet--it must have been Juliet to arouse him so,--standing with some

companion at the gate in the wall that opens upon the street. The

next moment she and the person with her stepped into the street, and,

almost before we realized it, they began to move towards us, as if

drawn by some power in Orrin or myself, straight, straight to this

abode of death and cold moonbeams.

It was not late, but the streets were otherwise deserted, and we four

seemed to be alone in the whole world. Breathing with Orrin and almost

clasping his hand in my oneness with him, I watched and watched the

gliding approach of the two lovers, and knew not whether to be

startled or satisfied when I saw them cross to the churchyard and

enter where we had entered ourselves so short a time before. For us

all to meet, and meet here, seemed suddenly strangely natural, and I

hardly knew what Orrin meant when he grasped me forcibly by the arm

and drew me aside into the darkest of the dark shadows which lay in

the churchyard's farthest corner.

Not till I perceived Juliet and the Colonel halt in the moonlight did

I realize that we were nothing to them, and that it was not our

influence but some purpose or passion of their own which had led them

to this gruesome spot.

The place where they had chosen to pause was at the grave of old

Patience Goodyear, and from the corner where we stood we could see

their faces plainly as they turned and looked at each other with the

moonbeams pouring over them. Was it fancy that made her look like a

wraith, and he like some handsome demon given to haunting churchyards?

Or was it only the sternness of his air, and the shrinking timidity of

hers, which made him look so dark and she so pallid.

Orrin, who stood so close to me that I could hear his heart beat as

loudly as my own, had evidently asked himself the same question, for

his hand closed spasmodically on mine, as the Colonel opened his lips,

and neither of us dared so much as to breathe lest we should lose what

the lovers had to say.

But the Colonel spoke clearly, if low, and neither of us could fail to

hear him as he said:

"I have brought you here, Juliet mine, because I want to hear you

swear amongst the graves that you will be no man's wife but mine."

"But have I not already promised?" she protested, with a gentle uplift

of her head inexpressibly touching in one who had once queened it over

hearts so merrily.

"Yes, you have promised, but I am not satisfied. I want you to swear.

I want to feel that you are as much mine as if we had stood at the

altar together. Otherwise how can I go away? How can I leave you,

knowing there are three men at least in this town who would marry you

at a day's notice, if you gave them full leave. I love you, and I

would marry you to-night, but you want a home of your own. Swear that

you will be my wife when that home is ready, and I will go away happy.

Otherwise I shall have to stay with you, Juliet, for you are more to

me than renown, or advancement, or anything else in all God's world."

"I do not like the graves; I do not want to stay here, it is so late,

so dark," she moaned.

"Then swear! Lay your hand on Mother Patience's tombstone, and say, 'I

will be your wife, Richard Schuyler, when the house is finished which

you are building in the woods'; and I will carry you back in my arms

as I carry you always in my heart."

But though Orrin clinched my arm in apprehension of her answer, and we

stood like two listening statues, no words issued from her lips, and

the silence grew appalling.

"Swear!" seemed to come from the tombs; but whether it was my emotion

that made it seem so, or whether it was Orrin who threw his voice

there, I did not know then and I do not know now. But that the word

did not come from the Colonel was evident from the startled look he

cast about him and from the thrill which all at once passed over her

form from her shrouded head to her hidden feet.

"Do the heavens bid me?" she murmured, and laid her hand without

hesitation on the stone before her, saying, "I swear by the dead that

surround us to be your wife, Richard Schuyler, when the house you are

building for me in the woods is completed." And so pleased was he at

the readiness with which she spoke that he seemed to forget what had

caused it, and caught her in his arms as if she had been a child, and

so bore her away from before our eyes, while the man at my side

fought and struggled with himself to keep down the wrath and jealousy

which such a sight as this might well provoke in one even less

passionate and intemperate than himself.

When the one shadow which they now made had dissolved again into two,

and only Orrin and myself were left in that ghostly churchyard, I

declared with a courage I had never before shown:

"So that is settled, Orrin. She will marry the Colonel, and you and I

are wasting time in these gloomy walks."

To which, to my astonishment, he made this simple reply, "Yes, we are

wasting time"; and straightway turned and left the churchyard with a

quick step that seemed to tell of some new and fixed resolve.

* * * * *

Colonel Schuyler has been gone a week, and to-night I summoned up

courage to call on Juliet's father. I had no longer any right to call

upon _her_; but who shall say I may not call on him if he chooses to

welcome me and lose his time on my account. The reason for my going

is not far to seek. Orrin has been there, and Orrin cannot be trusted

in her presence alone. Though he seems to have accepted his fate, he

is restless, and keeps his eye on the ground in a brooding way I do

not comprehend and do not altogether like. Why should he think so

much, and why should he go to her house when he knows the sight of her

is inflaming to his heart and death to his self-control?

Juliet's father is a simple, proud old man who makes no attempt to

hide his satisfaction at his daughter's brilliant prospects. He talked

mainly of _the house_, and if he honored Orrin with half as much of

his confidence on that subject as he did me, then Orrin must know many

particulars about its structure of which the public are generally

ignorant. Juliet was not to be seen--that is, during the first part of

the evening, but towards its close she came into the room and showed

me that same confiding courtesy which I have noticed in her ever since

I ceased to be an aspirant for her hand. She was not so pale as on

that weird night when I saw her in the churchyard, and I thought her

step had a light spring in it which spoke of hope. She wore a gown

which was coquettishly simple, and the fresh flower clinging to her

bosom breathed a fragrance that might have intoxicated a man less

determined to be her friend. Her father saw us meet without any

evident anxiety; and if he was as complacent to Orrin when he was

here, then Orrin had a chance to touch her hand.

But was he as complacent to Orrin? That I could not find out. I am

only sure that I will be made welcome there again _if_ I confine my

visits to the father and do not seek anything more from Juliet than

that simple touch of her hand.

* * * * *

Orrin has not repeated his visit, but I have repeated mine. Why?

Because I am uneasy. Colonel Schuyler's house does not progress, and

whether there is any connection between this fact and that of Orrin's

sudden interest in the sawmills and quarries about here, I cannot

tell, but doubts of his loyalty will rise through all my friendship

for him, and I cannot keep away from Juliet any longer.

Does Juliet care for Colonel Schuyler? I have sometimes thought no,

and I have oftener thought yes. At all events she trembles when she

speaks of him, and shows emotion of no slight order when a letter of

his is suddenly put in her hand. I wish I could read her pretty,

changeful face more readily. It would be a comfort for me to know that

she saw her own way clearly, and was not disturbed by Orrin's comings

and goings. For Orrin is not a safe man, I fear, and a faith once

pledged to Colonel Schuyler should be kept.

I do not think Juliet understands just how great a man Colonel

Schuyler promises to be. When her father told me to-night that his

daughter's betrothed had been charged with some very important

business for the Government, her pretty lip pouted like a child's. Yet

she flushed, and for a minute looked pleased when I said, "That is a

road which leads to Washington. We shall hear of you yet as being

presented at the White House."

I think her father anticipates the same. For he told me a few minutes

later that he had sent for tutors to teach his daughter music and the

languages. And I noticed that at this she pouted again, and indeed

bore herself in a way which promised less for her future learning than

for that influence which breathes from gleaming eyes and witching

smiles. Ah, I fear she is a frivolous fairy, but how pretty she is,

and how dangerously captivating to a man who has once allowed himself

to study her changes of feeling and countenance. When I came away I

felt that I had gained nothing, and lost--what? Some of the

complacency of spirit which I had acquired after much struggle and

stern determination.

* * * * *

Colonel Schuyler has not yet returned, and now Orrin has gone away.

Indeed, no one knows where to find him nowadays, for he is here and

there on his great white horse, riding off one day and coming back the

next, ever busy, and, strange to say, always cheerful. He is making

money, I hear, buying up timber and then selling it to builders, but

he does not sell to one builder, whose house seems to suffer in

consequence. Where is the Colonel, and why does he not come home and

look after his own?

I have learned her secret at last, and in a strange enough way. I was

waiting for her father in his own little room, and as he did not come

as soon as I anticipated, I let my secret despondency have its way for

a moment, and sat leaning forward, with my head buried in my hands. My

face was to the fire and my back to the door, and for some reason I

did not hear it open, and was only aware of the presence of another

person in the room by the sound of a little gasp behind me, which was

choked back as soon as it was uttered. Feeling that this could come

from no one but Juliet, I for some reason hard to fathom sat still,

and the next moment became conscious of a touch soft as a rose-leaf

settle on my hair, and springing up, caught the hand which had given

it, and holding it firmly in mine, gave her one look which made her

chin fall slowly on her breast and her eyes seek the ground in the

wildest distress and confusion.

"Juliet--" I began.

But she broke in with a passion too impetuous to be restrained:

"Do not--do not think I knew or realized what I was doing. It was

because your head looked so much like his as you sat leaning forward

in the firelight that I--I allowed myself one little touch just for

the heart's ease it must bring. I--I am so lonesome, Philo,

and--and--"

I dropped her hand. I understood the whole secret now. My hair is

blonde like Orrin's, and her feelings stood confessed, never more to

be mistaken by me.

"You love Orrin!" I gasped; "you who are pledged to Colonel Schuyler!"

"I love Orrin," she whispered, "and I am pledged to Colonel Schuyler.

But you will never betray me," she said.

"I betray you?" I cried, and if some of the bitterness of my own

disappointed hopes crept into my tones, she did not seem to note it,

for she came quite close to my side and looked up into my face in a

way that almost made me forget her perfidy and her folly. "Juliet," I

went on, for I felt never more strongly than at this moment that I

should act a brother's part towards her, "I could never find it in my

heart to betray you, but are you sure that you are doing wisely to

betray the Colonel for a man no better than Orrin. I--I know you do

not want to hear me say this, for if you care for him you must think

him good and noble, but Juliet, I know him and I know the Colonel, and

he is no more to be compared with the man you are betrothed to

than--"

"Hush!" she cried, almost commandingly, and the airy, dainty, dimpled

creature whom I knew seemed to grow in stature and become a woman, in

her indignation; "you do not know Orrin and you do not know the

Colonel. You shall not draw comparisons between them. I will have you

think of Orrin only, as I do, day and night, ever and always."

"But," I exclaimed, aghast, "if you love him so and despise the

Colonel, why do you not break your troth with the latter?"

"Because," she murmured, with white cheeks and a wandering gaze, "I

have sworn to marry the Colonel, and I dare not break my oath. Sworn

to be his wife when the house he is building is complete; and the oath

was on the graves of the dead; _on the graves of the dead!_" she

repeated.

"But," I said, without any intimation of having heard that oath, "you

are breaking that oath in private with every thought you give to

Orrin. Either complete your perjury by disowning the Colonel

altogether, or else give up Orrin. You cannot cling to both without

dishonor; does not your father tell you so?"

"My father--oh, he does not know; no one knows but you. My father

likes the Colonel; I would never think of telling him."

"Juliet," I declared solemnly, "you are on dangerous ground. Think

what you are doing before it is too late. The Colonel is not a man to

be trifled with."

"I know it," she murmured, "I know it," and would not say another word

or let me.

And so the burden of this new apprehension is laid upon me; for

happiness cannot come out of this complication.

* * * * *

Where is Orrin, and what is he doing that he stays so much from home?

If it were not for the intent and preoccupied look which he wears when

I do see him, I should think that he was absenting himself for the

purpose of wearing out his unhappy passion. But the short glimpses I

have had of him as he has ridden busily through the town have left me

with no such hope, and I wait with feverish impatience for some fierce

action on his part, or what would be better, the Colonel's return. And

the Colonel must come back soon, for nothing goes well in a long

absence, and his house is almost at a standstill.

* * * * *

Colonel Schuyler has come and, I hear, is storming angrily over the

mishaps that have delayed the progress of his new dwelling. He says he

will not go away again till it is completed, and has been riding all

the morning in every direction, engaging new men to aid the dilatory

workmen already employed. Does Orrin know this? I will go down to his

house and see.

* * * * *

And now I know _Orrin's_ secret. He was not at home, of course, and

being determined to get at the truth of his mysterious absences, I

mounted a horse of my own and rode off to find him.

Why I took this upon myself, or whether I had the right to do it, I

have not stopped to ask. I went in the direction he had last gone, and

after I had ridden through two villages I heard of him as having

passed still farther east some two hours before.

Not in the least deterred, I hurried on, and having threaded a thicket

and forded a stream, I came upon a beautiful open country wholly new

to me, where, on the verge of a pleasant glade and in full view of a

most picturesque line of hills, I saw shining the fresh boards of a

new cottage. Instantly the thought struck me, "It is Orrin's, and he

is building it for Juliet," and filled with a confusion of emotions, I

spurred on my horse, and soon drew up before it.

Orrin was standing, pale and defiant, in the doorway, and as I met his

eye, I noticed, with a sick feeling of contempt, that he swung the

whip he was holding smartly against his leg in what looked like a very

threatening manner.

"Good-evening, Orrin," I cried. "You have a very pleasant site

here--preferable to the Colonel's, I should say."

"What has the Colonel to do with me?" was his fierce reply, and he

turned as if about to go into the house.

"Only this," I calmly answered; "I think he will get his house done

first."

He wheeled and faced me, and his eye which had looked simply sullen

shot a fierce and dangerous gleam.

"What makes you think that?" he cried.

"He has come back, and to-day engaged twenty extra men to push on the

work."

"Indeed!" and there was contempt in his tone. "Well, I wish him joy

and a sound roof!"

And this time he did go into the house.

As he had not asked me to follow, I of course had no alternative but

to ride on. As I did so, I took another look at the house and saw with

a strange pang at the heart that the plastering was on the walls and

the windows ready for glazing. "I was wrong," said I to myself; "it is

Orrin's house which will be finished first."

* * * * *

And what if it is? Will she turn her back upon the Colonel's lofty

structure and take refuge in this cottage remote from the world? I

cannot believe it, knowing how she loves show and the smiles and

gallantries of men. And yet--and yet, she is so capricious and Orrin

so determined that I do not know what to think or what to fear, and I

ride back with a heavy heart, wishing she had never come up from the

farm to worry and inflame the souls of honest men.

* * * * *

And now the Colonel's work goes on apace, and the whole town is filled

with the noise and bustle of lumbering carts and eager workmen. The

roof which Orrin so bitterly wished might be a sound one has been

shingled; and under the Colonel's eye and the Colonel's constant

encouragement, part after part of the new building is being fitted to

its place with a precision and despatch that to many minds promise the

near dawning of Juliet's wedding-day. But I know that afar in the east

another home is nearer completion than this, and whether she knows it

too or does not know it (which is just as probable), her wilful,

sportive, and butterfly nature seems to be preparing itself for a

struggle which may rend if not destroy its airy and delicate wings.

I have prepared myself too, and being still and always her friend, I

stand ready to mediate or assist, as opportunity offers or

circumstances demand. She realizes this, and leans on me in her secret

hours of fear, or why does her face brighten when she sees me, and her

little hand thrust itself confidingly forth from under its shrouding

mantle and grasp mine with such a lingering and entreating pressure?

And the Colonel? Does he realize, too, that I am any more to her than

her other cast-off lovers and would-be friends? Sometimes I think he

does, and eyes me with suspicion. But he is ever so courteous that I

cannot be sure, and so do not trouble myself in regard to a jealousy

so illy founded and so easily dispelled.

He is always at Juliet's side and seems to surround her with a

devotion which will make it very difficult for any other man, even

Orrin, to get her ear.

* * * * *

The crisis is approaching. Orrin is again in town, and may be seen

riding up and down the streets in his holiday clothes. Have some

whispers of his secret love and evident intentions reached the ear of

the Colonel? Or is Juliet's father alone concerned? For I see that the

blinds of her lattice are tightly shut, and watch as I may, I cannot

catch a glimpse of her eager head peering between them at the

flaunting horseman as he goes careering by.

* * * * *

The hour has come and how different is the outcome from any I had

imagined. I was sitting last night in my own lonely little room, which

opens directly on the street, struggling as best I might against the

distraction of my thoughts which would lead me from the book I was

studying, when a knock on the panels of my door aroused me, and almost

before I could look up, that same door swung open and a dark form

entered and stood before me.

For a moment I was too dazed to see who it was, and rising

ceremoniously, I made my bow of welcome, starting a little as I met

the Colonel's dark eyes looking at me from the folds of the huge

mantle in which he had wrapped himself. "Your worship?" I began, and

stumbling awkwardly, offered him a chair which he refused with a

gesture of his smooth white hand.

"Thank you, no," said he, "I do not sit down in your house till I know

if it is you who have stolen the heart of my bride away from me and if

it is you with whom she is prepared to flee."

"Ah," was my involuntary exclamation, "then it has come. You know her

folly, and will forgive it because she is such a child."

"Her folly? Are you not then the man?" he cried; but in a subdued tone

which showed what a restraint he was putting upon himself even in the

moment of such accumulated emotions.

"No," said I; "if your bride meditates flight, it is not with me she

means to go. I am her friend, and the man who would take her from you

is not. I can say no more, Colonel Schuyler."

He eyed me for a moment with a deep and searching gaze which showed me

that his intellect was not asleep though his heart was on fire.

"I believe you," said he; and threw aside his cloak and sat down. "And

now," he asked, "who is the man?"

Taken by surprise, I stammered and uttered some faint disclaimer; but

seeing by his steady look and firm-set jaw that he meant to know, and

detecting as I also thought in his general manner and subdued tones

the promise of an unexpected forbearance, I added impulsively:

"Let the wayward girl tell you herself; perhaps in the telling she

will grow ashamed of her caprice."

"I have asked her," was the stern reply, "and she is dumb." Then in

softer tones he added: "How can I do anything for her if she will not

confide in me. She has treated me most ungratefully, but I mean to be

kind to her. Only I must first know if she has chosen worthily."

"Who is there of worth in town?" I asked, softened and fascinated by

his manner. "There is no man equal to yourself."

"You say so," he cried, and waved his hand impatiently. Then with a

deep and thrilling intensity which I feel yet, he repeated, "His name,

his name? Tell me his name."

The Colonel is a man of power, accustomed to control men. I could not

withstand his look or be unmoved by his tones. If he meant well to

Orrin and to her, what was I that I should withhold Orrin's name.

Falteringly I was about to speak it when a sudden sound struck my

ears, and rising impetuously I drew him to the window, blowing out the

candles as I passed them.

"Hark!" I cried, as the rush of pounding hoofs was heard on the road,

and "Look!" I added, as a sudden figure swept by on the panting white

horse so well known by all in that town.

"Is it he?" whispered the dark figure at my side as we both strained

our eyes after Orrin's fast vanishing form.

"You have seen him," I returned; and drawing him back from the window,

I closed the shutters with care, lest Orrin should be seized with a

freak to return and detect me in conference with his heart's dearest

enemy.

Silence and darkness were now about us, and the Colonel, as if anxious

to avail himself of the surrounding gloom, caught my arm as I moved to

relight the candles.

"Wait," said he; and I understood and stopped still.

And so we stood for a moment, he quiet as a carven statue and I

restless but obedient to his wishes. When he stirred I carefully lit

the candles, but I did not look at him till he had donned his cloak

and pulled his hat well over his eyes. Then I turned, and eying him

earnestly, said:

"If I have made a mistake--"

But he quickly interrupted me, averring:

"You have made no mistake. You are a good lad, Philo, and if it had

been you--" He did not say what he would have done, but left the

sentence incomplete and went on: "I know nothing of this Orrin Day,

but what a woman wills she must have. Will you bring this fellow--he

is your friend is he not?--to Juliet's house in the morning? Her

father is set on her being the mistress of the new stone house and we

three will have to reason with him, do you see?"

Astonished, I bowed with something like awe. Was he so great-hearted

as this? Did he intend to give up his betrothed to the man whom she

loved, and even to plead her cause with the father she feared? My

admiration would have its vent, and I uttered some foolish words of

sympathy, which he took with the stately, rather condescending grace

which they perhaps merited; after which, he added again: "You will

come, will you not?" and bowed kindly and retreated towards the door,

while I, abashed and worshipful, followed with protestations that

nothing should hinder me from doing his will, till he had passed

through the doorway and vanished from my sight.

And yet I do not want to do his will or take Orrin to that house. I

might have borne with sad equanimity to see her married to the

Colonel, for he is far above me, but to Orrin--ah, that is a bitter

outlook, and I must have been a fool to have promised aught that will

help to bring it about. Still, am I not her sworn friend, and if she

thinks she can be happy with him, ought I not to do my share towards

making her so?

I wonder if the Colonel knows that Orrin too has been building himself

a house?

I did not sleep last night, and I have not eaten this morning.

Thoughts robbed me of sleep, and a visit from Orrin effectually took

away from me whatever appetite I might have had. He came in almost at

daybreak. He looked dishevelled and wild, and spoke like a man who had

stopped more than once at the tavern.

"Philo," said he, "you have annoyed me by your curiosity for more than

a year; now you can do me a favor. Will you call at Juliet's house and

see if she is free to go and come as she was a week ago?"

"Why?" I asked, thinking I perceived a reason for his bloodshot eye,

and yet being for the moment too wary, perhaps too ungenerous, to

relieve him from the tension of his uncertainty.

"Why?" he repeated. "Must you know all that goes on in my mind, and

cannot I keep one secret to myself?"

"You ask me to do you a favor," I quietly returned. "In order to do it

intelligently, I must know why it is asked."

"I do not see that," objected Orrin, "and if you were not such a boy

I'd leave you on the spot and do the errand myself. But you mean no

harm, and so I will tell you that Juliet and I had planned to run away

together last night, but though I was at the place of meeting, she did

not come, nor has she made any sign to show me why she failed me."

"Orrin," I began, but he stopped me with an oath.

"No sermons," he protested. "I know what you would have done if

instead of smiling on me she had chanced to give all her poor little

heart to you."

"I should not have tempted her to betray the Colonel," I exclaimed

hotly, perhaps because the sudden picture he presented to my

imagination awoke within me such a torrent of unsuspected emotions.

"Nor should I have urged her to fly with me by night and in stealth."

"You do not know what you would do," was his rude and impatient

rejoinder. "Had she looked at you, with tears in her arch yet pathetic

blue eyes, and listened while you poured out your soul, as if heaven

were opening before her and she had no other thought in life but you,

then--"

"Hush!" I cried, "do you want me to go to her house for you, or do you

want me to stay away?"

"You know I want you to go."

"Then be still, and listen to what I have to say. I will go, but you

must go too. If you want to take Juliet away from the Colonel you must

do it openly. I will not abet you, nor will I encourage any

underhanded proceedings."

"You are a courageous lad," he said, "in other men's affairs. Will you

raise me a tomb if the Colonel runs me through with his sword?"

"I at least should not feel the contempt for you which I should if you

eloped with her behind his back."

"Now you are courageous on your own behalf," laughed he, "and that is

better and more to the point." Yet he looked as if he could easily

spit me on his own sword, which I noticed was dangling at his heels.

"Will you come?" I urged, determined not to conciliate or enlighten

him even if my forbearance cost me my life.

He hesitated, and then broke into a hoarse laugh. "I have drunk just

enough to be reckless," said he; "yes, I will go; and the devil must

answer for the result."

I had never seen him look so little the gentleman, and perhaps it was

on this very account I became suddenly quite eager to take him at his

word before time and thought should give him an opportunity to become

more like himself; for I could not but think that if she saw him in

this condition she must make comparisons between him and the Colonel

which could not but be favorable to the latter. But it was still quite

early, and I dared not run the risk of displeasing the Colonel by

anticipating his presence, so I urged Orrin into that little back

parlor of mine, where I had once hoped to see a very different person

installed, and putting wine and biscuits before him, bade him refresh

himself while I prepared myself for appearing before the ladies.

When the hour came for us to go I went to him. He was pacing the floor

and trying to school himself into patience, but he made but a sorry

figure, and I felt a twinge of conscience as he thrust on his hat

without any attempt to smooth his dishevelled locks, or rearrange his

disordered ruffles. Should I permit him to go thus disordered, or

should I detain him long enough to fit him for the eye of the dainty

Juliet? He answered the question himself. "Come," said he, "I have

chewed my sleeve long enough in suspense. Let us go and have an end of

it. If she is to be my wife she must leave the house with me to-day,

if not, I have an hour's work before me down yonder," and he pointed

in the direction of his new house. "When you see the sky red at

noonday, you will know what that is."

"Orrin!" I cried, and for the first time I seized his arm with

something like a fellow-feeling.

But he shook me off.

"Don't interfere with me," he said, and strode on, sullen and fierce,

towards the place where such a different greeting awaited him from any

that he feared.

Ought I to tell him this? Ought I to say: "Your sullenness is uncalled

for and your fierceness misplaced; Juliet is constant, and the Colonel

means you nothing but good"? Perhaps; and perhaps, too, I should be a

saint and know nothing of earthly passions and jealousies. But I am

not. I hate this Orrin, hate him more and more as every step brings

us nearer to Juliet's house and the fate awaiting him from her

weakness and the Colonel's generosity. So I hold my peace and we come

to her gate, and the recklessness that has brought him thus far

abandons him on the instant and he falls back and lets me go in

several steps before him, so that I seem to be alone when I enter the

house, and Juliet, who is standing in the parlor between the Colonel

and her father, starts when she sees me, and breaking into sobs,

cries:

"Oh, Philo, Philo, tell my father there is nothing between us but what

is friendly and honorable; that I--I--"

"Hush!" commanded that father, while I stared at the Colonel, whose

quiet, imperturbable face was for the first time such a riddle to me

that I hardly heeded what the elder man said. "You have talked enough,

Juliet, and denied enough. I will now speak to Mr. Adams and see what

he has to say. Last night my daughter, who, as all the town knows, is

betrothed to this gentleman"--and he waved his hand deferentially

towards the Colonel--"was detected by me stealing out of the garden

gate with a little packet on her arm. As my daughter never goes out

alone, I was naturally startled, and presuming upon my rights as her

father, naturally asked her where she was going. This question, simple

as it was, seemed to both terrify and unnerve her. Stumbling back, she

looked me wildly in the eye and answered, with an effrontery she had

never shown me before, that she was flying to escape a hated marriage.

That Colonel Schuyler had returned, and as she could not be his wife,

she was going to her aunt's house, where she could live in peace

without being forced upon a man she could not love. Amazed, for I had

always supposed her duly sensible of the honor which had been shown

her by this gentleman's attentions, I drew her into my study and

there, pulling off the cloak which she held tightly drawn about her, I

discovered that she was tricked out like a bride, and had a whole

bunch of garden roses fastened in her breast. 'A pretty figure,' cried

I, 'for travelling. You are going away with some man, and it is a

runaway match I have interrupted.' She could not deny it, and just

then the Colonel came in and--but we will not talk about that. It

remained for us to find out the man who had led her to forget her

duty, and I could think of no man but you. So I ask you now before my

trembling daughter and this outraged gentleman if you are the

villain."

But here Colonel Schuyler spoke up quietly and without visible anger:

"I was about to say when this gentleman's entrance interrupted my

words that I had been convinced overnight that our first suspicions

were false, and that Mr. Adams was, as your daughter persists in

declaring, simply a somewhat zealous friend."

"But," hastily vociferated the old man, "there has been no one else

about my daughter for months. If Mr. Adams is not to blame for this

attempted escapade, who is? I should like to see the man, and see him

standing just there."

"Then look and tell me what you think of him," came with an insolent

fierceness from the doorway, and Orrin, booted and spurred, with mud

on his holiday hose, and his hat still on his head, strode into our

midst and confronted us all with an air of such haughty defiance that

it half robbed him of his ruffianly appearance.

Juliet shrieked and stepped back, fascinated and terrified. The

Colonel frowned darkly, and the old man, who had seemed by his words

to summon him before us, quailed at the effect of his words and stood

looking from the well-known but unexpected figure thus introduced

amongst us, to the Colonel who persistently avoided his gaze, till the

situation became unbearable, and I turned about as if to go.

Instantly the Colonel took advantage of the break and spoke to Orrin:

"And so it is to you, sir, that I have to address the few words I have

to say?"

"Yes, to him and to me!" cried little Juliet, and gliding from between

the two natural protectors of her girlhood she crossed the floor and

stood by Orrin's side.

This action, so unexpected and yet so natural, took away whatever

restraint we had hitherto placed upon ourselves, and the Colonel

looked for a moment as if his self-control would abandon him entirely

and leave him a prey to man's fiercest and most terrible passions. But

he has a strong soul, and before I could take a step to interpose

myself between him and Juliet, his face had recovered its steady

aspect and his hands ceased from their ominous trembling. Her father,

on the contrary, seemed to grow more ireful with every instant that he

saw her thus defiant of his authority, while Orrin, pleased with her

courage and touched, I have no doubt, by the loving confidence of her

pleading eyes, threw his arm about her with a gesture of pride which

made one forget still more his disordered and dishevelled condition.

I said nothing, but I did not leave the room.

"Juliet!"--the words came huskily from the angry father's lips, "come

from that man's embrace, and do not make me shudder that I ever

welcomed the Colonel to my dishonored house."

But the Colonel, putting out his hand, said calmly:

"Let her stay; since she has chosen this very honorable gentleman to

be her husband, where better could she stand than by his side?"

Then forcing himself still more to seem impassive, he bowed to Orrin,

and with great suavity remarked: "If she had chosen me to that honor,

as I had every reason to believe she had, it would not have been many

more weeks before I should have welcomed her into a home befitting

her beauty and her ambition. May I ask if you can do as much for her?

Have you a home for your bride in which I may look forward to paying

her the respects which my humble duty to her demands?"

Ah then, Orrin towered proudly, and the pretty Juliet smiled with

something of her old archness.

"Saddle your horse," cried the young lover, "and ride to the east. If

you do not find a wee, fresh nest there, I am no prophet. What! steal

a wife and not have a home to put her in!"

And he laughed till the huge brown rafters above his head seemed to

tremble, so blithe did he feel, and so full of pride at thus daring

the one great man in the town.

But the Colonel did not laugh, nor did he immediately answer. He had

evidently not heard of the little cottage beyond both thicket and

stream, and was consequently greatly disconcerted. But just when we

were all wondering what held him so restrained, and what the words

were which should break the now oppressive silence, he spoke and

said:

"A wee nest is no place for the lady who was to have been my wife. If

you will have patience and wait a month she shall have the home that

has been reared for her. The great stone house would not know any

other mistress, and therefore it shall be hers."

"No, no," Orrin began, aghast at such generosity. But the thoughtless

Juliet, delighted at a prospect which promised her both splendor and

love, uttered such a cry of joy that he stopped abashed and half

angry, and turning upon her, said: "Are you not satisfied with what I

can give you, and must you take presents even from the man you have

affected to despise?"

"But, but, he is so good," babbled out the inconsiderate little thing,

"and--and I do like the great stone house, and we could be so happy in

it, just like a king and queen, if--if--"

She had the grace to stop, perhaps because she saw nothing but rebuke

in the faces around her. But the Colonel, through whose voice ran in

spite of himself an icy vein of sarcasm, observed, with another of his

low bows:

"You shall indeed be like king and queen there. If you do not believe

me, come there with me a month hence, and I will show you what a

disappointed man can do for the woman he has loved." And taking by the

arm the old man who with futile rage had tried more than once to break

into this ominous conversation, he drew him persuasively to his side,

and so by degrees from the room.

"Oh," cried Juliet, as the door closed behind them, "can he mean it?

Can he mean it?"

And Orrin, a little awed, did not reply, but I saw by his face and

bearing that whether the Colonel meant it or not was little to him;

that the cottage beyond the woods was the destined home of his bride,

and that we must be prepared to lose her from our midst, perhaps

before the month was over which the Colonel had bidden them to wait.

I do not know through whom Dame Gossip became acquainted with

yesterday's events, but everywhere in town people are laying their

heads together in wonder over the jilting of Colonel Schuyler and the

unprecedented magnanimity which he has shown in giving his new house

to the rebellious lovers. If I have been asked one question to-day, I

have been asked fifty, and Orrin, who flies into a rage at the least

intimation that he will accept the gift which has been made him,

spends most of his time in asserting his independence, and the firm

resolution which he has made to owe nothing to the generosity of the

man he has treated with such unquestionable baseness. Juliet keeps

very quiet, but from the glimpse I caught of her this afternoon at her

casement, I judge that the turn of affairs has had a very enlivening

effect upon her beauty. Her eyes fairly sparkled as she saw me; and

with something like her old joyous abandonment of manner, she tore off

a branch of the flowering almond at her window and tossed it with

delicious laughter at my feet. Yet though I picked it up and carried

it for a few steps beyond her gate, I soon dropped it over the wall,

for her sparkle and her laughter hurt me, and I would rather have seen

her less joyous and a little more sensible of the ruin she had

wrought.

For she has wrought ruin, as any one can see who looks at the Colonel

long enough to note his eye. For though he holds himself erect and

walks proudly through the town, there is that in his look which makes

me tremble and hold my own weak complainings in check. He has been up

to his house to-day, and when he came back there was not a blind from

one end of the street to the other but quivered when he went by, so

curious are the women to see him who they cannot but feel has merited

all the sympathy if not the homage of their sex. Ralph Urphistone

tells me to-night that the workmen at the new house have been offered

extra wages if they put the house into habitable condition by the end

of the month.

* * * * *

For all his secret satisfaction Orrin is very restless. He has tried

to induce Juliet to marry him at once, and go with him to the little

cottage he has raised for her comfort. But she puts him off with

excuses, which, however, are so mingled with sweet coquetries and

caresses, that he cannot reproach her without seeming insensible to

her affection, and it is not until he is away from the fascination of

her presence, and amongst those who do not hesitate to say that he

will yet see the advantage of putting his brilliant bird in a cage

suitable to her plumage, that he remembers his manhood and chafes at

his inability to assert it. I am sorry for him in a way, but not so

deeply as I might be if _he_ were more humble and more truly sensible

of the mischief he has wrought.

* * * * *

Orrin will yet make himself debtor to the Colonel. Something has

happened which proves that fate--or man--is working against him to

this end, and that he must from the very force of circumstances

finally succumb. I say _man_, but do I not mean _woman_? Ah, no, no,

no! my pen ran away with me, my thoughts played me false. It could

have been no woman, for if it was, then is Juliet a--Let me keep to

facts. I have not self-control enough for speculation.

To-day the sun set red. As we had been having gray skies, and more or

less rain for a fortnight, the brightness and vivid crimson in the

west drew many people to their doors. I was amongst them, and as I

stood looking intently at the sky that was now one blaze of glory

from horizon to zenith, Orrin stepped up behind me and said:

"Do you want to take a ride to-night?"

Seeing him look more restless and moody than ever, I answered "Yes,"

and accordingly about eight that night he rode up to my door and we

started forth.

I thought he would turn in the direction of the stone house, for one

night when I had allowed myself to go there in my curiosity at its

progress, I had detected him crouching in one of the thickest shadows

cast by the surrounding trees. But if any such idea had been in his

mind, it soon vanished, for almost the instant I was in the saddle, he

wheeled himself about and led the way eastward, whipping and spurring

his horse as if it were a devil's ride he contemplated, and not that

easy, restful canter under the rising moon demanded by our excited

spirits and the calm, exquisite beauty of the summer night.

"Are you not coming?" was shouted back to me, as the distance

increased between us.

My answer was to spur my own horse, and as we rode once more side by

side, I could not but note what a wild sort of beauty there was in

him as he thus gave himself up to the force of his feelings and the

restless energy of this harum-scarum ride. "Very different," thought

I, "would the Colonel look on a horse at this hour of night"; and

wondered if Juliet could see him thus she would any longer wound him

by her hesitations, after having driven him by her coquetries to

expect full and absolute surrender on her part.

Did he guess my thoughts, or was his mind busy with the same, that he

suddenly cried in harsh but thrilling tones:

"If I had her where she ought to be, here behind me on this horse, I

would ride to destruction before I would take her back again to the

town and the temptations which beset her while she can hear the sound

of hammer upon stone."

"And you would be right," I was about to say in some bitterness, I

own, when the full realization of the road we were upon stopped me and

I observed instead:

"You would take her yonder where you hope to see her happy, though no

other woman lives within a half-mile of the place."

"No man you should say," quoth Orrin bitterly, lashing his horse till

it shot far ahead of me, so that some few minutes passed before we

were near enough together for him to speak again. Then he said: "She

loads me with promises and swears that she loves me more than all the

world. If half of this is true she ought to be happy with me in a

hovel, while I have a dainty cottage for her dwelling, where the vines

will soon grow and the birds sing. You have not seen it since it has

been finished. You shall see it to-night."

I choked as I tried to answer, and wondered if he had any idea of what

I had to contend with in these rides I seemed forced to take without

any benefit to myself. If he had, he was merciless, for once launched

into talk he kept on till I was almost wild with hateful sympathy and

jealous chagrin. Suddenly he paused.

The forest we had been threading had for the last few minutes been

growing thinner, and as the quick cessation in his speech caused me to

look up, I saw, or thought I saw, a faint glow shining through the

branches before me, which could not have come from the reflection

made by the setting sun, as that had long ago sunk into darkness.

Orrin who, as he had ceased speaking, had suddenly reined in his

panting horse, now gave a shout and shot forward, and I, hardly

knowing what to fear or expect, followed him as fast as my evidently

weary animal would carry me, and thus bounding along with but a few

paces between us, we cleared the woods and came out into the open

fields beyond. As we did so a cry went up from Orrin, faintly echoed

by my own lips. It was a fire that we saw, and the flames, which had

now got furious headway, rose up like pillars to the sky, illuminating

all the country round, and showing me, both by their position and the

glare of the stream beneath them, that it was Orrin's house which was

burning, and Orrin's hopes which were being destroyed before our eyes.

The cry he gave as he fully realized this I shall never forget, nor

the gesture with which he drove his spurs into his horse and flashed

down that long valley into the ever-increasing glare that lighted

first his flowing hair and the wet flanks of the animal he bestrode,

and finally seemed to envelop him altogether, till he looked like some

avenging demon rushing through his own element of fury and fire.

I was far behind him, but I made what time I could, feeling to the

core, as I passed, the weirdness of the solitude before me, with just

this element of horror flaming up in its midst. Not a sound save that

of our pounding hoofs interrupted that crackling sound of burning

wood, and when the roof fell in, as it did before I could reach his

side, I could hear distinctly the echo which followed it. Orrin may

have heard it too, for he gave a groan and drew in his horse, and when

I reached him I saw him sitting there before the smouldering ashes of

his home, silent and inert, without a word to say or an ear to hear

the instinctive words of sympathy I could not now keep back.

Who had done it? Who had started the blaze which had in one half-hour

undone the work and hope of months? That was the question which first

roused me and caused me to search the silence and darkness of the

night for some trace of a human presence, if only so much as the mark

of a human foot. And I found it. There, in the wet margin of the

stream, I came upon a token which may mean nothing and which may

mean--But I cannot write even here of the doubts it brought me; I

will only tell how on our slow and wearisome passage home through the

sombre woods, Orrin suddenly let his bridle fall, and, flinging up his

arms above his head, cried bitterly:

"O that I did not love her so well! O that I had never seen her who

would make of me a slave when I would be a man!"

* * * * *

The gossips at the corners nod knowingly this morning, and Orrin,

whose brow is moodier than the Colonel's, walks fiercely amongst them

without word and without look. He is on his way to Juliet's house, and

if there is enchantment left in smiles, I bid her to use it, for her

fate is trembling in the balance, and may tip in a direction of which

she little recks.

* * * * *

Orrin has come back. Striding impetuously into the room where I sat at

work, he drew himself up till his figure showed itself in all its

full and graceful proportions.

"Am I a man?" he asked, "or," with a fall in his voice brimmed with

feeling, "am I a fool? She met me with such an unsuspicious look,

Philo, and bore herself with such an innocent air, that I not only

could not say what I meant to say, but have promised to do what I have

sworn never to do--accept the Colonel's unwelcome gift, and make her

mistress of the new stone house."

"You are--a man," I answered. For what are men but fools where women

of such enchantment are concerned!

He groaned, perhaps at the secret sarcasm hidden in my tone, and sat

down unbidden at the table where I was writing.

"You did not see her," he cried. "You do not know with what charms she

works, when she wishes to comfort and allure." Ah! did I not. "And

Philo," he went on, almost humbly for him, "you are mistaken if you

think she had any hand in the ruin which has come upon me. She had not.

How I know it I cannot say, but I am ready to swear it, and you must

forget any foolish fears I may have shown or any foolish words I may

have uttered in the first confusion of my loss and disappointment."

"I will forget," said I.

"The fact is I do not understand her," he eagerly explained. "There

was innocence in her air, but there was mockery too, and she laughed

as I talked of my grief and rage, as though she thought I was playing

a part. It was merry laughter, and there was no ring of falsehood in

it, but why should she laugh at all?"

This was a question I could not answer; who could? Juliet is beyond

the comprehension of us all.

"But what is the use of plaguing myself with riddles?" he now asked,

starting up as suddenly as he had sat down. "We are to be married in a

month, and the Colonel--I have seen the Colonel--has promised to dance

at our wedding. Will it be in the new stone house? It would be a

fitting end to this comedy if he were to dance in _that_?"

I thought as Orrin did about this, but with more seriousness perhaps;

and it was not till after he had left me that I remembered I had not

asked whom he suspected of firing his house, now that he was assured

of the innocence of her who was most likely to profit by its burning.

* * * * *

"Now I understand Juliet!" was the cry with which Orrin burst into my

presence late this afternoon. "Men are saying and women whispering

that I destroyed my own house, in order to save myself the shame of

accepting the Colonel's offer while I had a roof of my own." And,

burning with rage, he stamped his foot upon the ground, and shook his

hand so threateningly in the direction of his fancied enemies that I

felt some reflection of his anger in my own breast, and said or tried

to say that they could not know him as I did or they would never

accuse him of so mean a deed, whatever else they might bring against

him.

"It makes me wild, it makes me mad, it makes me feel like leaving the

town forever!" was his hoarse complaint as I finished my feeble

attempt at consolation. "If Juliet were half the woman she ought to be

she would come and live with me in a log-cabin in the woods before

she would accept the Colonel's house now. And to think that she, _she_

should be affected by the opinions of the rest, and think me so

destitute of pride that I would stoop to sacrifice my own home for the

sake of stepping into that of a rival's. O woman, woman, what are you

made of? Not of the same stuff as we men, surely."

I strove to calm him, for he was striding fiercely and impatiently

about the room. But at my first word he burst forth with:

"And her father, who should control her, aids and encourages her

follies. He is a slave to the Colonel, who is the slave of his own

will."

"In this case," I quietly observed, "his will seems to be most

kindly."

"That is the worst of it," chafed Orrin. "If only he offered me

opposition I could struggle with him. But it is his generosity I hate,

and the humiliating position into which it thrusts me. And that is not

all," he angrily added, while still striding feverishly about the

room. "The Colonel seems to think us his property ever since we

decided to accept his, and as a miser watches over his gold so does

he watch over us, till I scarcely have the opportunity now of speaking

to Juliet alone. If I go to her house, there he is sitting like a

black statue at the fireplace, and when I would protest, and lead her

into another room or into the garden, he rises and overwhelms me with

such courtesies and subtle disquisitions that I am tripped up in my

endeavors, and do not know how to leave or how to stay. I wish he

would fall sick, or his house tumble about his head!"

"Orrin, Orrin!" I cried. But he interrupted my remonstrance with the

words:

"It is not decent. I am her affianced husband now, and he should leave

us alone. Does he think I can ever forget that he used to court her

once himself, and that the favors she now shows me were once given as

freely, if not as honestly, to him? He knows I cannot forget, and he

delights--"

"There, Orrin," I broke in, "you do him wrong. The Colonel is above

your comprehension as he is above mine; but there is nothing

malevolent in him."

"I don't know about that," rejoined his angry rival. "If he wanted to

steal back my bride he could take no surer course for doing it.

Juliet, who is fickle as the wind, already looks from his face to mine

as if she were contrasting us. And he is so damned handsome and suave

and self-forgetting!"

"And you," I could not help but say, "are so fierce and sullen even in

your love."

"I know it," was his half-muttered retort, "but what can you expect?

Do you think I will see him steal her heart away from before my eyes?"

"It would be but a natural return on his part for your former

courtesies," I could not forbear saying, in my own secret chagrin and

soreness of heart.

"But he shall not do it," exclaimed Orrin, with a backward toss of his

head, and a sudden thump of his strong hand on the table before me. "I

won her once against all odds, and I will keep her if I have to don

the devil's smiles myself. He shall never again see her eyes rest

longer on his face than mine. I will hold her by the power of my love

till he finds himself forgotten, and for very shame steals away,

leaving me with the bride he has himself bestowed upon me. He shall

never have Juliet back."

"I doubt if he wishes to," I quietly remarked, as Orrin, weary with

passion, ran from my presence.

I do not know whether Orrin succeeded or not in his attempts to shame

the Colonel from intruding upon his interviews with Juliet. I am only

sure that Orrin's countenance smoothed itself after this day, and that

I heard no more complaints of Juliet's wavering fidelity. I myself do

not believe she has ever wavered. Simply because she ought from every

stand-point of good judgment and taste to have preferred the Colonel

and clung to him, she will continue to cleave to Orrin and make him

the idol of her wayward heart. But it is all a mystery to me and one

that does not make me very happy.

* * * * *

I went up by myself to the new stone house to-day, and found that it

only needs the finishing touches. Twenty workmen or more were there,

and the great front door had just been brought and was leaning against

the walls preparatory to being hung. Being curious to see how they

were progressing within, I climbed up to one of the windows and looked

in, and not satisfied with what I could thus see, made my way into the

house and up the main staircase, which I was surprised to see was

nearly completed.

The sound of the hammer and saw was all about me, and the calling of

orders from above and below interfered much with any sentimental

feelings I might have had. But I was not there to indulge in

sentiment, and so I roamed on from room to room till I suddenly came

upon a sight that drove every consideration of time and place from my

mind, and made me for a moment forgetful of every other sentiment than

admiration. This was nothing less than the glimpse which I obtained in

passing one of the windows, of the Colonel himself down on his knees

on the scaffolding aiding the workmen. So, so, he is not content with

hurrying the work forward by his means and influence, but is lending

the force of his example, and actually handling the plane and saw in

his anxiety not to disappoint Juliet in regard to the day she has

fixed for her marriage.

A week ago I should have told Orrin what I had seen, but I had no

desire to behold the old frowns come back to his face, so I determined

to hold my silence with him. But Juliet ought to know with what manner

of heart she has been so recklessly playing, so after stealing down

the stairs I felt I should never have mounted, I crept from the house

and made my way as best I could through the huge forest-trees that so

thickly clustered at its back, till I came upon the high-road which

leads to the village. Walking straight to Juliet's house I asked to

see her, and shall never forget the blooming beauty of her presence as

she stepped into the room and gave me her soft white hand to kiss.

As she is no longer the object of my worship and hardly the friend of

my heart, I think I can speak of her loveliness now without being

misunderstood. So I will let my pen trace for once a record of her

charms, which in that hour were surely great enough to excuse the

rivalry of which they had been the subject, and perhaps to account for

the disinterestedness of the man who had once given her his heart.

She is of medium height, this Juliet, and her form has that sway in it

which you see in a lily nodding on its stem. But she is no lily in her

most enchanting movements, but rather an ardent passion-flower burning

and palpitating in the sun. Her skin, which is milk-white, has strange

flushes in it, and her eyes, which never look at you twice with the

same meaning, are blue, or gray, or black, as her feeling varies and

the soul informing them is in a state of joy, or trouble. Her most

bewitching feature is her mouth, which has two dangerous dimples near

it that go and come, sometimes without her volition and sometimes, I

fear, with her full accord and desire. Her hair is brown and falls in

such a mass of ringlets that no cap has ever yet been found which can

confine it and keep it from weaving a golden net in which to entangle

the hearts of men. When she smiles you feel like rushing forward; when

she frowns you question yourself humbly what you have done to merit a

look so out of keeping with the playful cast of her countenance and

the arch bearing of her spirited young form. She was dressed, as she

always is, simply, but there was infinite coquetry in the tie of the

blue ribbon on her shoulder, and if a close cap of dainty lace could

make a face look more entrancing, I should like the privilege of

seeing it. She was in an amiable mood and smiled upon my homage like a

fairy queen.

"I have come to pay my final respects to Juliet Playfair," I

announced; "for by the tokens up yonder she will soon be classed among

our matrons."

My tone was formal and she looked surprised at it, but my news was

welcome and so she made me a demure little courtesy before saying

joyously:

"Yes, the house is nearly done, and to-morrow Orrin and I are going up

there together to see it. The Colonel has asked us to do this that we

might say whether all is to our liking and convenience."

"The Colonel is a man in a thousand," I began, but, seeing her frown

in her old pettish way, I perceived that she partook enough of Orrin's

spirit to dislike any allusion to one whose generosity threw her own

selfishness into startling relief.

So I said no more on this topic, but let my courtesy expend itself in

good wishes, and came away at last with a bewildering remembrance of

her beauty, which I am doing my best to blot out by faithfully

recounting to myself the story of those infinite caprices of hers

which have come so near wrecking more than one honorable heart.

I do not expect to visit her again until I pay my respects to her as

Orrin's wife.

* * * * *

It is the day when Orrin and Juliet are to visit the new house. If I

had not known this from her own lips, I should have known it from the

fact that the workmen all left at noon, in order, as one of them said,

to leave the little lady more at her ease. I saw them coming down the

road, and had the curiosity to watch for the appearance of Orrin and

the Colonel at Juliet's gate but they did not come, and assured by

this that they meditated a later visit than I had anticipated, I went

about my work. This took me up the road, and as it chanced, led me

within a few rods of the wood within which lies the new stone house. I

had not meant to go there, for I have haunted the place enough, but

this time there was reason for it, and satisfied with the fact, I

endeavored to fix my mind on other matters and forget who was likely

at any moment to enter the forest behind me.

But when one makes an effort to forget he is sure to remember all the

more keenly, and I was just picturing to my mind Juliet's face and

Juliet's pretty air of mingled pride and disdain as the first sight of

the broad stone front burst upon her, when I heard through the

stillness of the woods the faint sound of a saw, which coming from the

direction of the house seemed to say that some one was still at work

there. As I had understood that all the men had been given a

half-holiday, I felt somewhat surprised at this, and unconsciously to

myself moved a few steps nearer the opening where the house stood,

when suddenly all was still and I could not for the moment determine

whether I had really heard the sound of a saw or not. Annoyed at

myself, and ashamed of an interest that made every trivial incident

connected with this affair of such moment to me, I turned back to my

work, and in a few moments had finished it and left the wood, when

what was my astonishment to see Orrin coming from the same place,

with his face turned toward the village, and a hardy, determined

expression upon it which made me first wonder and then ask myself if I

really comprehended this man or knew what he cherished in his heart of

hearts.

Going straight up to him, I said:

"Well, Orrin, what's this? Coming away from the house instead of going

to it? I understood that you and Juliet were expecting to visit it

together this afternoon."

He paused, startled, and his eyes fell as I looked him straight in the

face.

"We are going to visit it," he admitted, "but I thought it would be

wiser for me to inspect the place first and see if all was right. An

unfinished building has so many traps in it, you know." And he laughed

loudly and long, but his mirth was forced, and I turned and looked

after him, as he strode away, with a vague but uneasy feeling I did

not myself understand.

"Will the Colonel go with you?" I called out.

He wheeled about as if stung. "Yes," he shouted, "the Colonel will go

with us. Did you suppose he would allow us the satisfaction of going

alone? I tell you, Philo," and he strode back to my side, "the Colonel

considers us his property. Is not that pleasant? His _property_! And

so we are," he fiercely added, "while we are his debtors. But we shall

not be his debtors long. When we are married--if we _are_ married--I

will take Juliet from this place if I have to carry her away by force.

She shall never be the mistress of this house."

"Orrin! Orrin!" I protested.

"I have said it," was his fierce rejoinder, and he left me for the

second time and passed hurriedly down the street.

I was therefore somewhat taken aback when a little while later he

reappeared with Juliet and the Colonel, in such a mood of forced

gayety that more than one turned to look after them as they passed

merrily laughing down the road. Will Juliet never be the mistress of

that house? I think she will, my Orrin. That dimpled smile of hers has

more force in it than that dominating will of yours. If she chooses to

hold her own she will hold it, and neither you nor the Colonel can

ever say her nay.

What did Orrin tell me? That she would never be mistress of that

house? Orrin was right, she never will; but who could have thought of

a tragedy like this? Not I, not I; and if Orrin did and planned it--

But let me tell the whole just as it happened, keeping down my horror

till the last word is written and I have plainly before me the awful

occurrences of this fearful day.

They went, the three, to that fatal house together, and no man, saving

myself perhaps, thought much more about the matter till we began to

see Juliet's father peering anxiously from over his gate in the

direction of the wood. Then we realized that the afternoon had long

passed and that it was getting dark; and going up to the old man, I

asked whom he was looking for. The answer was as we expected.

"I am looking for Juliet. The Colonel took her and Orrin up to their

new house, but they do not come back. I had a dreadful dream last

night, and it frightens me. Why don't they come? It must be dark

enough in the wood."

"They will come soon," I assured him, and moved off, for I do not like

Juliet's father.

But when I passed by there again a half-hour later and found the old

man still standing bare-headed and with craning neck at his post, I

became very uneasy myself, and proposed to two or three neighbors,

whom I found standing about, that we should go toward the woods and

see if all were well. They agreed, being affected, doubtless, like

myself, by the old man's fears, and as we proceeded down the street,

others joined us till we amounted in number to a half-dozen or more.

Yet, though the occasion seemed a strange one, we were not really

alarmed till we found ourselves at the woods and realized how dark

they were and how still. Then I began to feel an oppression at my

heart, and trod with careful and hesitating steps till we came into

the open space in which the house stands. Here it was lighter, but oh!

how still. I shall never forget how still; when suddenly a shrill cry

broke from one amongst us, and I saw Ralph Urphistone pointing with

finger frozen in horror at something which lay in ghastly outline upon

the broad stone which leads up to the gap of the great front door.

What was it? We dared not approach to see, yet we dared not linger

quiescent. One by one we started forward till finally we all stood in

a horrified circle about the thing that looked like a shadow, and yet

was not a shadow, but some horrible nightmare that made us gasp and

shudder till the moon came suddenly out, and we saw that what we

feared and shrank from were the bodies of Juliet and Orrin, he lying

with face upturned and arms thrown out, and she with her head pillowed

on his breast as if cast there in her last faint moment of

consciousness. They were both dead, having fallen through the planks

of the scaffolding, as was shown by the fatal gap open to the

moonlight above our heads. Dead! dead! and though no man there knew

how, the terror of their doom and the retribution it seemed to bespeak

went home to our hearts, and we bowed our heads with a simultaneous

cry of terror, which in that first moment was too overwhelming even

for grief.

The Colonel was nowhere to be seen, and after the first few minutes of

benumbing horror, we tried to call aloud his name. But the cries died

in our throat, and presently one amongst us withdrew into the house to

search, and then another and another, till I was left alone in awful

attendance upon the dead. Then I began to realize my own anguish, and

with some last fragment of secret jealousy--or was it from some other

less definite but equally imperative feeling?--was about to stoop

forward and lift her head from a pillow that I somehow felt defiled

it, when a quick hand drew me aside, and looking up, I saw Ralph

standing at my back. He did not speak, and his figure looked ghostly

in the moonlight, but his hand was pointing toward the house, and when

I moved to follow him, he led the way into the hollow entrance and up

the stairway till we came to the upper story where he stopped, and

motioned me toward a door opening into one of the rooms.

There were several of our number already standing there, so I did not

hesitate to approach, and as I went the darkness in which I had

hitherto moved disappeared before the broad band of moonlight shining

into the room before us, and I saw, darkly silhouetted against a

shining background, the crouching figure of the Colonel, staring with

hollow eyes and maddened mien out of the unfinished window through

which in all probability the devoted couple had stepped to their

destruction.

"Can you make him speak?" asked one. "He does not seem to heed us,

though we have shouted to him and even shook his arm."

"I shall not try," said I. "Horror like this should be respected." And

going softly in I took up my station by his side in silent awe.

But they would have me talk, and finally in some desperation I turned

to him and said, quietly:

"The scaffolding broke beneath them, did it not?" At which he first

stared and then flung up his arms with a wild but suppressed cry. But

he said nothing, and next moment had settled again into his old

attitude of silent horror and amazement.

"He might better be lying with them," I whispered after a moment,

coming from his side. And one by one they echoed my words, and as he

failed to move or even show any symptoms of active life, we gradually

drifted from the spot till we were all huddled again below in the

hollow blackness of that doorway guarded over by the dead.

Who should tell her father? They all looked at me, but I shook my

head, and it fell to another to perform this piteous errand, for

fearful thoughts were filling my brain, and Orrin did not look

altogether guiltless to me as he lay there dead beside the maiden he

had declared so fiercely should never be mistress of this house.

* * * * *

Was ever such a night of horror known in this town!

They have brought the two bruised bodies down into the village and

they now lie side by side in the parlor where I last saw Juliet in the

bloom and glow of life. The Colonel is still crouching where I left

him. No one can make him speak and no one can make him move, and the

terror which his terror has produced affects the whole community, not

even the darkness of the night serving to lessen the wild excitement

which drives men and women about the streets as if it were broad

daylight, and makes of every house an open thorough-fare through

which anybody who wishes can pass.

I, who have followed every change and turn in this whole calamitous

affair, am like one benumbed at this awful crisis. I too go and come

through the streets, hear people say in shouts, in cries, with bitter

tears and wild lamentations, "Juliet is dead!" "Orrin is dead!" and

get no sense from the words. I have even been more than once to that

spot where they lie in immovable beauty, and though I gaze and gaze

upon them, I feel nothing--not even wonder. Only the remembrance of

that rigid figure frozen into its place above the gulf where so much

youth and so many high hopes fell, has power to move me. When amid the

shadows which surround me I see _that_, I shudder and the groan rises

slowly to my lips as if I too were looking down into a gulf from which

hope and love would never again rise.

* * * * *

The Colonel is now in his father's house. He was induced to leave the

place by Ralph Urphistone's little child. When the great man first

felt the touch of those baby fingers upon his, he shuddered and half

recoiled, but as the little one pulled him gently but persistently

towards the stair, he gradually yielded to her persuasion, and

followed till he had descended to the ground-floor and left the fatal

house. I do not think any other power could have induced him to pass

that blood-stained threshold. For he seems thoroughly broken down, and

will, I fear, never be the same man that he was before this fearful

tragedy took place before his eyes.

All day I have paced the floor of my room asking myself if I should

allow Juliet to be laid away in the same tomb as Orrin. He was her

murderer, without doubt, and though he has shared her doom, was it

right for me to allow one stone to be raised above their united

graves. Feeling said no, but reason bade me halt before I disturbed

the whole community with whispers of a crime. I therefore remained

undecided, and it was in this same condition of doubt that I finally

went to the funeral and stood with the rest of the lads beside the

open grave which had been dug for the unhappy lovers in that sunny

spot beside the great church door. At sight of this grave and the twin

coffins about to be lowered into it, I felt my struggle renewed, and

yet I held my peace and listened as best I could to the minister's

words and the broken sobs of such as had envied these two in their

days of joyance, but had only pity for pleasure so soon over and hopes

doomed to such early destruction.

We were all there; Ralph and Lemuel and the other neighbors, old and

young, all except that chief of mourners, the Colonel; for he was

still under the influence of that horror which kept him enchained in

silence, and had not even been sensible enough of the day and its

mournful occasion to rise and go to the window as the long funeral

cortege passed his house. We were all there and the minister had said

the words, and Orrin's body had been lowered to its final rest, when

suddenly, as they were about to move Juliet, a tumult was observed in

the outskirts of the crowd, and the Colonel towering in his rage and

appalling in his just indignation, fought his way through the

recoiling masses till he stood in our very midst.

"Stop!" he cried, "this burial must not go on." And he advanced his

arm above Juliet's body as if he would intervene his very heart

between it and the place of darkness into which it was about to

descend. "She was the victim, he the murderer; they shall not lie

together if I have to fling myself between them in the grave which you

have dug."

"But--but," interposed the minister, calm and composed even in the

face of this portentous figure and the appalling words which it had

uttered, "by what right do you call this one a murderer and the other

a victim? Did you see him murder her? Was there a crime enacted before

your eyes?"

"The boards were sawn," was the startling answer. "They must have been

sawn or they would never have given way beneath so light a weight. And

then he urged her--I saw him--pleaded with her, drew her by force of

eye and hand to step upon the scaffold without, though there was no

need for it, and she recoiled. And when her light foot was on it and

her half-smiling, half-timid face looked back upon us, he leaped out

beside her, when instantly came the sound of a great crack, and I

heard his laugh and her cry go up together, and--and--everything has

been midnight in my soul ever since, till suddenly through the blank

and horror surrounding me I caught the words, 'They will lie together

in one tomb!' Then--then I awoke and my voice came back to me and my

memory, and hither I hastened to stop this unhallowed work; for to lay

the victim beside her murderer is a sacrilege which I for one would

come back even from the grave to prevent."

"But why," moaned the father feebly amid the cries and confusion which

had been aroused by so gruesome an interference on the brink of the

grave, "but why should Orrin wish my Juliet's death? They were to have

been married soon--"

But piteous as were his tones no one listened, for just then a lad who

had been hiding behind the throng stepped out before us, showing a

face so white and a manner so perturbed that we all saw that he had

something to say of importance in this matter.

"The boards _have_ been sawn," he said. "I wanted to know and I

climbed up to see." At which words the whole crowd moved and swayed,

and a dozen hands stooped to lift the body of Juliet and carry it away

from that accursed spot.

But the minister is a just man and cautious, and he lifted up his arms

in such protest that they paused.

"Who knows," he suggested, "that it was Orrin's hand which handled the

saw?"

And then I perceived that it was time for me to speak. So I raised my

voice and told my story, and as I told it the wonder grew on every

face and the head of each man slowly drooped till we all stood with

downcast eyes. For crime had never before been amongst us or soiled

the honor of our goodly town. Only the Colonel still stood erect; and

as the vision of his outstretched arm and flaming eyes burned deeper

and deeper into my consciousness, I stammered in my speech and then

sobbed, and was the first to lift the silent form of the beauteous

dead and bear it away from the spot denounced by one who had done so

much for her happiness and had met with such a bitter and

heart-breaking reward.

And where did we finally lay her? In that spot--ah! why does my blood

run chill while I write it--where she stood when she took that oath to

the Colonel, whose breaking caused her death.

A few words more and this record must be closed forever. That night,

when all was again quiet in the village and the mourners no longer

went about the streets, Lemuel, Ralph, and I went for a final visit to

the new stone house. It showed no change, that house, and save for the

broken scaffolding above gave no token of its having been the scene of

such a woful tragedy. But as we looked upon it from across its

gruesome threshold Lemuel said:

"It is a goodly structure and nigh completed, but the hand that began

it will never finish it, nor will man or woman ever sleep within its

walls. The place is accursed, and will stand accursed till it is

consumed by God's lightning or falls piecemeal to the ground from

natural decay. Though its stones are fresh, I see ruin already written

upon its walls."

It was a strong statement, and we did not believe it, but when we got

back to the village we were met by one who said:

"The Colonel has stopped the building of the new house. 'It is to be

an everlasting monument,' he says, 'to a rude man's pride and a sweet

woman's folly.'"

Will it be a monument that he will love to gaze upon? I wot not, or

any other man who remembers Juliet's loveliness and the charm it gave

to our village life for one short year.

* * * * *

What was it that I said about this record being at an end? Some

records do not come to an end, and though twenty years have passed

since I wrote the above, I have cause this day to take these faded

leaves from their place and add a few lines to the story of the

Colonel's new house.

It is an old house now, old and desolate. As Lemuel said--he is one of

our first men--it is accursed and no one has ever felt brave enough or

reckless enough to care to cross again its ghostly threshold. Though I

never heard any one say it is haunted, there are haunting memories

enough surrounding it for one to feel a ghastly recoil from invading

precincts defiled by such a crime. So the kindly forest has taken it

into its protection, and Nature, who ever acts the generous part, has

tried to throw the mantle of her foliage over the decaying roof, and

about the lonesome walls, accepting what man forsakes and so

fulfilling her motherhood.

I am still a resident in the town, and I have a family now that has

outgrown the little cottage which the apple-tree once guarded. But it

is not to tell of them or of myself that I have taken these pages from

their safe retreat to-day, but to speak of the sight which I saw this

morning when I passed through the churchyard, as I often do, to pluck

a rose from the bush which we lads planted on Juliet's grave twenty

years ago. They always seem sweeter to me than other roses, and I take

a superstitious delight in them, in which my wife, strange to say,

does not participate. But that is neither here nor there.

The sight which I thought worth recording was this: I had come slowly

through the yard, for the sunshine was brilliant and the month June,

and sad as the spot is, it is strangely beautiful to one who loves

nature, when as I approached the corner where Juliet lies, and which

you will remember was in the very spot where I once heard her take her

reluctant oath, I saw crouched against her tomb a figure which seemed

both strange and vaguely familiar to me. Not being able to guess who

it was, as there is now nobody in town who remembers her with any more

devotion than myself, I advanced with sudden briskness, when the

person I was gazing upon rose, and turning towards me, looked with

deeply searching and most certainly very wretched eyes into mine. I

felt a shock, first of surprise, and then of wildest recollection. The

man before me was the Colonel, and the grief apparent in his face and

disordered mien showed that years of absence had not done their work,

and that he had never forgotten the arch and brilliant Juliet.

Bowing humbly and with a most reverent obeisance, for he was still the

great man of the county, though he had not been in our town for years,

I asked his pardon for my intrusion, and then drew back to let him

pass. But he stopped and gave me a keen look, and speaking my name,

said: "You are married, are you not?" And when I bowed the meek

acquiescence which the subject seemed to demand, he sighed as I

thought somewhat bitterly, and shrugging his shoulders, went

thoughtfully by and left me standing on the green sward alone. But

when he had reached the gate he turned again, and without raising his

voice, though the distance between us was considerable, remarked: "I

have come back to spend my remaining days in the village of my birth.

If you care to talk of old times, come to the house at sunset. You

will find me sitting on the porch."

Gratified more than I ever expected to be by a word from him, I bowed

my thanks and promised most heartily to come. And that was the end of

our first interview.

It has left me with very lively sensations. Will they be increased or

diminished by the talk he has promised me?

* * * * *

I had a pleasant hour with the Colonel, but we did not talk of _her_.

Had I expected to? I judge so by the faint but positive disappointment

which I feel.

* * * * *

I have been again to the Colonel's, but this time I did not find him

in. "He is much out evenings," explained the woman who keeps house

for him, "and you will have to come early to see him at his own

hearth."

* * * * *

What is there about the Colonel that daunts me? He seems friendly,

welcomes my company, and often hands me the hospitable glass. But I am

never easy in his presence, though the distance between us is not so

great as it was in our young days, now that I have advanced in worldly

prosperity and he has stood still. Is it that his intellect cows me,

or do I feel too much the secret melancholy which breathes through all

his actions, and frequently cuts short his words? I cannot answer; I

am daunted by him and I am fascinated, and after leaving him think

only of the time when I shall see him again.

* * * * *

The children, who have grown up since the Colonel has been gone, seem

very shy of him. I have noted them more than once shrink away from his

path, huddling and whispering in a corner, and quite forgetting to

play as long as his shadow fell across the green or the sound of his

feet could be heard on the turf. I think they fear his melancholy, not

understanding it. Or perhaps some hint of his sorrows has been given

them, and it is awe they feel rather than fear. However that may be,

no child ever takes his hand or prattles to him of its little joys or

griefs; and this in itself makes him look solitary, for we are much

given in this town to merry-making with our little ones, and it is a

common sight to see old and young together on the green, making sport

with ball or battledore.

And it is not the children only who hold him in high but distant

respect. The best men here are contented with a courteous bow from

him, while the women--matrons now, who once were blushing

maidens--think they have shown him enough honor if they make him a

deep curtsey and utter a mild "Good-morrow."

The truth is, he invites nothing more. He talks to me because he must

talk to some one, but our conversation is always of things outside of

our village life, and never by any chance of the place or any one in

it. He lives at his father's house, now his, and has for his sole

companion an old servant of the family, who was once his nurse, and

who is, I believe, the only person in the world who is devotedly

attached to him.

Unless it is myself. Sometimes I think I love him; sometimes I think I

do not. He fascinates me, and could make me do most anything he

pleased, but have I a real affection for him? Almost; and this is

something which I consider strange.

* * * * *

Where does the Colonel go evenings? His old nurse has asked me, and I

find I cannot answer. Not to the tavern, for I am often there; not to

the houses of the neighbors, for none of them profess to know him.

Where then? Is the curiosity of my youth coming back to me? It looks

very much like it, Philo, very much like it.

* * * * *

My daughter said to me to-day: "Father, do not go any more to the

Colonel's." And when I asked her why, she answered that her lover--she

has a _lover_, the minx--had told her that the Colonel held secret

talks with the witches, and though I laughed at this, it has set me

thinking. He goes to the forest at night, and roams for hours among

its shadows. Is this a healthy occupation for a man, especially a man

with a history? I shall go early to the Schuyler homestead to-night

and stay late, for these midnight communings with nature may be the

source of the hideous gloom which I have observed of late is growing

upon his spirits. No other duty seems to me now greater than this, to

win him back to a healthy realization of life, and the need there is

of looking cheerfully upon such blessings as are left to our lot.

* * * * *

I went to the Colonel's at early candle-light, and I stayed till ten,

a late hour for me, and, as I hoped, for him. When I left I caught a

sight of old Hannah, standing in a distant hallway, and I thought she

looked grateful; at all events, she came forward very quickly after my

departure, for I heard the key turn in the lock of the great front

door before I had passed out of the gate.

Why did I not go home? I had meant to, and there was every reason why

I should. But I had no sooner felt the turf under my feet and seen the

stars over my head, than I began to wander in the very opposite

direction, and that without any very definite plan or purpose. I think

I was troubled, and if not troubled, restless, and yet movement did

not seem to help me, for I grew more uneasy with every step I took,

and began to look towards the woods to which I was half unconsciously

tending as if there I should find relief just as the Colonel, perhaps,

was in the habit of doing. Was it a mere foolish freak which had

assailed me, or was I under some uncanny influence, caught from the

place where I had been visiting?

I was yet asking myself this, when I heard distinctly through the

silence of the night the sound of a footstep behind me, and astonished

that any one else should have been beguiled at this hour into a walk

so dreary, I slipped into the shadow of a tree that stood at the

wayside and waited till the slowly advancing figure should pass and

leave me free to pursue my way or to go back unnoticed and

undisturbed.

I had not long to wait. In a moment a weirdly muffled form appeared

abreast of me, and it was with difficulty I suppressed a cry, for it

was the Colonel I saw, escaped, doubtless, from his old nurse's

surveillance, and as he passed he groaned, and the sad sound coming

through the night at a time when my own spirits were in no comfortable

mood affected me with almost a superstitious power, so that I trembled

where I stood and knew not whether to follow him or go back and seek

the cheer of my own hearth. But I decided in another moment to follow

him, and when he had withdrawn far enough up the road not to hear the

sound of my footfalls, I stepped out from my retreat and went with him

into the woods.

I have been as you know a midnight wanderer in that same place many a

time in my life; but never did I leave the fields and meadows with

such a foreboding dread, or step into the clustering shadows of the

forest with such a shrinking and awe-struck heart. Yet I went on

without a pause or an instant of hesitation, for I knew now where he

was going, and if he were going to the old stone house I was

determined to be his companion, or at least his watcher. For I knew

now that I loved him and could never see him come to ill.

There was no moon at this time, but the sound of his steps guided me

and when I had come into the open place where the stars shone I saw by

the movement which took place in the shadows lying around the open

door of the old house, that he was near the fatal threshold and would

in another moment be across it and within those mouldy halls. That I

was right, another instant proved, for suddenly through the great

hollow of the open portal a mild gleam broke and I saw he had lighted

a lantern and was moving about within the empty rooms.

Softly as man could go, I followed him. Crouching in the doorway, with

ear turned to the emptiness within, I listened. And as I did so, I

felt the chill run through my blood and stiffen the hair on my head,

for he was talking as he walked, and his tones were affable and

persuasive, as if two ghosts roamed noiselessly at his side and he

were showing them as in the days of yore, the beauties of his nearly

completed home.

"An ample parlor, you see," came in distinct, suave monotone to my

ear. "Room enough for many a couple on gala nights, as even sweet

Mistress Juliet will say. Do you like this fireplace, and will there

be space enough here for the portrait which Lawrence has promised to

make of young Madam Day? I do not like too much light myself, so I

have ordered curtains to be hung here. But if Mistress Juliet prefers

the sunshine, we will tell the men nay, for all is to be according to

your will, fair lady, as you must know, being here. Pardon me, that

was an evil step; you should have a quick eye for such mishaps, friend

Orrin, and not leave it to my courtesy to hold out a helping hand. Ah!

you like this dusky nook. It was made for a sweet young bride to hide

in when her heart's fulness demands quiet and rest. Do the trees come

too near the lattice? If so they shall be trimmed away. And this

dining-parlor--Can you judge of it with the floor half laid and its

wainscoting unnailed? I trow not, but you can trust me, pretty Juliet,

you can trust me; and Orrin, too, need not speak, for me to know just

how to finish this study for him. Up-stairs? You do not wish to go

up-stairs? Ah, then, you miss the very cream of the house. I have

worked with my own hand upon the rooms up-stairs, and there is a

little Cupid wrought into the woodwork of a certain door which I

greatly wish you to pass an opinion upon. I think the wings lack

airiness, but the workmen swear it is as if he would fly from the door

at a whisper. Come, Mistress Juliet; come, friend Orrin, if I lead the

way you need not hesitate. Come! come!"

Was he alone? Were those eager steps of his unaccompanied, and should

I not behold, if I looked within, the blooming face of Juliet and the

frowning brows of Orrin, crowding close behind him as he moved? The

fancy invoked by his words was so vivid, that for a moment I thought I

should, and I never shall forget the thrill which seized me as I

leaned forward and peered for one minute into the hall and saw there

his solitary figure pausing on the lower step of the stairs, with that

bend of the body which bespeaks an obeisance which is half homage and

half an invitation. He was still talking, and as he went up, he looked

back smiling and gossiping over his shoulder in a smooth and courtly

way which made it impossible for me to withdraw my fascinated eyes.

"No banisters, sweet Juliet? Not yet--not yet; but Orrin will protect

you from falling. No harm can come to you while he is at your side. Do

you admire this sweep to the stairs? I saw a vision when I planned it,

of a pretty woman coming down at the sound of her husband's step. The

step has changed in sound to my imagination, but the pretty woman is

prettier than ever, and will look her best as she comes down these

stairs. Oh, that is a window-ledge for flowers. A honeymoon is nothing

without flowers, and you must have forget-me-nots and pansies here

till one cannot see from the window. You do not like such humble

flowers? Fie! Mistress Juliet, it is hard to believe that,--even Orrin

doubts it, as I see by his chiding air."

Here the gentle and bantering tones ceased, for he had reached the top

of the stair. But in another moment I heard them again as he passed

from room to room, pausing here and pausing there, till suddenly he

gave a cheerful laugh, spoke her name in most inviting accents, and

stepped into _that_ room.

Then as if roused into galvanic action, I rose and followed, going up

those midnight stairs and gaining the door where he had passed as if

the impulse moving me had lent to my steps a certainty which preserved

me from slipping even upon that dank and dangerous ascent. When in

view of him again, I saw, as I had expected, that he was drawn up by

the window and was bowing and beckoning with even more grace and

suavity than he had shown below. "Will you not step out, Mistress

Juliet?" he was saying; "I have a plan which I am anxious to submit to

your judgment and which can only be decided upon from without. A high

step true, but Orrin has lifted you over worse places and--and you

will do me a great favor if only--" Here he gave a malignant shriek,

and his countenance, from the most smiling and benignant expression,

altered into that of a fiend from hell. "Ha, ha, ha!" he yelled. "She

goes, and he is so fearful for her that he leaps after. That is a

goodly stroke! Both--both--Crack! Ah, she looks at me, she looks--"

Silence and then a frozen figure crouching before my eyes, just the

silence and just the figure I remembered seeing there twenty years

before, only the face is older and the horror, if anything, greater.

What did it mean? I tried to think, then as the full import of the

scene burst upon me, and I realized that it was a murderer I was

looking upon, and that Orrin, poor Orrin, had been innocent, I sank

back and fell upon the floor, lost in the darkness of an utter

unconsciousness.

I did not come to myself for hours; when I did I found myself alone in

the old house.

* * * * *

Nothing was ever done to the Colonel, for when I came to tell my story

the doctors said that the facts I related did not prove him to have

been guilty of crime, as his condition was such that his own words

could not be relied upon in a matter on which he had brooded more or

less morbidly for years. So now when I see him pass through the

churchyard or up and down the village street and note that he is

affable as ever when he sees me, but growing more and more preoccupied

with his own thoughts I do not know whether to look upon him with

execration or profoundest pity, nor can any man guide me or satisfy my

mind as to whether I should blame his jealousy or Orrin's pride for

the pitiful tragedy which once darkened my life, and turned our

pleasant village into a desert.

Of one thing only have I been made sure; that it was the Colonel who

lit the brand which fired Orrin's cottage.

A MEMORABLE NIGHT.

CHAPTER I.

I am a young physician of limited practice and great ambition. At the

time of the incidents I am about to relate, my office was in a

respectable house in Twenty-fourth Street, New York City, and was

shared, greatly to my own pleasure and convenience, by a clever young

German whose acquaintance I had made in the hospital, and to whom I

had become, in the one short year in which we had practised together,

most unreasonably attached. I say unreasonably, because it was a

liking for which I could not account even to myself, as he was neither

especially prepossessing in appearance nor gifted with any too great

amiability of character. He was, however, a brilliant theorist and an

unquestionably trustworthy practitioner, and for these reasons

probably I entertained for him a profound respect, and as I have

already said a hearty and spontaneous affection.

As our specialties were the same, and as, moreover, they were of a

nature which did not call for night-work, we usually spent the evening

together. But once I failed to join him at the office, and it is of

this night I have to tell.

I had been over to Orange, for my heart was sore over the quarrel I

had had with Dora, and I was resolved to make one final effort towards

reconciliation. But alas for my hopes, she was not at home; and, what

was worse, I soon learned that she was going to sail the next morning

for Europe. This news, coming as it did without warning, affected me

seriously, for I knew if she escaped from my influence at this time, I

should certainly lose her forever; for the gentleman concerning whom

we had quarrelled, was a much better match for her than I, and almost

equally in love. However, her father, who had always been my friend,

did not look upon this same gentleman's advantages with as favorable

an eye as she did, and when he heard I was in the house, he came

hurrying into my presence, with excitement written in every line of

his fine face.

"Ah, Dick, my boy," he exclaimed joyfully, "how opportune this is! I

was wishing you would come, for, do you know, Appleby has taken

passage on board the same steamer as Dora, and if he and she cross

together, they will certainly come to an understanding, and that will

not be fair to you, or pleasing to me; and I do not care who knows

it!"

I gave him one look and sank, quite overwhelmed, into the seat nearest

me. Appleby was the name of my rival, and I quite agreed with her

father that the _tête-à-têtes_ afforded by an ocean voyage would

surely put an end to the hopes which I had so long and secretly

cherished.

"Does she know he is going? Did she encourage him?" I stammered.

But the old man answered genially: "Oh, she knows, but I cannot say

anything positive about her having encouraged him. The fact is, Dick,

she still holds a soft place in her heart for you, and if you were

going to be of the party--"

"Well?"

"I think you would come off conqueror yet."

"Then I will be of the party," I cried. "It is only six now, and I can

be in New York by seven. That gives me five hours before midnight,

time enough in which to arrange my plans, see Richter, and make

everything ready for sailing in the morning."

"Dick, you are a trump!" exclaimed the gratified father. "You have a

spirit I like, and if Dora does not like it too, then I am mistaken in

her good sense. But can you leave your patients?"

"Just now I have but one patient who is in anything like a critical

condition," I replied, "and her case Richter understands almost as

well as I do myself. I will have to see her this evening of course and

explain, but there is time for that if I go now. The steamer sails at

nine?"

"Precisely."

"Do not tell Dora that I expect to be there; let her be surprised.

Dear girl, she is quite well, I hope?"

"Yes, very well; only going over with her aunt to do some shopping. A

poor outlook for a struggling physician, you think. Well, I don't know

about that; she is just the kind of a girl to go from one extreme to

another. If she once loves you she will not care any longer about

Paris fashions."

"She shall love me," I cried, and left him in a great hurry, to catch

the first train for Hoboken.

It seemed wild, this scheme, but I determined to pursue it. I loved

Dora too much to lose her, and if three weeks' absence would procure

me the happiness of my life, why should I hesitate to avail myself of

the proffered opportunity. I rode on air as the express I had taken

shot from station to station, and by the time I had arrived at

Christopher Street Ferry my plans were all laid and my time disposed

of till midnight.

It was therefore with no laggard step I hurried to my office, nor was

it with any ordinary feelings of impatience that I found Richter out;

for this was not his usual hour for absenting himself and I had much

to tell him and many advices to give. It was the first balk I had

received and I was fuming over it, when I saw what looked like a

package of books lying on the table before me, and though it was

addressed to my partner, I was about to take it up, when I heard my

name uttered in a tremulous tone, and turning, saw a man standing in

the doorway, who, the moment I met his eye, advanced into the room and

said:

"O doctor, I have been waiting for you an hour. Mrs. Warner has been

taken very bad, sir, and she prays that you will not delay a moment

before coming to her. It is something serious I fear, and she may have

died already, for she would have no one else but you, and it is now an

hour since I left her."

"And who are you?" I asked, for though I knew Mrs. Warner well--she is

the patient to whom I have already referred--I did not know her

messenger.

"I am a servant in the house where she was taken ill."

"Then she is not at home?"

"No, sir, she is in Second Avenue."

"I am very sorry," I began, "but I have not the time--"

But he interrupted eagerly: "There is a carriage at the door; we

thought you might not have your phaeton ready."

I had noticed the carriage.

"Very well," said I. "I will go, but first let me write a line--"

"O sir," the man broke in pleadingly, "do not wait for anything. She

is really very bad, and I heard her calling for you as I ran out of

the house."

"She had her voice then?" I ventured, somewhat distrustful of the

whole thing and yet not knowing how to refuse the man, especially as

it was absolutely necessary for me to see Mrs. Warner that night and

get her consent to my departure before I could think of making further

plans.

So, leaving word for Richter to be sure and wait for me if he came

home before I did, I signified to Mrs. Warner's messenger that I was

ready to go with him, and immediately took a seat in the carriage

which had been provided for me. The man at once jumped up on the box

beside the driver, and before I could close the carriage door we were

off, riding rapidly down Seventh Avenue.

As we went the thought came, "What if Mrs. Warner will not let me

off!" But I dismissed the fear at once, for this patient of mine is an

extremely unselfish woman, and if she were not too ill to grasp the

situation, would certainly sympathize with the strait I was in and

consent to accept Richter's services in place of my own, especially as

she knows and trusts him.

When the carriage stopped it was already dark and I could distinguish

little of the house I entered, save that it was large and old and did

not look like an establishment where a man servant would be likely to

be kept.

"Is Mrs. Warner here?" I asked of the man who was slowly getting down

from the box.

"Yes, sir," he answered quickly; and I was about to ring the bell

before me, when the door opened and a young German girl, courtesying

slightly, welcomed me in, saying:

"Mrs. Warner is up-stairs, sir; in the front room, if you please."

Not doubting her, but greatly astonished at the barren aspect of the

place I was in, I stumbled up the faintly lighted stairs before me and

entered the great front room. It was empty, but through an open door

at the other end I heard a voice saying: "He has come, madam"; and

anxious to see my patient, whose presence in this desolate house I

found it harder and harder to understand, I stepped into the room

where she presumably lay.

Alas! for my temerity in doing so; for no sooner had I crossed the

threshold than the door by which I had entered closed with a click

unlike any I had ever heard before, and when I turned to see what it

meant, another click came from the opposite side of the room, and I

perceived, with a benumbed sense of wonder, that the one person whose

somewhat shadowy figure I had encountered on entering had vanished

from the place, and that I was shut up alone in a room without visible

means of egress.

This was startling, and hard to believe at first, but after I had

tried the door by which I had entered and found it securely locked,

and then bounding to the other side of the room, tried the opposite

one with the same result, I could not but acknowledge I was caught.

What did it mean? Caught, and I was in haste, mad haste. Filling the

room with my cries, I shouted for help and a quick release, but my

efforts were naturally fruitless, and after exhausting myself in vain

I stood still and surveyed, with what equanimity was left me, the

appearance of the dreary place in which I had thus suddenly become

entrapped.