The Curtain Lifts
For a moment I hesitated. Was it best to tell him? But a glance at his
drawn face decided me.
"The search is over," I said. "Miss Lawrence is home again," and I
handed him the message.
He read it at a glance, then started to his feet.
"Will you come with me, Mr. Lester?" he asked. "I know I've given you a
lot of trouble, but this will be the last, I think."
"You haven't given me a bit of trouble," I protested. "I'll be glad to
come."
"Thank you," he said simply, and held out his hand to Royce.
"You think it best to go?" the latter asked.
"Best? Oh, I'm not thinking of that! I'm going to her--I've got to see
her! I can't wait! I----"
He wrung our junior's hand without finishing the sentence; too
overwrought, indeed, to finish it--and strode from the room.
Mr. Royce held me back for a rapid word of warning.
"I'm glad you're going," he said. "He'll need some one. There's no
telling what'll happen. Good luck!"
* * * * *
When we were in the train, with the lights of Jersey City flying past
us, I took occasion to examine Curtiss again. He was lying back in the
seat with his eyes closed, and the posture made his face seem even
lanker and grimmer than it had at first appeared. I saw that I must keep
my wits about me. When he awoke to a full realisation of the trick fate
had played him, he might, in his desperation----
"But you said Mrs. Lawrence told you she knew why Marcia had run away."
The voice fairly made me jump, it came so suddenly, so unexpectedly.
"She did," I answered, turning to find his dark eyes open and strangely
bright. "But of course she was mistaken. She fancied it was something
else, or she wouldn't have said what she did."
"What did she say? You've told me, but I've forgotten."
"She said that the marriage wasn't impossible--that the choice should be
left to you."
He pondered this a moment, then his lips curved into an ironical smile.
"No doubt another family secret!" he said. "One would think we were in
Corsica or Sicily! Well, we'll try to bear it. By the way, who's this
fellow Godfrey, who sent you that message?"
"He's a newspaper-man, a friend of mine--a mighty clever fellow."
His face grew grimmer still.
"More food for the yellow press," he said, with a harsh laugh. "They
certainly owe us a vote of thanks."
He was in a dangerous mood. I saw his face harden and darken as he gazed
out through the window. His lips moved, but no sound came from them.
Then they closed again, compressed and bloodless, and he settled back in
his seat as though he had taken a final resolution. I shuddered as I
tried to guess what it was. I could imagine but one end for a drama so
hideous as this.
And then, as I lay back in the seat, gazing at him, a sudden ray of
light flashed across my brain. That contour of the face--that poise of
the head--where had I seen them? Where but in the portrait of Ruth
Endicott which hung upon the wall of the Kingdon cottage! Since he
resembled his father, he would, of course, resemble her. Another link in
the chain, I told myself; and trembled to think how strong it was.
* * * * *
Nothing about the house had changed. As we drove up to the door, I saw
that the blinds were still drawn, as they had been at the time of my
first visit, and no ray of light came through them. It seemed a house of
death, and a little shiver ran through me as Curtiss rang the bell.
There was a long delay; a delay that tortured me: for a dark vision
danced before me--the vision of a girl lying dead beneath the windows of
the library, with a portrait pressed close against her heart. So vivid
was it that I could not shake it off, and I nearly cried aloud as a
light was switched on the hall, and the door suddenly opened. I looked
up expectantly--but it was not Lucy Kingdon; it was a servant whose face
I did not remember. She took our cards and showed us into the room
which, when I had seen it last, was gay with flowers. Then she left us.
Not until she had gone did I remember that Lucy Kingdon was still
fighting a battle with death.
As moment followed moment, I found myself unconsciously gripping my
hands tighter and tighter about the arms of my chair. There seemed to be
about the house an atmosphere of terror. I could guess what agony of
suspense Curtiss was enduring and I saw him wipe the perspiration from
his forehead once or twice with a hand anything but steady. Perhaps she
would not come. Perhaps she was not yet brave enough. Or perhaps she
could not come----
There was a step at the door; a woman entered----
It was Mrs. Lawrence. She came forward with a smile of welcome. One
glance at her face told me that she did not yet suspect--that her
daughter had kept the secret.
"I knew you'd come," she said.
"Then she _is_ here?" asked Curtiss, gripping his hands behind him,
devouring her face with his eyes; feeling, perhaps, for the first time,
some instinct of sonship stirring within him.
"Yes, she's here," answered Mrs. Lawrence, still smiling at him. "She
came only a few hours ago and is very tired--too tired to talk, even to
me. She doesn't feel strong enough to come down to see you now."
What power was it drew my eyes to the tapestry at the inner door? I saw
it swing aside, almost imperceptibly; I caught the glimpse of a face,
white as marble, whose eyes dwelt upon Curtiss with a look of love, of
longing, that turned me a little giddy. She loved him yet! God pity them
both!
"But she told me," Mrs. Lawrence was saying, "that if you'll come
to-morrow morning, she'll see you. Oh, I can see how she's suffered! Too
much, I think! And you've suffered, too," she added, and her eyes
questioned his.
"Yes," he said. "I've suffered too."
"Thank God it's past! You see, I don't doubt you. I know that when you
hear the story----"
"I have heard it," Curtiss interrupted grimly, and I saw a spasm of pain
convulse the face at the door.
But Mrs. Lawrence was looking up at him, her eyes alight.
"And it will make no difference!" she cried. "It _can_ make no
difference--for you love her--I know it--I can see it--you love her just
as you always did!"
"Yes," said Curtiss hoarsely. "God help me, I love her just as I always
did!"
"Then you can't give her up--you won't--that would be cruel--would kill
her, I think--for it's no fault of hers----"
"Give her up!" echoed Curtiss, seized suddenly with a terrible
trembling. "No, I'll never give her up!"
"I knew it," she said triumphantly. "I knew I'd not misjudged you. And
there need be no scandal. No one need ever know!"
What was she saying? What infamy was she proposing? But not with the
joy-illumined face! Ah, she did not understand, and we should have to
tell her!
"It was wrong, I know," she went on, more calmly. "But when the mother
died, he wanted to take the child to rear it as his own--I had not given
him any--and since--since--there was a sorrow in my own life, I could
understand and forgive. It was a kind of penance--an atonement--and I
welcomed it. Besides, he was not wholly to blame, for she--but I'll
speak no ill of her. And I grew to love the child for her own sake--I
grew to forget that she was not really mine----"
Curtiss was clutching blindly at a chair, his face ghastly, his eyes
staring.
"I--I don't think I quite understand," he faltered, "You--you're
speaking of Marcia?"
"Of Marcia, certainly. But you said you knew the story."
She was looking at him intently, her face suddenly pale.
"Was it something else?" she asked. "Something else? Was it the letter?
Tell me!"
"No, no," he protested, and stopped, unable to go on.
"I don't think he heard it quite correctly, Mrs. Lawrence," I said,
seeing that he needed saving. "Do I understand you to say Miss Lawrence
isn't your daughter?"
"She's Ruth Endicott's daughter. She was housekeeper here and
she--she--But no matter. No one knew except her cousins, the Kingdons.
It was Harriet who took her away--to Florida--and she died there. They
promised to keep the secret--it was to their interest--we did everything
we could for them--I was kinder to them than they deserved. But I loved
the child--I had none of my own--I wanted to protect my husband's
memory--Where was the sin in----"
"Where is she?" demanded Curtiss hoarsely, but with a great light in his
eyes. "Where is she?"
"Then you don't mind? You won't----"
"Mind!" cried Curtiss. "Mind! Where is she?"
The curtains at the door were swept aside, and a woman appeared between
them--a woman regal, with glowing eyes, with smiling, tremulous lips----
Fool that I had been not to guess--not to see! It was the Endicott
strain, first and last--dark, passionate, virile--and I had shut my eyes
to it!
I saw him turn toward her, his face aflame with joy----
Then the hot tears blinded me, and I groped my way from the room, from
the house, out into the silent night; and I looked up at the quiet
stars, with Pippa's song singing in my heart----
"God's in his heaven--
All's right with the world!"
THE END
By BURTON E. STEVENSON
The Marathon Mystery
With five scenes in color by ELIOT KEEN.
An absorbing detective story of modern New York, especially original in
its plot and the fact that a young lawyer does the detective work; the
conclusion is most surprising.
"The author has stepped at once to the front ranks among American
writers of detective tales ... a yarn with genuine thrills," (and
comparing it with some of the most popular detective stories) "the
English is better and cleaner cut, the love passages are never maudlin,
there is throughout more dignity and sense, and the book shows
a far wider knowledge of the logical technique of detective
fiction."--_Bookman._
_N. Y. Sun_: "Distinctly an interesting story--one of the sort that the
reader will not lay down before he goes to bed."
_N. Y. Post_: "By comparison with the work of Anna Katharine Green ...
it is exceptionally clever ... told interestingly and well."
_N. Y. Tribune_: "The Holladay Case was a capital story of crime and
mystery. In the Marathon Mystery the author is in even firmer command of
the trick. He is skillful in keeping his reader in suspense, and every
element in it is cunningly adjusted to preserving the mystery inviolate
until the end."
_Boston Transcript_: "The excellence of its style, Mr. Stevenson
apparently knowing well the dramatic effect of fluency and brevity, and
the rationality of avoiding false clues and attempts unduly to mystify
his readers."
_Boston Herald_: "This is something more than an ordinary detective
story. It thrills you and holds your attention to the end. But besides
all this the characters are really well drawn and your interest in the
plot is enhanced by interest in the people who play their parts
therein."
_Town and Country_: "The mystery defies solution until the end. The
final catastrophe is worked out in a highly dramatic manner."
The Holladay Case
With Frontispiece by ELIOT KEEN.
A tale of a modern mystery of New York and Etretat that has been
republished in England and Germany.
This is one of the new and artistic style of detective stories, somewhat
in the vein of Conan Doyle. The tale begins with the finding of a New
York banker stabbed to death in his office. Suspicion falls on his
daughter. A kidnapping and pursuit over seas follow. The story contains
a minimum of horror and a maximum of ingenuity.
"Almost instantly commands the reader's attention."--_Critic._
_N. Y. Tribune_: "Professor Dicey recently said, 'If you like a
detective story take care you read a good detective story.' This is a
good detective story, and it is the better because the part of the hero
is not filled by a member of the profession.... The reader will not want
to put the book down until he has reached the last page. Most
ingeniously constructed and well written into the bargain."
BOOKS BY MAY SINCLAIR
THE HELPMATE
A story of married life.
"An advance upon 'The Divine Fire.'"--_London Times._
"The one novel on the divorce question."--_Boston Transcript._
"A noteworthy book.... There are things said in these pages, and said
very plainly, which need to be said, which are rarely enough
said--almost never so well said. The book contains unforgettable scenes,
persons, phrases, and such a picture of the hardness of a good woman as
exists nowhere else in our literature."--_New York Times Saturday
Review._
"Masterly ... artistic to the core."--_Boston Advertiser._
"No criticism of trifles can leave in doubt the great distinction of her
craftsmanship. Very certainly she must have made her reputation by this
book, if it had not been already won."--_Punch_ (London).
THE DIVINE FIRE
A story of a London poet.
"In all our new fiction I have found nothing worthy to compare with 'The
Divine Fire.'"--MARY MOSS in _The Atlantic Monthly_.
"A full-length study of the poetic temperament, framed in a varied and
curiously interesting environment, and drawn with a firmness of hand
that excites one's admiration.... Moreover, a real distinction of style,
besides being of absorbing interest from cover to cover."--_Dial._
"I find her book the most remarkable that I have read for many
years."--OWEN SEAMAN in _Punch_ (London).
THE TYSONS
"Maintains a clinging grip upon the mind and senses, compelling one to
acknowledge the author's genius."--_Chicago Record-Herald._
SUPERSEDED
"Makes one wonder if in future years the quiet little English woman may
not be recognized as a new Jane Austen."--_New York Sun._
AUDREY CRAVEN
"It ranks high in originality, interest and power.... Audrey is a
distinct creation."--_Times Review._
BOOKS BY WILLIAM DE MORGAN
ALICE-FOR-SHORT
The story of a London waif, a friendly artist, his friends and family,
with some decidedly dramatic happenings.
"'Joseph Vance' was far and away the best novel of the year, and of many
years.... Mr. De Morgan's second novel ... proves to be no less
remarkable, and equally productive of almost unalloyed delight.... The
reader ... is hereby warned that if he skims 'Alice-for-Short' it will
be to his own serious loss.... A remarkable example of the art of
fiction at its noblest."--_Dial._
"Really worth reading and praising ... will be hailed as a masterpiece.
If any writer of the present era is read a half century hence, a quarter
century, or even a decade, that writer is William De Morgan."--_Boston
Transcript._
"It is the Victorian age itself that speaks in those rich, interesting,
overcrowded books.... Page by page the new book is as rich, piquant and
interesting as its predecessor.... Everywhere are wit, learning and
scholarship ... the true creative imagination.... Will be remembered as
Dicken's novels are remembered."--_Springfield Republican._
JOSEPH VANCE
A novel of life near London in the 50's.
"The book of the last decade; the best thing in fiction since Mr.
Meredith and Mr. Hardy; must take its place, by virtue of its tenderness
and pathos, its wit and humor, its love of human kind, and its virile
characterization, as the first great English novel that has appeared in
the twentieth century."--LEWIS MELVILLE in _New York Times Saturday
Review._
"No novel since Thackeray's own will give you so much honest comfort and
delight."--_World's Work._
"If the reader likes both 'David Copperfield' and 'Peter Ibbetson' he
can find the two books in this one."--_The Independent._
"A perfect piece of writing."--_New York Tribune._
OTHER BOOKS
MRS. E. L. VOYNICH'S THE GADFLY
An intense romance of the Italian rising against the Austrians early in
the nineteenth century.
"One of the most powerful novels of the decade."--_New York Tribune._
ANTHONY HOPE'S THE PRISONER OF ZENDA
Being the history of three months in the life of an English gentleman.
Illustrated by C. D. Gibson.
ANTHONY HOPE'S RUPERT OF HENTZAU
A sequel to "The Prisoner of Zenda." Illustrated by C. D. Gibson.
These stirring romances established a new vogue in fiction and are among
the most widely-read novels. Each has been successfully dramatized.
C. N. AND A. M. WILLIAMSON'S THE LIGHTNING CONDUCTOR
A humorous love story of a beautiful American and a gallant Englishman
who stoops to conquer. Two almost human automobiles play prominent
parts. There are picturesque scenes in Provence, Spain and Italy.
"Altogether the best automobile story of which we have knowledge, and
might serve almost as a guide-book for highway travel from Paris to
Sicily."--_Atlantic Monthly._
C. N. AND A. M. WILLIAMSON'S THE PRINCESS PASSES
Illustrated by Edward Penfield.
"The authors have duplicated their success with 'The Lightning
Conductor.' ... Unusually absorbing."--_Boston Transcript._
D. D. WELLS' HER LADYSHIP'S ELEPHANT
This humorous Anglo-American tale made an instantaneous hit.
"He is probably funny because he cannot help it.... Must consent to be
regarded as a benefactor of his kind without responsibility."--_The
Nation._
R. M. JOHNSTON'S LEADING AMERICAN SOLDIERS
Biographies of Washington, Greene, Taylor, Scott, Andrew Jackson, Grant,
Sherman, Sheridan, McClellan, Meade, Lee, "Stonewall" Jackson, Joseph E.
Johnson. With portraits.
The first of a new series of biographies of leading Americans.
"Performs a real service in preserving the essentials."--_Review of
Reviews._
"Very interesting.... Much sound originality of treatment, and the style
is clear."--_Springfield Republican._
AS THE HAGUE ORDAINS
Journal of a Russian Prisoner's Wife in Japan. Illustrated from
photographs.
"Holds a tremendous human interest.... Author writes with wit and a
delightfully feminine abandon."--_Outlook._
"This surprisingly outspoken volume ... could have been written only by
an extraordinarily able woman who knew the inside of Russian politics
and also had actual experience in Japanese war hospitals."--_Chicago
Record-Herald._
W. F. JOHNSON'S FOUR CENTURIES OF THE PANAMA CANAL
With 16 illustrations and 6 colored maps.
"The most thorough and comprehensive book on the Panama
Canal."--_Nation._
JOHN L. GIVENS' MAKING A NEWSPAPER
The author was recently with the _New York Evening Sun_.
Some seventy-five leading newspapers praise this book as the best
detailed account of the business, editorial, reportorial and
manufacturing organization of a metropolitan journal. It should be
invaluable to those entering upon newspaper work and a revelation to the
general reader.
THE OPEN ROAD
THE FRIENDLY TOWN
Compiled by E. V. Lucas.
Pretty anthologies of prose and verse from British and American authors,
respectively for wayfarers and the urbane.
End of Project Gutenberg's That Affair at Elizabeth, by Burton E. Stevenson