A day or two after the departure of Rutherford, Miss Gladden, having
learned from Lyle at what hour Jack usually completed his day's work,
set forth upon her visit to the cabin. She felt that her errand might
prove embarrassing both to Jack and herself; she wished to obtain some
clue regarding Lyle's parentage; at least, to learn what his
suspicions, or possible knowledge might be concerning the matter, and
taking into consideration the contingency that she might be his own
child, whose existence he had kept secret for reasons of his own, it
was a subject which would require very delicate handling.
She found Jack at the cabin, and alone, and his courteous greeting,
containing less formality and more cordiality and friendliness than
on the former occasion, made her task seem far less difficult. He
ushered her into the pleasant little sitting-room, and she noted
even more particularly than on her former visit, the exquisite
taste betrayed, not only in the furnishings of the room, but in
their very arrangement.
After chatting a few moments regarding the little circle of friends at
the house, in whom he seemed to take more interest than she would have
expected from a man of his secluded life, the conversation naturally
turned to Lyle, and Miss Gladden said:
"I have wished to see you regarding her because you seem to be the
only one among those living here who appreciates her ability, or
cares for her welfare; and you have known her and her surroundings so
long, I believed you could give me some suggestions and advice
regarding what is best to be done for her, even now, while she remains
here."
"I have taken a great interest in the child ever since I have known
her," Jack replied, "and I am only too glad that she has found another
friend, and that friend a lady; and if I can assist, by suggestion or
otherwise, I shall be most happy to do so."
"I asked your opinion the other evening," continued Miss Gladden, "as
to taking her east with me, but there were other matters pertaining to
her welfare, on which I wished your opinion and advice, but I could
not so well speak of them before her, so I asked for this interview."
Miss Gladden hesitated a moment, almost hoping that Jack might make
some remark which would give her a cue as to the best method for her
to pursue in seeking the information she desired, but his attitude was
that of respectful attention, and he was evidently waiting for her to
proceed.
"I have felt attracted toward Lyle from the first," she began slowly,
"not alone by her wondrous beauty and grace of manner, but even more
by her intelligence and intellectual ability, her natural refinement
and delicacy, which, considering her surroundings, seemed to me simply
inexplicable. From the very first, she has been to me a mystery, and
as I become better acquainted with her, the mystery, instead of being
lessened, is only deepened."
She paused, but he offered no comment, only bowed gravely for her to
continue.
"I could not, and I cannot yet, understand how one like her could ever
have been born, or could exist in such surroundings as hers; and the
fact that she has existed here, her beautiful nature untainted,
unsullied by the coarseness, the vulgarity and the immorality about
her, to me seemed an indication that she was of an altogether
different type, born in another and far higher sphere. I saw she was
unhappy, and I determined to win her confidence, and in so doing, from
a vague suspicion I have gradually arrived at a firm conviction that
Lyle is not the child of those whom she calls her parents."
Jack manifested no surprise, neither was there anything in his manner
to indicate that this was a subject upon which he had any knowledge.
He simply asked very calmly,--almost indifferently it seemed to Miss
Gladden,--
"Have you discovered any direct evidence in support of this conviction
that she is not their child?"
"No tangible evidence," replied Miss Gladden, "nothing, of course,
that could be called proof, but there are what I consider very strong
indications."
"Are the indications on Lyle's part, or on the part of Mr. and Mrs.
Maverick?" inquired Jack.
"On both sides," replied Miss Gladden, "I have very little to say
regarding Mrs. Maverick; she is a kind-hearted woman, and seems to
treat Lyle with consideration and some degree of affection; there is
very little of the latter, but perhaps it is all of which she is
capable, for I should think life with that brute would quickly crush
out all the affection, if not all the intelligence, in a woman's
nature; but the neglect and ill treatment of Maverick himself towards
Lyle surely indicate that she is no child of his."
"Your remark regarding Mrs. Maverick might be still more applicable to
him, that he is incapable of anything like affection or kindness."
"Of course he is," replied Miss Gladden quickly, "but I can not
conceive of a man being quite so low as to be without even animal
instincts; I cannot believe that a father would insult and degrade his
own daughter as he has Lyle, and as he would continue to do, if he
were not restrained through fear of his wife."
For the first time, Jack started. "Fear of his wife, did you say, Miss
Gladden? Pardon me, but I think that brute fears neither God, man nor
devil, and how you can assert that he is in fear of his wife, whom he
has always abused mercilessly, I cannot imagine."
"It is a fact, nevertheless; for one morning after he had been
exceedingly abusive and insulting in his language toward Lyle, Mrs.
Maverick told her that he was, in some way, in her power, and that it
should never occur again; and it never has."
Jack rose, and began to pace the room.
"Did you hear her say that, Miss Gladden?"
"No, Lyle told me of it."
"Had Lyle any idea of what she meant by it?"
"She did not seem to have; nothing was ever said regarding that phase
of the subject; she only seemed relieved that Mrs. Maverick promised
to prevent a repetition of her father's abuse of her."
Jack seated himself. "You spoke of some reasons on Lyle's part for
your conclusions; what were they?"
Miss Gladden then told him of Lyle's strange impressions and of her
dream, but made no allusion to the photograph, wishing to reserve that
until later.
Jack looked thoughtful. "I wonder that she has never spoken to me
regarding this dream," he said at length.
"She told me she had not had the dream so often since having been
occupied with her studies and reading, probably that accounts for her
not speaking of it; lately she says it has returned."
Both were silent for a while, then Miss Gladden asked:
"Do you not think these dreams and impressions are indications of an
early life, far different from this?"
"I do," he replied gravely.
"That was my opinion," then, determined to get some expression from
him, she continued:
"I am so attached to her, so desirous, if possible, to rescue her from
this wretched life, that I am anxious to get some clue as to her true
parentage; that is why I have come to you, her friend. I thought
possibly you might be able to aid me in getting some evidence, or some
information regarding her early history."
Miss Gladden was watching Jack keenly, to note if her words produced
any effect on that immobile face. She was not disappointed: he
started, almost imperceptibly, and as he fixed his dark eyes upon her
own, she noticed, as never before, how keen and piercing, and how
eloquently beautiful they were. Miss Gladden's eyes did not drop
before his searching gaze; she was determined that he should read
only sincerity and candor in their depths, and make his answer
accordingly. When he spoke, his voice was unlike its usual smooth,
even tone; it was tender and deep, full of some strange emotion, and
reminded her wonderfully of her lover.
"Miss Gladden, may I ask,--for I believe you will answer me truthfully
and candidly,--what ever led you to suppose that I could give you any
information regarding Lyle's early history?"
"I will answer you candidly, as you wish," she replied; "the thought
first occurred to me of coming to you for advice regarding Lyle,
simply because I regarded you as her best friend, in fact, until I
came, her only friend. Then a remark accidently dropped by Lyle, as to
what you had once said of her singing, that it reminded you of but one
voice which you had heard, but that you did not like to hear her, led
me to think that perhaps she was in some way connected with some one
you had known, and that possibly that was the reason for the special
interest you took in her welfare.
"Then there was something more, in connection with her dream," and she
told him how Lyle had at last identified the pictured face which
seemed so familiar to her, as the dream-face of her childhood, and how
immediately after the dream had returned.
"After she told me this," continued Miss Gladden, "you will see that I
naturally concluded that the face was that of her mother; that her
mother, her parents, and probably her early life were known to you;
and I will frankly admit, that except that it seemed incredible that
you would allow her to remain in these surroundings, if my hypothesis
were correct, I would have believed that you were her father, and that
grief from bereavement or separation, had caused you to choose this
life for yourself and her."
Jack had again risen and was slowly pacing the room. Miss Gladden
could read no sign of displeasure in his face, though she detected
indications of some powerful emotion, and of acute suffering. He
seemed battling with old-time memories, and when at last he seated
himself and began speaking, there was a strange pathos vibrating
through the forced calmness of his voice, and the piercing eyes, now
looking so kindly into her own, had in their depths such hopeless
sadness, that Miss Gladden's heart was stirred by a pity deeper than
she had ever known, for she instinctively felt that she was in the
presence of some great, despairing sorrow.
With a smile of rare sweetness and beauty, he said: "Your candor and
frankness deserve confidence in return, and I will give it so far as
it is within my power to do so, and yet I fear that you will be
disappointed. Your surmises are incorrect in many respects, and yet
contain a great deal of truth, and I will try, so far as possible, to
be as frank with you as you have been with me. In the first place, I
must say to you, that regarding Lyle's true parentage, whether or not
she is the child of the Mavericks, I know, positively, nothing more
than do you, yourself."
He smiled as he noted Miss Gladden's look of astonishment, and
continued:
"Like you, I have my suspicions that she is not their child, and have
had them since first seeing her, years ago. As in your case, my
suspicions long ago changed to conviction, and my convictions are
probably even deeper than yours, for the reason, that in form, in
feature, in voice and manner, in every expression and gesture," his
voice trembled for an instant, but he controlled it, "she is the exact
counterpart of another; some one whom I knew in a life as remote, as
far from this as it is possible to conceive. But I have no direct
proof, not a shadow of tangible evidence with which I could confront
Maverick and denounce him with having stolen the child, and, knowing
him as I do, I know that for Lyle's sake, until I have some such
proof, it were better to remain silent."
"Pardon me for interrupting you," Miss Gladden exclaimed, "but that is
a contingency that never entered my mind, that Lyle had been stolen
from her parents! That is far worse than anything I had dreamed of."
"Nevertheless, if she is not their child, she was stolen, and just in
proportion as the former is improbable, the latter is probable, almost
certain. You will now see wherein your supposition that my interest in
her was due to her connection in my mind with some one I had formerly
known, was correct. I took a special interest in her for this reason;
it was a pleasure to teach her, to note her mind expanding so rapidly,
to watch her as she developed physically and mentally; every day
growing more and more like the one I had known. I enjoyed tracing the
resemblance day by day, though it often caused me almost as much pain
as pleasure,--but when I heard her sing, that was too much,--it was
more than I could bear,--it was like compelling some lost soul in
purgatory to listen to the songs of paradise."
There was a tremor in Jack's voice, and he paused, touched even more
deeply by the sympathetic tears glistening in the beautiful eyes full
of such tender pity, than by the bitter memories passing before his
own mind.
"What has perplexed me most," he continued, "is the fact that Lyle has
seemed unable to recall anything relating to her early childhood. I
have tried in every way to arouse her memory, and that was my chief
object in allowing her to see the photograph of which she told you;
but, as she often says, the first few years of her life seem to be
only blank. I cannot account for that."
"Still," said Miss Gladden, "these dreams of hers show that there are
memories there, and something may yet recall them to her mind."
"That has been my hope," he replied, "that is what I have been waiting
for all these years, for her mind to recall some incident, or some
individual, that would furnish the needed proof as to her parentage."
"Do you think," asked Miss Gladden, after a pause, "that it would be
wise to give Lyle a hint of our suspicions?"
"I have thought it might be well, if possible, to arouse her own
suspicions by some process of reasoning on her part, not by any
suggestions of ours."
"May I inquire whether those whom you consider her true parents are
still living?"
"They both died many years ago."
"Then, if her identity could be proven beyond a doubt, would there be
any one to give her such a home as she ought to have?"
"Yes, there are those who would be only too glad to give her such a
home as very few have the good fortune to possess."
"And have they never made any inquiry for her?" Miss Gladden asked in
surprise.
"They have no idea that she is living; her parents died under peculiar
circumstances, and she was supposed to have died at the same time."
"Then ought we not," said Miss Gladden thoughtfully, "both for her
sake and theirs, to let them know that she is living, and help them to
find her?"
"Unless they could see her for themselves," he replied, "they would
probably be rather skeptical, and require very positive proof
regarding her claims, they have believed her dead for so many years.
But even though I may have known Lyle's mother, I am not in
communication with her friends, and would not be the proper person to
present her claims to them."
For a few moments, Miss Gladden sat silently watching the play of the
light and shade on the mountain side across the ravine, opposite the
cabin, as the shadows cast by the light, floating clouds, followed
each other in rapid succession.
Jack seemed to be thinking deeply, and when he at last spoke, it was
with great deliberation:
"For a long time, as I have become more and more convinced of Lyle's
identity, I have been anxious to have her taken away from these
surroundings, and placed in the home to which I believe she has a
right; but without tangible evidence with which to establish her
claims, and also to prove Maverick's guilt, I could think of no
feasible plan, nothing that did not seem likely to result in failure,
and leave Lyle possibly in a worse condition than at present. I will
now say to you, Miss Gladden, in confidence, that I think before very
long, the way will be opened for Lyle to find the home and friends
that I consider are really hers. Through information given me in
confidence, I have learned that some of those whom I believe to be
most closely related to her and who would be most interested in her,
did they know of her existence, will in all probability be out here on
business this summer; if they do not recognize Lyle, I shall be
greatly disappointed."
Miss Gladden's face expressed the delight she felt. "Is it possible?"
she exclaimed, "Why, I cannot conceive of anything lovelier! If she
has been stolen all these years, and her people unconscious of her
very existence, to have them appear on the scene, and recognize and
claim her, will seem like a beautiful bit of fiction interwoven in our
prosaic, every-day life, or like the closing scene in some drama,
where the wrongs at last are all made right. To think what happiness
it will bring to them, to her and to us!"
Jack's face grew strangely serious. "I shall be glad for her sake;" he
replied, then added: "Sometimes, Miss Gladden, wrongs are righted only
at a terrible cost, and what seems to you like the closing of a
peaceful drama, may prove a tragedy to those who are concerned in
it."
Then, before she could reply, he said, in a different tone, as though
to change the conversation:
"It will not be best to mention what I have told you to any one; there
is no knowing what course Maverick might pursue if he had a hint of
it, for he is a desperate man; but if there is any way in which Lyle's
mind could be carried back and made to recall something of her past
life, I wish it might be done."
Miss Gladden had risen, preparatory to taking leave. Having given a
searching glance around the room, she turned toward Jack, saying
wistfully:
"Am I asking too much? Could I see the photograph which you allowed
Lyle to see?"
For an instant Jack hesitated; then he replied, "I am willing you
should see it, but you must not expect me to say anything concerning
that picture or myself. I have spoken to you in confidence regarding
Lyle, but I can go no further."
"I will not ask it," she replied.
Without a word, he went to a small trunk, concealed by a fine
bear-skin, and taking therefrom the picture, silently handed it to
Miss Gladden.
She uttered a low cry of surprise, and then stood for some time
intently studying the lovely face in every detail. When she returned
the picture to Jack's hands, there were tears in her eyes, as she
exclaimed, "How beautiful! and how like Lyle!"
"I hoped she would see the resemblance," he replied.
"It seems almost incredible that she did not," answered Miss Gladden,
"except for the fact that she has the least self-consciousness of any
one I ever saw; it is doubtful if she would recognize her own
picture."
For a long time Jack stood watching Miss Gladden, as, having thanked
him for the interview, she walked slowly up the winding road. His eyes
grew strangely wistful and tender, very unlike their ordinary
expression, and a smile, sad but sweet, played about the usually stern
lips.
"He has chosen well," he murmured at length, "they are well suited to
each other; Heaven grant nothing may ever mar their happiness!" and
with a heavy sigh, he turned and entered the cabin.