THE MIDNIGHT SEARCH.
Alone in his room, Grantley Mellen had sat for hours with only stern
thoughts for his companions, and they grew so black and fierce that the
most terrible crisis would have been less hard to endure than that
suspense.
He waited silent, immovable, till the last sound in the house died away;
waited still for slumber to overtake every inmate of the dwelling, that
he might carry out the plan he had formed.
He was going out to the cypress tree; he would discover if his wife's
agitation, when he proposed digging about it, was in any way connected
with the mystery which surrounded her. He believed that it was so,
though in what manner it was impossible to divine. Perhaps there were
letters hidden there--some condemning evidence against her which she had
found no opportunity since his return to destroy. Whatever it was, he
would discover it, drag it out, and with this fresh proof of her
treachery in his hands, overwhelm her with a knowledge of her guilt.
He, too, sat watching the clock, counting the strokes as the hours
sounded, but to him the time appointed did not arrive quickly. It seemed
as if the hands scarcely moved; in his mad impatience he thought the
appointed instant never would approach.
It was a terrible vigil that he kept; the strongest man could not for
many hours have endured that strain of suspense, while tortured by such
fiendish whispers as moaned in his ear.
The time came at last; the moonlight streamed pale and uncertain through
the casement; no sound broke the stillness, even the wind had ceased its
moaning. He could go forth now without fear of discovery.
He could go forth, but to what?
His very inability to form an idea of the discoveries he might make,
increased the fever of his impatience. He could wait no longer--not a
moment--not a second.
He opened the door and crept cautiously through the gallery, down stairs
into the lower hall, undid the fastenings of the outer door and passed
on to the veranda.
The garden tools were some of them in a closet in the area; he went down
the steps, opened the door, took out a spade and hurried towards the
cypress tree.
There he was, standing under the moaning branches, his head bare,
digging wildly and aimlessly about the roots, peering at every lump of
earth with his insane gaze, ready to believe that he had at last come
upon that nameless thing for which he sought.
And while he dug furiously into the earth, Elizabeth Mellen knelt by the
window-seat watching him; and Elsie lay upon the floor, so utterly
prostrated that she could only cry out to Elizabeth at intervals in her
sharp, discordant voice:
"Is he there yet--is he there?"
"Still there," she answered.
"What is he doing?"
"Digging, digging! He is on the wrong side of the tree."
Elsie gave a sigh of relief.
"No, no," continued Elizabeth; "he stops to throw the earth back--he is
going farther round."
"Has he found the place--has he?"
"Not yet."
Elsie could not even groan; her breath came in quick gasps; her hands
tore madly at the carpet, but Elizabeth leaned motionless against the
window-sill, watching always with that strained gaze.
"Where is he now, Bessie?"
"He has not reached it--he is near! No! he is digging again--he has not
found the place."
"If we could only stop him," cried Elsie, roused to new courage. "If I
opened my window and called out."
"Too late, too late!"
"But he will find it--he will find it!"
"Then God help me, I can do no more!"
Elsie sprang up with another shriek.
"You'll tell--you'll tell! I know you will give way--and Grant will
murder you--murder us all."
Elizabeth caught the frantic creature in her arms, and forced her back
on the couch.
"Lie still," she said.
"Let me go, I say--let me go! I want to die--I won't live after he finds
you out. I'll kill you, Elizabeth, if you don't let me go."
But Elizabeth held her firmly in spite of her insane struggles, crying
out:
"It is nothing to you--you have no cause to fear. You are mad, mad! I
tell you the trouble is mine; whatever comes falls on my head; be still,
Elsie."
"You promise. Swear it--swear not to bring my name in."
"I have sworn and I will keep my oath," returned Elizabeth. "Disgrace,
infamy, death--I will bear them all alone. What should I gain by
dragging you down with me?"
She fell away from the girl as she spoke, but Elsie did not attempt to
rise; she lay still now, exhausted by her recent violence, and reassured
by Elizabeth's promise.
Again the woman leaned against the window-sill and looked out towards
the tree. Mellen was at work still, more furiously than ever, throwing
up great shovelsful of earth and dashing them down with frantic haste.
"Is he there yet?" called Elsie.
"Yes, yes! How he works--dig--dig--dig!"
She stopped suddenly: the silence raised wilder horror in Elsie's mind.
"Has he found it?"
"Not yet. He is standing still now, he is throwing the earth back."
"What now--what now?" called Elsie, when Elizabeth paused.
"He is looking about--he is puzzled. There is only that place left--he
will miss it. The shadows are blackest there."
Another instant of intent watching, then a low cry.
"He is there--he is there!"
"Stop him!" shrieked Elsie. "Shout to him!"
Elizabeth whispered hoarsely:
"Too late! too late!"
"Is he digging?"
"Yes; wait--wait!"
She clutched the window-sill until her nails bent and broke against the
woodwork.
"First on one side, then the other," she whispered. "He doesn't touch
the right spot--I know it so well--night and day I have seen it----"
"Elizabeth! Elizabeth!"
She never heeded the mad cry, pressed closer and closer to the
window-frame, staring out as if every energy of her nature was centred
in that gaze.
"He has not found it! He stops again--he throws down the spade! He is
stamping on the ground. Oh! once more!"
Then another pause, and at last Elizabeth cried in the same sharp
whisper:
"He is throwing the earth back--he turns away!"
"Saved! saved!" shrieked Elsie.
Elizabeth watched her husband's movements still. He stood for some
moments in quiet, then walked about the tree; she could feel the baffled
rage that shook him.
He turned away at last and disappeared around the corner of the house.
Then Elizabeth sprang to her feet.
"Where are you going?" cried Elsie.
"Lie still--don't speak, on your life!"
She ran to the door and locked it, then threw herself down by the fire.
"He might come in and find us," she whispered.
Elsie crept across the floor again, seeking protection at her side.
There they waited, hushing their breaths, listening for the echo of his
step on the stairs. It came at last, muffled and cautious, but terribly
distinct to their strained senses. He half paused at the room where they
were, passed on, the door of his chamber opened and shut.
"He has gone in," said Elizabeth.
"Saved! saved!" broke again from Elsie, but there was no answering echo
from the woman by her side.
For a time they sat motionless, whether moments or hours neither of them
ever could have told.