discoveries, to explain to yourself how Mother Jane happened to have
those trinkets from the peddler's pack, and also how the ring, which you
very naturally thought must have been entrusted to the dove by Mr.
Chittenden himself, came to be about its neck when it flew home that day
of Mr. Chittenden's disappearance. Madam, we think old Mother Jane must
have helped herself out of the peddler's pack before it was found in the
woods there back of her hut, and of the other matter our explanation is
this:
"One day a young man, equipped for travelling, paused for a glass of
water at the famous well in Mr. Trohm's garden just as Mother Jane's
pigeons were picking up the corn scattered for them by the former, whose
tastes are not confined to the cultivation of fruits and flowers, but
extend to dumb animals, to whom he is uniformly kind. The young man wore
a ring, and, being nervous, was fiddling with it as he talked to the
pleasant old gentleman who was lowering the bucket for him. As he
fiddled with it, the earth fell from under him, and as the daylight
vanished above his head, the ring flew from his up-thrown hand, and lay,
the only token of his now blotted-out existence, upon the emerald sward
he had but a moment before pressed with his unsuspicious feet. It
burned--this ruby burned like a drop of blood in the grass, when that
demon came again to his senses, and being a tell-tale evidence of crime
in the eyes of one who had allowed nothing to ever speak against him in
these matters, he stared at it as at a deadly thing directed against
himself and to be got rid of at once and by means which by no
possibility could recoil back upon himself as its author.
"The pigeons stalking near offered to his abnormally acute understanding
the only solution which would leave him absolutely devoid of fear. He
might have swung open the lid of the well once more and flung it after
its owner, but this meant an aftermath of experience from which he
shrank, his delight being in the thought that the victims he saw vanish
before his eyes were so many encumbrances wiped off the face of the
earth by a sweep of the hand. To see or hear them again would be
destructive of this notion. He preferred the subtler way and to take
advantage of old Mother Jane's characteristics, so he caught one of the
pigeons (he has always been able to lure birds into his hands), and
tying the ring around the neck of the bird with a blade of grass plucked
up from the highway, he let it fly, and so was rid of the bauble which
to Mother Jane's eyes, of course, was a direct gift from the heavens
through which the bird had flown before lighting on her doorstep."
"Wonderful!" I exclaimed, almost overwhelmed with humiliation, but
preserving a brave front. "What invention and what audacity!--the
invention and the audacity of a man totally irresponsible for his deeds,
was it not?" I asked. "There is no doubt, is there, about his being an
absolute maniac?"
"No, madam." What a relief I felt at that word! "Since we entrapped him
yesterday and he found himself fully discovered, he has lost all grip
upon himself and fills the room we put him in with the unmistakable
ravings of a madman. It was through these I learned the facts I have
just mentioned."
I drew a deep breath. We were standing in the sight of several men, and
their presence there seemed intolerable. Unconsciously I began to walk
away. Unconsciously Mr. Gryce followed me. At the end of several paces
we both stopped. We were no longer visible to the crowd, and I felt I
could speak the words I had been burning to say ever since I saw the
true nature of Mr. Trohm's character exposed.
"Mr. Gryce," said I, flushing scarlet--which I here solemnly declare is
something which has not happened to me before in years, and if I can
help it shall never happen to me again,--"I am interested in what you
say, because yesterday, at his own gateway, Mr. Trohm proposed to me,
and----"
"You did not accept him?"
"No. What do you think I am made of, Mr. Gryce? I did not accept him,
but I made the refusal a gentle one, and--this is not easy work, Mr.
Gryce," I interrupted myself to say with suitable grimness--"the same
thing took place between me and Deacon Spear, and to him I gave a
response such as I thought his presumption warranted. The discrimination
does not argue well for my astuteness, Mr. Gryce. You see, I crave no
credit that I do not deserve. Perhaps you cannot understand that, but it
is a part of my nature."
"Madam," said he, and I must own I thought his conduct perfect, "had I
not been as completely deceived as yourself I might find words of
criticism for this possibly unprofessional partiality. But when an old
hand like myself can listen to the insinuations of a maniac, and repose,
as I must say I did repose, more or less confidence in the statements he
chose to make me, and which were true enough as to the facts he
mentioned, but wickedly false and preposterously wrong in suggestion, I
can have no words of blame for a woman who, whatever her understanding
and whatever her experience, necessarily has seen less of human nature
and its incalculable surprises. As to the more delicate matter you have
been good enough to confide to me, madam, I have but one remark to make.
With such an example of womanhood suddenly brought to their notice in
such a wild as this, how could you expect them, sane or insane, to do
otherwise than they did? I know many a worthy man who would like to
follow their example." And with a bow that left me speechless, Mr. Gryce
laid his hand on his heart and softly withdrew.
EPILOGUE
SOME STRAY LEAFLETS FROM AN OLD DIARY OF ALTHEA KNOLLYS, FOUND BY ME IN
THE PACKET LEFT IN MY CHARGE BY HER DAUGHTER LUCETTA.
I never thought I should do so foolish a thing as begin a diary. When in
my boarding-school days (which I am very glad to be rid of) I used to
see Meeley Butterworth sit down every night of her life over a little
book which she called the repository of her daily actions, I thought
that if ever I reached that point of imbecility I would deserve to have
fewer lovers and more sense, just as she so frequently advised me to.
And yet here I am, pencil in hand, jotting down the nothings of the
moment, and with every prospect of continuing to do so for two weeks at
least. For (why was I born such a chatterbox!) I have seen my fate, and
must talk to some one about him, if only to myself, nature never having
meant me to keep silence on any living topic that interests me.
Yes, with lovers in Boston, lovers in New York, and a most determined
suitor on the other side of our own home-walls in Peekskill, I have
fallen victim to the grave face and methodical ways of a person I need
not name, since he is the only gentleman in this whole town, except--But
I won't except anybody. Charles Knollys has no peer here or anywhere,
and this I am ready to declare, after only one sight of his face and one
look from his eye, though to no one but you, my secret, non-committal
confidant--for to acknowledge to any human being that my admiration
could be caught, or my heart touched, by a person who had not sued two
years at my feet, would be to abdicate an ascendency I am so accustomed
to I could not see it vanish without pain. Besides, who knows how I
shall feel to-morrow? Meeley Butterworth never shows any hesitation in
uttering her opinion either of men or things, but then her opinion never
changes, whilst mine is a very thistle-down, blowing hither and thither
till I cannot follow its wanderings myself. It is one of my charms,
certain fools say, but that is nonsense. If my cheeks lacked color and
my eyes were without sparkle, or even if I were two inches taller
instead of being the tiniest bit of mortal flesh to be found amongst all
the young ladies of my age in our so-called society, I doubt if the
lightness of my mind would meet with the approbation of even the warmest
woman-lovers of this time. As it is, it just passes, and sometimes, as
to-night, for instance, when I can hardly see to inscribe these lines on
this page for the vision of two grave, if not quietly reproving eyes
which float between it and me, I almost wish I had some of Meeley's
responsible characteristics, instead of being the airiest, merriest, and
most volatile being that ever tried to laugh down the grandeur of this
dreary old house with its century of memories.
Ah! that allusion has given me something to say. This house. What is
there about it except its size to make a stranger like me look back
continually over her shoulder in going down the long halls, or even when
nestling comfortably by the great wood-fire in the immense drawing-room?
_I_ am not one of your fanciful ones; but I can no more help doing this,
than I can help wishing Judge Knollys lived in a less roomy mansion with
fewer echoing corners in its innumerable passages. _I_ like brightness
and cheer, at least in my surroundings. If I must have gloom, or a
seriousness which some would call gloom, let me have it in individuals
where there is some prospect of a blithe, careless-hearted little midget
effecting a change, and not in great towering walls and endless floors
which no amount of sunshine or laughter could ever render homelike, or
even comfortable.
But there! If one has the man, one must have the home, so I had better
say no more against the home till I am quite sure I do not want the man.
For--Well, well, I am not a fool, but I _did_ hear something just then,
a something which makes me tremble yet, though I have spent five good
minutes trilling the gayest songs I know.
I think it is very inconsiderate of the witches to bother thus a
harmless mite like myself, who only asks for love, light, and money
enough to buy a ribbon or a jewel when the fancy takes her, which is not
as often as my enemies declare. And now a question! Why are my enemies
always to be found among the girls, and among the plainest of them too?
I never heard a man say anything against me, though I have sometimes
surprised a look on their faces (I saw it to-day) which might signify
reproof if it were not accompanied by a smile showing anything but
displeasure.
But this is a digression, as Meeley would say. What I want to do, but
which I seem to find it very difficult to do, is to tell how I came to
be here, and what I have seen since I came. First, then, to be very
short about the matter, I am here because the old folks--that is, my
father and Mr. Knollys, have decided Charles and I should know each
other. In thought, I courtesy to the decision; I think we ought to too.
For while many other men are handsomer or better known, or have more
money, alas! than he, he alone has a way of drawing up to one's side
with an air that captivates the eye and sets the heart trembling, a
heart, moreover, that never knew before it could tremble, except in the
presence of great worldly prosperity and beautiful, beautiful things.
So, as this experience is new, I am dutifully obliged for the excitement
it gives me, and am glad to be here, awesome as the place is, and
destitute of any such pleasures as I have been accustomed to in the gay
cities where I have hitherto spent most of my time.
But there! I am rambling again. I have come to X., as you now see, for
good and sufficient reasons, and while this house is one of consequence
and has been the resort of many notable people, it is a little lonesome,
our only neighbor being a young man who has a fine enough appearance,
but who has already shown his admiration of me so plainly--of course he
was in the road when I drove up to the house--that I lost all interest
in him at once, such a nonsensical liking at first sight being, as I
take it, a tribute only to my audacious little travelling bonnet and the
curl or two which will fall out on my cheek when I move my head about
too quickly, as I certainly could not be blamed for doing, in driving
into a place where I was expected to make myself happy for two weeks.
He, then, is out of these chronicles. When I say his name is Obadiah
Trohm, you will probably be duly thankful. But he is not as stiff and
biblical as his name would lead you to expect. On the contrary, he is
lithe, graceful, and suave to a point which makes Charles Knollys'
judicial face a positive relief to the eye and such little understanding
as has been accorded me.
I cannot write another word. It is twelve o'clock, and though I have the
cosiest room in the house, all chintz and decorated china, I find myself
listening and peering just as I did down-stairs in their great barn of a
drawing-room. I wonder if any very dreadful things ever happened in this
house? I will ask old Mr. Knollys to-morrow, or--or Mr. Charles.
* * * * *
I am sorry I was so inquisitive; for the stories Charles told me--I
thought I had better not trouble the old gentleman--have only served to
people the shadows of this rambling old house with figures of whose
acquaintance I am likely to be more or less shy. One tale in particular
gave me the shivers. It was about a mother and daughter who both loved
the same man (it seems incredible, girls so seldom seeing with the eyes
of their mothers), and it was the daughter who married him, while the
mother, broken-hearted, fled from the wedding and was driven up to the
great door, here, in a coach, dead. They say that the coach still
travels the road just before some calamity to the family,--a phantom
coach which floats along in shadow, turning the air about it to mist
that chills the marrow in the bones of the unfortunate who sees it. I am
going to see it myself some day, the real coach, I mean, in which this
tragic event took place. It is still in the stable, Charles tells me. I
wonder if I will have the courage to sit where that poor devoted mother
breathed out her miserable existence. I shall endeavor to do so if only
to defy the fate which seems to be closing in upon me.
Charles is an able lawyer, but his argument in favor of close bonnets
_versus_ bewitching little pokes with a rose or two in front, was very
weak, I thought, to-day. He seemed to think so himself, after a while;
for when, as the only means of convincing him of the weakness of the
cause he was advocating, I ran up-stairs and put on a poke similar to
the aforesaid, he retracted at once and let the case go by default. For
which I, and the poke, made suitable acknowledgments, to the great
amusement of papa Knollys, who was on my side from the first.
Not much going on to-day. Yet I have never felt merrier. Oh, ye hideous,
bare old walls! Won't I make you ring if----
* * * * *
I won't have it! I won't have that smooth, persistent hypocrite pushing
his way into my presence, when my whole heart and attention belong to a
man who would love me if he only could get his own leave to do so.
Obadiah Trohm has been here to-day, on one pretext or another, three
times. Once he came to bring some very choice apples--as if I cared for
apples! The second time he had a question of great importance, no doubt,
to put to Charles, and as Charles was in my company, the whole interview
lasted, let us say, a good half-hour at least. The third time he came,
it was to see _me_, which, as it was now evening, meant talk, talk, talk
in the great drawing-room, with just a song interpolated now and then,
instead of a cosy chat in the window-seat of the pretty Flower Parlor,
with only one pair of ears to please and one pair of eyes to watch.
Master Trohm was intrusive, and, if no one felt it but myself, it is
because Charles Knollys has set himself up an ideal of womanhood to
which I am a contradiction. But that will not affect the end. A woman
may be such a contradiction and yet win, if her heart is in the struggle
and she has, besides, a certain individuality of her own which appeals
to the eye and heart if not to the understanding. I do not despair of
seeing Charles Knollys' forehead taking a very deep frown at sight of
his handsome and most attentive neighbor. Heigho! why don't I answer
Meeley Butterworth's last letter? Am I ashamed to tell her that I have
to limit my effusion to just four pages because I have commenced a
diary?
* * * * *
I declare I begin to regard it a misfortune to have dimples. I never
have regarded it so before when I have seen man after man succumb to
them, but _now_ they have become my bane, for they attract two admirers,
just at the time they should attract but one, and it is upon the wrong
man they flash the oftenest; why, I leave it to all true lovers to
explain. As a consequence, Master Trohm is beginning to assume an air of
superiority, and Charles, who may not believe in dimples, but who on
that very account, perhaps, seems to be always on the lookout for them,
shrinks more or less into the background, as is not becoming in a man
with so many claims to respect, if not to love. _I_ want to feel that
each one of these precious fourteen days contains all that it can of
delight and satisfaction, and how can I when Obadiah--oh, the charming
and romantic name!--holds my crewels, instead of Charles, and whispers
words which, coming from other lips, would do more than waken my
dimples!
But if I must have a suitor, just when a suitor is not wanted, let me at
least make him useful. Charles shall read his own heart in this man's
passion.
* * * * *
I don't know why, but I have taken a dislike to the Flower Parlor. It
now vies with the great drawing-room in my disregard. Yesterday, in
crossing it, I felt a chill, so sudden and so penetrating, that I
irresistibly thought of the old saying, "Some one is walking over my
grave." _My grave!_ where lies it, and why should I feel the shudder of
it now? Am I destined to an early death? The bounding life in my veins
says no. But I never again shall like that room. It has made me think.
* * * * *
I have not only sat in the old coach, but I had (let me drop the words
slowly, they are so precious) I--I have had--a _kiss_--given me there.
Charles gave me this kiss; he could not help it. I was sitting on the
seat in front, in a sort of mock mirth he was endeavoring to frown upon,
when suddenly I glanced up and our eyes met, and--He says it was the
sauciness of my dimples (oh, those old dimples! they seem to have stood
me in good stead after all); but I say it was my sincere affection which
drew him, for he stooped like a man forgetful of everything in the whole
wide world but the little trembling, panting being before him, and gave
me one of those caresses which seals a woman's fate forever, and made
me, the feather-brained and thoughtless coquette, a slave to this
large-minded and true-hearted man for all my life hereafter.
Why I should be so happy over this event is beyond my understanding.
That he should be in the seventh heaven of delight is only to be
expected, but that I should find myself tripping through this gloomy old
house like one treading on air is a mystery, to the elucidation of which
I can only give my dimples. My reason can make nothing out of it. I, who
thought of nothing short of a grand establishment in Boston, money,
servants, and a husband who would love me blindly whatever my faults,
have given my troth--you will say my lips, but the one means the
other--to a man who will never be known outside of his own county, never
be rich, never be blind even, for he frowns upon me as often as he
smiles, and, worst of all, who lives in a house so vast and so full of
tragic suggestion that it might well awaken doleful anticipations in
much more serious-minded persons than myself.
And yet I am happy, so happy that I have even attempted to make the
acquaintance of the grim old portraits and weak pastels which line the
walls of many of these bedrooms. Old Mr. Knollys caught me courtesying
just now before one of these ancestral beauties, whose face seemed to
hold a faint prophecy of my own, and perceiving by my blushes that this
was something more than a mere childish freak on my part, he chucked me
under the chin and laughingly asked, how long it was likely to be before
he might have the honor of adding my pretty face to the collection.
Which should have made me indignant, only I am not in an indignant mood
just now.
* * * * *
Why have I been so foolish? Why did I not let my over-fond neighbor know
from the beginning that I detested him, instead of--But what have I done
anyway? A smile, a nod, a laughing word mean nothing. When one has eyes
which persist in dancing in spite of one's every effort to keep them
demure, men who become fools are apt to call one a coquette, when a
little good sense would teach them that the woman who smiles always has
some other way of showing her regard to the man she really favors. I
could not help being on merry terms with Mr. Trohm, if only to hide the
effect another's presence has on me. But he thinks otherwise, and to-day
I had ample reason for seeing why his good looks and easy manners have
invariably awakened distrust in me rather than admiration. Master Trohm
is vindictive, and I should be afraid of him, if I had not observed in
him the presence of another passion which will soon engross all his
attention and make him forget me as soon as ever I become Charles' wife.
Money is his idol, and as fortune seems to favor him, he will soon be
happy in the mere pleasure of accumulation. But this is not relating
what happened to-day.
We were walking in the shrubbery (by _we_ I naturally mean Charles and
myself), and he was saying things which made me at the same time happy
and a bit serious, when I suddenly felt myself under the spell of some
baleful influence that filled me with a dismay I could neither
understand nor escape from.
As this could not proceed from Charles, I turned to look about me, when
I encountered the eyes of Obadiah Trohm, who was leaning on the fence
separating his grounds from those of Mr. Knollys, looking directly at
us. If I flinched at this surveillance, it was but the natural
expression of my indignation. His face wore a look calculated to
frighten any one, and though he did not respond to the gesture I made
him, I felt that my only chance of escaping a scene was to induce
Charles to leave me before he should see what I saw in the lowering
countenance of his intrusive neighbor. As the situation demanded
self-possession and the exercise of a ready wit, and as these are
qualities in which I am not altogether deficient, I succeeded in
carrying out my intention sooner even than I expected. Charles hurried
from my presence at the first word, and proceeded towards the house
without seeing Trohm, and I, quivering with dread, turned towards the
man whom I felt, rather than saw, approaching me.
He met me with a look I shall never forget. I have had lovers--too many
of them,--and this is not the first man I have been compelled to meet
with rebuff and disdain, but never in the whole course of my none too
extended existence have I been confronted by such passion or overwhelmed
with such bitter recrimination. He seemed like a man beside himself, yet
he was quiet, too quiet, and while his voice did not rise above a
whisper, and he approached no nearer than the demands of courtesy
required, he produced so terrifying an effect upon me that I longed to
cry for help, and would have done so, but that my throat closed with
fright, and I could only gurgle forth a remonstrance, too faint even for
him to hear.