"THORNTON'S NEST"
Douglas, suitcase in hand, ran across Seventeenth Street in time to
catch a Georgetown car. As he paid the conductor he heard his name
called and, glancing down the half empty car, saw Captain Chisholm
seated at the farther end and beckoning to him. He made his way down
the center aisle and joined the Englishman.
"Can you dine with me, Douglas?" asked Chisholm, making room for him on
the narrow seat.
"Ask me some other time, old man, I am dining with Colonel Thornton
to-night."
"Then suppose we make it Monday night at the Metropolitan Club?"
"Thanks, I will. At what hour?"
"Eight o'clock. I was sorry to miss you when you called this afternoon,
Douglas."
"How did you know I had been to see you, Chisholm?" in surprise. "The
telephone girl told me you were out."
"I stopped for a moment at the Rochambeau and found your card in my
letter box. I am on my way to the embassy now. Washington seems to
agree with you, Douglas," eying his companion with interest. "I never
saw you looking better."
"Happiness is a great health restorer," laughed Douglas.
"Happiness?" Chisholm tugged at his fair mustache. "Hum!" he looked
carefully around. They had that end of the car to themselves. "Heard
the news?"
"What news?"
"About the Japanese Ambassador?"
"No."
"He has been recalled."
"For what reason?"
"Not given out," shortly. "He called at the White House and State
Department, presented his papers and left this morning." Chisholm
looked Douglas squarely in the face. "Can't give a poor blasted
Englishman a point on the situation, I suppose?"
Douglas smiled with his lips, but his eyes were grave. "I would if I
could--but I can't. The Ambassador's sudden departure is as great a
surprise to me as to you."
Chisholm leaned forward and touched the electric button as the car
approached N Street. "I'll look you up to-morrow, Douglas. Ta-ta, old
chap," and he hurried out of the car.
Douglas settled back on his seat and pondered over the information
Chisholm had given him. What did the Ambassador's abrupt departure
portend? Was it but another of those puzzling coincidences which
seemed to follow in the wake of Senator Carew's murder, or was it the
culmination of an intrigue which would end in war?
The spring day was drawing to a close as Douglas left the car in
Georgetown and walked toward "Thornton's Nest." The old place had
not altered since he had seen it last, twelve years before, even
the beautiful old garden appeared as usual, the same box hedge, the
envy of the neighboring landowners, separated the sidewalk from the
well-kept private grounds. The large, old-fashioned mansion stood back
some distance in its own grounds. The bricks had been brought from
Philadelphia by sloop, and the fanlight over the front door had been
imported from England in the days prior to the Revolutionary War. The
huge columns supporting the arched roof shone white in the gathering
darkness. Douglas turned in at the gate and ran lightly up the few
stone steps leading to the portico and rang the bell. He had hardly
removed his hand from the button when the hall door was opened and an
old darky confronted him on the threshold.
"Cum right in, Marse Douglas, I'se mighty glad ter see yo' ag'in, suh."
"Nicodemus, is that you?" shaking the old man's hand. "I haven't seen
you since you chased me off the grounds for stealing apples. How's
Sophy?"
"Only tol'able, thank ye, suh; she's got a misery in her back. Want ter
go to yo' room, suh?"
"No; I'll just leave my hat and overcoat here."
"Yessir; let me take yo' bag, suh; I'll tote it upstairs. My!" as
Douglas stepped forward so that the hall light fell full on him, "how
yo' do favor yo' pa, the ole Cunnel."
Douglas laughed. "Thanks. Have the ladies come yet?"
"Yessir. Dey's upstairs makin' demselves comfo'able. Cunnel Thornton
will be down direckly. Yo' jes' walk inter de pawlar."
Douglas strolled over to the large hall mirror and inspected his tie
with care; he had been in a hurry when getting into his evening clothes
at the Albany, and the tie had proved troublesome. He readjusted it
with care, felt in his vest pocket for a small box, then turned and
surveyed his surroundings. A coach and four might have driven through
the broad hall which ran the length of the house. At the end of the
hall two broad circular staircases led to a wide landing, from which
branched the two flights of steps leading to the first bedroom floor.
Doors leading to the drawing-room, library, billiard, and dining rooms
opened on the right and left of the hall.
Remembering that the drawing-room was to the left of the entrance,
Douglas entered the open hall door and walked over to the mantelpiece
to see the time by the tall marble clock.
"Aren't you going to speak to _me_?" asked a voice behind him, and
Douglas sprang around with an exclamation of delight. Eleanor was
seated on a chair by one of the windows, and its high back, which was
partly turned to the hall door, had concealed her from view.
"My darling!" Douglas kissed the winsome face rapturously. "Nicodemus
told me you had arrived, but that you were upstairs, otherwise I should
have come in at once; I begrudge the time I wasted in the hall."
"I hurried and came down ahead of the others, hoping that you would get
here early; I particularly wanted to see you, Douglas."
"Did you?" in mock surprise. "I've been wanting to see you ever since I
left you this morning. The time has dragged since then."
She slipped her hand in his. "It's just this, Douglas," her softly
modulated voice had a trace of nervousness: "I want to ask you to keep
our engagement a secret"--his face fell--"just a few days," hastily. "I
want to get accustomed to it before telling the family"--she blushed
divinely. "It's such a precious secret."
Douglas took her face between his hands and pressed a passionate
kiss on her lips. "Your wish is my law," he said gravely. "I was
disappointed for the moment, because I am anxious to have the whole
world know my happiness. I brought you this"--pulling a small square
box from his vest pocket and laying it in her outstretched hand.
With a low cry of pleasure she pulled off the wrapping paper and opened
the box. The light from the lamp on the table near her chair was
reflected back from a superb ruby in a diamond setting. The box slipped
from her nervous fingers and rolled on the floor.
"Oh, get it quick, Douglas, I didn't mean to be so clumsy."
Douglas reached under the table, where the box had rolled, and picked
it up. "It's all right, my dearest; don't look so worried; the ring
isn't injured, for it is still in the box, see----" he held it before
her eyes. "Give me your left hand, dear;" Eleanor shrank slightly
away from him, but Douglas was intent in removing the ring from the
box and did not notice her agitation. "It is very becoming to your
hand," slipping it on the third finger, "the deep crimson shows off the
whiteness of your skin."
"It's just lovely." Eleanor drew a long breath, then raised her head
and kissed him tenderly. "Thanks, dear heart, for so beautiful a
present. But I am afraid if I wear it to-night our engagement will be a
secret no longer."
"That's true!" exclaimed Douglas, his voice betraying his
disappointment. "Put it back in the box"--holding it out to her.
"I'll do no such thing"--indignantly. "Take it off, Douglas, and give
it to me"; he did so, and she slipped the ring inside the bodice of her
low-cut evening gown. "Tell me, dearest, how did you happen to select a
ruby?"
"It's my birthstone"--Douglas colored--"I hope you won't think me
horribly sentimental."
"I shall not tell you what I think--it might turn your head. Hush! here
comes Uncle Dana."
Thornton strode into the room with outstretched hand. "Welcome to 'The
Nest,' Douglas; I am sorry I wasn't downstairs when you came. I hope
Eleanor has been doing the honors acceptably."
"She has, indeed, and proved a host in herself," laughed Douglas.
"Good; though it's a mystery how she got down ahead of the others."
"I was selfish enough to keep Annette to myself until I was fully
dressed," said Eleanor, "then I sent her to Cousin Kate."
"So you brought Annette with you?" asked Thornton.
"Yes, indeed. I had no intention of inflicting your bachelor household
with three women and no handmaiden. I knew Sophy would have her hands
full cooking dinner, therefore I brought Annette along." Her restless
eyes detected a figure hovering just outside the hall door. "Come in,
Cynthia," and she went forward to meet her friend.
The two beautiful girls made a picture good to look upon as they stood
together. Cynthia wore a simple frock, which matched her cheeks in
whiteness; while the pathetic droop of her mouth and the dark shadows
under her eyes did not detract from her charm, she looked wretchedly
ill. She shook hands with Douglas, when he was presented to her, with
polite indifference, then seated herself in a chair and leaned back
wearily. Douglas and Thornton exchanged glances, and the latter shook
his head sadly. He was about to speak when Mrs. Truxton bustled into
the room.
"I am sorry to keep everybody waiting," she exclaimed, as Douglas
pulled forward a chair for her. "But, if you will have dinner at such a
ridiculously early hour, Dana, you must expect your guests to be late."
"You are not late, Kate, for dinner has not yet been announced. I had
it earlier than usual as I thought we would retire soon afterwards and
get a good night's rest."
Cynthia shuddered involuntarily, and Eleanor, whose hand rested on her
shoulder, patted it affectionately. "It's all very well for you older
people to keep early hours, Uncle Dana, but Cynthia and I are going to
do just as we please. Personally, I expect to stay up until the wee
sma' hours."
"Dinner am served," announced Nicodemus, opening the folding doors
leading to the dining room, and, with an old-fashioned courtly bow,
Colonel Thornton offered his arm to Mrs. Truxton and escorted her to
the table, the two girls and Douglas following in their wake.
The dinner passed quickly. Thornton was an agreeable talker, and
Douglas, who had traveled in many lands, seconded his efforts by
recounting many amusing experiences which had befallen him. Cynthia's
pale cheeks assumed a more natural hue as the two skilful talkers
drew her out of herself, and Thornton sat back, well pleased, when he
finally succeeded in making her laugh.
"Washington isn't what it used to be," he declared. "As trite a
statement as it is true. Its very bigness has spoiled it socially.
There are cliques within cliques, and too many foreign elements
dominate it nowadays."
"Do you refer to the Diplomatic Corps?" asked Douglas, breaking off a
low-toned conversation with Eleanor.
"Not entirely. When I speak of the 'foreign element,' I also mean the
'climbers.'"
"We Georgetown people call them the 'pushers,'" announced Mrs. Truxton,
helping herself to the ice cream which Nicodemus was passing.
"And yet," continued Thornton, "I dare say there were just as amusing
characters in Washington fifty years ago as now."
"How about the woman of whom I have heard," asked Eleanor, "who carried
off the silver meat skewer at the French Legation, as it was then, as a
souvenir, and afterwards proudly used it as a hatpin?"
"Human nature is very much the same from one generation to another,"
acknowledged Mrs. Truxton. "But the types are different. I recollect my
grandmother's telling me that she attended services one Sunday at St.
John's Episcopal Church on Lafayette Square when the rector preached a
fiery sermon against the sin of dueling. Mrs. Alexander Hamilton and
her daughter sat in the pew just in front of my grandmother, and she
said Miss Hamilton bore the tirade for some minutes, then rose, turned
to her mother, and remarked in an audible tone: 'Come, Ma; we'll go.
This is no place for us.'"
"Come, you needn't put it all on Washington," exclaimed Douglas.
"Georgetown has famous blunderers and eccentric characters as well."
"And ghosts," added Mrs. Truxton. "Do not deprive Georgetown of its
chief attraction. Ghosts and Past Glory walk hand and hand through
these old streets."
"Ghosts," echoed Douglas, turning to his host. "Unless my memory is
playing me false, this house used to be thought haunted. It seems to me
I've heard tales of secret passages and mysterious noises."
Thornton laughed outright. "That old legend was caused by flying
squirrels getting in the wall through cracks in the eaves and chimneys.
Sometimes on still nights I can hear them dropping nuts, which make a
great noise as they fall from floor to floor. It's enough to scare a
nervous person into fits."
"You are very disappointing, Uncle Dana," objected Eleanor. "When
Douglas--Mr. Hunter,"--catching herself up, but no one apparently
noticed the slip, and she went on hurriedly--"spoke of spooks I had
hopes of an ancestral ghost."
"I always understood that this house was haunted, Dana," put in Mrs.
Truxton.
"Well, I believe we are supposed to possess a ghost--a very
respectable, retiring one," added Thornton, as Cynthia's eyes, which
were fixed upon him, grew to twice their usual size. "My great-aunt,
Sophronia Thornton, was a maiden lady, a good deal of a Tartar, I
imagine, from the dance she led my Great-grandfather Thornton, who
was an easy-going, peaceable man. She ran the house for him until his
marriage, and then ran his wife, and, according to tradition, she has
run her descendants out of her room ever since."
"Good gracious!" ejaculated Cynthia. "Do tell us all about her."
"There is not so very much to recount." Thornton smiled at her
eagerness. "The story goes, as I heard it first from my grandfather,
that when he attempted to occupy her room, the southwest chamber, he
was driven out."
"How?"
"He was very fond of reading in bed. As I said before, my great-aunt
was very rigid and did not approve of late hours, which was one rock
she and her brother split on. My grandfather, not having the lighting
facilities of the present day, used to read in bed by placing a lighted
candlestick on his chest, holding his book behind the candle so that
its light fell full on the printed page. At eleven o'clock every night
he would feel a slight puff of air and the candle would go out. He
tried everything to stop it. He stuffed every crack and cranny through
which a draft might be supposed to come, but it was of no use; his
light was always extinguished at eleven o'clock."
"Do you believe it?" asked Cynthia.
Thornton shrugged his shoulders. "I can only give you my own
experience. I occupied the room once, when home on a college vacation.
The house was filled with visitors, and I was put in the southwest
chamber. Everything went on very smoothly until one night I decided
to cram for an examination, and took my books to my room. I had an
ordinary oil lamp on the table by my bed, and so commenced reading.
After I had been reading about an hour the lamp went out suddenly. I
struck a match and relit it; again it was extinguished. We kept that up
most of the night; then I gathered my belongings and spent the rest of
the time before breakfast on the sofa in the library, where I was not
disturbed by the whims of the ghost of my spinster great-aunt."
"'There are more things in Heaven and earth,'" quoted Eleanor, as she
rose in obedience to a signal from Mrs. Truxton. "Where shall we go,
Uncle Dana?" as they strolled out into the hall.
"Into the library. Nicodemus will serve coffee there, and, if you
ladies have no objection, Douglas and I will smoke there also."
"Why, certainly," exclaimed Mrs. Truxton, picking out a comfortable
chair and signaling Douglas to take the one next hers, and without more
ado she plunged into questions relating to his family history. He cast
longing glances at Eleanor, but she refused to take the hint conveyed,
and, to his secret annoyance, walked out of the room shortly after.
Cynthia was having an animated conversation with Colonel Thornton and
sipping her coffee when, happening to look in the direction of the
hall door, she saw Eleanor standing there, beckoning to her. Making a
hurried excuse to the Colonel, she joined Eleanor in the hall, who,
without a word, slipped her arm about her waist and led her into the
drawing-room.
"What is----?" The words died in her throat as she caught sight of
a tall, soldierly figure standing under the chandelier. Eleanor
discreetly vanished, closing the hall door softly behind her as she
went.
"You!" Cynthia shrank back against the wall as Lane stepped forward.
"Cynthia, darling!" He held out his arms pleadingly, but with a moan
she turned her face from him. His eyes flashed with indignation.
"Cynthia, you have no right to condemn me unheard. I am innocent." He
approached her and gently took her hand in his.
Her eyes were closed, and a few tears forced themselves under the lids,
the scalding teardrops that come when the fountain is dry and only
bitter grief forces such expression of sorrow.
"Dear one, look at me. I am not guilty. I have forced myself upon you
because I want you to understand"--he spoke slowly, as if reasoning
with a child--"that I am absolutely innocent...."
"Not in thought!" burst in Cynthia.
"Perhaps not,"--steadily,--"but in deed. I spoke in anger. Your uncle
had insulted me grossly when I met him just before going to Mrs. Owen's
dance, and in my indignation I uttered a wish which would have been
better left unsaid. But listen to reason, dear; to think evil is not a
crime."
Cynthia threw back her head and gazed at him wildly. "Oh, I would so
gladly, gladly believe you innocent!" She placed her small, trembling
hands on his breast. "It hurts horribly--because I love you so."
Lane caught her in a close embrace. "My darling--my dear, dear one----"
His voice choked.
Cynthia lay passive in his arms. Suddenly she raised her white face and
kissed him passionately, then thrust him from her. "Oh, God! why did
you take that sharp letter file with you?"
"I didn't!" The words were positive, but his looks belied them.
"She says you did--she declares that when she met you looking for the
carriage you held it in your hand----" The words seemed forced from
Cynthia. She placed a hand on the chair nearest her as she swayed
slightly.
"She! Who?" The question was almost a roar.
"Annette."