TIBBY
[Illustration]
TIBBY
_A Novel Dealing with Psychic Forces and Telepathy_
BY
ROSETTA LUCE GILCHRIST
Author of “_Apples of Sodom_,” etc.
“The practical effect of a belief is the best test of its
soundness.”—_Froude._
NEW YORK AND WASHINGTON
THE NEALE PUBLISHING COMPANY
1904
Copyright, 1904
By
ROSETTA LUCE GILCHRIST
To my daughter
Jessamine, who
discovered and
introduced Tibby to the
Author
CONTENTS
Chapter. Page.
I. The Fair Unknown, 9
II. Tibby’s Eyes, 18
III. The New Acquaintance, 27
IV. Through Clairvoyant Vision, 33
V. The Letter, 44
VI. An Old-Fashioned Journey, 48
VII. In the New Home, 64
VIII. Mother and Child, 74
IX. A New Development, 81
X. The Ghosts of the Cabinet, 86
XI. The Fire, 96
XII. A New Medium, 104
XIII. A Domestic Jar, 114
XIV. Before the Public, 122
XV. Welcome Guests, 126
XVI. An Old Acquaintance, 136
XVII. An Old-Time Seance Amidst Old-Time Scenes and Old-Time
Folks, 151
XVIII. Major Walden, 172
XIX. Led into Error, 180
XX. Spirits of the Air, 193
XXI. The Reaper, 202
XXII. New Arrivals, 209
XXIII. The Counterplot, 223
XXIV. The Trail of the Serpent, 232
XXV. Tibby Conquers, 241
XXVI. Esther’s Disappearance, 255
XXVII. A Legal Document is Received, 260
XXVIII. Horace Wylie’s Philosophy, 271
XXIX. Drifting, 277
XXX. The Coming of the Storm, 287
XXXI. Caught in a Blizzard, 301
XXXII. A Surprise, 314
XXXIII. Conclusion, 327
TIBBY
CHAPTER I
THE FAIR UNKNOWN
The great bell of the cathedral chimed musically the hour of six, its
vibrant tones mingling with the muffled din and clangor of smaller
bells, steam whistles, town clocks and street-car jingle, making itself
heard above the roar and rattle of travel over the stone-paved streets
of the Forest City.
Away at the north the blue lake rolled, its waters dotted by the many
white-clothed vessels and smoke-trailing steamships. The whole was made
bright by a lowering, unveiled sun, which ere long must sink to rest in
its waves. At the south a heavy cloud of smoke and vapor rested above
the river flats, hiding the blackened roofs of the shops and
manufactories, only broken by the scarlet tongues of fire that
occasionally shot upward from seething furnaces and tall chimneys.
The rattle upon the pavement grew louder, and the confusion of sounds
greater, as the crowds of workmen thronged the streets, homeward-bound,
after the hard day of labor.
At an upper window of La Grande Hotel a lady, screened by the hanging
folds of the curtain drapery, looked out upon the multitude of
pedestrians hurrying along the sidewalk below. The close-fitting gown of
soft, light material revealed a plump, stylish little figure, most
attractive in its fashionable perfection. Against the dark wood of the
window-casing rested a white, rounded wrist, and delicate, dimpled hand,
upon the fingers of which glittering stones caught the rich sunlight and
showered it in rainbow splendor upon the opposite wall.
The fluffy rings of fair hair that rested above her forehead seemed
appropriate adornment to the bright, girlish face and careless, smiling
eyes, that showed so certainly her exemption from sorrow and care.
The perfection and harmony of her costume showed also that she belonged
to that class that “Toil not, neither do they spin,” but are the
beautiful exponents of the art of modiste and hairdresser.
Across the room, resting indolently in an easy chair, a gentleman
studied the third edition of the _Daily Leader_, apparently oblivious of
the presence of the fair lady at the window. He, too, had the well-fed,
well-groomed look of the man with full purse and few anxieties, together
with an air of unmistakable elegance and worldly wisdom.
In age he appeared five and thirty. His face was smooth shaven, except
for the long, drooping mustache which shaded the corners of his
firm-lipped mouth. His dark hair, inclined to curl, was closely cropped.
His brown eyes were marvelously clear and penetrating, his forehead
broad and particularly full above the temples. His heavy, massive build,
with the squarely cut and rather prominent chin gave him an awesome
individuality, which was counteracted by the exceeding graciousness,
gentleness, and courtesy of his manner.
He was well known in business circles, a man keen, shrewd, and full of
worldly cunning, but as honest and upright as the majority of his
compeers who make or lose fortunes in a day at the mart of speculation.
At present he was connected with a steel industry, and greatly
interested in the fluctuations of the ore and coal market, the strikes
at the mines, and the attitude of the United States Congress with
reference to tariff rates. He was yet studying the columns before him,
and balancing in his mind the advisability of recalling salesmen from
certain localities, when the lady interrupted his thought.
“Horace, have you ever noticed that pretty, sad-looking woman, dressed
in black, who goes by here so frequently, leading a little child?”
“Pretty, sad woman, dressed in black—small child. A definite
description, truly. How many in this delightful city will answer to the
same, think you? Pretty—in a city noted for handsome women; sad—few are
happy; dressed in black—the fashionable street dress at present; and
small child—not a scarce article, I believe. Really, Nellie, you must be
more specific.” And Mr. Wylie laid his paper carefully over the arm of
his chair and smiled provokingly at his wife.
“Oh, you are too bad! This lady has such a sweet face, she is really
conspicuous, and she always comes down Leader Avenue at about this hour
and turns down Herald Street, going into one of those blocks across the
way. I feel quite sure she gets sewing to do, for she usually carries a
good-sized parcel with her. She is very interesting.”
“Why, my dear, I am surprised at your enthusiasm. You really seem to
have been cultivating a habit of observation.” Mr. Wylie leaned his head
against the back of his chair and looked at his wife through half-closed
eyes, while with his large, shapely hand he softly stroked his smooth
chin.
“A woman with a parcel and a mystery,” he continued. “I am not sure but
you would shine as a female detective, Nellie. Shall I send in your name
at the next meeting of the police board?”
Mrs. Wylie looked at her husband with a petulant pout of her pretty
lips. “You are really unkind to ridicule me when I want to be very
serious. Truly, I believe this _is_ a woman with a mystery and history.
She has attracted me wonderfully, as she would you could you see her. I
wish I knew of some way to learn more about her.”
“And so you have been sitting here watching for the unknown, when I
supposed you were studying costumes, or mentally rhapsodizing upon the
architectural beauties of the stone walls opposite. I am afraid, Nellie,
you are getting lonely. The Misses Eldridge have not called lately, or
that dear, delightful Mrs. Lee, about whom you were raving a month ago,
has gone away. I must look into this. When my wife is forced to seek
amusement and objects of interest in the faces of the passers-by upon
the streets—”
“Oh, how fortunate! There she comes now! You shall see for yourself,”
interrupted Mrs. Wylie, eagerly leaning forward and scanning the street
before her. “She will be opposite here before long.”
Mr. Wylie arose languidly, and slightly shaking his body to adjust his
clothing, moved gracefully across the room to his wife’s side, where,
glancing over her shoulder, he sought the described woman. Among the
throng of hurrying pedestrians crossing the street a few rods away they
saw a lady, dressed in plain and unassuming black, slowly accommodating
her footsteps to the pace of the little toddler at her side, who trudged
along with the half-tottering, uncertain gait of infants of her age. So
slowly was she obliged to walk that the spectators at the window had
ample opportunity for close inspection.
The woman was of medium height, slender and pliant, with a fine poise of
the head and grace of sloping shoulders. Her face was pale, too pale for
perfect health, Elinor Wylie thought, and her features were clear-cut
and expressive. But the beauty of her face was in her eyes. As she came
opposite the hotel she seemed accidentally to glance upward.
Involuntarily Mr. and Mrs. Wylie drew back from the window, then looked
at each other and laughed.
“Is she not lovely?” questioned Mrs. Wylie triumphantly.
“She has rather fine features,” returned the gentleman, absently
twirling the curtain about his fingers. “I fancy I have seen her before
somewhere, but I cannot now remember where.” He wrinkled his brow
thoughtfully. “I do not associate that face in my memory, however, with
black robes or the character of sewing woman in Forest City.”
“I knew you would be interested if you could but see her; and now how
can I learn more of her? I might seek her in a business way to get her
to sew for me or something of that kind,” said the little woman, looking
inquiringly at her husband.
He laughed, a soft-modulated laugh, that well harmonized with his
languid movements and studied grace.
“I am afraid you are premature in arriving at conclusions. You are not
yet sure that she is a sewing woman. I think I begin to understand your
mission on earth. You should be at the head of an organized benevolent
society. You are such an adept at fishing out cases upon which to waste
your sympathy.”
“Please do not laugh, Horace. It is very seldom I become interested in
anything of the kind and you should encourage me,” she said.
And truly it was a rare thing for careless, thoughtless Elinor Wylie to
take interest in anything outside the fashionable circle which she
denominated “our set.” Her life had been too carefully ordered for her
to have much appreciation of the wretchedness beyond her gates.
“And so you think I should allow you the luxury of an entirely new
sensation,” said Mr. Wylie, with his habitual drawl. “All right. Be as
benevolent as you choose, only be careful,” he continued, rising and
beginning to draw on his gloves.
Mrs. Wylie looked at him inquiringly.
“I am going to keep an appointment with Colonel Fenton. By the way,
Nellie, did I tell you, Doctor Lyman, the noted seer and spiritist, is
coming next week to give a series of lectures in Garrett’s Hall? I think
we’ll have to attend, will we not?”
“Dr. Lyman? Oh, yes; Mrs. Wallace was telling me about him. Do you care
to hear _him_?” asked Mrs. Wylie doubtfully.
“Most assuredly, and so must you. People say he is remarkably
interesting; and besides, it will never do to lose so good an
opportunity to learn of the invisible world toward which we are fast
hastening; eh, Nelly?”
“But, Horace—” Little Mrs. Wylie hesitated and raised her blue eyes to
his questioningly.
“Well, my dear, I am the personification of devout attention; what will
you have?”
“I wonder—do you really believe he knows any more about the other world
than any one else?”
“Undoubtedly; a great deal more.” Mr. Wylie assumed a serio-comic air.
“I don’t see why; but I mean, do you really believe he is right? Do you
believe _they_ are right who believe in spirit manifestation and all
that sort of thing?”
“Do I believe in them who do believe? My dear girl, you are asking
unanswerable questions. I believe in an infinite number of things or I
believe in nothing. It is to find out just what I believe that I propose
to attend Dr. Lyman’s lectures. I have listened to the preaching of
orthodoxy from childhood; now, I will absorb a little heterodoxy and see
if it is any more clear to the human comprehension. But I must be going.
Is not that the fair lady again?”
“Yes, and see, she has another and different-sized parcel. Poor thing, I
wonder if it is hard work?”
“I think I’ll go down on the street and get a nearer view of the fair
unknown. It seems to me I have seen that face some time before this. It
is probably a chance resemblance to some one I have known, that haunts
me. Good-by.” And kissing his hand to his wife, Mr. Wylie left the room.
“Talk of woman’s curiosity,” laughed Elinor to herself. “It does not
compare with that of the sterner sex.” And she watched her husband cross
Herald Street and walk down the avenue with more than his usual
celerity. Then she touched a tiny bell, which was answered by a young
girl from the adjoining room.
“You may bring Robbie to me, Tibby. Mr. Wylie has gone away and I am at
leisure to amuse him.”
The young nurse departed, to return with a mischievous little lad of
four years, beautiful in his night robes of linen and lace, and the
mother-love, which even the society life could not destroy, shone in
Mrs. Wylie’s eyes as she clasped him in her arms.
“You may leave us now, Tibby. I will call you when Robbie has done with
his play.”
The smiling, dimple-cheeked maid withdrew, and the mother gave herself
up to the enjoyment of a frolic with the wide-awake child. When, an hour
later, she summoned the maid to put the cherub in his bed, she met with
opposition. Robbie had not wearied of his mother, and refused to go.
“But it is bed-time, Robbie, and the sand-man will come to put sand in
your eyes,” remonstrated Mrs. Wylie.
“Don’t tare, ain’t doin’ to bed,” asserted the wilful child.
“But you must go, dear; mother desires it.”
“Ain’t doin’ to,” persisted Robbie, with the perversity of a spoiled
child.
The mother looked helplessly at Tibby, who came forward smiling, while
her eyes sought those of the little rebel.
“Come,” she said sweetly, and to Mrs. Wylie’s surprise the boy put his
hand into the inviting one of the nurse and suffered himself to be led
from the room.
“What remarkable eyes that girl has,” soliloquized Mrs. Wylie as the
door closed behind them. “I have been more fortunate than I dared hope
in securing her services.”