THE BEGINNING OF LIGHT
"Why, why!" exclaimed Polly in surprise and consternation, standing
perfectly still with her hand upraised toward the light, too puzzled to
let it drop down at her side.
But with a little, warning cry Betty had called to her and almost at
the same moment was across the room, with her arms about a tall, slight
figure.
"Mother, mother," she whispered quietly, "wake up. You have gotten up
out of your bed and wandered into Polly's and my room. And you have
frightened us nearly to death! Dear me, you have not walked in your
sleep for years, have you?"
At Betty's first words following the stream of light, Mrs. Ashton had
opened her eyes with returning consciousness until now she appeared
almost entirely wide awake. And an expression both of fear and
annoyance crossed her face.
"You poor children, so I am your ghost and your burglar," she declared,
"and I believed it was you who were having nightmares! I am awfully
sorry. Betty knows I used to have this unfortunate habit of strolling
about the house in my sleep long ago. But I am quite sure that I have
not done it for several years now. The truth is I have not yet gotten
over the nervous shock of Betty's being brought home to me and my not
knowing how seriously she was injured for such a time; it seemed an
eternity."
Betty had thrown a shawl over her mother's shoulders, as she was clad
only in her night-dress, and she and Polly slipped into their dressing
gowns.
"Wasn't it odd, though, mother, your coming in here both times? I
wonder if you had me on your mind and wanted to see how I was. But you
did not seem to. You kept groping your way toward that old closet as
though you wished to rummage about in it. But do come and let me take
you back to bed now, and I will stay with you so you will behave
yourself and give Polly a chance to rest."
For quite five minutes after the two had gone, Polly lay awake. There
were really so many things to consider, because, of course, when one
has too active an imagination it is apt to lead one into trouble.
First, she must apologize to Anthony Graham for her totally unfounded
suspicion of him. And then, thank Heaven, she had not breathed the
suggestion aloud! Yet just for a moment she had wondered if Edith
Norton could have--but it was not true and of course never could have
been.
Then a third idea. What could be hidden away in that old closet of so
great value or interest that Mrs. Ashton turned toward it in her
sleeping hours, when her subconscious mind must be directing her
footsteps? No wonder that Betty was puzzled and annoyed over the
secrets of the old room. Naturally as a visitor in the Ashton home it
would be exceedingly bad manners, if nothing worse, for her to try to
find out anything that her hostess wished to keep concealed. Yet just
as Polly lost her train of thought she remembered wishing that Betty
might make the discovery for herself, since most certainly then she
would confide in her.
The next day being Friday, Polly went to her own home to spend the
week-end. And quite by accident she and Mollie came in together for a
few moments on Sunday afternoon and went directly to Betty's room
without letting her know of their approach.
As they knocked and had no answer, Polly, feeling entirely at home,
pushed the door open.
"Betty, child, don't you want to see us?" she demanded. "I know I
promised to give you a rest until Monday, but Mollie and I could not
bear to spend a whole Sunday afternoon without you."
And at this, Betty Ashton appeared from the darkness of the big closet
at the farthest end of her bedroom. She wore a lavender cashmere frock
with a broad velvet belt and a lace cap with lavender ribbons. But the
cap was much awry, so that her hair was tumbled carelessly over her
forehead, even showing the slight scar underneath, which usually she
was so careful to hide, and her cheeks were a good deal flushed. There
was no doubt that she was greatly interested or excited over something.
"Mollie and Polly, I am glad," she avowed. "I was just needing some
one to talk to and to ask questions of most dreadfully. Mother has
gone out driving this afternoon, and as I was alone it occurred to me
it might be fun to rummage about in this old closet and see whether it
really concealed any treasures. After our belief that a burglar was
trying to enter it, I thought it might be just as well for me to find
out what it contained."
"Does your mother know?" Polly inquired, and could hardly have
explained to herself just why she asked the question.
"No. I did not think of investigating it before she left. But of
course she won't care. Why should she? The boxes have nothing in them
but old books and rubbish. But this trunk--I can't quite understand
about some of the things I have found in it. Maybe you can help me
guess."
And before either of the other girls knew what she intended doing,
Betty was dragging the shaky trunk out of the closet into the greater
brightness of the room, Mollie rushing to her assistance as soon as
possible. Yet for some reason unknown to herself, Polly hesitated.
She did not even move forward when Betty and Mollie dropped down on
their knees before it, although she did observe that the trunk was
locked, but that the hinges at the back had rusted and fallen off, so
that Betty had gotten into it in that way.
Evidently the things at the top had already been taken out inside the
closet, for Betty was now reaching down toward the bottom and bringing
out what looked like a trousseau of baby clothes--her own or Dick's,
they could not yet tell which.
The little dresses were yellow and fragile with age; the long blue coat
had faded; most of the little shoes and flannels had been worn.
"I wish you would not look through those things until your mother gets
back, Betty," Polly said rather irritably.
But both her sister and friend glanced up at her in surprise.
"What is the possible harm? Mother couldn't mind. There is certainly
no reason why I should not look at my own clothes or at Dick's. It's
queer I never happen to have seen them before."
"Did your mother never have any other children, Betty?" Mollie
inquired, and the other girl shook her head.
Polly had come over now and was standing near them by the edge of the
trunk and looking down inside it.
Of course what Betty was doing must seem to her perfectly right or else
she would never have thought of doing it; yet Polly could not help
feeling a certain distaste for the whole proceeding. Old possessions
were always kind of uncanny and uncomfortable to her temperament; they
held too poignant a suggestion of death, of the passing of time and of
almost forgotten memories.
Betty and Mollie had a differently romantic point of view. And to both
of them, being essentially feminine, the delicate, exquisite baby
apparel made a strongly sentimental appeal.
Suddenly, with a little cry of surprise and amusement, Betty picked up
a small frock which must have been made for a child of about a year
old, that was curiously different from the others. While they had been
of sheer lawns and expensive laces, this was a perfectly
straight-up-and-down garment of coarse check gingham of the cheapest
kind and attached to it were a pair of rough little shoes.
"I wonder how in the world these ever got in here or why mother has
preserved them so carefully. She has a perfect horror of cheap
things," Betty began in a half-puzzled and half-humorous fashion,
holding the poor little baby dress up to the light and giving it a
shake.
Stooping, Mollie picked up something that must have fallen from one of
the shoes. It was an old tintype picture of a comparatively young man
with a baby in his arms and a little girl pressing close up against his
knee.
Mollie was looking at it with a slightly bewildered expression when
Polly came up and glanced over her shoulder. And instantly Polly's
face grew white; however, it was a trick of hers when anything
surprised or annoyed her. And at the moment she had a strong impulse
to take the picture from Mollie's hands and tear it into a hundred
pieces before Betty Ashton should have a chance to see it.
Notwithstanding, Betty had already joined them and was apparently as
much perplexed as Mollie. She took the photograph nearer to the window.
"I declare this looks like Esther when she was a little girl and
Professor Crippen. I believe he did tell me there was another child
that somebody had adopted and who did not know he was her father. I
suppose Esther must have asked mother to take care of these things for
her. It is queer that she never thought of speaking of them to me. I
must write her I have seen them, for I should not wish her to feel I
had been prying," Betty finished, going back to the trunk and putting
the little things carefully away.
The weight that had gathered pressingly in the neighborhood of Polly's
heart in the past thirty seconds now lifted.
"Yes, and do close up that tiresome trunk at once Betty Ashton, or I am
going home," Polly scolded. "It bores me dreadfully to have you and
Mollie poking in there when we might be talking."
But Betty paid no heed to her, for she had found another photograph of
a different character. It was a picture of another baby, a beautiful
miniature so delicately tinted that the colors were almost like life.
And the child's face was very like Mrs. Ashton's, the same flaxen hair
and light blue eyes. And it bore no possible resemblance either to
Richard Ashton or to Betty. However, there was no reason to consider
its being either one of them, for it was plainly marked on the back,
"Phyllis Ashton," and then had the date of the birth.
Betty offered no comment and expressed no wonder, although she let both
her friends look at the picture, still holding it in her own hands.
"But I thought you said your mother had only two children, you and
Dick," Mollie declared, and Polly would have liked to shake her.
"Yes, I did think so until now," the third girl replied. And placing
her picture back in the trunk, she closed the lid, still leaving the
trunk in the center of the room, in spite of the fact that both her
friends insisted on helping her with it into the closet.
Then Betty began making tea on her alcohol lamp and talking of other
things; only Polly could see that her mind was not in the least upon
what she was saying, but that she was thinking of something else every
possible second.
Whether to go or to stay with her friend was Polly's present
indecision. However, she and Molly remained until Mrs. Ashton had
returned from her drive and Betty went into her mother's room to assist
in taking off her wraps.