AN INTERESTING DWELLING.
Colonel Mapleson received a letter from his wife, a day or two after
Everet’s return to Vue de l’Eau begging him to come to Newport to join
herself and friends.
She wrote that she was an odd one in the party, and although every one
was very kind, she felt rather embarrassed to be without an escort,
which marred her enjoyment very much; if he could not come she should
return home.
Everet urged his father to go, and the colonel, feeling that it would be
too bad to have his wife’s holiday spoiled, decided that he would
gratify her, packed his portmanteau, and started off at once.
Everet accompanied him to the station, and gave a sigh of relief as he
watched out of sight the train that bore his father northward, for he
felt that he could now pursue the investigations he was contemplating
independently, and without fear of criticism.
With his thoughts full of this purpose, he turned his horse’s head again
toward home, but on his way he made a detour, taking a road which would
lead him around by the old mill.
He had not traversed this way since he was a boy, and had almost
forgotten how the place looked, though he used to row upon the pond and
play about the dilapidated wheel, which once had turned the mill, while
he had followed the stream that fed it for miles, in search of the
pretty speckled trout that lay hidden in their dark haunts beneath the
tangled roots of the overhanging trees.
The day was excessively warm, but the trees with their luxuriant foliage
made a perfect arch above his head, and afforded a delightful shade,
through which the sunlight only came in checkered gleams, making quaint
shadows on the grass-grown path beneath. Hundreds of birds on every hand
made the woods ring with their sweet melodies; myriads of flies buzzed
lazily about; the beetles hummed among the bushes, and gayly painted
butterflies fluttered among the many-hued flowers that grew by the
wayside. Now and then a squirrel would spring out, chattering from some
gnarled and moss-grown trunk, and dart across the path or along the
zigzag Virginia fence on either hand, while occasionally a nut-brown
partridge, startled from its covert, darted deeper into the forest,
followed by its timid and clamorous mate.
It was a perfect summer day, and remote from the busy haunts of men,
with the tender blue of the sky above, and the waves of golden light,
that streamed softly on him between the interlacing branches over his
head, Everet thoroughly enjoyed his solitary ride, and the lazy,
peaceful life of bird and insect all about him.
By and by he heard the rushing of the brook that fed the pond farther
on, and presently he came to the shallow ford where, as a boy, he had
often played and sailed his miniature boats.
He rode his horse into the middle of the stream, where he gave him the
bridle, and let him drink his fill, while he absently watched the
ripples and eddies which he made with every swallow.
Then he passed on, and coming up on the opposite bank, he saw not far
distant the smooth, glassy pond, and the old mill still standing on its
margin.
It was an ancient and dilapidated building, black from age and neglect,
but picturesque withal, for it was almost covered with a luxuriant
growth of glossy, dark-green woodbine, intermingled with the deadly
nightshade, whose bright purple blossoms made spots of rich color here
and there among the foliage.
Passing this, he came to the miller’s house, which was also empty and
falling to decay, while still farther on he came upon a small cottage
fairly embowered in vines, and brilliant with great clusters of the
scarlet trumpet-honeysuckle and purple wisteria.
This also appeared to be deserted, and there was no sign of life any
where about it; still it was not dilapidated like the other buildings
which he had passed, and it looked as if, from time to time, some
careful hand had trained and pruned the vines, and kept the place from
falling to ruin.
It had originally been painted white, with green blinds, and a neat
fence surrounded the spacious garden; but time and the elements had
robbed it of its once spotless coat, and but for the vines it would have
looked naked and forlorn.
Everet rode up to the hitching-post, dismounted and tied his horse to
it, unfastened the low gate and walked up the grass-grown path to the
broad veranda that ran entirely around the house.
Every window was curtained, and every curtain was down, and the front
door was securely fastened.
The young man stood irresolute a moment as he observed this.
“It cannot be that any one lives here,” he muttered; “I am quite sure
that this must be the Dale cottage, and yet it looks as if it were
inhabited.”
He walked slowly around the veranda, trying to peer in at the side of
the curtains as he passed the windows, but not a glimpse of the interior
could he obtain.
There was another door at the back of the house.
He tried this also, but it was evidently bolted on the inside, for he
could hear the bolt rattle in its socket.
He shook it gently back and forth a few times, in an impatient way, for
he was very anxious to know what was behind all those closely drawn
curtains, when, to his surprise, the door suddenly yielded and opened.
The iron had rattled from its place.
Stepping within, he found himself in what appeared to be a kitchen, for
there was a cooking stove under the mantel; a dresser filled with dishes
stood on the east side, and there was a small table, with one or two
chairs opposite.
There was a door on his left.
Crossing the floor, which was covered with dust, and showed the print of
every step, he passed into a small bedroom.
A faded carpet lay upon the floor. A bed, covered with a canopy of
musquito netting, which once had been blue, but was now faded and
discolored with age and dust, stood in one corner.
Pretty lace draperies fell over the window shades, and were looped back
with broad satin ribbons, which were also blue. A cherry table and a
couple of wicker chairs completed the furnishing of the apartment.
A second door led into another room from this. This stood open, and,
passing through, Everet found himself in what must have been the parlor,
for it extended the whole width of the house, and had been both richly
and tastefully furnished, although, of course, everything was now faded
and covered with dust, and had a look of neglect that was forlorn and
cheerless.
There were pretty easy-chairs and tempting rockers scattered about; a
luxurious sofa in one corner, and a handsome table in the center of the
floor, covered with a richly embroidered cloth, evidently the work of a
skillful pair of hands, and the young man wondered if Annie Dale had
wrought the beautiful thing. There was a small piano between the two
front windows, a book-case, filled with books by standard authors, in a
corner, and at one end there was a lovely writing-desk, containing
numerous drawers and pigeon-holes, and every convenience for writing. A
small work-basket, on an elaborate stand, stood beside a pretty rocker
by one of the low front windows. It was a dainty affair, lined with
crimson satin and garnished with bows of ribbon to match; and Everet
Mapleson could imagine just how the graceful figure of the fair girl to
whom it had belonged, had looked as she sat beside it, intent upon some
delicate bit of sewing or embroidery.
He turned again to the writing-desk, as if he instinctively felt that
this was more likely than anything else to contain some information
regarding the former occupants of the pretty house.
It was not locked.
He opened it, laying the cover out flat, and then began pulling out the
drawers and peering into the various pigeon-holes and compartments.
They were all empty—so far there had not been even a scrap of paper to
tell who, in days gone by, had made use of the convenient and elegant
affair—and he shut them up again with a sigh of impatience and regret,
while a feeling of gloom began to oppress him; there was something very
dreary in this house, so completely furnished, yet so silent and
deserted.
A sensation of guilt, too, began to intrude uncomfortably upon him. It
almost seemed as if the former occupants of this home, although perhaps
long since dead and passed beyond all things earthly, were yet
spiritually present at that moment, and were viewing, with a reproachful
eye, this wanton invasion of the place that had once been sacred to
them.
He put up the cover, and was pushing in the little side rests that had
held it, when a scrap of paper, wedged in beside one of them, caught his
eye.
Something very like an electric shock ran along his nerves at this
discovery.
He tried to dislodge the paper, but it was very firmly caught, while the
ragged edges did not protrude sufficiently to allow him to grasp it with
his fingers.
He drew forth his knife, and, working very carefully, finally succeeded
in detaching it from its position.
Upon examining it he found it to be a portion of a letter that had
probably been caught some time, when the slide was being pushed in, and
the other part had been hastily torn away, doubtless by some one trying
to remove it from the crevice.
He smoothed it out with an eager, trembling hand, while his face grew
white from the excitement of the moment.
“Can it be possible that I have found a clew at last?” he muttered, in a
repressed tone. “I am afraid it will prove but a faint one, but it may
be something to begin upon.”
The following is what he read from that torn sheet of paper, which had
been torn lengthwise in a very irregular manner:
“MY DEAR AN
regret that I have
your mother. Of cour
you alone, and that the
for life only must now cea
unprovided for. My poor lit
nothing to comfort you, for I kno
cold words are at such a ti
heart is with you. I sorrow with
sible I would come to you
you in this sad hour. But
favor of you, Annie. We hav
life, and surely you will
“I want you to remain in
your home for the future
past. It is yours without
“You must not, however, stay there
not be safe, and I want you to
panion; some one older tha
be a sort of protector to you.
expense, Annie, for you know
I have a right to care for you
“Inclosed you will find che
your present necessities, and
will make some perman
for you. Write me at once
anxious until I hear from
“Ever y
Such was the fragment which Everet Mapleson found, and he read it over
several times, his face growing whiter, graver, and more thoughtful with
each perusal.
“At last!” he cried, striking his clenched hand upon the desk before
him. “I have felt it coming, and now I will follow it up. I will leave
no stone unturned until I get to the bottom of the whole matter. How
tenderly affectionate this letter must have been,” he continued, with
curling lips. “He sorrows with her, and would have come to her ‘had it
been possible’. He evidently wanted her to remain here after her mother
died until he could come. Meantime he advises a companion and protector,
and does not wish her to ‘mind the expense,’ because he has a ‘right to
care’ for her, and incloses a check as substantial evidence of the fact.
“Why didn’t she stay here, I wonder?” he pursued, musingly. “Why did she
go to Richmond to look for a situation as governess, or was that only a
blind to cover her flight—to deceive him. There is a mystery about it.
Can it be possible——”
He sprang to his feet with the sentence unfinished on his lips, and
began pacing the floor with a clouded brow, and his mouth drawn into a
stern, resolute line.
“She is dead, though, if she was Geoffrey Dale Huntress’ mother—and I’m
as certain of that as that I am the heir of Vue de l’Eau—for that woman,
Margery, said that he could not realize his loss when she died. But who
was his father?—why was he named Geoffrey Dale? by whom and why was he
abandoned in the streets of New York? There is some dark secret
connected with Annie Dale’s life and her disappearance from Richmond,
and I shall never rest until I know the whole story from beginning to
end.”
He continued his pacings and mutterings for a long while, growing more
and more excited over the matter. His face wore a dark and troubled look
as ever and anon he raised that scrap of paper which he still held in
his hand and scanned those disjointed lines.
At last he folded it very carefully and put it safely away in his
wallet.
“It may come handy some day even if the other half is wanting,” he said,
an evil smile curling his lips.
Then he set about finishing the exploration of the little cottage.
There was a little hall leading from one end of the parlor and a flight
of stairs conducted to the second story.
Ascending these Everet found two comfortably furnished chambers above,
one of which had evidently been used for a servant’s room.
Retracing his steps he came to the front door, which he found fastened
with a spring lock. He then went back to the kitchen, where he securely
bolted the door, after which he passed out the front way, the lock
springing into place with a sharp snap after him, as if in vigorous
protest at his intrusion upon the mysteries which it had guarded for so
many years.
Passing out of the little gate, he fastened it after him, then mounted
his horse and rode slowly and thoughtfully back to Vue de l’Eau.