AN ANGRY HEIRESS.
Very soon after Jim's departure, the first visitors arrived at the
cottage, and most welcome ones they were.
Miss Barnard, who seemed capable of wise thought in the midst of her
grief and anxiety, had dispatched her own servant with a message to Mr.
Harris, and, early as was the hour, that good man had hastened to the
cottage, with his wife at his side. Their presence was comforting to
Miss Barnard and myself. Mr. Harris was the right man to assume
responsibilities, which I, for various reasons, had no desire to take
upon myself, and Mrs. Harris was the very companion and assistant needed
by the anxious girl. They were soon in possession of all the facts, as
we knew them, concerning the previous night, and its calamity.
I say, as we knew them; Miss Barnard had heard nothing concerning the
part Jim's gun was believed to have played in the sad affair, and I did
not think it necessary to enlighten either her or Mr. Harris on that
subject, at that time.
Leaving Bethel in such good hands, I went back to the hotel. But before
I could breakfast or rest, I was called upon to repeat again and again
all that I could or would tell concerning this new calamity that had
befallen Dr. Bethel, for the news of the night was there before me.
As I re-entered the office, after quitting the breakfast table, I found
a considerable crowd assembled, and was again called upon to rehearse my
story.
"It looks sorter queerish to me," commented a hook-nosed old Traftonite,
who had listened very intently to my words. "It's sorter _queerish_! Why
warn't folks told of this sooner? Why warn't the alarm given, so'at
citizens could agone and seen for theirselves how things was?"
I recognized the speaker as one who had been boisterously and
vindictively active on the day of the raid upon Bethel's cottage, and I
fixed my eye upon his face with a look which he seemed to comprehend, as
I retorted:
"Dr. Bethel has received one visit from a delegation of 'citizens who
were desirous to see for theirselves how things was,' and if he suffered
no harm from it, it was not owing to the tender mercies of the
'citizens' aforesaid. The attendance of a mob last night would not have
benefited Bethel. What he needed was a doctor and good nursing. These he
had and will have," and I turned upon my heel to leave the room.
"I should say," spoke up another voice, "that there was a detective
needed around there, too."
"Nothing shall be lacking that is needed," I retorted, over my
shoulder, and then ascended the stairs, wishing heartily, as I entered
my room, that Trafton and a large majority of its inhabitants were
safely buried under an Alpine avalanche.
Two hours later I awoke, and being in a more amiable mood, felt less
inclined to consign all Trafton to annihilation.
Going below I found the office comparatively quiet, and Dimber Joe and
the new operator socially conversing on the porch.
Gerald's presence was a relief to me. I felt sure that he would keep a
sharp eye upon the movements of Dimber, and, being anxious about the
situation of Bethel I returned to the cottage.
Dr. Hess stood in the doorway, in conversation with Mr. Harris.
"How is the patient?" asked I, approaching them.
"Much the same," replied the doctor. "But there will be a change soon."
"Has he spoken?"
"No; he will hardly do that yet, and should not be allowed to talk even
if he could. When the change comes there will be fever, and perhaps
delirium."
I passed them and entered the sick-room.
Mrs. Harris sat by the bed. Louise Barnard was not there.
"We have sent Louise home," Mrs. Harris whispered, seeing me glance
about inquiringly. "The doctor told her that if she insisted upon
remaining she would soon be sick herself, and unable to help us at all.
That frightened her a little. The poor child is really worn out, with
her father's sickness and death, her mother's poor health, and now
this," nodding toward the bed.
"Have you had any visitors?"
"Oh, yes. But we knew that the house must be kept quiet, and Mr. Harris
has received the most of them out in the yard. Dr. Hess says it will be
best to admit none but personal friends."
"Dr. Hess is very sensible."
Going back to join the two gentlemen, I saw that Dr. Hess was hastening
toward the gate with considerable alacrity, and that a pony phaeton had
just halted there.
Swinging the gate wide open, the doctor assisted the occupant to alight.
It was Miss Manvers.
There was an anxious look upon her face, and in her eyes a shadow of
what I had once discovered there, when, myself unseen, I had witnessed
her interview with Arch Brookhouse on the day of the garden party. She
was pale, and exceedingly nervous.
She said very little. Indeed her strongest effort to preserve her
self-control seemed almost a failure, and was very evident to each of
us. She listened with set lips to the doctor's description and opinion
of the case, and then entered the inner room, and stood looking down at
the figure lying there, so stalwart, yet so helpless. For a moment her
features were convulsed, and her hands clenched each other fiercely. Her
form was shaken with emotion so strong as to almost overmaster her. It
was a splendid picture of fierce passion held in check by an iron will.
She came out presently, and approached me.
"You were one of the first to know this, I am told," she said, in a low,
constrained tone. "Please tell me about it."
I told her how I was called to the rescue by Jim, and gave a brief
outline of after events.
"And has all been done that can be?" she asked, after a moment of
silence.
"Not quite all, Miss Manvers. We have yet to find this would-be murderer
and bring him to justice." I spoke with my eyes fixed on her face.
She started, flushed, and a new excited eagerness leaped to her eyes.
"Will you do that? _Can_ you?"
"It shall be done," I replied, still watching her face.
She gave a little fluttering sigh, drew her veil across her arm, and
turned to go.
"If I can be of service, in any way," she began, hesitatingly.
"We shall not hesitate to ask for your services," I interrupted,
walking beside her to the door, and from thence to the gate, a little to
the annoyance of Dr. Hess, I fancied.
As I assisted her to her seat in the phaeton, and put the reins in her
hands, I saw Arch Brookhouse galloping rapidly from the direction of
town. And, just as she had turned her ponies homeward, and I paused at
the gate to nod a final good-bye, he reined his horse up sharply beside
her vehicle.
"How is the doctor, Adele?" he asked, in a tone evidently meant for my
ears.
"Don't speak to me," she replied, vehemently, and utterly regardless of
my proximity. "Don't speak to me. I wish it were _you_ in his place."
She snatched up her whip, as though her first instinct was to draw the
lash across his face, but she struck the ponies instead, and they flew
up the hill at a reckless gait.
As Brookhouse turned in the saddle to look after the flying phaeton, I
saw a dark frown cross his face.
But the next instant his brow cleared, and he turned again to bestow on
me a look of sharp scrutiny.
Springing from his horse, and throwing the bridle across his arm, he
approached the gate.
"Did you hear her?" he exclaimed. "That is what I get for being an
amiable fellow. My friend is not amiable to-day."
"Evidently not," I responded, carelessly. "Lovers' quarrels are fierce
affairs, but very fleeting."
He smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
"I have been so unfortunate as to offend her," he said. "By to-morrow
she will have forgotten the circumstances."
"Will she, indeed?" thought I. "We shall see, my friend."
But I made no audible comment, and he dismissed the subject to ask the
stereotyped questions, "How was Dr. Bethel? Could he be of any service?
How did it happen?"
While I was answering these questions with the best grace I could
muster, there came the patter of horse's hoofs, and Jim Long rode up to
the side gate, dismounted with a careless swing, nodded to me, and,
opening the gate, led the doctor's horse stableward.
The look of surprise on my companion's face was instantly followed by a
malicious smile, which, in its turn, was banished to give place to a
more proper expression.
"Long has been giving the doctor's horse some exercise," he said, half
inquiringly.
"I believe he has been executing some commission for Miss Barnard," I
fabricated, unblushingly. "Long has been very useful here."
"Indeed," carelessly; then glancing at his watch, "nearly noon, I see."
He turned, vaulted into his saddle, and touched his hat. "Good-morning.
In case of necessity, command me;" and with a second application of his
finger-tip to the brim of his hat, he shook the reins and cantered away.
As soon as he was out of sight I went straight to the stable where Jim
was bountifully feeding the tired horse.
"Well, Long?"
"It's all right, captain. I've had a hard ride, but it's _done_."
"And the men?"
"Will be at the cabin to-night."