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+Project Gutenberg's The House of a Thousand Candles, by Meredith Nicholson
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The House of a Thousand Candles
+
+Author: Meredith Nicholson
+
+Release Date: May 26, 2004 [EBook #12441]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOUSE OF A THOUSAND CANDLES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Jeffrey Kraus-yao
+
+
+
+
+The House of a Thousand Candles
+
+
+Meredith Nicholson
+
+
+
+The House of a Thousand Candles
+
+By
+Meredith Nicholson
+Author of The Main Chance
+Zelda Dameron, Etc.
+
+With Illustrations by
+Howard Chandler Christy
+
+“So on the morn there fell new tidings and other adventures”
+Malory
+
+
+
+1905
+
+
+November
+
+
+
+To Margaret My Sister
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+CHAPTER
+I The Will of John Marshall Glenarm
+II A Face at Sherry’s
+III The House of a Thousand Candles
+IV A Voice From the Lake
+V A Red Tam-O’-Shanter
+VI The Girl and the Canoe
+VII The Man on the Wall
+VIII A String of Gold Beads
+IX The Girl and the Rabbit
+X An Affair With the Caretaker
+XI I Receive a Caller
+XII I Explore a Passage
+XIII A Pair of Eavesdroppers
+XIV The Girl in Gray
+XV I Make an Engagement
+XVI The Passing of Olivia
+XVII Sister Theresa
+XVIII Golden Butterflies
+XIX I Meet an Old Friend
+XX A Triple Alliance
+XXI Pickering Serves Notice
+XXII The Return of Marian Devereux
+XXIII The Door of Bewilderment
+XXIV A Prowler of The Night
+XXV Besieged
+XXVI The Fight in the Library
+XXVII Changes and Chances
+XXVIII Shorter Vistas
+XXIX And So the Light Led Me
+
+
+
+The House of a Thousand Candles
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THE WILL OF JOHN MARSHALL GLENARM
+
+
+Pickering’s letter bringing news of my grandfather’s
+death found me at Naples early in October. John
+Marshall Glenarm had died in June. He had left a
+will which gave me his property conditionally, Pickering
+wrote, and it was necessary for me to return immediately
+to qualify as legatee. It was the merest luck
+that the letter came to my hands at all, for it had been
+sent to Constantinople, in care of the consul-general
+instead of my banker there. It was not Pickering’s
+fault that the consul was a friend of mine who kept
+track of my wanderings and was able to hurry the
+executor’s letter after me to Italy, where I had gone to
+meet an English financier who had, I was advised, unlimited
+money to spend on African railways. I am an
+engineer, a graduate of an American institution familiarly
+known as “Tech,” and as my funds were running
+low, I naturally turned to my profession for employment.
+
+But this letter changed my plans, and the following
+day I cabled Pickering of my departure and was outward
+bound on a steamer for New York. Fourteen
+days later I sat in Pickering’s office in the Alexis Building
+and listened intently while he read, with much
+ponderous emphasis, the provisions of my grandfather’s
+will. When he concluded, I laughed. Pickering was a
+serious man, and I was glad to see that my levity pained
+him. I had, for that matter, always been a source of
+annoyance to him, and his look of distrust and rebuke
+did not trouble me in the least.
+
+I reached across the table for the paper, and he gave
+the sealed and beribboned copy of John Marshall Glenarm’s
+will into my hands. I read it through for myself,
+feeling conscious meanwhile that Pickering’s cool gaze
+was bent inquiringly upon me. These are the paragraphs
+that interested me most:
+
+I give and bequeath unto my said grandson, John Glenarm,
+sometime a resident of the City and State of New
+York, and later a vagabond of parts unknown, a certain
+property known as Glenarm House, with the land thereunto
+pertaining and hereinafter more particularly described,
+and all personal property of whatsoever kind
+thereunto belonging and attached thereto,—the said realty
+lying in the County of Wabana in the State of Indiana,—
+upon this condition, faithfully and honestly performed:
+
+That said John Glenarm shall remain for the period
+of one year an occupant of said Glenarm House and my
+lands attached thereto, demeaning himself meanwhile in
+an orderly and temperate manner. Should he fail at any
+time during said year to comply with this provision, said
+property shall revert to my general estate and become,
+without reservation, and without necessity for any process
+of law, the property, absolutely, of Marian Devereux, of
+the County and State of New York.
+
+
+“Well,” he demanded, striking his hands upon the
+arms of his chair, “what do you think of it?”
+
+For the life of me I could not help laughing again.
+There was, in the first place, a delicious irony in the
+fact that I should learn through him of my grandfather’s
+wishes with respect to myself. Pickering and
+I had grown up in the same town in Vermont; we had
+attended the same preparatory school, but there had
+been from boyhood a certain antagonism between us.
+He had always succeeded where I had failed, which is to
+say, I must admit, that he had succeeded pretty frequently.
+When I refused to settle down to my profession,
+but chose to see something of the world first,
+Pickering gave himself seriously to the law, and there
+was, I knew from the beginning, no manner of chance
+that he would fail.
+
+I am not more or less than human, and I remembered
+with joy that once I had thrashed him soundly
+at the prep school for bullying a smaller boy; but our
+score from school-days was not without tallies on his
+side. He was easily the better scholar—I grant him
+that; and he was shrewd and plausible. You never
+quite knew the extent of his powers and resources, and
+he had, I always maintained, the most amazing good
+luck,—as witness the fact that John Marshall Glenarm
+had taken a friendly interest in him. It was wholly
+like my grandfather, who was a man of many whims,
+to give his affairs into Pickering’s keeping; and I could
+not complain, for I had missed my own chance with
+him. It was, I knew readily enough, part of my punishment
+for having succeeded so signally in incurring
+my grandfather’s displeasure that he had made it necessary
+for me to treat with Arthur Pickering in this
+matter of the will; and Pickering was enjoying the
+situation to the full. He sank back in his chair with
+an air of complacency that had always been insufferable
+in him. I was quite willing to be patronized by a man
+of years and experience; but Pickering was my own
+age, and his experience of life seemed to me preposterously
+inadequate. To find him settled in New York,
+where he had been established through my grandfather’s
+generosity, and the executor of my grandfather’s estate,
+was hard to bear.
+
+But there was something not wholly honest in my
+mirth, for my conduct during the three preceding years
+had been reprehensible. I had used my grandfather
+shabbily. My parents died when I was a child, and he
+had cared for me as far back as my memory ran. He
+had suffered me to spend without restraint the fortune
+left by my father; he had expected much of me, and I
+had grievously disappointed him. It was his hope that
+I should devote myself to architecture, a profession for
+which he had the greatest admiration, whereas I had
+insisted on engineering.
+
+I am not writing an apology for my life, and I shall
+not attempt to extenuate my conduct in going abroad
+at the end of my course at Tech and, when I made
+Laurance Donovan’s acquaintance, in setting off with
+him on a career of adventure. I do not regret, though
+possibly it would be more to my credit if I did, the
+months spent leisurely following the Danube east of
+the Iron Gate—Laurance Donovan always with me,
+while we urged the villagers and inn-loafers to all manner
+of sedition, acquitting ourselves so well that, when
+we came out into the Black Sea for further pleasure,
+Russia did us the honor to keep a spy at our heels. I
+should like, for my own satisfaction, at least, to set
+down an account of certain affairs in which we were
+concerned at Belgrad, but without Larry’s consent I
+am not at liberty to do so. Nor shall I take time here
+to describe our travels in Africa, though our study of
+the Atlas Mountain dwarfs won us honorable mention
+by the British Ethnological Society.
+
+These were my yesterdays; but to-day I sat in Arthur
+Pickering’s office in the towering Alexis Building, conscious
+of the muffled roar of Broadway, discussing the
+terms of my Grandfather Glenarm’s will with a man
+whom I disliked as heartily as it is safe for one man to
+dislike another. Pickering had asked me a question,
+and I was suddenly aware that his eyes were fixed upon
+me and that he awaited my answer.
+
+“What do I think of it?” I repeated. “I don’t know
+that it makes any difference what I think, but I’ll tell
+you, if you want to know, that I call it infamous, outrageous,
+that a man should leave a ridiculous will of
+that sort behind him. All the old money-bags who pile
+up fortunes magnify the importance of their money.
+They imagine that every kindness, every ordinary courtesy
+shown them, is merely a bid for a slice of the cake.
+I’m disappointed in my grandfather. He was a splendid
+old man, though God knows he had his queer ways.
+I’ll bet a thousand dollars, if I have so much money in
+the world, that this scheme is yours, Pickering, and not
+his. It smacks of your ancient vindictiveness, and John
+Marshall Glenarm had none of that in his blood. That
+stipulation about my residence out there is fantastic.
+I don’t have to be a lawyer to know that; and no doubt
+I could break the will; I’ve a good notion to try it,
+anyhow.”
+
+“To be sure. You can tie up the estate for half
+a dozen years if you like,” he replied coolly. He did
+not look upon me as likely to become a formidable
+litigant. My staying qualities had been proved weak
+long ago, as Pickering knew well enough.
+
+“No doubt you would like that,” I answered. “But
+I’m not going to give you the pleasure. I abide by the
+terms of the will. My grandfather was a fine old gentleman.
+I shan’t drag his name through the courts,
+not even to please you, Arthur Pickering,” I declared
+hotly.
+
+“The sentiment is worthy of a good man, Glenarm,”
+he rejoined.
+
+“But this woman who is to succeed to my rights,—I
+don’t seem to remember her.”
+
+“It is not surprising that you never heard of her.”
+
+“Then she’s not a connection of the family,—no long-lost
+cousin whom I ought to remember?”
+
+“No; she was a late acquaintance of your grandfather’s.
+He met her through an old friend of his,—
+Miss Evans, known as Sister Theresa. Miss Devereux
+is Sister Theresa’s niece.”
+
+I whistled. I had a dim recollection that during my
+grandfather’s long widowerhood there were occasional
+reports that he was about to marry. The name of Miss
+Evans had been mentioned in this connection. I had
+heard it spoken of in my family, and not, I remembered,
+with much kindness. Later, I heard of her joining a
+Sisterhood, and opening a school somewhere in the
+West.
+
+“And Miss Devereux,—is she an elderly nun, too?”
+
+“I don’t know how elderly she is, but she isn’t a nun
+at present. Still, she’s almost alone in the world, and
+she and Sister Theresa are very intimate.”
+
+“Pass the will again, Pickering, while I make sure
+I grasp these diverting ideas. Sister Theresa isn’t the
+one I mustn’t marry, is she? It’s the other ecclesiastical
+embroidery artist,—the one with the x in her
+name, suggesting the algebra of my vanishing youth.”
+
+I read aloud this paragraph:
+
+Provided, further, that in the event of the marriage of
+said John Glenarm to the said Marian Devereux, or in
+the event of any promise or contract of marriage between
+said persons within five years from the date of said John
+Glenarm’s acceptance of the provisions of this will, the
+whole estate shall become the property absolutely of St.
+Agatha’s School, at Annandale, Wabana County, Indiana,
+a corporation under the laws of said state.
+
+
+“For a touch of comedy commend me to my grandfather!
+Pickering, you always were a well-meaning
+fellow,—I’ll turn over to you all my right, interest and
+title in and to these angelic Sisters. Marry! I like the
+idea! I suppose some one will try to marry me for my
+money. Marriage, Pickering, is not embraced in my
+scheme of life!”
+
+“I should hardly call you a marrying man,” he observed.
+
+“Perfectly right, my friend! Sister Theresa was considered
+a possible match for my grandfather in my
+youth. She and I are hardly contemporaries. And the
+other lady with the fascinating algebraic climax to her
+name,—she, too, is impossible; it seems that I can’t get
+the money by marrying her. I’d better let her take it.
+She’s as poor as the devil, I dare say.”
+
+“I imagine not. The Evanses are a wealthy family,
+in spots, and she ought to have some money of her own
+if her aunt doesn’t coax it out of her for educational
+schemes.”
+
+“And where on the map are these lovely creatures to
+be found?”
+
+“Sister Theresa’s school adjoins your preserve; Miss
+Devereux has I think some of your own weakness for
+travel. Sister Theresa is her nearest relative, and she
+occasionally visits St. Agatha’s—that’s the school.”
+
+“I suppose they embroider altar-cloths together and
+otherwise labor valiantly to bring confusion upon Satan
+and his cohorts. Just the people to pull the wool over
+the eyes of my grandfather!”
+
+Pickering smiled at my resentment.
+
+“You’d better give them a wide berth; they might
+catch you in their net. Sister Theresa is said to have
+quite a winning way. She certainly plucked your grandfather.”
+
+“Nuns in spectacles, the gentle educators of youth
+and that sort of thing, with a good-natured old man for
+their prey. None of them for me!”
+
+“I rather thought so,” remarked Pickering,—and he
+pulled his watch from his pocket and turned the stem
+with his heavy fingers. He was short, thick-set and
+sleek, with a square jaw, hair already thin and a close-clipped
+mustache. Age, I reflected, was not improving
+him.
+
+I had no intention of allowing him to see that I was
+irritated. I drew out my cigarette case and passed it
+across the table,
+
+“After you! They’re made quite specially for me in
+Madrid.”
+
+“You forget that I never use tobacco in any form.”
+
+“You always did miss a good deal of the joy of living,”
+I observed, throwing my smoking match into his
+waste-paper basket, to his obvious annoyance. “Well,
+I’m the bad boy of the story-books; but I’m really sorry
+my inheritance has a string tied to it. I’m about out
+of money. I suppose you wouldn’t advance me a few
+thousands on my expectations—”
+
+“Not a cent,” he declared, with quite unnecessary
+vigor; and I laughed again, remembering that in my
+old appraisement of him, generosity had not been represented
+in large figures. “It’s not in keeping with
+your grandfather’s wishes that I should do so. You
+must have spent a good bit of money in your tiger-hunting
+exploits,” he added.
+
+“I have spent all I had,” I replied amiably. “Thank
+God I’m not a clam! I’ve seen the world and paid for
+it. I don’t want anything from you. You undoubtedly
+share my grandfather’s idea of me that I’m a wild man
+who can’t sit still or lead an orderly, decent life; but
+I’m going to give you a terrible disappointment. What’s
+the size of the estate?”
+
+Pickering eyed me—uneasily, I thought—and began
+playing with a pencil. I never liked Pickering’s hands;
+they were thick and white and better kept than I like
+to see a man’s hands.
+
+“I fear it’s going to be disappointing. In his trust-company
+boxes here I have been able to find only about
+ten thousand dollars’ worth of securities. Possibly—
+quite possibly—we were all deceived in the amount of
+his fortune. Sister Theresa wheedled large sums out of
+him, and he spent, as you will see, a small fortune on
+the house at Annandale without finishing it. It wasn’t
+a cheap proposition, and in its unfinished condition it is
+practically valueless. You must know that Mr. Glenarm
+gave away a great deal of money in his lifetime. Moreover,
+he established your father. You know what he
+left,—it was not a small fortune as those things are
+reckoned.”
+
+I was restless under this recital. My father’s estate
+had been of respectable size, and I had dissipated the
+whole of it. My conscience pricked me as I recalled an
+item of forty thousand dollars that I had spent—somewhat
+grandly—on an expedition that I led, with considerable
+satisfaction to myself, at least, through the
+Sudan. But Pickering’s words amazed me.
+
+“Let me understand you,” I said, bending toward
+him. “My grandfather was supposed to be rich, and
+yet you tell me you find little property. Sister Theresa
+got money from him to help build a school. How much
+was that?”
+
+“Fifty thousand dollars. It was an open account.
+His books show the advances, but he took no notes.”
+
+“And that claim is worth—?”
+
+“It is good as against her individually. But she contends—”
+
+“Yes, go on!”
+
+I had struck the right note. He was annoyed at my
+persistence and his apparent discomfort pleased me.
+
+“She refuses to pay. She says Mr. Glenarm made her
+a gift of the money.”
+
+“That’s possible, isn’t it? He was for ever making
+gifts to churches. Schools and theological seminaries
+were a sort of weakness with him.”
+
+“That is quite true, but this account is among the
+assets of the estate. It’s my business as executor to collect
+it.”
+
+“We’ll pass that. If you get this money, the estate is
+worth sixty thousand dollars, plus the value of the land
+out there at Annandale, and Glenarm House is worth—”
+
+“There you have me!”
+
+It was the first lightness he had shown, and it put me
+on guard.
+
+“I should like an idea of its value. Even an unfinished
+house is worth something.”
+
+“Land out there is worth from one hundred to one
+hundred and fifty dollars an acre. There’s an even
+hundred acres. I’ll be glad to have your appraisement
+of the house when you get there.”
+
+“Humph! You flatter my judgment, Pickering. The
+loose stuff there is worth how much?”
+
+“It’s all in the library. Your grandfather’s weakness
+was architecture—”
+
+“So I remember!” I interposed, recalling my stormy
+interviews with John Marshall Glenarm over my choice
+of a profession.
+
+“In his last years he turned more and more to his
+books. He placed out there what is, I suppose, the
+finest collection of books relating to architecture to be
+found in this country. That was his chief hobby, after
+church affairs, as you may remember, and he rode it
+hard. But he derived a great deal of satisfaction from
+his studies.”
+
+I laughed again; it was better to laugh than to cry
+over the situation.
+
+“I suppose he wanted me to sit down there, surrounded
+by works on architecture, with the idea that
+a study of the subject would be my only resource. The
+scheme is eminently Glenarmian! And all I get is a
+worthless house, a hundred acres of land, ten thousand
+dollars, and a doubtful claim against a Protestant nun
+who hoodwinked my grandfather into setting up a
+school for her. Bless your heart, man, so far as my inheritance
+is concerned it would have been money in my
+pocket to have stayed in Africa.”
+
+“That’s about the size of it.”
+
+“But the personal property is all mine,—anything
+that’s loose on the place. Perhaps my grandfather
+planted old plate and government bonds just to pique
+the curiosity of his heirs, successors and assigns. It
+would be in keeping!”
+
+I had walked to the window and looked out across
+the city. As I turned suddenly I found Pickering’s
+eyes bent upon me with curious intentness. I had never
+liked his eyes; they were too steady. When a man always
+meets your gaze tranquilly and readily, it is just
+as well to be wary of him.
+
+“Yes; no doubt you will find the place literally
+packed with treasure,” he said, and laughed. “When
+you find anything you might wire me.”
+
+He smiled; the idea seemed to give him pleasure.
+
+“Are you sure there’s nothing else?” I asked. “No
+substitute,—no codicil?”
+
+“If you know of anything of the kind it’s your duty
+to produce it. We have exhausted the possibilities. I’ll
+admit that the provisions of the will are unusual; your
+grandfather was a peculiar man in many respects; but
+he was thoroughly sane and his faculties were all sound
+to the last.”
+
+“He treated me a lot better than I deserved,” I said,
+with a heartache that I had not known often in my
+irresponsible life; but I could not afford to show feeling
+before Arthur Pickering.
+
+I picked up the copy of the will and examined it.
+It was undoubtedly authentic; it bore the certificate of
+the clerk of Wabana County, Indiana. The witnesses
+were Thomas Bates and Arthur Pickering.
+
+“Who is Bates?” I asked, pointing to the man’s signature.
+
+“One of your grandfather’s discoveries. He’s in
+charge of the house out there, and a trustworthy fellow.
+He’s a fair cook, among other things. I don’t know
+where Mr. Glenarm got Bates, but he had every confidence
+in him. The man was with him at the end.”
+
+A picture of my grandfather dying, alone with a
+servant, while I, his only kinsman, wandered in strange
+lands, was not one that I could contemplate with much
+satisfaction. My grandfather had been an odd little
+figure of a man, who always wore a long black coat and a
+silk hat, and carried a curious silver-headed staff, and
+said puzzling things at which everybody was afraid either
+to laugh or to cry. He refused to be thanked for favors,
+though he was generous and helpful and constantly
+performing kind deeds. His whimsical philanthropies
+were often described in the newspapers. He had once
+given a considerable sum of money to a fashionable
+church in Boston with the express stipulation, which
+he safeguarded legally, that if the congregation ever
+intrusted its spiritual welfare to a minister named
+Reginald, Harold or Claude, an amount equal to his
+gift, with interest, should be paid to the Massachusetts
+Humane Society.
+
+The thought of him touched me now. I was glad to
+feel that his money had never been a lure to me; it did
+not matter whether his estate was great or small, I
+could, at least, ease my conscience by obeying the behest
+of the old man whose name I bore, and whose interest in
+the finer things of life and art had given him an undeniable
+distinction.
+
+“I should like to know something of Mr. Glenarm’s
+last days,” I said abruptly.
+
+“He wished to visit the village where he was born,
+and Bates, his companion and servant, went to Vermont
+with him. He died quite suddenly, and was buried beside
+his father in the old village cemetery. I saw him
+last early in the summer. I was away from home and
+did not know of his death until it was all over. Bates
+came to report it to me, and to sign the necessary papers
+in probating the will. It had to be done in the place of
+the decedent’s residence, and we went together to Wabana,
+the seat of the county in which Annandale lies.”
+
+I was silent after this, looking out toward the sea
+that had lured me since my earliest dreams of the world
+that lay beyond it.
+
+“It’s a poor stake, Glenarm,” remarked Pickering
+consolingly, and I wheeled upon him.
+
+“I suppose you think it a poor stake! I suppose you
+can’t see anything in that old man’s life beyond his
+money; but I don’t care a curse what my inheritance is!
+I never obeyed any of my grandfather’s wishes in his
+lifetime, but now that he’s dead his last wish is mandatory.
+I’m going out there to spend a year if I die
+for it. Do you get my idea?”
+
+“Humph! You always were a stormy petrel,” he
+sneered. “I fancy it will be safer to keep our most
+agreeable acquaintance on a strictly business basis. If
+you accept the terms of the will—”
+
+“Of course I accept them! Do you think I am going
+to make a row, refuse to fulfil that old man’s last wish!
+I gave him enough trouble in his life without disappointing
+him in his grave. I suppose you’d like to have
+me fight the will; but I’m going to disappoint you.”
+
+He said nothing, but played with his pencil. I had
+never disliked him so heartily; he was so smug and
+comfortable. His office breathed the very spirit of prosperity.
+I wished to finish my business and get away.
+
+“I suppose the region out there has a high death-rate.
+How’s the malaria?”
+
+“Not alarmingly prevalent, I understand. There’s a
+summer resort over on one side of Lake Annandale.
+The place is really supposed to be wholesome. I don’t
+believe your grandfather had homicide in mind in sending
+you there.”
+
+“No, he probably thought the rustication would make
+a man of me. Must I do my own victualing? I suppose
+I’ll be allowed to eat.”
+
+“Bates can cook for you. He’ll supply the necessities.
+I’ll instruct him to obey your orders. I assume
+you’ll not have many guests,—in fact,”—he studied the
+back of his hand intently,—“while that isn’t stipulated,
+I doubt whether it was your grandfather’s intention
+that you should surround yourself—”
+
+“With boisterous companions!” I supplied the words
+in my cheerfullest tone. “No; my conduct shall be exemplary,
+Mr. Pickering,” I added, with affable irony.
+
+He picked up a single sheet of thin type-written
+paper and passed it across the table. It was a formal
+acquiescence in the provisions of the will. Pickering
+had prepared it in advance of my coming, and this assumption
+that I would accept the terms irritated me.
+Assumptions as to what I should do under given conditions
+had always irritated me, and accounted, in a
+large measure, for my proneness to surprise and disappoint
+people. Pickering summoned a clerk to witness
+my signature.
+
+“How soon shall you take possession?” he asked. “I
+have to make a record of that.”
+
+“I shall start for Indiana to-morrow,” I answered.
+
+“You are prompt,” he replied, deliberately folding in
+quarters the paper I had just signed. “I hoped you
+might dine with me before going out; but I fancy New
+York is pretty tame after the cafés and bazaars of the
+East.”
+
+His reference to my wanderings angered me again;
+for here was the point at which I was most sensitive.
+I was twenty-seven and had spent my patrimony; I had
+tasted the bread of many lands, and I was doomed to
+spend a year qualifying myself for my grandfather’s
+legacy by settling down on an abandoned and lonely
+Indiana farm that I had never seen and had no interest
+in whatever.
+
+As I rose to go Pickering said:
+
+“It will be sufficient if you drop me a line, say once
+a month, to let me know you are there. The post-office
+is Annandale.”
+
+“I suppose I might file a supply of postal cards in the
+village and arrange for the mailing of one every
+month.”
+
+“It might be done that way,” be answered evenly.
+
+“We may perhaps meet again, if I don’t die of starvation
+or ennui. Good-by.”
+
+We shook hands stiffly and I left him, going down in
+an elevator filled with eager-eyed, anxious men. I, at
+least, had no cares of business. It made no difference
+to me whether the market rose or fell. Something of
+the spirit of adventure that had been my curse quickened
+in my heart as I walked through crowded Broadway
+past Trinity Church to a bank and drew the balance
+remaining on my letter of credit. I received in
+currency slightly less than one thousand dollars.
+
+As I turned from the teller’s window I ran into the
+arms of the last man in the world I expected to see.
+
+This, let it be remembered, was in October of the
+year of our Lord, nineteen hundred and one.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+A FACE AT SHERRY’S
+
+
+“Don’t mention my name an thou lovest me!” said
+Laurance Donovan, and he drew me aside, ignored my
+hand and otherwise threw into our meeting a casual
+quality that was somewhat amazing in view of the fact
+that we had met last at Cairo.
+
+“Allah il Allah!”
+
+It was undoubtedly Larry. I felt the heat of the
+desert and heard the camel-drivers cursing and our
+Sudanese guides plotting mischief under a window far
+away.
+
+“Well!” we both exclaimed interrogatively.
+
+He rocked gently back and forth, with his hands in
+his pockets, on the tile floor of the banking-house. I
+had seen him stand thus once on a time when we had
+eaten nothing in four days—it was in Abyssinia, and
+our guides had lost us in the worst possible place—with
+the same untroubled look in his eyes.
+
+“Please don’t appear surprised, or scared or anything,
+Jack,” he said, with his delicious intonation. “I
+saw a fellow looking for me an hour or so ago. He’s
+been at it for several months; hence my presence on
+these shores of the brave and the free. He’s probably
+still looking, as he’s a persistent devil. I’m here, as
+we may say, quite incog. Staying at an East-side lodging-house,
+where I shan’t invite you to call on me.
+But I must see you.”
+
+“Dine with me to-night, at Sherry’s—”
+
+“Too big, too many people—”
+
+“Therein lies security, if you’re in trouble. I’m about
+to go into exile, and I want to eat one more civilized
+dinner before I go.”
+
+“Perhaps it’s just as well. Where are you off for,—
+not Africa again?”
+
+“No. Just Indiana,—one of the sovereign American
+states, as you ought to know.”
+
+“Indians?”
+
+“No; warranted all dead.”
+
+“Pack-train—balloon—automobile—camels,—how do
+you get there?”
+
+“Varnished ears. It’s easy. It’s not the getting there;
+it’s the not dying of ennui after you’re on the spot.”
+
+“Humph! What hour did you say for the dinner?”
+
+“Seven o’clock. Meet me at the entrance.”
+
+“If I’m at large! Allow me to precede you through
+the door, and don’t follow me on the street please!”
+
+He walked away, his gloved hands clasped lazily behind
+him, lounged out upon Broadway and turned
+toward the Battery. I waited until he disappeared, then
+took an up-town car.
+
+My first meeting with Laurance Donovan was in Constantinople,
+at a café where I was dining. He got into
+a row with an Englishman and knocked him down. It
+was not my affair, but I liked the ease and definiteness
+with which Larry put his foe out of commission. I
+learned later that it was a way he had. The Englishman
+meant well enough, but he could not, of course,
+know the intensity of Larry’s feeling about the unhappy
+lot of Ireland. In the beginning of my own acquaintance
+with Donovan I sometimes argued with him, but I
+soon learned better manners. He quite converted me to
+his own notion of Irish affairs, and I was as hot an
+advocate as he of head-smashing as a means of restoring
+Ireland’s lost prestige.
+
+My friend, the American consul-general at Constantinople,
+was not without a sense of humor, and I
+easily enlisted him in Larry’s behalf. The Englishman
+thirsted for vengeance and invoked all the powers. He
+insisted, with reason, that Larry was a British subject
+and that the American consul had no right to give him
+asylum,—a point that was, I understand, thoroughly
+well-grounded in law and fact. Larry maintained, on
+the other hand, that he was not English but Irish, and
+that, as his country maintained no representative in
+Turkey, it was his privilege to find refuge wherever it
+was offered. Larry was always the most plausible of
+human beings, and between us,—he, the American consul
+and I,—we made an impression, and got him off.
+
+I did not realize until later that the real joke lay in
+the fact that Larry was English-born, and that his devotion
+to Ireland was purely sentimental and quixotic.
+His family had, to be sure, come out of Ireland some
+time in the dim past, and settled in England; but when
+Larry reached years of knowledge, if not of discretion,
+he cut Oxford and insisted on taking his degree at
+Dublin. He even believed,—or thought he believed,—
+in banshees. He allied himself during his university
+days with the most radical and turbulent advocates of
+a separate national existence for Ireland, and occasionally
+spent a month in jail for rioting. But Larry’s
+instincts were scholarly; he made a brilliant record at
+the University; then, at twenty-two, he came forth to
+look at the world, and liked it exceedingly well. His
+father was a busy man, and he had other sons; he
+granted Larry an allowance and told him to keep away
+from home until he got ready to be respectable. So,
+from Constantinople, after a tour of Europe, we together
+crossed the Mediterranean in search of the flesh-pots
+of lost kingdoms, spending three years in the pursuit.
+We parted at Cairo on excellent terms. He returned
+to England and later to his beloved Ireland, for
+he had blithely sung the wildest Gaelic songs in the
+darkest days of our adventures, and never lost his love
+for The Sod, as he apostrophized—and capitalized—his
+adopted country.
+
+Larry had the habit of immaculateness. He emerged
+from his East-side lodging-house that night clothed
+properly, and wearing the gentlemanly air of peace and
+reserve that is so wholly incompatible with his disposition
+to breed discord and indulge in riot. When we
+sat down for a leisurely dinner at Sherry’s we were not,
+I modestly maintain, a forbidding pair. We—if I may
+drag myself into the matter—are both a trifle under
+the average height, sinewy, nervous, and, just then,
+trained fine. Our lean, clean-shaven faces were well-browned
+—mine wearing a fresh coat from my days on
+the steamer’s deck.
+
+Larry had never been in America before, and the
+scene had for both of us the charm of a gay and novel
+spectacle. I have always maintained, in talking to
+Larry of nations and races, that the Americans are the
+handsomest and best put-up people in the world, and I
+believe he was persuaded of it that night as we gazed
+with eyes long unaccustomed to splendor upon the great
+company assembled in the restaurant. The lights, the
+music, the variety and richness of the costumes of the
+women, the many unmistakably foreign faces, wrought
+a welcome spell on senses inured to hardship in the
+waste and dreary places of earth.
+
+“Now tell me the story,” I said. “Have you done
+murder? Is the offense treasonable?”
+
+“It was a tenants’ row in Galway, and I smashed a
+constable. I smashed him pretty hard, I dare say, from
+the row they kicked up in the newspapers. I lay low
+for a couple of weeks, caught a boat to Queenstown, and
+here I am, waiting for a chance to get back to The Sod
+without going in irons.”
+
+“You were certainly born to be hanged, Larry. You’d
+better stay in America. There’s more room here than
+anywhere else, and it’s not easy to kidnap a man in
+America and carry him off.”
+
+“Possibly not; and yet the situation isn’t wholly tranquil,”
+he said, transfixing a bit of pompano with his
+fork. “Kindly note the florid gentleman at your right
+—at the table with four—he’s next the lady in pink.
+It may interest you to know that he’s the British
+consul.”
+
+“Interesting, but not important. You don’t for a
+moment suppose—”
+
+“That he’s looking for me? Not at all. But he undoubtedly
+has my name on his tablets. The detective
+that’s here following me around is pretty dull. He lost
+me this morning while I was talking to you in the
+bank. Later on I had the pleasure of trailing him for
+an hour or so until he finally brought up at the British
+consul’s office. Thanks; no more of the fish. Let us
+banish care. I wasn’t born to be hanged; and as I’m a
+political offender, I doubt whether I can be deported if
+they lay hands on me.”
+
+He watched the bubbles in his glass dreamily, holding
+it up in his slim well-kept fingers.
+
+“Tell me something of your own immediate present
+and future,” he said.
+
+I made the story of my Grandfather Glenarm’s legacy
+as brief as possible, for brevity was a definite law of our
+intercourse.
+
+“A year, you say, with nothing to do but fold your
+hands and wait. It doesn’t sound awfully attractive to
+me. I’d rather do without the money.”
+
+“But I intend to do some work. I owe it to my grandfather’s
+memory to make good, if there’s any good in
+me.”
+
+“The sentiment is worthy of you, Glenarm,” he said
+mockingly. “What do you see—a ghost?”
+
+I must have started slightly at espying suddenly
+Arthur Pickering not twenty feet away. A party of
+half a dozen or more had risen, and Pickering and a
+girl were detached from the others for a moment.
+
+She was young,—quite the youngest in the group
+about Pickering’s table. A certain girlishness of height
+and outline may have been emphasized by her juxtaposition
+to Pickering’s heavy figure. She was in black,
+with white showing at neck and wrists,—a somber contrast
+to the other women of the party, who were arrayed
+with a degree of splendor. She had dropped her fan,
+and Pickering stooped to pick it up. In the second that
+she waited she turned carelessly toward me, and our
+eyes met for an instant. Very likely she was Pickering’s
+sister, and I tried to reconstruct his family, which I had
+known in my youth; but I could not place her. As she
+walked out before him my eyes followed her,—the erect
+figure, free and graceful, but with a charming dignity
+and poise, and the gold of her fair hair glinting under
+her black toque.
+
+Her eyes, as she turned them full upon me, were the
+saddest, loveliest eyes I had ever seen, and even in that
+brilliant, crowded room I felt their spell. They were
+fixed in my memory indelibly,—mournful, dreamy and
+wistful. In my absorption I forgot Larry.
+
+“You’re taking unfair advantage,” he observed quietly.
+“Friends of yours?”
+
+“The big chap in the lead is my friend Pickering,”
+I answered; and Larry turned his head slightly.
+
+“Yes, I supposed you weren’t looking at the women,”
+he observed dryly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t see the object
+of your interest. Bah! these men!”
+
+I laughed carelessly enough, but I was already summoning
+from my memory the grave face of the girl in
+black,—her mournful eyes, the glint of gold in her hair.
+Pickering was certainly finding the pleasant places in
+this vale of tears, and I felt my heart hot against him.
+It hurts, this seeing a man you have never liked succeeding
+where you have failed!
+
+“Why didn’t you present me? I’d like to make the
+acquaintance of a few representative Americans,—I
+may need them to go bail for me.”
+
+“Pickering didn’t see me, for one thing; and for
+another he wouldn’t go bail for you or me if he did.
+He isn’t built that way.”
+
+Larry smiled quizzically.
+
+“You needn’t explain further. The sight of the lady
+has shaken you. She reminds me of Tennyson:
+
+ “ ‘The star-like sorrows of immortal eyes—’
+
+and the rest of it ought to be a solemn warning to you,
+—many ‘drew swords and died,’ and calamity followed
+in her train. Bah! these women! I thought you were
+past all that!”
+
+[Illustration: She turned carelessly toward me, and our eyes met for an instant.]
+
+“I don’t know why a man should be past it at twenty-seven!
+Besides, Pickering’s friends are strangers to me.
+But what became of that Irish colleen you used to
+moon over? Her distinguishing feature, as I remember
+her photograph, was a short upper lip. You used
+to force her upon me frequently when we were in
+Africa.”
+
+“Humph! When I got back to Dublin I found that
+she had married a brewer’s son,—think of it!”
+
+“Put not your faith in a short upper lip! Her face
+never inspired any confidence in me.”
+
+“That will do, thank you. I’ll have a bit more of that
+mayonnaise if the waiter isn’t dead. I think you said
+your grandfather died in June. A letter advising you
+of the fact reached you at Naples in October. Has it
+occurred to you that there was quite an interim there?
+What, may I ask, was the executor doing all that time?
+You may be sure he was taking advantage of the opportunity
+to look for the red, red gold. I suppose you
+didn’t give him a sound drubbing for not keeping the
+cables hot with inquiries for you?”
+
+He eyed me in that disdain for my stupidity which
+I have never suffered from any other man.
+
+“Well, no; to tell the truth, I was thinking of other
+things during the interview.”
+
+“Your grandfather should have provided a guardian
+for you, lad. You oughtn’t to be trusted with money.
+Is that bottle empty? Well, if that person with the fat
+neck was your friend Pickering, I’d have a care of
+what’s coming to me. I’d be quite sure that Mr. Pickering
+hadn’t made away with the old gentleman’s
+boodle, or that it didn’t get lost on the way from him
+to me.”
+
+“The time’s running now, and I’m in for the year.
+My grandfather was a fine old gentleman, and I treated
+him like a dog. I’m going to do what he directs in that
+will no matter what the size of the reward may be.”
+
+“Certainly; that’s the eminently proper thing for
+you to do. But,—but keep your wits about you. If a
+fellow with that neck can’t find money where money
+has been known to exist, it must be buried pretty deep.
+Your grandfather was a trifle eccentric, I judge, but
+not a fool by any manner of means. The situation appeals
+to my imagination, Jack. I like the idea of it,—
+the lost treasure and the whole business. Lord, what a
+salad that is! Cheer up, comrade! You’re as grim as
+an owl!”
+
+Whereupon we fell to talking of people and places we
+had known in other lands.
+
+We spent the next day together, and in the evening,
+at my hotel, he criticized my effects while I packed, in
+his usual ironical vein.
+
+“You’re not going to take those things with you, I
+hope!” He indicated the rifles and several revolvers
+which I brought from the closet and threw upon the
+bed. “They make me homesick for the jungle.”
+
+He drew from its cover the heavy rifle I had used
+last on a leopard hunt and tested its weight.
+
+“Precious little use you’ll have for this! Better let
+me take it back to The Sod to use on the landlords.
+I say, Jack, are we never to seek our fortunes together
+again? We hit it off pretty well, old man, come to think
+of it,—I don’t like to lose you.”
+
+He bent over the straps of the rifle-case with unnecessary
+care, but there was a quaver in his voice that was
+not like Larry Donovan.
+
+“Come with me now!” I exclaimed, wheeling upon
+him.
+
+“I’d rather be with you than with any other living
+man, Jack Glenarm, but I can’t think of it. I have my
+own troubles; and, moreover, you’ve got to stick it out
+there alone. It’s part of the game the old gentleman
+set up for you, as I understand it. Go ahead, collect
+your fortune, and then, if I haven’t been hanged in the
+meantime, we’ll join forces later. There’s no chap anywhere
+with a pleasanter knack at spending money than
+your old friend L. D.”
+
+He grinned, and I smiled ruefully, knowing that we
+must soon part again, for Larry was one of the few
+men I had ever called friend, and this meeting had only
+quickened my old affection for him.
+
+“I suppose,” he continued, “you accept as gospel
+truth what that fellow tells you about the estate. I
+should be a little wary if I were you. Now, I’ve been
+kicking around here for a couple of weeks, dodging the
+detectives, and incidentally reading the newspapers.
+Perhaps you don’t understand that this estate of John
+Marshall Glenarm has been talked about a good bit.”
+
+“I didn’t know it,” I admitted lamely. Larry had
+always been able to instruct me about most matters; it
+was wholly possible that he could speak wisely about my
+inheritance.
+
+“You couldn’t know, when you were coming from
+the Mediterranean on a steamer. But the house out
+there and the mysterious disappearance of the property
+have been duly discussed. You’re evidently an object
+of some public interest,”—and he drew from his pocket
+a newspaper cutting. “Here’s a sample item.” He read:
+
+“John Glenarm, the grandson of John Marshall Glenarm,
+the eccentric millionaire who died suddenly in Vermont
+last summer, arrived on the Maxinkuckee from Naples
+yesterday. Under the terms of his grandfather’s
+will, Glenarm is required to reside for a year at a curious
+house established by John Marshall Glenarm near Lake
+Annandale, Indiana.
+
+This provision was made, according to friends of the
+family, to test young Glenarm’s staying qualities, as he
+has, since his graduation from the Massachusetts Institute
+of Technology five years ago, distributed a considerable
+fortune left him by his father in contemplating the
+wonders of the old world. It is reported—”
+
+“That will do! Signs and wonders I have certainly
+beheld, and if I spent the money I submit that I got
+my money back.”
+
+I paid my bill and took a hansom for the ferry,—
+Larry with me, chaffing away drolly with his old zest.
+He crossed with me, and as the boat drew out into the
+river a silence fell upon us,—the silence that is possible
+only between old friends. As I looked back at the lights
+of the city, something beyond the sorrow at parting
+from a comrade touched me. A sense of foreboding, of
+coming danger, crept into my heart. But I was going
+upon the tamest possible excursion; for the first time
+in my life I was submitting to the direction of another,
+—albeit one who lay in the grave. How like my grandfather
+it was, to die leaving this compulsion upon me!
+My mood changed suddenly, and as the boat bumped at
+the pier I laughed.
+
+“Bah! these men!” ejaculated Larry.
+
+“What men?” I demanded, giving my bags to a
+porter.
+
+“These men who are in love,” he said. “I know the
+signs,—mooning, silence, sudden inexplicable laughter!
+I hope I’ll not be in jail when you’re married.”
+
+“You’ll be in a long time if they hold you for that.
+Here’s my train.”
+
+We talked of old times, and of future meetings, during
+the few minutes that remained.
+
+“You can write me at my place of rustication,” I
+said, scribbling “Annandale, Wabana County, Indiana,”
+on a card. “Now if you need me at any time I’ll come
+to you wherever you are. You understand that, old man.
+Good-by.”
+
+“Write me, care of my father—he’ll have my address,
+though this last row of mine made him pretty hot.”
+
+I passed through the gate and down the long train
+to my sleeper. Turning, with my foot on the step, I
+waved a farewell to Larry, who stood outside watching
+me.
+
+In a moment the heavy train was moving slowly out
+into the night upon its westward journey.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE HOUSE OF A THOUSAND CANDLES
+
+
+Annandale derives its chief importance from the fact
+that two railway lines intersect there. The Chicago
+Express paused only for a moment while the porter deposited
+my things beside me on the platform. Light
+streamed from the open door of the station; a few
+idlers paced the platform, staring into the windows of
+the cars; the village hackman languidly solicited my
+business. Suddenly out of the shadows came a tall,
+curious figure of a man clad in a long ulster. As I
+write, it is with a quickening of the sensation I received
+on the occasion of my first meeting with Bates. His
+lank gloomy figure rises before me now, and I hear his
+deep melancholy voice, as, touching his hat respectfully,
+be said:
+
+“Beg pardon, sir; is this Mr. Glenarm? I am Bates
+from Glenarm House. Mr. Pickering wired me to meet
+you, sir.”
+
+“Yes; to be sure,” I said.
+
+The hackman was already gathering up my traps,
+and I gave him my trunk-checks.
+
+“How far is it?” I asked, my eyes resting, a little regretfully,
+I must confess, on the rear lights of the vanishing
+train.
+
+“Two miles, sir,” Bates replied. “There’s no way
+over but the hack in winter. In summer the steamer
+comes right into our dock.”
+
+“My legs need stretching; I’ll walk,” I suggested,
+drawing the cool air into my lungs. It was a still, starry
+October night, and its freshness was grateful after the
+hot sleeper. Bates accepted the suggestion without
+comment. We walked to the end of the platform, where
+the hackman was already tumbling my trunks about,
+and after we had seen them piled upon his nondescript
+wagon, I followed Bates down through the broad quiet
+street of the village. There was more of Annandale
+than I had imagined, and several tall smoke-stacks
+loomed here and there in the thin starlight.
+
+“Brick-yards, sir,” said Bates, waving his hand at
+the stacks. “It’s a considerable center for that kind of
+business.”
+
+“Bricks without straw?” I asked, as we passed a
+radiant saloon that blazed upon the board walk.
+
+“Beg pardon, sir, but such places are the ruin of
+men,”—on which remark I based a mental note that
+Bates wished to impress me with his own rectitude.
+
+He swung along beside me, answering questions with
+dogged brevity. Clearly, here was a man who had reduced
+human intercourse to a basis of necessity. I was
+to be shut up with him for a year, and he was not likely
+to prove a cheerful jailer. My feet struck upon a graveled
+highway at the end of the village street, and I
+heard suddenly the lapping of water.
+
+“It’s the lake, sir. This road leads right out to the
+house,” Bates explained.
+
+I was doomed to meditate pretty steadily, I imagined,
+on the beauty of the landscape in these parts, and I
+was rejoiced to know that it was not all cheerless prairie
+or gloomy woodland. The wind freshened cud blew
+sharply upon us off the water.
+
+“The fishing’s quite good in season. Mr. Glenarm
+used to take great pleasure in it. Bass,—yes, sir. Mr.
+Glenarm held there was nothing quite equal to a black
+bass.”
+
+I liked the way the fellow spoke of my grandfather.
+He was evidently a loyal retainer. No doubt he could
+summon from the past many pictures of my grandfather,
+and I determined to encourage his confidence.
+
+Any resentment I felt on first hearing the terms of
+my grandfather’s will had passed. He had treated me
+as well as I deserved, and the least I could do was to
+accept the penalty he had laid upon me in a sane and
+amiable spirit. This train of thought occupied me as
+we tramped along the highway. The road now led away
+from the lake and through a heavy wood. Presently, on
+the right loomed a dark barrier, and I put out my hand
+and touched a wall of rough stone that rose to a height
+of about eight feet.
+
+“What is this, Bates?” I asked.
+
+“This is Glenarm land, sir. The wall was one of
+your grandfather’s ideas. It’s a quarter of a mile long
+and cost him a pretty penny, I warrant you. The road
+turns off from the lake now, but the Glenarm property
+is all lake front.”
+
+So there was a wall about my prison house! I grinned
+cheerfully to myself. When, a few moments later, my
+guide paused at an arched gateway in the long wall,
+drew from his overcoat a bunch of keys and fumbled at
+the lock of an iron gate, I felt the spirit of adventure
+quicken within me.
+
+The gate clicked behind us and Bates found a lantern
+and lighted it with the ease of custom.
+
+“I use this gate because it’s nearer. The regular entrance
+is farther down the road. Keep close, sir, as the
+timber isn’t much cleared.”
+
+The undergrowth was indeed heavy, and I followed
+the lantern of my guide with difficulty. In the darkness
+the place seemed as wild and rough as a tropical wilderness.
+
+“Only a little farther,” rose Bates’ voice ahead of
+me; and then: “There’s the light, sir,”—and, lifting
+my eyes, as I stumbled over the roots of a great tree, I
+saw for the first time the dark outlines of Glenarm
+House.
+
+“Here we are, sir!” exclaimed Bates, stamping his
+feet upon a walk. I followed him to what I assumed to
+be the front door of the house, where a lamp shone
+brightly at either side of a massive entrance. Bates
+flung it open without ado, and I stepped quickly into
+a great hall that was lighted dimly by candles fastened
+into brackets on the walls.
+
+“I hope you’ve not expected too much, Mr. Glenarm,”
+said Bates, with a tone of mild apology. “It’s very incomplete
+for living purposes.”
+
+“Well, we’ve got to make the best of it,” I answered,
+though without much cheer. The sound of our steps
+reverberated and echoed in the well of a great staircase.
+There was not, as far as I could see, a single article of
+furniture in the place.
+
+“Here’s something you’ll like better, sir,”—and Bates
+paused far down the hall and opened a door.
+
+A single candle made a little pool of light in what I
+felt to be a large room. I was prepared for a disclosure
+of barren ugliness, and waited, in heartsick foreboding,
+for the silent guide to reveal a dreary prison.
+
+“Please sit here, sir,” said Bates, “while I make a
+better light.”
+
+He moved through the dark room with perfect ease,
+struck a match, lighted a taper and went swiftly and
+softly about. He touched the taper to one candle after
+another,—they seemed to be everywhere,—and won
+from the dark a faint twilight, that yielded slowly to a
+growing mellow splendor of light. I have often watched
+the acolytes in dim cathedrals of the Old World set
+countless candles ablaze on magnificent altars,—always
+with awe for the beauty of the spectacle; but in this
+unknown house the austere serving-man summoned
+from the shadows a lovelier and more bewildering enchantment.
+Youth alone, of beautiful things, is lovelier
+than light.
+
+The lines of the walls receded as the light increased,
+and the raftered ceiling drew away, luring the eyes upward.
+I rose with a smothered exclamation on my lips
+and stared about, snatching off my hat in reverence as
+the spirit of the place wove its spell about me. Everywhere
+there were books; they covered the walls to the
+ceiling, with only long French windows and an enormous
+fireplace breaking the line. Above the fireplace a
+massive dark oak chimney-breast further emphasized
+the grand scale of the room. From every conceivable
+place—from shelves built for the purpose, from brackets
+that thrust out long arms among the books, from a
+great crystal chandelier suspended from the ceiling, and
+from the breast of the chimney—innumerable candles
+blazed with dazzling brilliancy. I exclaimed in wonder
+and pleasure as Bates paused, his sorcerer’s wand in
+hand.
+
+“Mr. Glenarm was very fond of candle-light; he
+liked to gather up candlesticks, and his collection is
+very fine. He called his place ‘The House of a Thousand
+Candles.’ There’s only about a hundred here;
+but it was one of his conceits that when the house was
+finished there would be a thousand lights, he had quite
+a joking way, your grandfather. It suited his humor
+to call it a thousand. He enjoyed his own pleasantries,
+sir.”
+
+“I fancy he did,” I replied, staring in bewilderment.
+
+“Oil lamps might be more suited to your own taste,
+sir. But your grandfather would not have them. Old
+brass and copper were specialties with him, and he had
+a particular taste, Mr. Glenarm had, in glass candlesticks.
+He held that the crystal was most effective of
+all. I’ll go and let in the baggageman and then serve
+you some supper.”
+
+He went somberly out and I examined the room with
+amazed and delighted eyes. It was fifty feet long and
+half as wide. The hard-wood floor was covered with
+handsome rugs; every piece of furniture was quaint or
+interesting. Carved in the heavy oak paneling above
+the fireplace, in large Old English letters, was the inscription:
+
+        The Spirit of Man is the Candle of the Lord
+
+and on either side great candelabra sent long arms
+across the hearth. All the books seemed related to architecture;
+German and French works stood side by side
+among those by English and American authorities. I
+found archaeology represented in a division where all
+the titles were Latin or Italian. I opened several cabinets
+that contained sketches and drawings, all in careful
+order; and in another I found an elaborate card
+catalogue, evidently the work of a practised hand. The
+minute examination was too much for me; I threw
+myself into a great chair that might have been spoil
+from a cathedral, satisfied to enjoy the general effect.
+To find an apartment so handsome and so marked by
+good taste in the midst of an Indiana wood, staggered
+me. To be sure, in approaching the house I had seen
+only a dark bulk that conveyed no sense of its character
+or proportions; and certainly the entrance hall
+had not prepared me for the beauty of this room. I was
+so lost in contemplation that I did not hear a door open
+behind me. The respectful, mournful voice of Bates
+announced:
+
+“There’s a bite ready for you, sir.”
+
+I followed him through the hall to a small high-wainscoted
+room where a table was simply set.
+
+“This is what Mr. Glenarm called the refectory. The
+dining-room, on the other side of the house, is unfinished.
+He took his own meals here. The library was the
+main thing with him. He never lived to finish the house,
+—more’s the pity, sir. He would have made something
+very handsome of it if he’d had a few years more. But
+he hoped, sir, that you’d see it completed. It was his
+wish, sir.”
+
+“Yes, to be sure,” I replied.
+
+He brought cold fowl and a salad, and produced a
+bit of Stilton of unmistakable authenticity.
+
+“I trust the ale is cooled to your liking. It’s your
+grandfather’s favorite, if I may say it, sir.”
+
+I liked the fellow’s humility. He served me with a
+grave deference and an accustomed hand. Candles in
+crystal holders shed an agreeable light upon the table;
+the room was snug and comfortable, and hickory logs
+in a small fireplace crackled cheerily. If my grandfather
+had designed to punish me, with loneliness as
+his weapon, his shade, if it lurked near, must have
+been grievously disappointed. I had long been inured
+to my own society. I had often eaten my bread alone,
+and I found a pleasure in the quiet of the strange unknown
+house. There stole over me, too, the satisfaction
+that I was at last obeying a wish of my grandfather’s,
+that I was doing something he would have me do. I
+was touched by the traces everywhere of his interest
+in what was to him the art of arts; there was something
+quite fine in his devotion to it. The little refectory
+had its air of distinction, though it was without
+decoration. There had been, we always said in the
+family, something whimsical or even morbid in my
+grandsire’s devotion to architecture; but I felt that it
+had really appealed to something dignified and noble
+in his own mind and character, and a gentler mood
+than I had known in years possessed my heart. He had
+asked little of me, and I determined that in that little
+I would not fail.
+
+Bates gave me my coffee, put matches within reach
+and left the room. I drew out my cigarette case and
+was holding it half-opened, when the glass in the window
+back of me cracked sharply, a bullet whistled over
+my head, struck the opposite wall and fell, flattened
+and marred, on the table under my hand.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+A VOICE FROM THE LAKE
+
+
+I ran to the window and peered out into the night.
+The wood through which we had approached the house
+seemed to encompass it. The branches of a great tree
+brushed the panes. I was tugging at the fastening of
+the window when I became aware of Bates at my elbow.
+
+“Did something happen, sir?”
+
+His unbroken calm angered me. Some one had fired
+at me through a window and I had narrowly escaped
+being shot. I resented the unconcern with which this
+servant accepted the situation.
+
+“Nothing worth mentioning. Somebody tried to assassinate
+me, that’s all,” I said, in a voice that failed
+to be calmly ironical. I was still fumbling at the catch
+of the window.
+
+“Allow me, sir,”—and he threw up the sash with an
+ease that increased my irritation.
+
+I leaned out and tried to find some clue to my assailant.
+Bates opened another window and surveyed the
+dark landscape with me.
+
+“It was a shot from without, was it, sir?”
+
+“Of course it was; you didn’t suppose I shot at myself,
+did you?”
+
+He examined the broken pane and picked up the bullet
+from the table.
+
+“It’s a rifle-ball, I should say.”
+
+The bullet was half-flattened by its contact with the
+wall. It was a cartridge ball of large caliber and might
+have been fired from either rifle or pistol.
+
+“It’s very unusual, sir!” I wheeled upon him angrily
+and found him fumbling with the bit of metal, a
+troubled look in his face. He at once continued, as
+though anxious to allay my fears. “Quite accidental,
+most likely. Probably boys on the lake are shooting at
+ducks.”
+
+I laughed out so suddenly that Bates started back in
+alarm.
+
+“You idiot!” I roared, seizing him by the collar with
+both hands and shaking him fiercely. “You fool! Do the
+people around here shoot ducks at night? Do they
+shoot water-fowl with elephant guns and fire at people
+through windows just for fun?”
+
+I threw him back against the table so that it leaped
+away from him, and he fell prone on the floor.
+
+“Get up!” I commanded, “and fetch a lantern.”
+
+He said nothing, but did as I bade him. We traversed
+the long cheerless hall to the front door, and I sent him
+before me into the woodland. My notions of the geography
+of the region were the vaguest, but I wished to
+examine for myself the premises that evidently contained
+a dangerous prowler. I was very angry and my
+rage increased as I followed Bates, who had suddenly
+retired within himself. We stood soon beneath the
+lights of the refectory window.
+
+The ground was covered with leaves which broke
+crisply under our feet.
+
+“What lies beyond here?” I demanded.
+
+“About a quarter of mile of woods, sir, and then the
+lake.”
+
+“Go ahead,” I ordered, “straight to the lake.”
+
+I was soon stumbling through rough underbrush similar
+to that through which we had approached the house.
+Bates swung along confidently enough ahead of me,
+pausing occasionally to hold back the branches. I began
+to feel, as my rage abated, that I had set out on a foolish
+undertaking. I was utterly at sea as to the character of
+the grounds; I was following a man whom I had not
+seen until two hours before, and whom I began to suspect
+of all manner of designs upon me. It was wholly
+unlikely that the person who had fired into the windows
+would lurk about, and, moreover, the light of the lantern,
+the crack of the leaves and the breaking of the
+boughs advertised our approach loudly. I am, however,
+a person given to steadfastness in error, if nothing else,
+and I plunged along behind my guide with a grim determination
+to reach the margin of the lake, if for no
+other reason than to exercise my authority over the
+custodian of this strange estate.
+
+A bush slapped me sharply and I stopped to rub the
+sting from my face.
+
+“Are you hurt, sir?” asked Bates solicitously, turning
+with the lantern.
+
+“Of course not,” I snapped. “I’m having the time
+of my life. Are there no paths in this jungle?”
+
+“Not through here, sir. It was Mr. Glenarm’s idea
+not to disturb the wood at all. He was very fond of
+walking through the timber.”
+
+“Not at night, I hope! Where are we now?”
+
+“Quite near the lake, sir.”
+
+“Then go on.”
+
+I was out of patience with Bates, with the pathless
+woodland, and, I must confess, with the spirit of John
+Marshall Glenarm, my grandfather.
+
+We came out presently upon a gravelly beach, and
+Bates stamped suddenly on planking.
+
+“This is the Glenarm dock, sir; and that’s the boat-house.”
+
+He waved his lantern toward a low structure that rose
+dark beside us. As we stood silent, peering out into the
+starlight, I heard distinctly the dip of a paddle and the
+soft gliding motion of a canoe.
+
+“It’s a boat, sir,” whispered Bates, hiding the lantern
+under his coat.
+
+I brushed past him and crept to the end of the dock.
+The paddle dipped on silently and evenly in the still
+water, but the sound grew fainter. A canoe is the most
+graceful, the most sensitive, the most inexplicable contrivance
+of man. With its paddle you may dip up stars
+along quiet shores or steal into the very harbor of
+dreams. I knew that furtive splash instantly, and knew
+that a trained hand wielded the paddle. My boyhood
+summers in the Maine woods were not, I frequently
+find, wholly wasted.
+
+The owner of the canoe had evidently stolen close to
+the Glenarm dock, and had made off when alarmed by
+the noise of our approach through the wood.
+
+“Have you a boat here?”
+
+“The boat-house is locked and I haven’t the key with
+me, sir,” he replied without excitement.
+
+“Of course you haven’t it,” I snapped, full of anger
+at his tone of irreproachable respect, and at my own
+helplessness. I had not even seen the place by daylight,
+and the woodland behind me and the lake at my feet
+were things of shadow and mystery. In my rage I
+stamped my foot.
+
+“Lead the way back,” I roared.
+
+I had turned toward the woodland when suddenly
+there stole across the water a voice,—a woman’s voice,
+deep, musical and deliberate.
+
+“Really, I shouldn’t be so angry if I were you!” it
+said, with a lingering note on the word angry.
+
+“Who are you? What are you doing there?” I bawled.
+
+“Just enjoying a little tranquil thought!” was the
+drawling, mocking reply.
+
+Far out upon the water I heard the dip and glide of
+the canoe, and saw faintly its outline for a moment;
+then it was gone. The lake, the surrounding wood, were
+an unknown world,—the canoe, a boat of dreams. Then
+again came the voice:
+
+“Good night, merry gentlemen!”
+
+“It was a lady, sir,” remarked Bates, after we had
+waited silently for a full minute.
+
+“How clever you are!” I sneered. “I suppose ladies
+prowl about here at night, shooting ducks or into people’s
+houses.”
+
+“It would seem quite likely, sir.”
+
+I should have liked to cast him into the lake, but be
+was already moving away, the lantern swinging at his
+side. I followed him, back through the woodland to the
+house.
+
+My spirits quickly responded to the cheering influence
+of the great library. I stirred the fire on the
+hearth into life and sat down before it, tired from my
+tramp. I was mystified and perplexed by the incident
+that had already marked my coming. It was possible,
+to be sure, that the bullet which narrowly missed my
+head in the little dining-room had been a wild shot that
+carried no evil intent. I dismissed at once the idea that
+it might have been fired from the lake; it had crashed
+through the glass with too much force to have come so
+far; and, moreover, I could hardly imagine even a rifle-ball’s
+finding an unimpeded right of way through so
+dense a strip of wood. I found it difficult to get rid of
+the idea that some one had taken a pot-shot at me.
+
+The woman’s mocking voice from the lake added to
+my perplexity. It was not, I reflected, such a voice as
+one might expect to hear from a country girl; nor could
+I imagine any errand that would excuse a woman’s
+presence abroad on an October night whose cool air inspired
+first confidences with fire and lamp. There was
+something haunting in that last cry across the water;
+it kept repeating itself over and over in my ears. It
+was a voice of quality, of breeding and charm.
+
+“Good night, merry gentlemen!”
+
+In Indiana, I reflected, rustics, young or old, men or
+women, were probably not greatly given to salutations
+of just this temper.
+
+Bates now appeared.
+
+“Beg pardon, sir; but your room’s ready whenever
+you wish to retire.”
+
+I looked about in search of a clock.
+
+“There are no timepieces in the house, Mr. Glenarm.
+Your grandfather was quite opposed to them. He had
+a theory, sir, that they were conducive, as he said, to
+idleness. He considered that a man should work by his
+conscience, sir, and not by the clock,—the one being
+more exacting than the other.”
+
+I smiled as I drew out my watch,—as much at Bates’
+solemn tones and grim lean visage as at his quotation
+from my grandsire. But the fellow puzzled and annoyed
+me. His unobtrusive black clothes, his smoothly-brushed
+hair, his shaven face, awakened an antagonism
+in me.
+
+“Bates, if you didn’t fire that shot through the window,
+who did—will you answer me that?”
+
+“Yes, sir; if I didn’t do it, it’s quite a large question
+who did. I’ll grant you that, sir.”
+
+I stared at him. He met my gaze directly without
+flinching; nor was there anything insolent in his tone
+or attitude. He continued:
+
+“I didn’t do it, sir. I was in the pantry when I heard
+the crash in the refectory window. The bullet came
+from out of doors, as I should judge, sir.”
+
+The facts and conclusions were undoubtedly with
+Bates, and I felt that I had not acquitted myself creditably
+in my effort to fix the crime on him. My abuse of
+him had been tactless, to say the least, and I now tried
+another line of attack.
+
+“Of course, Bates, I was merely joking. What’s your
+own theory of the matter?”
+
+“I have no theory, sir. Mr. Glenarm always warned
+me against theories. He said—if you will pardon me—
+there was great danger in the speculative mind.”
+
+The man spoke with a slight Irish accent, which in
+itself puzzled me. I have always been attentive to the
+peculiarities of speech, and his was not the brogue of
+the Irish servant class. Larry Donovan, who was English-born,
+used on occasions an exaggerated Irish dialect
+that was wholly different from the smooth liquid tones of
+Bates. But more things than his speech were to puzzle
+me in this man.
+
+“The person in the canoe? How do you account for
+her?” I asked.
+
+“I haven’t accounted for her, sir. There’s no women
+on these grounds, or any sort of person except ourselves.”
+
+“But there are neighbors,—farmers, people of some
+kind must live along the lake.”
+
+“A few, sir; and then there’s the school quite a bit
+beyond your own west wall.”
+
+His slight reference to my proprietorship, my own
+wall, as he put it, pleased me.
+
+“Oh, yes; there is a school—girls?—yes; Mr. Pickering
+mentioned it. But the girls hardly paddle on the
+lake at night, at this season—hunting ducks—should
+you say, Bates?”
+
+“I don’t believe they do any shooting, Mr. Glenarm.
+It’s a pretty strict school, I judge, sir, from all accounts.”
+
+“And the teachers—they are all women?”
+
+“They’re the Sisters of St. Agatha, I believe they call
+them. I sometimes see them walking abroad. They’re
+very quiet neighbors, and they go away in the summer
+usually, except Sister Theresa. The school’s her regular
+home, sir. And there’s the little chapel quite near the
+wall; the young minister lives there; and the gardener’s
+the only other man on the grounds.”
+
+So my immediate neighbors were Protestant nuns
+and school-girls, with a chaplain and gardener thrown
+in for variety. Still, the chaplain might be a social resource.
+There was nothing in the terms of my grandfather’s
+will to prevent my cultivating the acquaintance
+of a clergyman. It even occurred to me that this might
+be a part of the game: my soul was to be watched over
+by a rural priest, while, there being nothing else to do,
+I was to give my attention to the study of architecture.
+Bates, my guard and housekeeper, was brushing the
+hearth with deliberate care.
+
+“Show me my cell,” I said, rising, “and I’ll go to
+bed.”
+
+He brought from somewhere a great brass candelabrum
+that held a dozen lights, and explained:
+
+“This was Mr. Glenarm’s habit. He always used this
+one to go to bed with. I’m sure he’d wish you to have
+it, sir.”
+
+I thought I detected something like a quaver in the
+man’s voice. My grandfather’s memory was dear to him.
+I reflected, and I was moved to compassion for him.
+
+“How long were you with Mr. Glenarm, Bates?” I
+inquired, as I followed him into the hall.
+
+“Five years, sir. He employed me the year you went
+abroad. I remember very well his speaking of it. He
+greatly admired you, sir.”
+
+He led the way, holding the cluster of lights high for
+my guidance up the broad stairway.
+
+The hall above shared the generous lines of the whole
+house, but the walls were white and hard to the eye.
+Rough planks had been laid down for a floor, and beyond
+the light of the candles lay a dark region that gave
+out ghostly echoes as the loose boards rattled under our
+feet.
+
+“I hope you’ll not be too much disappointed, sir,”
+said Bates, pausing a moment before opening a door.
+“It’s all quite unfinished, but comfortable, I should say,
+quite comfortable.”
+
+“Open the door!”
+
+He was not my host and I did not relish his apology.
+I walked past him into a small sitting-room that was,
+in a way, a miniature of the great library below. Open
+shelves filled with books lined the apartment to the
+ceiling on every hand, save where a small fireplace, a
+cabinet and table were built into the walls. In the
+center of the room was a long table with writing materials
+set in nice order. I opened a handsome case and
+found that it contained a set of draftsman’s instruments.
+
+I groaned aloud.
+
+“Mr. Glenarm preferred this room for working. The
+tools were his very own, sir.”
+
+“The devil they were!” I exclaimed irascibly. I
+snatched a book from the nearest shelf and threw it
+open on the table. It was The Tower: Its Early Use
+for Purposes of Defense. London: 1816.
+
+I closed it with a slam.
+
+“The sleeping-room is beyond, sir. I hope—”
+
+“Don’t you hope any more!” I growled; “and it
+doesn’t make any difference whether I’m disappointed
+or not.”
+
+“Certainly not, sir!” he replied in a tone that made
+me ashamed of myself.
+
+The adjoining bedroom was small and meagerly furnished.
+The walls were untinted and were relieved only
+by prints of English cathedrals, French chateaux, and
+like suggestions of the best things known to architecture.
+The bed was the commonest iron type; and the
+other articles of furniture were chosen with a strict regard
+for utility. My trunks and bags had been carried
+in, and Bates asked from the door for my commands.
+
+“Mr. Glenarm always breakfasted at seven-thirty, sir,
+as near as he could hit it without a timepiece, and he
+was quite punctual. His ways were a little odd, sir. He
+used to prowl about at night a good deal, and there was
+no following him.”
+
+“I fancy I shan’t do much prowling,” I declared.
+“And my grandfather’s breakfast hour will suit me exactly,
+Bates.”
+
+“If there’s nothing further, sir—”
+
+“That’s all;—and Bates—”
+
+“Yes, Mr. Glenarm.”
+
+“Of course you understand that I didn’t really mean
+to imply that you had fired that shot at me?”
+
+“I beg you not to mention it, Mr. Glenarm.”
+
+“But it was a little queer. If you should gain any
+light on the subject, let me know.”
+
+“Certainly, sir.”
+
+“But I believe, Bates, that we’d better keep the shades
+down at night. These duck hunters hereabouts are apparently
+reckless. And you might attend to these now,
+—and every evening hereafter.”
+
+I wound my watch as he obeyed. I admit that in my
+heart I still half-suspected the fellow of complicity with
+the person who had fired at me through the dining-room
+window. It was rather odd, I reflected, that the shades
+should have been open, though I might account for this
+by the fact that this curious unfinished establishment
+was not subject to the usual laws governing orderly
+housekeeping. Bates was evidently aware of my suspicions,
+and he remarked, drawing down the last of the
+plain green shades:
+
+“Mr. Glenarm never drew them, sir. It was a saying
+of his, if I may repeat his words, that he liked the open.
+These are eastern windows, and he took a quiet pleasure
+in letting the light waken him. It was one of his oddities,
+sir.”
+
+“To be sure. That’s all, Bates.”
+
+He gravely bade me good night, and I followed him
+to the outer door and watched his departing figure,
+lighted by a single candle that he had produced from
+his pocket.
+
+I stood for several minutes listening to his step, tracing
+it through the hall below—as far as my knowledge
+of the house would permit. Then, in unknown regions,
+I could hear the closing of doors and drawing of bolts.
+Verily, my jailer was a person of painstaking habits.
+
+I opened my traveling-case and distributed its contents
+on the dressing-table. I had carried through all
+my adventures a folding leather photograph-holder, containing
+portraits of my father and mother and of John
+Marshall Glenarm, my grandfather, and this I set up
+on the mantel in the little sitting-room. I felt to-night
+as never before how alone I was in the world, and a
+need for companionship and sympathy stirred in me.
+It was with a new and curious interest that I peered
+into my grandfather’s shrewd old eyes. He used to come
+and go fitfully at my father’s house; but my father had
+displeased him in various ways that I need not recite,
+and my father’s death had left me with an estrangement
+which I had widened by my own acts.
+
+Now that I had reached Glenarm, my mind reverted
+to Pickering’s estimate of the value of my grandfather’s
+estate. Although John Marshall Glenarm was an eccentric
+man, he had been able to accumulate a large fortune;
+and yet I had allowed the executor to tell me that
+he had died comparatively poor. In so readily accepting
+the terms of the will and burying myself in a region of
+which I knew nothing, I had cut myself off from the
+usual channels of counsel. If I left the place to return
+to New York I should simply disinherit myself. At
+Glenarm I was, and there I must remain to the end of
+the year; I grew bitter against Pickering as I reflected
+upon the ease with which he had got rid of me. I had
+always satisfied myself that my wits were as keen as his,
+but I wondered now whether I had not stupidly put myself
+in his power.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+A RED TAM-O’-SHANTER
+
+
+I looked out on the bright October morning with a
+renewed sense of isolation. Trees crowded about my
+windows, many of them still wearing their festal colors,
+scarlet and brown and gold, with the bright green of
+some sulking companion standing out here and there
+with startling vividness. I put on an old corduroy outing
+suit and heavy shoes, ready for a tramp abroad, and
+went below.
+
+The great library seemed larger than ever when I beheld
+it in the morning light. I opened one of the
+French windows and stepped out on a stone terrace,
+where I gained a fair view of the exterior of the house,
+which proved to be a modified Tudor, with battlements
+and two towers. One of the latter was only half-finished,
+and to it and to other parts of the house the workmen’s
+scaffolding still clung. Heaps of stone and piles of lumber
+were scattered about in great disorder. The house
+extended partly along the edge of a ravine, through
+which a slender creek ran toward the lake. The terrace
+became a broad balcony immediately outside the library,
+and beneath it the water bubbled pleasantly around
+heavy stone pillars. Two pretty rustic bridges spanned
+the ravine, one near the front entrance, the other at the
+rear. My grandfather had begun his house on a generous
+plan, but, buried as it was among the trees, it suffered
+from lack of perspective. However, on one side toward
+the lake was a fair meadow, broken by a water-tower,
+and just beyond the west dividing wall I saw a little
+chapel; and still farther, in the same direction, the outlines
+of the buildings of St. Agatha’s were vaguely perceptible
+in another strip of woodland.
+
+The thought of gentle nuns and school-girls as neighbors
+amused me. All I asked was that they should keep
+to their own side of the wall.
+
+I heard behind me the careful step of Bates.
+
+“Good morning, Mr. Glenarm. I trust you rested
+quite well, sir.”
+
+His figure was as austere, his tone as respectful and
+colorless as by night. The morning light gave him a
+pallid cast. He suffered my examination coolly enough;
+his eyes were, indeed, the best thing about him.
+
+“This is what Mr. Glenarm called the platform. I
+believe it’s in Hamlet, sir.”
+
+I laughed aloud. “Elsinore: A Platform Before the
+Castle.”
+
+“It was one of Mr. Glenarm’s little fancies, you might
+call it, sir.”
+
+“And the ghost,—where does the murdered majesty of
+Denmark lie by day?”
+
+“I fear it wasn’t provided, sir! As you see, Mr. Glenarm,
+the house is quite incomplete. My late master had
+not carried out all his plans.”
+
+Bates did not smile. I fancied he never smiled, and
+I wondered whether John Marshall Glenarm had played
+upon the man’s lack of humor. My grandfather had
+been possessed of a certain grim, ironical gift at jesting,
+and quite likely he had amused himself by experimenting
+upon his serving man.
+
+“You may breakfast when you like, sir,”—and thus
+admonished I went into the refectory.
+
+A newspaper lay at my plate; it was the morning’s
+issue of a Chicago daily. I was, then, not wholly out of
+the world, I reflected, scanning the head-lines.
+
+“Your grandfather rarely examined the paper. Mr.
+Glenarm was more particularly interested in the old
+times. He wasn’t what you might call up to date,—if
+you will pardon the expression, sir.”
+
+“You are quite right about that, Bates. He was a
+medievalist in his sympathies.”
+
+“Thank you for that word, sir; I’ve frequently heard
+him apply it to himself. The plain omelette was a great
+favorite with your grandfather. I hope it is to your liking,
+sir.”
+
+“It’s excellent, Bates. And your coffee is beyond
+praise.”
+
+“Thank you, Mr. Glenarm. One does what one can,
+sir.”
+
+He had placed me so that I faced the windows, an
+attention to my comfort and safety which I appreciated.
+The broken pane told the tale of the shot that had so
+narrowly missed me the night before.
+
+“I’ll repair that to-day, sir,” Bates remarked, seeing
+my eyes upon the window.
+
+“You know that I’m to spend a year on this place;
+I assume that you understand the circumstances,” I
+said, feeling it wise that we should understand each
+other.
+
+“Quite so, Mr. Glenarm.”
+
+“I’m a student, you know, and all I want is to be left
+alone.”
+
+This I threw in to reassure myself rather than for
+his information. It was just as well, I reflected, to assert
+a little authority, even though the fellow undoubtedly
+represented Pickering and received orders from
+him.
+
+“In a day or two, or as soon as I have got used to the
+place, I shall settle down to work in the library. You
+may give me breakfast at seven-thirty; luncheon at one-thirty
+and dinner at seven.”
+
+“Those were my late master’s hours, sir.”
+
+“Very good. And I’ll eat anything you please, except
+mutton broth, meat pie and canned strawberries.
+Strawberries in tins, Bates, are not well calculated to
+lift the spirit of man.”
+
+“I quite agree with you, sir, if you will pardon my
+opinion.”
+
+“And the bills—”
+
+“They are provided for by Mr. Pickering. He sends
+me an allowance for the household expenses.”
+
+“So you are to report to him, are you, as heretofore?”
+
+I blew out a match with which I had lighted a cigar
+and watched the smoking end intently.
+
+“I believe that’s the idea, sir.”
+
+It is not pleasant to be under compulsion,—to feel
+your freedom curtailed, to be conscious of espionage. I
+rose without a word and went into the hall.
+
+“You may like to have the keys,” said Bates, following
+me. “There’s two for the gates in the outer wall
+and one for the St. Agatha’s gate; they’re marked, as
+you see. And here’s the hall-door key and the boat-house
+key that you asked for last night.”
+
+After an hour spent in unpacking I went out into the
+grounds. I had thought it well to wire Pickering of
+my arrival, and I set out for Annandale to send him a
+telegram. My spirit lightened under the influences of
+the crisp air and cheering sunshine. What had seemed
+strange and shadowy at night was clear enough by
+day.
+
+I found the gate through which we had entered the
+grounds the night before without difficulty. The stone
+wall was assuredly no flimsy thing. It was built in a
+thoroughly workmanlike manner, and I mentally computed
+its probable cost with amazement. There were,
+I reflected, much more satisfactory ways of spending
+money than in building walls around Indiana forests.
+But the place was mine, or as good as mine, and there
+was no manner of use in quarreling with the whims of
+my dead grandfather. At the expiration of a year I
+could tear down the wall if I pleased; and as to the incomplete
+house, that I should sell or remodel to my
+liking.
+
+On the whole, I settled into an amiable state of mind;
+my perplexity over the shot of the night before was passing
+away under the benign influences of blue sky and
+warm sunshine. A few farm-folk passed me in the
+highway and gave me good morning in the fashion of
+the country, inspecting my knickerbockers at the same
+time with frank disapproval. I reached the lake and
+gazed out upon its quiet waters with satisfaction. At
+the foot of Annandale’s main street was a dock where
+several small steam-craft and a number of catboats were
+being dismantled for the winter. As I passed, a man
+approached the dock in a skiff, landed and tied his boat.
+He started toward the village at a quick pace, but turned
+and eyed me with rustic directness.
+
+“Good morning!” I said. “Any ducks about?”
+
+He paused, nodded and fell into step with me.
+
+“No,—not enough to pay for the trouble.”
+
+“I’m sorry for that. I’d hoped to pick up a few.”
+
+“I guess you’re a stranger in these parts,” he remarked,
+eying me again,—my knickerbockers no doubt
+marking me as an alien.
+
+“Quite so. My name is Glenarm, and I’ve just come.”
+
+“I thought you might be him. We’ve rather been expecting
+you here in the village. I’m John Morgan, caretaker
+of the resorters’ houses up the lake.”
+
+“I suppose you all knew my grandfather hereabouts.”
+
+“Well, yes; you might say as we did, or you might
+say as we didn’t. He wasn’t just the sort that you got
+next to in a hurry. He kept pretty much to himself.
+He built a wall there to keep us out, but he needn’t have
+troubled himself. We’re not the kind around here to
+meddle, and you may be sure the summer people never
+bothered him.”
+
+There was a tone of resentment in his voice, and I
+hastened to say:
+
+“I’m sure you’re mistaken about the purposes of that
+wall. My grandfather was a student of architecture. It
+was a hobby of his. The house and wall were in the line
+of his experiments, and to please his whims. I hope the
+people of the village won’t hold any hard feelings
+against his memory or against me. Why, the labor there
+must have been a good thing for the people hereabouts.”
+
+“It ought to have been,” said the man gruffly; “but
+that’s where the trouble comes in. He brought a lot of
+queer fellows here under contract to work for him,
+Italians, or Greeks, or some sort of foreigners. They
+built the wall, and he had them at work inside for half
+a year. He didn’t even let them out for air; and when
+they finished his job he loaded ’em on to a train one
+day and hauled ’em away.”
+
+“That was quite like him, I’m sure,” I said, remembering
+with amusement my grandfather’s secretive
+ways.
+
+“I guess he was a crank all right,” said the man conclusively.
+
+It was evident that he did not care to establish friendly
+relations with the resident of Glenarm. He was about
+forty, light, with a yellow beard and pale blue eyes. He
+was dressed roughly and wore a shabby soft hat.
+
+“Well, I suppose I’ll have to assume responsibility
+for him and his acts,” I remarked, piqued by the fellow’s
+surliness.
+
+We had reached the center of the village, and he left
+me abruptly, crossing the street to one of the shops. I
+continued on to the railway station, where I wrote and
+paid for my message. The station-master inspected me
+carefully as I searched my pockets for change.
+
+“You want your telegrams delivered at the house?”
+he asked.
+
+“Yes, please,” I answered, and he turned away to
+his desk of clicking instruments without looking at me
+again.
+
+It seemed wise to establish relations with the post-office,
+so I made myself known to the girl who stood at
+the delivery window.
+
+“You already have a box,” she advised me. “There’s
+a boy carries the mail to your house; Mr. Bates hires
+him.”
+
+Bates had himself given me this information, but the
+girl seemed to find pleasure in imparting it with a certain
+severity. I then bought a cake of soap at the principal
+drug store and purchased a package of smoking-tobacco,
+which I did not need, at a grocery.
+
+News of my arrival had evidently reached the villagers;
+I was conceited enough to imagine that my presence
+was probably of interest to them; but the station-master,
+the girl at the post-office and the clerks in the
+shops treated me with an unmistakable cold reserve.
+There was a certain evenness of the chill which they
+visited upon me, as though a particular degree of frigidity
+had been determined in advance.
+
+I shrugged my shoulders and turned toward Glenarm.
+My grandfather had left me a cheerful legacy of
+distrust among my neighbors, the result, probably, of
+importing foreign labor to work on his house. The surly
+Morgan had intimated as much; but it did not greatly
+matter. I had not come to Glenarm to cultivate the
+rustics, but to fulfil certain obligations laid down in
+my grandfather’s will. I was, so to speak, on duty, and
+I much preferred that the villagers should let me alone.
+Comforting myself with these reflections I reached the
+wharf, where I saw Morgan sitting with his feet dangling
+over the water, smoking a pipe.
+
+I nodded in his direction, but he feigned not to see
+me. A moment later he jumped into his boat and rowed
+out into the lake.
+
+When I returned to the house Bates was at work in
+the kitchen. This was a large square room with heavy
+timbers showing in the walls and low ceiling. There
+was a great fireplace having an enormous chimney and
+fitted with a crane and bobs, but for practical purposes
+a small range was provided.
+
+Bates received me placidly.
+
+“Yes; it’s an unusual kitchen, sir. Mr. Glenarm
+copied it from an old kitchen in England. He took
+quite a pride in it. It’s a pleasant place to sit in the
+evening, sir.”
+
+He showed me the way below, where I found that the
+cellar extended under every part of the house, and was
+divided into large chambers. The door of one of them
+was of heavy oak, bound in iron, with a barred opening
+at the top. A great iron hasp with a heavy padlock and
+grilled area windows gave further the impression of a
+cell, and I fear that at this, as at many other things in
+the curious house, I swore—if I did not laugh—thinking
+of the money my grandfather had expended in realizing
+his whims. The room was used, I noted with pleasure,
+as a depository for potatoes. I asked Bates whether
+he knew my grandfather’s purpose in providing a cell in
+his house.
+
+“That, sir, was another of the dead master’s ideas.
+He remarked to me once that it was just as well to have
+a dungeon in a well-appointed house,—his humor again,
+sir! And it comes in quite handy for the potatoes.”
+
+In another room I found a curious collection of lanterns
+of every conceivable description, grouped on
+shelves, and next door to this was a store-room filled
+with brass candlesticks of many odd designs. I shall not
+undertake to describe my sensations as, peering about
+with a candle in my hand, the vagaries of John Marshall
+Glenarm’s mind were further disclosed to me. It was
+almost beyond belief that any man with such whims
+should ever have had the money to gratify them.
+
+I returned to the main floor and studied the titles of
+the books in the library, finally smoking a pipe over a
+very tedious chapter in an exceedingly dull work on
+Norman Revivals and Influences. Then I went out, assuring
+myself that I should get steadily to work in a day
+or two. It was not yet eleven o’clock, and time was sure
+to move deliberately within the stone walls of my
+prison. The long winter lay before me in which I must
+study perforce, and just now it was pleasant to view the
+landscape in all its autumn splendor.
+
+Bates was soberly chopping wood at a rough pile of
+timber at the rear of the house. His industry had already
+impressed me. He had the quiet ways of an ideal
+serving man.
+
+“Well, Bates, you don’t intend to let me freeze to
+death, do you? There must be enough in the pile there
+to last all winter.”
+
+“Yes, sir; I am just cutting a little more of the hickory,
+sir. Mr. Glenarm always preferred it to beech or
+maple. We only take out the old timber. The summer
+storms eat into the wood pretty bad, sir.”
+
+“Oh, hickory, to be sure! I’ve heard it’s the best firewood.
+That’s very thoughtful of you.”
+
+I turned next to the unfinished tower in the meadow,
+from which a windmill pumped water to the house. The
+iron frame was not wholly covered with stone, but material
+for the remainder of the work lay scattered at the
+base. I went on through the wood to the lake and inspected
+the boat-house. It was far more pretentious
+than I had imagined from my visit in the dark. It was
+of two stories, the upper half being a cozy lounging-room,
+with wide windows and a fine outlook over the
+water. The unplastered walls were hung with Indian
+blankets; lounging-chairs and a broad seat under the
+windows, colored matting on the floor and a few prints
+pinned upon the Navajoes gave further color to the
+place.
+
+I followed the pebbly shore to the stone wall where
+it marked the line of the school-grounds. The wall, I
+observed, was of the same solid character here as along
+the road. I tramped beside it, reflecting that my grandfather’s
+estate, in the heart of the Republic, would some
+day give the lie to foreign complaints that we have no
+ruins in America.
+
+I had assumed that there was no opening in the wall,
+but half-way to the road I found an iron gate, fastened
+with chain and padlock, by means of which I climbed
+to the top. The pillars at either side of the gate were of
+huge dimensions and were higher than I could reach.
+An intelligent forester had cleared the wood in the
+school-grounds, which were of the same general character
+as the Glenarm estate. The little Gothic church
+near at hand was built of stone similar to that used in
+Glenarm House. As I surveyed the scene a number of
+young women came from one of the school-buildings
+and, forming in twos and fours, walked back and forth
+in a rough path that led to the chapel. A Sister clad in a
+brown habit lingered near or walked first with one and
+then another of the students. It was all very pretty and
+interesting and not at all the ugly school for paupers I
+had expected to find. The students were not the charity
+children I had carelessly pictured; they were not so
+young, for one thing, and they seemed to be appareled
+decently enough.
+
+I smiled to find myself adjusting my scarf and
+straightening my collar as I beheld my neighbors for
+the first time.
+
+As I sat thus on the wall I heard the sound of angry
+voices back of me on the Glenarm side, and a crash of
+underbrush marked a flight and pursuit. I crouched
+down on the wall and waited. In a moment a man
+plunged through the wood and stumbled over a low-hanging
+vine and fell, not ten yards from where I lay.
+To my great surprise it was Morgan, my acquaintance
+of the morning. He rose, cursed his ill luck and, hugging
+the wall close, ran toward the lake. Instantly the
+pursuer broke into view. It was Bates, evidently much
+excited and with an ugly cut across his forehead. He
+carried a heavy club, and, after listening for a moment
+for sounds of the enemy, he hurried after the caretaker.
+
+It was not my row, though I must say it quickened
+my curiosity. I straightened myself out, threw my legs
+over the school side of the wall and lighted a cigar,
+feeling cheered by the opportunity the stone barricade
+offered for observing the world.
+
+As I looked off toward the little church I found two
+other actors appearing on the scene. A girl stood in a
+little opening of the wood, talking to a man. Her hands
+were thrust into the pockets of her covert coat; she wore
+a red tam-o’-shanter, that made a bright bit of color in
+the wood. They were not more than twenty feet away,
+but a wild growth of young maples lay between us,
+screening the wall. Their profiles were toward me, and
+the tones of the girl’s voice reached me clearly, as she
+addressed her companion. He wore a clergyman’s high
+waistcoat, and I assumed that he was the chaplain whom
+Bates had mentioned. I am not by nature an eavesdropper,
+but the girl was clearly making a plea of some
+kind, and the chaplain’s stalwart figure awoke in me an
+antagonism that held me to the wall.
+
+“If he comes here I shall go away, so you may as well
+understand it and tell him. I shan’t see him under any
+circumstances, and I’m not going to Florida or California
+or anywhere else in a private car, no matter who
+chaperones it.”
+
+“Certainly not, unless you want to—certainly not,”
+said the chaplain. “You understand that I’m only giving
+you his message. He thought it best—”
+
+“Not to write to me or to Sister Theresa!” interrupted
+the girl contemptuously. “What a clever man
+he is!”
+
+“And how unclever I am!” said the clergyman, laughing.
+“Well, I thank you for giving me the opportunity
+to present his message.”
+
+She smiled, nodded and turned swiftly toward the
+school. The chaplain looked after her for a few moments,
+then walked away soberly toward the lake. He
+was a young fellow, clean-shaven and dark, and with a
+pair of shoulders that gave me a twinge of envy. I could
+not guess how great a factor that vigorous figure was to
+be in my own affairs. As I swung down from the wall
+and walked toward Glenarm House, my thoughts were
+not with the athletic chaplain, but with the girl, whose
+youth was, I reflected, marked by her short skirt, the unconcern
+with which her hands were thrust into the
+pockets of her coat, and the irresponsible tilt of the tam-o’-shanter.
+There is something jaunty, a suggestion of
+spirit and independence in a tam-o’-shanter, particularly
+a red one. If the red tam-o’-shanter expressed, so to
+speak, the key-note of St. Agatha’s, the proximity of the
+school was not so bad a thing after all.
+
+In high good-humor and with a sharp appetite I went
+in to luncheon.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+THE GIRL AND THE CANOE
+
+“The persimmons are off the place, sir. Mr. Glenarm
+was very fond of the fruit.”
+
+I had never seen a persimmon before, but I was in a
+mood for experiment. The frost-broken rind was certainly
+forbidding, but the rich pulp brought a surprise
+of joy to my palate. Bates watched me with respectful
+satisfaction. His gravity was in no degree diminished
+by the presence of a neat strip of flesh-colored court-plaster
+over his right eye. A faint suggestion of arnica
+hung in the air.
+
+“This is a quiet life,” I remarked, wishing to give
+him an opportunity to explain his encounter of the
+morning.
+
+“You are quite right, sir. As your grandfather used
+to say, it’s a place of peace.”
+
+“When nobody shoots at you through a window,” I
+suggested.
+
+“Such a thing is likely to happen to any gentleman,”
+he replied, “but not likely to happen more than once, if
+you’ll allow the philosophy.”
+
+He did not refer to his encounter with the caretaker,
+and I resolved to keep my knowledge of it to myself. I
+always prefer to let a rascal hang himself, and here was
+a case, I reasoned, where, if Bates were disloyal to the
+duties Pickering had imposed upon him, the fact of his
+perfidy was bound to disclose itself eventually. Glancing
+around at him when he was off guard I surprised
+a look of utter dejection upon his face as he stood with
+folded arms behind my chair.
+
+He flushed and started, then put his hand to his forehead.
+
+“I met with a slight accident this morning, sir. The
+hickory’s very tough, sir. A piece of wood flew up and
+struck me.”
+
+“Too bad!” I said with sympathy. “You’d better
+rest a bit this afternoon.”
+
+“Thank you, sir; but it’s a small matter,—only, you
+might think it a trifle disfiguring.”
+
+He struck a match for my cigarette, and I left without
+looking at him again. But as I crossed the threshold
+of the library I formulated this note: “Bates is a
+liar, for one thing, and a person with active enemies for
+another; watch him.”
+
+All things considered, the day was passing well
+enough. I picked up a book, and threw myself on a comfortable
+divan to smoke and reflect before continuing my
+explorations. As I lay there, Bates brought me a telegram,
+a reply to my message to Pickering. It read:
+
+“Yours announcing arrival received and filed.”
+
+It was certainly a queer business, my errand to Glenarm.
+I lay for a couple of hours dreaming, and counted
+the candles in the great crystal chandelier until my eyes
+ached. Then I rose, took my cap, and was soon tramping
+off toward the lake.
+
+There were several small boats and a naphtha launch
+in the boat-house. I dropped a canoe into the water and
+paddled off toward the summer colony, whose gables and
+chimneys were plainly visible from the Glenarm shore.
+
+I landed and roamed idly over leaf-strewn walks past
+nearly a hundred cottages, to whose windows and verandas
+the winter blinds gave a dreary and inhospitable
+air. There was, at one point, a casino, whose broad veranda
+hung over the edge of the lake, while beneath, on
+the water-side, was a boat-house. I had from this point
+a fine view of the lake, and I took advantage of it to
+fix in my mind the topography of the region. I could
+see the bold outlines of Glenarm House and its red-tile
+roofs; and the gray tower of the little chapel beyond
+the wall rose above the wood with a placid dignity.
+Above the trees everywhere hung the shadowy smoke of
+autumn.
+
+I walked back to the wharf, where I had left my
+canoe, and was about to step into it when I saw, rocking
+at a similar landing-place near-by, another slight
+craft of the same type as my own, but painted dark
+maroon. I was sure the canoe had not been there when
+I landed. Possibly it belonged to Morgan, the caretaker.
+I walked over and examined it. I even lifted it
+slightly in the water to test its weight. The paddle lay
+on the dock beside me and it, too, I weighed critically,
+deciding that it was a trifle light for my own taste.
+
+“Please—if you don’t mind—”
+
+I turned to stand face to face with the girl in the red
+tam-o’-shanter.
+
+“I beg your pardon,” I said, stepping away from the
+canoe.
+
+She did not wear the covert coat of the morning, but
+a red knit jacket, buttoned tight about her. She was
+young with every emphasis of youth. A pair of dark
+blue eyes examined me with good-humored curiosity.
+She was on good terms with the sun—I rejoiced in the
+brown of her cheeks, so eloquent of companionship with
+the outdoor world—a certificate indeed of the favor of
+Heaven. Show me, in October, a girl with a face of
+tan, whose hands have plied a paddle or driven a golf-ball
+or cast a fly beneath the blue arches of summer,
+and I will suffer her scorn in joy. She may vote me
+dull and refute my wisest word with laughter, for hers
+are the privileges of the sisterhood of Diana; and that
+soft bronze, those daring fugitive freckles beneath her
+eyes, link her to times when Pan whistled upon his reed
+and all the days were long.
+
+She had approached silently and was enjoying, I felt
+sure, my discomfiture at being taken unawares.
+
+I had snatched off my cap and stood waiting beside
+the canoe, feeling, I must admit, a trifle guilty at being
+caught in the unwarrantable inspection of another person’s
+property—particularly a person so wholly pleasing
+to the eye.
+
+“Really, if you don’t need that paddle any more—”
+
+I looked down and found to my annoyance that I held
+it in my hand,—was in fact leaning upon it with a cool
+air of proprietorship.
+
+“Again, I beg your pardon,” I said. “I hadn’t expected—”
+
+She eyed me calmly with the stare of the child that
+arrives at a drawing-room door by mistake and scrutinizes
+the guests without awe. I didn’t know what I had
+expected or had not expected, and she manifested no
+intention of helping me to explain. Her short skirt
+suggested fifteen or sixteen—not more—and such being
+the case there was no reason why I should not be master
+of the situation. As I fumbled my pipe the hot coals
+of tobacco burned my hand and I cast the thing from
+me.
+
+She laughed a little and watched the pipe bound from
+the dock into the water.
+
+“Too bad!” she said, her eyes upon it; “but if you
+hurry you may get it before it floats away.”
+
+“Thank you for the suggestion,” I said. But I did
+not relish the idea of kneeling on the dock to fish for a
+pipe before a strange school-girl who was, I felt sure,
+anxious to laugh at me.
+
+She took a step toward the line by which her boat was
+fastened.
+
+“Allow me.”
+
+“If you think you can,—safely,” she said; and the
+laughter that lurked in her eyes annoyed me.
+
+“The feminine knot is designed for the confusion of
+man,” I observed, twitching vainly at the rope, which
+was tied securely in unfamiliar loops.
+
+She was singularly unresponsive. The thought that
+she was probably laughing at my clumsiness did not
+make my fingers more nimble.
+
+“The nautical instructor at St. Agatha’s is undoubtedly
+a woman. This knot must come in the post-graduate
+course. But my gallantry is equal, I trust, to your
+patience.”
+
+The maid in the red tam-o’-shanter continued silent.
+The wet rope was obdurate, the knot more and more
+hopeless, and my efforts to make light of the situation
+awakened no response in the girl. I tugged away at the
+rope, attacking its tangle on various theories.
+
+“A case for surgery, I’m afraid. A truly Gordian knot,
+but I haven’t my knife.”
+
+“Oh, but you wouldn’t!” she exclaimed. “I think I
+can manage.”
+
+She bent down—I was aware that the sleeve of her
+jacket brushed my shoulder—seized an end that I had
+ignored, gave it a sharp tug with a slim brown hand and
+pulled the knot free.
+
+“There!” she exclaimed with a little laugh; “I might
+have saved you all the bother.”
+
+“How dull of me! But I didn’t have the combination,”
+I said, steadying the canoe carefully to mitigate the
+ignominy of my failure.
+
+She scorned the hand I extended, but embarked with
+light confident step and took the paddle. It was growing
+late. The shadows in the wood were deepening; a
+chill crept over the water, and, beyond the tower of the
+chapel, the sky was bright with the splendor of sunset.
+
+With a few skilful strokes she brought her little craft
+beside my pipe, picked it up and tossed it to the wharf.
+
+“Perhaps you can pipe a tune upon it,” she said, dipping
+the paddle tentatively.
+
+“You put me under great obligations,” I declared.
+“Are all the girls at St. Agatha’s as amiable?”
+
+“I should say not! I’m a great exception,—and—I
+really shouldn’t be talking to you at all! It’s against
+the rules! And we don’t encourage smoking.”
+
+“The chaplain doesn’t smoke, I suppose.”
+
+“Not in chapel; I believe it isn’t done! And we
+rarely see him elsewhere.”
+
+She had idled with the paddle so far, but now lifted
+her eyes and drew back the blade for a long stroke.
+
+“But in the wood—this morning—by the wall!”
+
+I hate myself to this day for having so startled her.
+The poised blade dropped into the water with a splash;
+she brought the canoe a trifle nearer to the wharf with
+an almost imperceptible stroke, and turned toward me
+with wonder and dismay in her eyes.
+
+“So you are an eavesdropper and detective, are you?
+I beg that you will give your master my compliments!
+I really owe you an apology; I thought you were a gentleman!”
+she exclaimed with withering emphasis, and
+dipped her blade deep in flight.
+
+I called, stammering incoherently, after her, but her
+light argosy skimmed the water steadily. The paddle
+rose and fell with trained precision, making scarcely a
+ripple as she stole softly away toward the fairy towers
+of the sunset. I stood looking after her, goaded with
+self-contempt. A glory of yellow and red filled the west.
+Suddenly the wind moaned in the wood behind the line
+of cottages, swept over me and rippled the surface of the
+lake. I watched its flight until it caught her canoe and
+I marked the flimsy craft’s quick response, as the shaken
+waters bore her alert figure upward on the swell, her
+blade still maintaining its regular dip, until she disappeared
+behind a little peninsula that made a harbor near
+the school grounds.
+
+The red tam-o’-shanter seemed at last to merge in the
+red sky, and I turned to my canoe and paddled cheerlessly
+home.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE MAN ON THE WALL
+
+
+I was so thoroughly angry with myself that after
+idling along the shores for an hour I lost my way in the
+dark wood when I landed and brought up at the rear
+door used by Bates for communication with the villagers
+who supplied us with provender. I readily found
+my way to the kitchen and to a flight of stairs beyond,
+which connected the first and second floors. The house
+was dark, and my good spirits were not increased as I
+stumbled up the unfamiliar way in the dark, with, I
+fear, a malediction upon my grandfather, who had built
+and left incomplete a house so utterly preposterous. My
+unpardonable fling at the girl still rankled; and I was
+cold from the quick descent of the night chill on the
+water and anxious to get into more comfortable clothes.
+Once on the second floor I felt that I knew the way to
+my room, and I was feeling my way toward it over the
+rough floor when I heard low voices rising apparently
+from my sitting-room.
+
+It was pitch dark in the hall. I stopped short and
+listened. The door of my room was open and a faint
+light flashed once into the hall and disappeared. I heard
+now a sound as of a hammer tapping upon wood-work.
+
+Then it ceased, and a voice whispered:
+
+“He’ll kill me if he finds me here. I’ll try again to-morrow.
+I swear to God I’ll help you, but no more
+now—”
+
+Then the sound of a scuffle and again the tapping of
+the hammer. After several minutes more of this there
+was a whispered dialogue which I could not hear.
+
+Whatever was occurring, two or three points struck
+me on the instant. One of the conspirators was an unwilling
+party to an act as yet unknown; second, they
+had been unsuccessful and must wait for another opportunity;
+and third, the business, whatever it was, was
+clearly of some importance to myself, as my own apartments
+in my grandfather’s strange house had been
+chosen for the investigation.
+
+Clearly, I was not prepared to close the incident, but
+the idea of frightening my visitors appealed to my sense
+of humor. I tiptoed to the front stairway, ran lightly
+down, found the front door, and, from the inside,
+opened and slammed it. I heard instantly a hurried
+scamper above, and the heavy fall of one who had stumbled
+in the dark. I grinned with real pleasure at the
+sound of this mishap, hurried into the great library,
+which was as dark as a well, and, opening one of the long
+windows, stepped out on the balcony. At once from the
+rear of the house came the sound of a stealthy step,
+which increased to a run at the ravine bridge. I listened
+to the flight of the fugitive through the wood until the
+sounds died away toward the lake.
+
+Then, turning to the library windows, I saw Bates,
+with a candle held above his head, peering about.
+
+“Hello, Bates,” I called cheerfully. “I just got home
+and stepped out to see if the moon had risen. I don’t
+believe I know where to look for it in this country.”
+
+He began lighting the tapers with his usual deliberation.
+
+“It’s a trifle early, I think, sir. About seven o’clock,
+I should say, was the hour, Mr. Glenarm.”
+
+There was, of course, no doubt whatever that Bates
+had been one of the men I heard in my room. It was
+wholly possible that he had been compelled to assist in
+some lawless act against his will; but why, if he had
+been forced into aiding a criminal, should he not invoke
+my own aid to protect himself? I kicked the logs in the
+fireplace impatiently in my uncertainty. The man slowly
+lighted the many candles in the great apartment.
+He was certainly a deep one, and his case grew more
+puzzling as I studied it in relation to the rifle-shot of
+the night before, his collision with Morgan in the wood,
+which I had witnessed; and now the house itself had
+been invaded by some one with his connivance. The
+shot through the refectory window might have been innocent
+enough; but these other matters in connection
+with it could hardly be brushed aside.
+
+Bates lighted me to the stairway, and said as I passed
+him:
+
+“There’s a baked ham for dinner. I should call it extra
+delicate, Mr. Glenarm. I suppose there’s no change
+in the dinner hour, sir?”
+
+“Certainly not,” I said with asperity; for I am not a
+person to inaugurate a dinner hour one day and change
+it the next. Bates wished to make conversation,—the
+sure sign of a guilty conscience in a servant,—and I was
+not disposed to encourage him.
+
+I closed the doors carefully and began a thorough
+examination of both the sitting-room and the little bed-chamber.
+I was quite sure that my own effects could
+not have attracted the two men who had taken advantage
+of my absence to visit my quarters. Bates had
+helped unpack my trunk and undoubtedly knew every
+item of my simple wardrobe. I threw open the doors
+of the three closets in the rooms and found them all in
+the good order established by Bates. He had carried my
+trunks and bags to a store-room, so that everything I
+owned must have passed under his eye. My money even,
+the remnant of my fortune that I had drawn from the
+New York bank, I had placed carelessly enough in the
+drawer of a chiffonnier otherwise piled with collars. It
+took but a moment to satisfy myself that this had not
+been touched. And, to be sure, a hammer was not necessary
+to open a drawer that had, from its appearance,
+never been locked. The game was deeper than I had
+imagined; I had scratched the crust without result, and
+my wits were busy with speculations as I changed my
+clothes, pausing frequently to examine the furniture,
+even the bricks on the hearth.
+
+One thing only I found—the slight scar of a hammer-head
+on the oak paneling that ran around the bedroom.
+The wood had been struck near the base and at the top
+of every panel, for though the mark was not perceptible
+on all, a test had evidently been made systematically.
+With this as a beginning, I found a moment later a spot
+of tallow under a heavy table in one corner. Evidently
+the furniture had been moved to permit of the closest
+scrutiny of the paneling. Even behind the bed I found
+the same impress of the hammer-head; the test had undoubtedly
+been thorough, for a pretty smart tap on oak
+is necessary to leave an impression. My visitors had
+undoubtedly been making soundings in search of a recess
+of some kind in the wall, and as they had failed of
+their purpose they were likely, I assumed, to pursue
+their researches further.
+
+I pondered these things with a thoroughly-awakened
+interest in life. Glenarm House really promised to prove
+exciting. I took from a drawer a small revolver, filled
+its chambers with cartridges and thrust it into my hip
+pocket, whistling meanwhile Larry Donovan’s favorite
+air, the Marche Funèbre d’une Marionnette. My heart
+went out to Larry as I scented adventure, and I wished
+him with me; but speculations as to Larry’s whereabouts
+were always profitless, and quite likely he was in jail
+somewhere.
+
+The ham of whose excellence Bates had hinted was no
+disappointment. There is, I have always held, nothing
+better in this world than a baked ham, and the specimen
+Bates placed before me was a delight to the eye,—so
+adorned was it with spices, so crisply brown its outer
+coat; and a taste—that first tentative taste, before the
+sauce was added—was like a dream of Lucullus come
+true. I could forgive a good deal in a cook with that
+touch,—anything short of arson and assassination!
+
+“Bates,” I said, as he stood forth where I could see
+him, “you cook amazingly well. Where did you learn
+the business?”
+
+“Your grandfather grew very captious, Mr. Glenarm.
+I had to learn to satisfy him, and I believe I did it, sir,
+if you’ll pardon the conceit.”
+
+“He didn’t die of gout, did he? I can readily imagine
+it.”
+
+“No, Mr. Glenarm. It was his heart. He had his
+warning of it.”
+
+“Ah, yes; to be sure. The heart or the stomach,—one
+may as well fail as the other. I believe I prefer to keep
+my digestion going as long as possible. Those grilled
+sweet potatoes again, if you please, Bates.”
+
+The game that he and I were playing appealed to me
+strongly. It was altogether worth while, and as I ate
+guava jelly with cheese and toasted crackers, and then
+lighted one of my own cigars over a cup of Bates’ unfailing
+coffee, my spirit was livelier than at any time
+since a certain evening on which Larry and I had
+escaped from Tangier with our lives and the curses of
+the police. It is a melancholy commentary on life that
+contentment comes more easily through the stomach
+than along any other avenue. In the great library, with
+its rich store of books and its eternal candles, I sprawled
+upon a divan before the fire and smoked and indulged
+in pleasant speculations. The day had offered much
+material for fireside reflection, and I reviewed its history
+calmly.
+
+There was, however, one incident that I found unpleasant
+in the retrospect. I had been guilty of most
+unchivalrous conduct toward one of the girls of St.
+Agatha’s. It had certainly been unbecoming in me to
+sit on the wall, however unwillingly, and listen to the
+words—few though they were—that passed between her
+and the chaplain. I forgot the shot through the window;
+I forgot Bates and the interest my room possessed for
+him and his unknown accomplice; but the sudden distrust
+and contempt I had awakened in the girl by my
+clownish behavior annoyed me increasingly.
+
+I rose presently, found my cap in a closet under the
+stairs, and went out into the moon-flooded wood toward
+the lake. The tangle was not so great when you knew
+the way, and there was indeed, as I had found, the faint
+suggestion of a path. The moon glorified a broad highway
+across the water; the air was sharp and still. The
+houses in the summer colony were vaguely defined, but
+the sight of them gave me no cheer. The tilt of her
+tam-o’-shanter as she paddled away into the sunset had
+conveyed an impression of spirit and dignity that I could
+not adjust to any imaginable expiation.
+
+These reflections carried me to the borders of St.
+Agatha’s, and I followed the wall to the gate, climbed
+up, and sat down in the shadow of the pillar farthest
+from the lake. Lights shone scatteringly in the buildings
+of St. Agatha’s, but the place was wholly silent.
+I drew out a cigarette and was about to light it when
+I heard a sound as of a tread on stone. There was, I
+knew, no stone pavement at hand, but peering toward
+the lake I saw a man walking boldly along the top of the
+wall toward me. The moonlight threw his figure into
+clear relief. Several times he paused, bent down and
+rapped upon the wall with an object he carried in his
+hand.
+
+Only a few hours before I had heard a similar sound
+rising from the wainscoting of my own room in Glenarm
+House. Evidently the stone wall, too, was under
+suspicion!
+
+Tap, tap, tap! The man with the hammer was examining
+the farther side of the gate, and very likely he
+would carry his investigations beyond it. I drew up my
+legs and crouched in the shadow of the pillar, revolver
+in hand. I was not anxious for an encounter; I much
+preferred to wait for a disclosure of the purpose that lay
+behind this mysterious tapping upon walls on my grandfather’s
+estate.
+
+But the matter was taken out of my own hands before
+I had a chance to debate it. The man dropped to the
+ground, sounded the stone base under the gate, likewise
+the pillars, evidently without results, struck a spiteful
+crack upon the iron bars, then stood up abruptly and
+looked me straight in the eyes. It was Morgan, the
+caretaker of the summer colony.
+
+“Good evening, Mr. Morgan,” I said, settling the revolver
+into my hand.
+
+There was no doubt about his surprise; he fell back,
+staring at me hard, and instinctively drawing the hammer
+over his shoulder as though to fling it at me.
+
+“Just stay where you are a moment, Morgan,” I said
+pleasantly, and dropped to a sitting position on the wall
+for greater ease in talking to him.
+
+He stood sullenly, the hammer dangling at arm’s
+length, while my revolver covered his head.
+
+“Now, if you please, I’d like to know what you mean
+by prowling about here and rummaging my house!”
+
+“Oh, it’s you, is it, Mr. Glenarm? Well, you certainly
+gave me a bad scare.”
+
+His air was one of relief and his teeth showed pleasantly
+through his beard.
+
+“It certainly is I. But you haven’t answered my question.
+What were you doing in my house to-day?”
+
+He smiled again, shaking his head.
+
+“You’re really fooling, Mr. Glenarm. I wasn’t in
+your house to-day; I never was in it in my life!”
+
+His white teeth gleamed in his light beard; his hat
+was pushed back from his forehead so that I saw his
+eyes, and he wore unmistakably the air of a man whose
+conscience is perfectly clear. I was confident that he
+lied, but without appealing to Bates I was not prepared
+to prove it.
+
+“But you can’t deny that you’re on my grounds now,
+can you?” I had dropped the revolver to my knee, but
+I raised it again.
+
+“Certainly not, Mr. Glenarm. If you’ll allow me to
+explain—”
+
+“That’s precisely what I want you to do.”
+
+“Well, it may seem strange,”—he laughed, and I felt
+the least bit foolish to be pointing a pistol at the head
+of a fellow of so amiable a spirit.
+
+“Hurry,” I commanded.
+
+“Well, as I was saying, it may seem strange; but I
+was just examining the wall to determine the character
+of the work. One of the cottagers on the lake left me
+with the job of building a fence on his place, and I’ve
+been expecting to come over to look at this all fall.
+You see, Mr. Glenarm, your honored grandfather was
+a master in such matters, as you may know, and I didn’t
+see any harm in getting the benefit—to put it so—of his
+experience.”
+
+I laughed. He had denied having entered the house
+with so much assurance that I had been prepared for
+some really plausible explanation of his interest in the
+wall.
+
+“Morgan—you said it was Morgan, didn’t you?—you
+are undoubtedly a scoundrel of the first water. I make
+the remark with pleasure.”
+
+“Men have been killed for saying less,” he said.
+
+“And for doing less than firing through windows at a
+man’s head. It wasn’t friendly of you.”
+
+“I don’t see why you center all your suspicions on
+me. You exaggerate my importance, Mr. Glenarm. I’m
+only the man-of-all-work at a summer resort.”
+
+“I wouldn’t believe you, Morgan, if you swore on a
+stack of Bibles as high as this wall.”
+
+“Thanks!” he ejaculated mockingly.
+
+Like a flash he swung the hammer over his head and
+drove it at me, and at the same moment I fired. The
+hammer-head struck the pillar near the outer edge and
+in such a manner that the handle flew around and
+smote me smartly in the face. By the time I reached
+the ground the man was already running rapidly
+through the park, darting in and out among the trees,
+and I made after him at hot speed.
+
+[Illustration: Like a flash he swung the hammer, and at the same moment I fired.]
+
+The hammer-handle had struck slantingly across my
+forehead, and my head ached from the blow. I abused
+myself roundly for managing the encounter so stupidly,
+and in my rage fired twice with no aim whatever after
+the flying figure of the caretaker. He clearly had the
+advantage of familiarity with the wood, striking off
+boldly into the heart of it, and quickly widening the
+distance between us; but I kept on, even after I ceased
+to hear him threshing through the undergrowth, and
+came out presently at the margin of the lake about fifty
+feet from the boat-house. I waited in the shadow for
+some time, expecting to see the fellow again, but he did
+not appear.
+
+I found the wall with difficulty and followed it back
+to the gate. It would be just as well, I thought, to
+possess myself of the hammer; and I dropped down on
+the St. Agatha side of the wall and groped about among
+the leaves until I found it.
+
+Then I walked home, went into the library, alight
+with its many candles just as I had left it, and sat
+down before the fire to meditate. I had been absent
+from the house only forty-five minutes.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+A STRING OF GOLD BEADS
+
+
+A moment later Bates entered with a fresh supply of
+wood. I watched him narrowly for some sign of perturbation,
+but he was not to be caught off guard. Possibly
+he had not heard the shots in the wood; at any
+rate, he tended the fire with his usual gravity, and after
+brushing the hearth paused respectfully.
+
+“Is there anything further, sir?”
+
+“I believe not, Bates. Oh! here’s a hammer I picked
+up out in the grounds a bit ago. I wish you’d see if it
+belongs to the house.”
+
+He examined the implement with care and shook his
+head.
+
+“It doesn’t belong here, I think, sir. But we sometimes
+find tools left by the carpenters that worked on
+the house. Shall I put this in the tool-chest, sir?”
+
+“Never mind. I need such a thing now and then and
+I’ll keep it handy.”
+
+“Very good, Mr. Glenarm. It’s a bit sharper to-night,
+but we’re likely to have sudden changes at this season.”
+
+“I dare say.”
+
+We were not getting anywhere; the fellow was certainly
+an incomparable actor.
+
+“You must find it pretty lonely here, Bates. Don’t
+hesitate to go to the village when you like.”
+
+“I thank you, Mr. Glenarm; but I am not much for
+idling. I keep a few books by me for the evenings. Annandale
+is not what you would exactly call a diverting
+village.”
+
+“I fancy not. But the caretaker over at the summer
+resort has even a lonelier time, I suppose. That’s what
+I’d call a pretty cheerless job,—watching summer cottages
+in the winter.”
+
+“That’s Morgan, sir. I meet him occasionally when
+I go to the village; a very worthy person, I should call
+him, on slight acquaintance.”
+
+“No doubt of it, Bates. Any time through the winter
+you want to have him in for a social glass, it’s all
+right with me.”
+
+He met my gaze without flinching, and lighted me
+to the stair with our established ceremony. I voted him
+an interesting knave and really admired the cool way
+in which he carried off difficult situations. I had no
+intention of being killed, and now that I had due warning
+of danger, I resolved to protect myself from foes
+without and within. Both Bates and Morgan, the caretaker,
+were liars of high attainment. Morgan was,
+moreover, a cheerful scoundrel, and experience taught
+me long ago that a knave with humor is doubly dangerous.
+
+Before going to bed I wrote a long letter to Larry
+Donovan, giving him a full account of my arrival at
+Glenarm House. The thought of Larry always cheered
+me, and as the pages slipped from my pen I could feel
+his sympathy and hear him chuckling over the lively beginning
+of my year at Glenarm. The idea of being fired
+upon by an unseen foe would, I knew, give Larry a real
+lift of the spirit.
+
+The next morning I walked into the village, mailed
+my letter, visited the railway station with true rustic
+instinct and watched the cutting out of a freight car for
+Annandale with a pleasure I had not before taken in
+that proceeding. The villagers stared at me blankly as
+on my first visit. A group of idle laborers stopped talking
+to watch me; and when I was a few yards past them
+they laughed at a remark by one of the number which
+I could not overhear. But I am not a particularly sensitive
+person; I did not care what my Hoosier neighbors
+said of me; all I asked was that they should refrain
+from shooting at the back of my head through the windows
+of my own house.
+
+On this day I really began to work. I mapped out
+a course of reading, set up a draftsman’s table I found
+put away in a closet, and convinced myself that I was
+beginning a year of devotion to architecture. Such was,
+I felt, the only honest course. I should work every day
+from eight until one, and my leisure I should give to
+recreation and a search for the motives that lay behind
+the crafts and assaults of my enemies.
+
+When I plunged into the wood in the middle of the
+afternoon it was with the definite purpose of returning
+to the upper end of the lake for an interview with Morgan,
+who had, so Bates informed me, a small house back
+of the cottages.
+
+I took the canoe I had chosen for my own use from
+the boat-house and paddled up the lake. The air was
+still warm, but the wind that blew out of the south
+tasted of rain. I scanned the water and the borders of
+the lake for signs of life,—more particularly, I may as
+well admit, for a certain maroon-colored canoe and a
+girl in a red tam-o’-shanter, but lake and summer cottages
+were mine alone. I landed and began at once my
+search for Morgan. There were many paths through
+the woods back of the cottages, and I followed several
+futilely before I at last found a small house snugly
+bid away in a thicket of young maples.
+
+The man I was looking for came to the door quickly
+in response to my knock.
+
+“Good afternoon, Morgan.”
+
+“Good afternoon, Mr. Glenarm,” he said, taking the
+pipe from his mouth the better to grin at me. He
+showed no sign of surprise, and I was nettled by his cool
+reception. There was, perhaps, a certain element of
+recklessness in my visit to the house of a man who had
+shown so singular an interest in my affairs, and his cool
+greeting vexed me.
+
+“Morgan—” I began.
+
+“Won’t you come in and rest yourself, Mr. Glenarm?”
+he interrupted. “I reckon you’re tired from your trip
+over—”
+
+“Thank you, no,” I snapped.
+
+“Suit yourself, Mr. Glenarm.” He seemed to like my
+name and gave it a disagreeable drawling emphasis.
+
+“Morgan, you are an infernal blackguard. You have
+tried twice to kill me—”
+
+“We’ll call it that, if you like,”—and he grinned.
+“But you’d better cut off one for this.”
+
+He lifted the gray fedora hat from his head, and
+poked his finger through a hole in the top.
+
+“You’re a pretty fair shot, Mr. Glenarm. The fact
+about me is,”—and he winked,—”the honest truth is,
+I’m all out of practice. Why, sir, when I saw you paddling
+out on the lake this afternoon I sighted you from
+the casino half a dozen times with my gun, but I was
+afraid to risk it.” He seemed to be shaken with inner
+mirth. “If I’d missed, I wasn’t sure you’d be scared to
+death!”
+
+For a novel diversion I heartily recommend a meeting
+with the assassin who has, only a few days or hours
+before, tried to murder you. I know of nothing in the
+way of social adventure that is quite equal to it. Morgan
+was a fellow of intelligence and, whatever lay back
+of his designs against me, he was clearly a foe to reckon
+with. He stood in the doorway calmly awaiting my
+next move. I struck a match on my box and lighted a
+cigarette.
+
+“Morgan, I hope you understand that I am not responsible
+for any injury my grandfather may have inflicted
+on you. I hadn’t seen him for several years before
+he died. I was never at Glenarm before in my
+life, so it’s a little rough for you to visit your displeasure
+on me.”
+
+He smiled tolerantly as I spoke. I knew—and he
+knew that I did—that no ill feeling against my grandfather
+lay back of his interest in my affairs.
+
+“You’re not quite the man your grandfather was, Mr.
+Glenarm. You’ll excuse my bluntness, but I take it
+that you’re a frank man. He was a very keen person,
+and, I’m afraid,”—he chuckled with evident satisfaction
+to himself,—”I’m really afraid, Mr. Glenarm, that
+you’re not!”
+
+“There you have it, Morgan! I fully agree with you!
+I’m as dull as an oyster; that’s the reason I’ve called on
+you for enlightenment. Consider that I’m here under a
+flag of truce, and let’s see if we can’t come to an agreement.”
+
+“It’s too late, Mr. Glenarm; too late. There was a
+time when we might have done some business; but that’s
+past now. You seem like a pretty decent fellow, too,
+and I’m sorry I didn’t see you sooner; but better luck
+next time.”
+
+He stroked his yellow beard reflectively and shook his
+head a little sadly. He was not a bad-looking fellow;
+and he expressed himself well enough with a broad western
+accent.
+
+“Well,” I said, seeing that I should only make myself
+ridiculous by trying to learn anything from him, “I
+hope our little spats through windows and on walls won’t
+interfere with our pleasant social relations. And I don’t
+hesitate to tell you,”—I was exerting myself to keep
+down my anger,—”that if I catch you on my grounds
+again I’ll fill you with lead and sink you in the lake.”
+
+“Thank you, sir,” he said, with so perfect an imitation
+of Bates’ voice and manner that I smiled in spite
+of myself.
+
+“And now, if you’ll promise not to fire into my back
+I’ll wish you good day. Otherwise—”
+
+He snatched off his hat and bowed profoundly. “It’ll
+suit me much better to continue handling the case on
+your grounds,” he said, as though he referred to a
+business matter. “Killing a man on your own property
+requires some explaining—you may have noticed it?”
+
+“Yes; I commit most of my murders away from
+home,” I said. “I formed the habit early in life. Good
+day, Morgan.”
+
+As I turned away he closed his door with a slam,—a
+delicate way of assuring me that he was acting in good
+faith, and not preparing to puncture my back with a
+rifle-ball. I regained the lake-shore, feeling no great
+discouragement over the lean results of my interview,
+but rather a fresh zest for the game, whatever the
+game might be. Morgan was not an enemy to trifle
+with; he was, on the other hand, a clever and daring
+foe; and the promptness with which he began war on
+me the night of my arrival at Glenarm House, indicated
+that there was method in his hostility.
+
+The sun was going his ruddy way beyond St. Agatha’s
+as I drove my canoe into a little cove near which the
+girl in the tam-o’-shanter had disappeared the day before.
+The shore was high here and at the crest was a
+long curved bench of stone reached by half a dozen
+steps, from which one might enjoy a wide view of the
+country, both across the lake and directly inland. The
+bench was a pretty bit of work, boldly reminiscential of
+Alma Tadema, and as clearly the creation of John
+Marshall Glenarm as though his name had been carved
+upon it.
+
+It was assuredly a spot for a pipe and a mood, and
+as the shadows crept through the wood before me and
+the water, stirred by the rising wind, began to beat below,
+I invoked the one and yielded to the other. Something
+in the withered grass at my feet caught my eye.
+I bent and picked up a string of gold beads, dropped
+there, no doubt, by some girl from the school or a careless
+member of the summer colony. I counted the separate
+beads—they were round and there were fifty of
+them. The proper length for one turn about a girl’s
+throat, perhaps; not more than that! I lifted my eyes
+and looked off toward St. Agatha’s.
+
+“Child of the red tam-o’-shanter, I’m very sorry I
+was rude to you yesterday, for I liked your steady stroke
+with the paddle; and I admired, even more, the way you
+spurned me when you saw that among all the cads in
+the world I am number one in Class A. And these
+golden bubbles (O girl of the red tam-o’-shanter!), if
+they are not yours you shall help me find the owner, for
+we are neighbors, you and I, and there must be peace
+between our houses.”
+
+With this foolishness I rose, thrust the beads into my
+pocket, and paddled home in the waning glory of the
+sunset.
+
+That night, as I was going quite late to bed, bearing
+a candle to light me through the dark hall to my room,
+I heard a curious sound, as of some one walking stealthily
+through the house. At first I thought Bates was still
+abroad, but I waited, listening for several minutes, without
+being able to mark the exact direction of the sound
+or to identify it with him. I went on to the door of my
+room, and still a muffled step seemed to follow me,—first
+it had come from below, then it was much like some one
+going up stairs,—but where? In my own room I still
+heard steps, light, slow, but distinct. Again there was a
+stumble and a hurried recovery,—ghosts, I reflected, do
+not fall down stairs!
+
+The sound died away, seemingly in some remote part
+of the house, and though I prowled about for an hour
+it did not recur that night.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+THE GIRL AND THE RABBIT
+
+
+Wind and rain rioted in the wood, and occasionally
+both fell upon the library windows with a howl and a
+splash. The tempest had wakened me; it seemed that
+every chimney in the house held a screaming demon.
+We were now well-launched upon December, and I was
+growing used to my surroundings. I had offered myself
+frequently as a target by land and water; I had sat
+on the wall and tempted fate; and I had roamed the
+house constantly expecting to surprise Bates in some act
+of treachery; but the days were passing monotonously.
+I saw nothing of Morgan—he had gone to Chicago on
+some errand, so Bates reported—but I continued to walk
+abroad every day, and often at night, alert for a reopening
+of hostilities. Twice I had seen the red tam-o’-shanter
+far through the wood, and once I had passed my
+young acquaintance with another girl, a dark, laughing
+youngster, walking in the highway, and she had bowed
+to me coldly. Even the ghost in the wall proved inconstant,
+but I had twice heard the steps without being able
+to account for them.
+
+Memory kept plucking my sleeve with reminders of
+my grandfather. I was touched at finding constantly
+his marginal notes in the books he had collected with so
+much intelligence and loving care. It occurred to me
+that some memorial, a tablet attached to the outer wall,
+or perhaps, more properly placed in the chapel, would
+be fitting; and I experimented with designs for it, covering
+many sheets of drawing-paper in an effort to set
+forth in a few words some hint of his character. On this
+gray morning I produced this:
+
+                       1835
+         The life of John Marshall Glenarm
+                was a testimony to the virtue of
+         generosity, forbearance and gentleness
+            The Beautiful things he loved
+          were not nobler than his own days
+          His grandson (who served him ill)
+                  writes this of him
+                       1901
+
+I had drawn these words on a piece of cardboard and
+was studying them critically when Bates came in with
+wood.
+
+“Those are unmistakable snowflakes, sir,” said Bates
+from the window. “We’re in for winter now.”
+
+It was undeniably snow; great lazy flakes of it were
+crowding down upon the wood.
+
+Bates had not mentioned Morgan or referred even remotely
+to the pistol-shot of my first night, and he had
+certainly conducted himself as a model servant. The
+man-of-all-work at St. Agatha’s, a Scotchman named
+Ferguson, had visited him several times, and I had surprised
+them once innocently enjoying their pipes and
+whisky and water in the kitchen.
+
+“They are having trouble at the school, sir,” said
+Bates from the hearth.
+
+“The young ladies running a little wild, eh?”
+
+“Sister Theresa’s ill, sir. Ferguson told me last
+night!”
+
+“No doubt Ferguson knows,” I declared, moving the
+papers about on my desk, conscious, and not ashamed of
+it, that I enjoyed these dialogues with Bates. I occasionally
+entertained the idea that he would some day
+brain me as I sat dining upon the viands which he prepared
+with so much skill; or perhaps he would poison
+me, that being rather more in his line of business and
+perfectly easy of accomplishment; but the house was
+bare and lonely and he was a resource.
+
+“So Sister Theresa’s ill!” I began, seeing that Bates
+had nearly finished, and glancing with something akin
+to terror upon the open pages of a dreary work on English
+cathedrals that had put me to sleep the day before.
+
+“She’s been quite uncomfortable, sir; but they hope
+to see her out in a few days!”
+
+“That’s good; I’m glad to hear it.”
+
+“Yes, sir. I think we naturally feel interested, being
+neighbors. And Ferguson says that Miss Devereux’s devotion
+to her aunt is quite touching.”
+
+I stood up straight and stared at Bates’ back—he was
+trying to stop the rattle which the wind had set up in
+one of the windows.
+
+“Miss Devereux!” I laughed outright.
+
+“That’s the name, sir,—rather odd, I should call it.”
+
+“Yes, it is rather odd,” I said, composed again, but
+not referring to the name. My mind was busy with a
+certain paragraph in my grandfather’s will:
+
+Should he fail to comply with this provision, said property
+shall revert to my general estate, and become, without
+reservation, and without necessity for any process of
+law, the property, absolutely, of Marian Devereux, of the
+County and State of New York.
+
+“Your grandfather was very fond of her, sir. She
+and Sister Theresa were abroad at the time he died. It
+was my sorrowful duty to tell them the sad news in New
+York, sir, when they landed.”
+
+“The devil it was!” It irritated me to remember that
+Bates probably knew exactly the nature of my grandfather’s
+will; and the terms of it were not in the least
+creditable to me. Sister Theresa and her niece were
+doubtless calmly awaiting my failure to remain at
+Glenarm House during the disciplinary year,—Sister
+Theresa, a Protestant nun, and the niece who probably
+taught drawing in the school for her keep! I was sure
+it was drawing; nothing else would, I felt, have brought
+the woman within the pale of my grandfather’s beneficence.
+
+I had given no thought to Sister Theresa since coming
+to Glenarm. She had derived her knowledge of me
+from my grandfather, and, such being the case, she
+would naturally look upon me as a blackguard and a
+menace to the peace of the neighborhood. I had, therefore,
+kept rigidly to my own side of the stone wall. A
+suspicion crossed my mind, marshaling a host of doubts
+and questions that had lurked there since my first night
+at Glenarm.
+
+“Bates!”
+
+He was moving toward the door with his characteristic
+slow step.
+
+“If your friend Morgan, or any one else, should shoot
+me, or if I should tumble into the lake, or otherwise end
+my earthly career—Bates!”
+
+His eyes had slipped from mine to the window and I
+spoke his name sharply.
+
+“Yes, Mr. Glenarm.”
+
+“Then Sister Theresa’s niece would get this property
+and everything else that belonged to Mr. Glenarm.”
+
+“That’s my understanding of the matter, sir.”
+
+“Morgan, the caretaker, has tried to kill me twice
+since I came here. He fired at me through the window
+the night I came,—Bates!”
+
+I waited for his eyes to meet mine again. His hands
+opened and shut several times, and alarm and fear convulsed
+his face for a moment.
+
+“Bates, I’m trying my best to think well of you; but
+I want you to understand”—I smote the table with my
+clenched hand—“that if these women, or your employer,
+Mr. Pickering, or that damned hound, Morgan, or you—
+damn you, I don’t know who or what you are!—think
+you can scare me away from here, you’ve waked up the
+wrong man, and I’ll tell you another thing,—and you
+may repeat it to your school-teachers and to Mr. Pickering,
+who pays you, and to Morgan, whom somebody has
+hired to kill me,—that I’m going to keep faith with my
+dead grandfather, and that when I’ve spent my year
+here and done what that old man wished me to do, I’ll
+give them this house and every acre of ground and every
+damned dollar the estate carries with it. And now one
+other thing! I suppose there’s a sheriff or some kind of
+a constable with jurisdiction over this place, and I could
+have the whole lot of you put into jail for conspiracy,
+but I’m going to stand out against you alone,—do you
+understand me, you hypocrite, you stupid, slinking spy?
+Answer me, quick, before I throw you out of the room!”
+
+I had worked myself into a great passion and fairly
+roared my challenge, pounding the table in my rage.
+
+“Yes, sir; I quite understand you, sir. But I’m
+afraid, sir—”
+
+“Of course you’re afraid!” I shouted, enraged anew
+by his halting speech. “You have every reason in the
+world to be afraid. You’ve probably heard that I’m a
+bad lot and a worthless adventurer; but you can tell
+Sister Theresa or Pickering or anybody you please that
+I’m ten times as bad as I’ve ever been painted. Now
+clear out of here!”
+
+He left the room without looking at me again. During
+the morning I strolled through the house several
+times to make sure he had not left it to communicate
+with some of his fellow plotters, but I was, I admit, disappointed
+to find him in every instance busy at some
+wholly proper task. Once, indeed, I found him cleaning
+my storm boots! To find him thus humbly devoted
+to my service after the raking I had given him dulled
+the edge of my anger. I went back to the library and
+planned a cathedral in seven styles of architecture, all
+unrelated and impossible, and when this began to bore
+me I designed a crypt in which the wicked should be
+buried standing on their heads and only the very good
+might lie and sleep in peace. These diversions and several
+black cigars won me to a more amiable mood. I
+felt better, on the whole, for having announced myself
+to the delectable Bates, who gave me for luncheon a
+brace of quails, done in a manner that stripped criticism
+of all weapons.
+
+We did not exchange a word, and after knocking
+about in the library for several hours I went out for a
+tramp. Winter had indeed come and possessed the
+earth, and it had given me a new landscape. The snow
+continued to fall in great, heavy flakes, and the ground
+was whitening fast.
+
+A rabbit’s track caught my eye and I followed it,
+hardly conscious that I did so. Then the clear print of
+two small shoes mingled with the rabbit’s trail. A few
+moments later I picked up an overshoe, evidently lost
+in the chase by one of Sister Theresa’s girls, I reflected.
+I remembered that while at Tech I had collected diverse
+memorabilia from school-girl acquaintances, and here I
+was beginning a new series with a string of beads and an
+overshoe!
+
+A rabbit is always an attractive quarry. Few things
+besides riches are so elusive, and the little fellows have,
+I am sure, a shrewd humor peculiar to themselves. I
+rather envied the school-girl who had ventured forth for
+a run in the first snow-storm of the season. I recalled
+Aldrich’s turn on Gautier’s lines as I followed the
+double trail:
+
+        “Howe’er you tread, a tiny mould
+          Betrays that light foot all the same;
+         Upon this glistening, snowy fold
+          At every step it signs your name.”
+
+
+A pretty autograph, indeed! The snow fell steadily
+and I tramped on over the joint signature of the girl
+and the rabbit. Near the lake they parted company, the
+rabbit leading off at a tangent, on a line parallel with
+the lake, while his pursuer’s steps pointed toward the
+boat-house.
+
+There was, so far as I knew, only one student of adventurous
+blood at St. Agatha’s, and I was not in the
+least surprised to see, on the little sheltered balcony of
+the boat-house, the red tam-o’-shanter. She wore, too,
+the covert coat I remembered from the day I saw her
+first from the wall. Her back was toward me as I drew
+near; her hands were thrust into her pockets. She was
+evidently enjoying the soft mingling of the snow with
+the still, blue waters of the lake, and a girl and a snow-storm
+are, if you ask my opinion, a pretty combination.
+The fact of a girl’s facing a winter storm argues
+mightily in her favor,—testifies, if you will allow me,
+to a serene and dauntless spirit, for one thing, and a
+sound constitution, for another.
+
+I ran up the steps, my cap in one hand, her overshoe
+in the other. She drew back a trifle, just enough to
+bring my conscience to its knees.
+
+“I didn’t mean to listen that day. I just happened
+to be on the wall and it was a thoroughly underbred
+trick—my twitting you about it—and I should have told
+you before if I’d known how to see you—”
+
+“May I trouble you for that shoe?” she said with a
+great deal of dignity.
+
+They taught that cold disdain of man, I supposed, as
+a required study at St. Agatha’s.
+
+“Oh, certainly! Won’t you allow me?”
+
+“Thank you, no!”
+
+I was relieved, to tell the truth, for I had been out of
+the world for most of that period in which a youngster
+perfects himself in such graces as the putting on of a
+girl’s overshoes. She took the damp bit of rubber—a
+wet overshoe, even if small and hallowed by associations,
+isn’t pretty—as Venus might have received a soft-shell
+crab from the hand of a fresh young merman. I was
+between her and the steps to which her eyes turned longingly.
+
+“Of course, if you won’t accept my apology I can’t
+do anything about it; but I hope you understand that
+I’m sincere and humble, and anxious to be forgiven.”
+
+“You seem to be making a good deal of a small matter—”
+
+“I wasn’t referring to the overshoe!” I said.
+
+She did not relent.
+
+“If you’ll only go away—”
+
+She rested one hand against the corner of the boat-house
+while she put on the overshoe. She wore, I noticed,
+brown gloves with cuffs.
+
+“How can I go away! You children are always leaving
+things about for me to pick up. I’m perfectly worn
+out carrying some girl’s beads about with me; and I
+spoiled a good glove on your overshoe.”
+
+“I’ll relieve you of the beads, too, if you please.”
+And her tone measurably reduced my stature.
+
+She thrust her hands into the pockets of her coat and
+shook the tam-o’-shanter slightly, to establish it in a
+more comfortable spot on her head. The beads had been
+in my corduroy coat since I found them. I drew them
+out and gave them to her.
+
+“Thank you; thank you very much.”
+
+“Of course they are yours, Miss—”
+
+She thrust them into her pocket.
+
+“Of course they’re mine,” she said indignantly, and
+turned to go.
+
+“We’ll waive proof of property and that sort of thing,”
+I remarked, with, I fear, the hope of detaining her.
+“I’m sorry not to establish a more neighborly feeling
+with St. Agatha’s. The stone wall may seem formidable,
+but it’s not of my building. I must open the gate.
+That wall’s a trifle steep for climbing.”
+
+I was amusing myself with the idea that my identity
+was a dark mystery to her. I had read English novels
+in which the young lord of the manor is always mistaken
+for the game-keeper’s son by the pretty daughter
+of the curate who has come home from school to be the
+belle of the county. But my lady of the red tam-o’-shanter
+was not a creature of illusions.
+
+“It serves a very good purpose—the wall, I mean—
+Mr. Glenarm.”
+
+She was walking down the steps and I followed. I
+am not a man to suffer a lost school-girl to cross my
+lands unattended in a snow-storm; and the piazza of a
+boat-house is not, I submit, a pleasant loafing-place on
+a winter day. She marched before me, her hands in her
+pockets—I liked her particularly that way—with an
+easy swing and a light and certain step. Her remark
+about the wall did not encourage further conversation
+and I fell back upon the poets.
+
+           “Stone walls do not a prison make,
+           Nor iron bars a cage,”
+
+I quoted. Quoting poetry in a snow-storm while you
+stumble through a woodland behind a girl who shows
+no interest in either your prose or your rhymes has its
+embarrassments, particularly when you are breathing a
+trifle hard from the swift pace your auditor is leading
+you.
+
+“I have heard that before,” she said, half-turning her
+face, then laughing as she hastened on.
+
+Her brilliant cheeks were a delight to the eye. The
+snow swirled about her, whitened the crown of her red
+cap and clung to her shoulders. Have you ever seen
+snow-crystals gleam, break, dissolve in fair, soft, storm-blown
+hair? Do you know how a man will pledge his
+soul that a particular flake will never fade, never cease
+to rest upon a certain flying strand over a girlish temple?
+And he loses—his heart and his wager—in a
+breath! If you fail to understand these things, and are
+furthermore unfamiliar with the fact that the color in
+the cheeks of a girl who walks abroad in a driving snow-storm
+marks the favor of Heaven itself, then I waste
+time, and you will do well to rap at the door of another
+inn.
+
+“I’d rather missed you,” I said; “and, really, I should
+have been over to apologize if I hadn’t been afraid.”
+
+“Sister Theresa is rather fierce,” she declared. “And
+we’re not allowed to receive gentlemen callers,—it says
+so in the catalogue.”
+
+“So I imagined. I trust Sister Theresa is improving.”
+
+[Illustration: She marched before me, her hands in her pockets.]
+
+“Yes; thank you.”
+
+“And Miss Devereux,—she is quite well, I hope?”
+
+She turned her head as though to listen more carefully,
+and her step slackened for a moment; then she
+hurried blithely forward.
+
+“Oh, she’s always well, I believe.”
+
+“You know her, of course.”
+
+“Oh, rather! She gives us music lessons.”
+
+“So Miss Devereux is the music-teacher, is she?
+Should you call her a popular teacher?”
+
+“The girls call her”—she seemed moved to mirth by
+the recollection—“Miss Prim and Prosy.”
+
+“Ugh!” I exclaimed sympathetically. “Tall and hungry-looking,
+with long talons that pound the keys with
+grim delight. I know the sort.”
+
+“She’s a sight!“—and my guide laughed approvingly.
+“But we have to take her; she’s part of the treatment.”
+
+“You speak of St. Agatha’s as though it were a sanatorium.”
+
+“Oh, it’s not so bad! I’ve seen worse.”
+
+“Where do most of the students come from,—all what
+you call Hoosiers?”
+
+“Oh, no! They’re from all over—Cincinnati, Chicago,
+Cleveland, Indianapolis.”
+
+“What the magazines call the Middle West.”
+
+“I believe that is so. The bishop addressed us once
+as the flower of the Middle West, and made us really
+wish he’d come again.”
+
+We were approaching the gate. Her indifference to
+the storm delighted me. Here, I thought in my admiration,
+is a real product of the western world. I felt that
+we had made strides toward such a comradeship as it is
+proper should exist between a school-girl in her teens
+and a male neighbor of twenty-seven. I was—going
+back to English fiction—the young squire walking home
+with the curate’s pretty young daughter and conversing
+with fine condescension.
+
+“We girls all wish we could come over and help hunt
+the lost treasure. It must be simply splendid to live in
+a house where there’s a mystery,—secret passages and
+chests of doubloons and all that sort of thing! My!
+Squire Glenarm, I suppose you spend all your nights exploring
+secret passages.”
+
+This free expression of opinion startled me, though
+she seemed wholly innocent of impertinence.
+
+“Who says there’s any secret about the house?” I demanded.
+
+“Oh, Ferguson, the gardener, and all the girls!”
+
+“I fear Ferguson is drawing on his imagination.”
+
+“Well, all the people in the village think so. I’ve
+heard the candy-shop woman speak of it often.”
+
+“She’d better attend to her taffy,” I retorted.
+
+“Oh, you mustn’t be sensitive about it! All us girls
+think it ever so romantic, and we call you sometimes the
+lord of the realm, and when we see you walking through
+the darkling wood at evenfall we say, ‘My lord is brooding
+upon the treasure chests.’ ”
+
+This, delivered in the stilted tone of one who is half-quoting
+and half-improvising, was irresistibly funny,
+and I laughed with good will.
+
+“I hope you’ve forgiven me—” I began, kicking the
+gate to knock off the snow, and taking the key from my
+pocket.
+
+“But I haven’t, Mr. Glenarm. Your assumption is,
+to say the least, unwarranted,—I got that from a book!”
+
+“It isn’t fair for you to know my name and for me not
+to know yours,” I said leadingly.
+
+“You are perfectly right. You are Mr. John Glenarm
+—the gardener told me—and I am just Olivia.
+They don’t allow me to be called Miss yet. I’m very
+young, sir!”
+
+“You’ve only told me half,”—and I kept my hand on
+the closed gate. The snow still fell steadily and the
+short afternoon was nearing its close. I did not like to
+lose her,—the life, the youth, the mirth for which she
+stood. The thought of Glenarm House amid the snow-hung
+wood and of the long winter evening that I must
+spend alone moved me to delay. Lights already gleamed
+in the school-buildings straight before us and the sight
+of them smote me with loneliness.
+
+“Olivia Gladys Armstrong,” she said, laughing,
+brushed past me through the gate and ran lightly over
+the snow toward St. Agatha’s.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+AN AFFAIR WITH THE CARETAKER
+
+
+I read in the library until late, hearing the howl of
+the wind outside with satisfaction in the warmth and
+comfort of the great room. Bates brought in some sandwiches
+and a bottle of ale at midnight.
+
+“If there’s nothing more, sir—”
+
+“That is all, Bates.” And he went off sedately to his
+own quarters.
+
+I was restless and in no mood for bed and mourned
+the lack of variety in my grandfather’s library. I moved
+about from shelf to shelf, taking down one book after
+another, and while thus engaged came upon a series of
+large volumes extra-illustrated in water-colors of unusual
+beauty. They occupied a lower shelf, and I
+sprawled on the floor, like a boy with a new picture-book,
+in my absorption, piling the great volumes about me.
+They were on related subjects pertaining to the French
+chateaux.
+
+In the last volume I found a sheet of white note-paper
+no larger than my hand, a forgotten book-mark,
+I assumed, and half-crumpled it in my fingers before I
+noticed the lines of a pencil sketch on one side of it. I
+carried it to the table and spread it out.
+
+It was not the bit of idle penciling it had appeared
+to be at first sight. A scale had evidently been followed
+and the lines drawn with a ruler. With such trifles my
+grandfather had no doubt amused himself. There was
+a long corridor indicated, but of this I could make nothing.
+I studied it for several minutes, thinking it might
+have been a tentative sketch of some part of the house.
+In turning it about under the candelabrum I saw that
+in several places the glaze had been rubbed from the
+paper by an eraser, and this piqued my curiosity. I
+brought a magnifying glass to bear upon the sketch.
+The drawing had been made with a hard pencil and the
+eraser had removed the lead, but a well-defined imprint
+remained.
+
+I was able to make out the letters N. W. 3/4 to C.—
+a reference clearly enough to points of the compass and
+a distance. The word ravine was scrawled over a rough
+outline of a doorway or opening of some sort, and then
+the phrase:
+
+            THE DOOR OF BEWILDERMENT
+
+
+Now I am rather an imaginative person; that is why
+engineering captured my fancy. It was through his trying
+to make an architect (a person who quarrels with
+women about their kitchen sinks!) of a boy who wanted
+to be an engineer that my grandfather and I failed to hit
+it off. From boyhood I have never seen a great bridge or
+watched a locomotive climb a difficult hillside without
+a thrill; and a lighthouse still seems to me quite the
+finest monument a man can build for himself. My
+grandfather’s devotion to old churches and medieval
+houses always struck me as trifling and unworthy of a
+grown man. And fate was busy with my affairs that
+night, for, instead of lighting my pipe with the little
+sketch, I was strangely impelled to study it seriously.
+
+I drew for myself rough outlines of the interior of
+Glenarm House as it had appeared to me, and then I
+tried to reconcile the little sketch with every part of
+it.
+
+“The Door of Bewilderment” was the charm that held
+me. The phrase was in itself a lure. The man who had
+built a preposterous house in the woods of Indiana and
+called it “The House of a Thousand Candles” was quite
+capable of other whims; and as I bent over this scrap of
+paper in the candle-lighted library it occurred to me
+that possibly I had not done justice to my grandfather’s
+genius. My curiosity was thoroughly aroused as to the
+hidden corners of the queer old house, round which the
+wind shrieked tormentingly.
+
+I went to my room, put on my corduroy coat for its
+greater warmth in going through the cold halls, took a
+candle and went below. One o’clock in the morning is
+not the most cheering hour for exploring the dark recesses
+of a strange house, but I had resolved to have a
+look at the ravine-opening and determine, if possible,
+whether it bore any relation to “The Door of Bewilderment.”
+
+All was quiet in the great cellar; only here and there
+an area window rattled dolorously. I carried a tape-line
+with me and made measurements of the length and
+depth of the corridor and of the chambers that were set
+off from it. These figures I entered in my note-book for
+further use, and sat down on an empty nail-keg to reflect.
+The place was certainly substantial; the candle
+at my feet burned steadily with no hint of a draft; but
+I saw no solution of my problem. All the doors along
+the corridor were open, or yielded readily to my hand.
+I was losing sleep for nothing; my grandfather’s sketch
+was meaningless, and I rose and picked up my candle,
+yawning.
+
+Then a curious thing happened. The candle, whose
+thin flame had risen unwaveringly, sputtered and went
+out as a sudden gust swept the corridor.
+
+I had left nothing open behind me, and the outer
+doors of the house were always locked and barred. But
+some one had gained ingress to the cellar by an opening
+of which I knew nothing.
+
+I faced the stairway that led up to the back hall of the
+house, when to my astonishment, steps sounded behind
+me and, turning, I saw, coming toward me, a man carrying
+a lantern. I marked his careless step; he was undoubtedly
+on familiar ground. As I watched him he
+paused, lifted the lantern to a level with his eyes and
+began sounding the wall with a hammer.
+
+Here, undoubtedly, was my friend Morgan,—again!
+There was the same periodicity in the beat on the wall
+that I had heard in my own rooms. He began at the
+top and went methodically to the floor. I leaned
+against the wall where I stood and watched the lantern
+slowly coming toward me. The small revolver with
+which I had fired at his flying figure in the wood was in
+my pocket. It was just as well to have it out with the
+fellow now. My chances were as good as his, though I
+confess I did not relish the thought of being found dead
+the next morning in the cellar of my own house. It
+pleased my humor to let him approach in this way, unconscious
+that he was watched, until I should thrust my
+pistol into his face.
+
+His arms grew tired when he was about ten feet from
+me and he dropped the lantern and hammer to his side,
+and swore under his breath impatiently.
+
+Then he began again, with greater zeal. As he came
+nearer I studied his face in the lantern’s light with interest.
+His hat was thrust back, and I could see his jaw
+hard-set under his blond beard.
+
+He took a step nearer, ran his eyes over the wall and
+resumed his tapping. The ceiling was something less
+than eight feet, and he began at the top. In settling
+himself for the new series of strokes he swayed toward
+me slightly, and I could hear his hard breathing. I was
+deliberating how best to throw myself upon him, but as
+I wavered he stepped back, swore at his ill-luck and
+flung the hammer to the ground.
+
+“Thanks!” I shouted, leaping forward and snatching
+the lantern. “Stand just where you are!”
+
+With the revolver in my right hand and the lantern
+held high in my left, I enjoyed his utter consternation,
+as my voice roared in the corridor.
+
+“It’s too bad we meet under such strange circumstances,
+Morgan,” I said. “I’d begun to miss you; but
+I suppose you’ve been sleeping in the daytime to gather
+strength for your night prowling.”
+
+“You’re a fool,” he growled. He was recovering from
+his fright,—I knew it by the gleam of his teeth in his
+yellow beard. His eyes, too, were moving restlessly
+about. He undoubtedly knew the house better than I
+did, and was considering the best means of escape. I
+did not know what to do with him now that I had him
+at the point of a pistol; and in my ignorance of his motives
+and my vague surmise as to the agency back of
+him, I was filled with uncertainty.
+
+“You needn’t hold that thing quite so near,” he said,
+staring at me coolly.
+
+“I’m glad it annoys you, Morgan,” I said. “It may
+help you to answer some questions I’m going to put to
+you.”
+
+“So you want information, do you, Mr. Glenarm? I
+should think it would be beneath the dignity of a great
+man like you to ask a poor devil like me for help.”
+
+“We’re not talking of dignity,” I said. “I want you
+to tell me how you got in here.”
+
+He laughed.
+
+“You’re a very shrewd one, Mr. Glenarm. I came in
+by the kitchen window, if you must know. I got in before
+your solemn jack-of-all-trades locked up, and I
+walked down to the end of the passage there”—he indicated
+the direction with a slight jerk of his head—
+“and slept until it was time to go to work. You can
+see how easy it was!”
+
+I laughed now at the sheer assurance of the fellow.
+
+“If you can’t lie better than that you needn’t try
+again. Face about now, and march!”
+
+I put new energy into my tone, and he turned and
+walked before me down the corridor in the direction
+from which he had come. We were, I dare say, a pretty
+pair,—he tramping doggedly before me, I following at
+his heels with his lantern and my pistol. The situation
+had played prettily into my hands, and I had every intention
+of wresting from him the reason for his interest
+in Glenarm House and my affairs.
+
+“Not so fast,” I admonished sharply.
+
+“Excuse me,” he replied mockingly.
+
+He was no common rogue; I felt the quality in him
+with a certain admiration for his scoundrelly talents—
+a fellow, I reflected, who was best studied at the point
+of a pistol.
+
+I continued at his heels, and poked the muzzle of the
+revolver against his back from time to time to keep him
+assured of my presence,—a device that I was to regret a
+second later.
+
+We were about ten yards from the end of the corridor
+when he flung himself backward upon me, threw his
+arms over his head and seized me about the neck, turning
+himself lithely until his fingers clasped my throat.
+
+I fired blindly once, and felt the smoke of the revolver
+hot in my own nostrils. The lantern fell from
+my hand, and one or the other of us smashed it with our
+feet.
+
+A wrestling match in that dark hole was not to my
+liking. I still held on to the revolver, waiting for a
+chance to use it, and meanwhile he tried to throw me,
+forcing me back against one side and then the other of
+the passage.
+
+With a quick rush he flung me away, and in the same
+second I fired. The roar of the shot in the narrow corridor
+seemed interminable. I flung myself on the floor,
+expecting a return shot, and quickly enough a flash broke
+upon the darkness dead ahead, and I rose to my feet,
+fired again and leaped to the opposite side of the corridor
+and crouched there. We had adopted the same tactics,
+firing and dodging to avoid the target made by the flash
+of our pistols, and watching and listening after the roar
+of the explosions. It was a very pretty game, but destined
+not to last long. He was slowly retreating toward
+the end of the passage, where there was, I remembered,
+a dead wall. His only chance was to crawl through an
+area window I knew to be there, and this would, I felt
+sure, give him into my hands.
+
+After five shots apiece there was a truce. The pungent
+smoke of the powder caused me to cough, and he
+laughed.
+
+“Have you swallowed a bullet, Mr. Glenarm?” he
+called.
+
+I could hear his feet scraping on the cement floor;
+he was moving away from me, doubtless intending to
+fire when he reached the area window and escape before
+I could reach him. I crept warily after him, ready to
+fire on the instant, but not wishing to throw away my
+last cartridge. That I resolved to keep for close quarters
+at the window.
+
+He was now very near the end of the corridor; I
+heard his feet strike some boards that I remembered
+lay on the floor there, and I was nerved for a shot and
+a hand-to-hand struggle, if it came to that.
+
+I was sure that he sought the window; I heard his
+hands on the wall as he felt for it. Then a breath of
+cold air swept the passage, and I knew he must be
+drawing himself up to the opening. I fired and dropped
+to the floor. With the roar of the explosion I heard
+him yell, but the expected return shot did not follow.
+
+The pounding of my heart seemed to mark the passing
+of hours. I feared that my foe was playing some
+trick, creeping toward me, perhaps, to fire at close
+range, or to grapple with me in the dark. The cold air
+still whistled into the corridor, and I began to feel the
+chill of it. Being fired upon is disagreeable enough,
+but waiting in the dark for the shot is worse.
+
+I rose and walked toward the end of the passage.
+
+Then his revolver flashed and roared directly ahead,
+the flame of it so near that it blinded me. I fell forward
+confused and stunned, but shook myself together
+in a moment and got upon my feet. The draft of air
+no longer blew into the passage. Morgan had taken
+himself off through the window and closed it after him.
+I made sure of this by going to the window and feeling
+of it with my hands.
+
+I went back and groped about for my candle, which
+I found without difficulty and lighted. I then returned
+to the window to examine the catch. To my utter astonishment
+it was fastened with staples, driven deep
+into the sash, in such way that it could not possibly
+have been opened without the aid of tools. I tried it
+at every point. Not only was it securely fastened, but
+it could not possibly be opened without an expenditure
+of time and labor.
+
+There was no doubt whatever that Morgan knew
+more about Glenarm House than I did. It was possible,
+but not likely, that he had crept past me in the corridor
+and gone out through the house, or by some other
+cellar window. My eyes were smarting from the smoke
+of the last shot, and my cheek stung where the burnt
+powder had struck my face. I was alive, but in my vexation
+and perplexity not, I fear, grateful for my safety.
+It was, however, some consolation to feel sure I had
+winged the enemy.
+
+I gathered up the fragments of Morgan’s lantern and
+went back to the library. The lights in half the candlesticks
+had sputtered out. I extinguished the remainder
+and started to my room.
+
+Then, in the great dark hall, I heard a muffled tread
+as of some one following me,—not on the great staircase,
+nor in any place I could identify,—yet unmistakably
+on steps of some sort beneath or above me. My
+nerves were already keyed to a breaking pitch, and the
+ghost-like tread in the hall angered me—Morgan, or his
+ally, Bates, I reflected, at some new trick. I ran into my
+room, found a heavy walking-stick and set off for Bates’
+room on the third floor. It was always easy to attribute
+any sort of mischief to the fellow, and undoubtedly he
+was crawling through the house somewhere on an errand
+that boded no good to me.
+
+It was now past two o’clock and he should have been
+asleep and out of the way long ago. I crept to his room
+and threw open the door without, I must say, the slightest
+idea of finding him there. But Bates, the enigma,
+Bates, the incomparable cook, the perfect servant, sat at
+a table, the light of several candles falling on a book
+over which he was bent with that maddening gravity
+he had never yet in my presence thrown off.
+
+He rose at once, stood at attention, inclining his head
+slightly.
+
+“Yes, Mr. Glenarm.”
+
+“Yes, the devil!” I roared at him, astonished at
+finding him,—sorry, I must say, that he was there. The
+stick fell from my hands. I did not doubt he knew
+perfectly well that I had some purpose in breaking in
+upon him. I was baffled and in my rage floundered
+for words to explain myself.
+
+“I thought I heard some one in the house. I don’t
+want you prowling about in the night, do you hear?”
+
+“Certainly not, sir,” he replied in a grieved tone.
+
+I glanced at the book he had been reading. It was a
+volume of Shakespeare’s comedies, open at the first
+scene of the last act of The Winter’s Tale.
+
+“Quite a pretty bit of work that, I should say,” he
+remarked. “It was one of my late master’s favorites.”
+
+“Go to the devil!” I bawled at him, and went down
+to my room and slammed the door in rage and chagrin.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+I RECEIVE A CALLER
+
+
+Going to bed at three o’clock on a winter morning in
+a house whose ways are disquieting, after a duel in
+which you escaped whole only by sheer good luck, does
+not fit one for sleep. When I finally drew the covers
+over me it was to lie and speculate upon the events of
+the night in connection with the history of the few
+weeks I had spent at Glenarm. Larry had suggested
+in New York that Pickering was playing some deep
+game, and I, myself, could not accept Pickering’s statement
+that my grandfather’s large fortune had proved
+to be a myth. If Pickering had not stolen or dissipated
+it, where was it concealed? Morgan was undoubtedly
+looking for something of value or he would not risk
+his life in the business; and it was quite possible that he
+was employed by Pickering to search for hidden property.
+This idea took strong hold of me, the more readily,
+I fear, since I had always been anxious to see evil
+in Pickering. There was, to be sure, the unknown alternative
+heir, but neither she nor Sister Theresa was,
+I imagined, a person capable of hiring an assassin to
+kill me.
+
+On reflection I dismissed the idea of appealing to
+the county authorities, and I never regretted that resolution.
+The seat of Wabana County was twenty miles
+away, the processes of law were unfamiliar, and I
+wished to avoid publicity. Morgan might, of course,
+have been easily disposed of by an appeal to the Annandale
+constable, but now that I suspected Pickering of
+treachery the caretaker’s importance dwindled. I had
+waited all my life for a chance at Arthur Pickering,
+and in this affair I hoped to draw him into the open
+and settle with him.
+
+I slept presently, but woke at my usual hour, and
+after a tub felt ready for another day. Bates served
+me, as usual, a breakfast that gave a fair aspect to the
+morning. I was alert for any sign of perturbation in
+him; but I had already decided that I might as well
+look for emotion in a stone wall as in this placid, colorless
+serving man. I had no reason to suspect him of
+complicity in the night’s affair, but I had no faith in
+him, and merely waited until he should throw himself
+more boldly into the game.
+
+By my plate next morning I found this note, written
+in a clear, bold, woman’s hand:
+
+The Sisters of St. Agatha trust that the intrusion upon
+his grounds by Miss Armstrong, one of their students, has
+caused Mr. Glenarm no annoyance. The Sisters beg that
+this infraction of their discipline will be overlooked, and
+they assure Mr. Glenarm that it will not recur.
+
+
+An unnecessary apology! The note-paper was of the
+best quality. At the head of the page “St. Agatha’s,
+Annandale” was embossed in purple. It was the first
+note I had received from a woman for a long time, and
+it gave me a pleasant emotion. One of the Sisters I had
+seen beyond the wall undoubtedly wrote it—possibly
+Sister Theresa herself. A clever woman, that! Thoroughly
+capable of plucking money from guileless old
+gentlemen! Poor Olivia! born for freedom, but doomed
+to a pent-up existence with a lot of nuns! I resolved to
+send her a box of candy sometime, just to annoy her
+grim guardians. Then my own affairs claimed attention.
+
+“Bates,” I asked, “do you know what Mr. Glenarm
+did with the plans for the house?”
+
+He started slightly. I should not have noticed it if
+I had not been keen for his answer.
+
+“No, sir. I can’t put my hand upon them, sir.”
+
+“That’s all very well, Bates, but you didn’t answer
+my question. Do you know where they are? I’ll put
+my hand on them if you will kindly tell me where
+they’re kept.”
+
+“Mr. Glenarm, I fear very much that they have been
+destroyed. I tried to find them before you came, to tell
+you the whole truth, sir; but they must have been made
+’way with.”
+
+“That’s very interesting, Bates. Will you kindly
+tell me whom you suspect of destroying them? The
+toast again, please.”
+
+His hand shook as he passed the plate.
+
+“I hardly like to say, sir, when it’s only a suspicion.”
+
+“Of course I shouldn’t ask you to incriminate yourself,
+but I’ll have to insist on my question. It may
+have occurred to you, Bates, that I’m in a sense—in a
+sense, mind you—the master here.”
+
+“Well, I should say, if you press me, that I fear
+Mr. Glenarm, your grandfather, burned the plans when
+he left here the last time. I hope you will pardon me,
+sir, for seeming to reflect upon him.”
+
+“Reflect upon the devil! What was his idea, do you
+suppose?”
+
+“I think, sir, if you will pardon—”
+
+“Don’t be so fussy!” I snapped. “Damn your pardon,
+and go on!”
+
+“He wanted you to study out the place for yourself,
+sir. It was dear to his heart, this house. He set his
+heart upon having you enjoy it—”
+
+“I like the word—go ahead.”
+
+“And I suppose there are things about it that he
+wished you to learn for yourself.”
+
+“You know them, of course, and are watching me to
+see when I’m hot or cold, like kids playing hide the
+handkerchief.”
+
+The fellow turned and faced me across the table.
+
+“Mr. Glenarm, as I hope God may be merciful to me
+in the last judgment, I don’t know any more than you
+do.”
+
+“You were here with Mr. Glenarm all the time he was
+building the house, but you never saw walls built that
+weren’t what they appeared to be, or doors made that
+didn’t lead anywhere.”
+
+I summoned all my irony and contempt for this arraignment.
+He lifted his hand, as though making
+oath.
+
+“As God sees me, that is all true. I was here to care
+for the dead master’s comfort and not to spy on him.”
+
+“And Morgan, your friend, what about him?”
+
+“I wish I knew, sir.”
+
+“I wish to the devil you did,” I said, and flung out
+of the room and into the library.
+
+At eleven o’clock I heard a pounding at the great
+front door and Bates came to announce a caller, who
+was now audibly knocking the snow from his shoes in
+the outer hall.
+
+“The Reverend Paul Stoddard, sir.”
+
+The chaplain of St. Agatha’s was a big fellow, as I
+had remarked on the occasion of his interview with
+Olivia Gladys Armstrong by the wall. His light brown
+hair was close-cut; his smooth-shaven face was bright
+with the freshness of youth. Here was a sturdy young
+apostle without frills, but with a vigorous grip that left
+my hand tingling. His voice was deep and musical,—a
+voice that suggested sincerity and inspired confidence.
+
+“I’m afraid I haven’t been neighborly, Mr. Glenarm.
+I was called away from home a few days after I heard
+of your arrival, and I have just got back. I blew in
+yesterday with the snow-storm.”
+
+He folded his arms easily and looked at me with
+cheerful directness, as though politely interested in what
+manner of man I might be.
+
+“It was a fine storm; I got a great day out of it,” I
+said. “An Indiana snow-storm is something I have
+never experienced before.”
+
+“This is my second winter. I came out here because
+I wished to do some reading, and thought I’d rather do
+it alone than in a university.”
+
+“Studious habits are rather forced on one out here,
+I should say. In my own case my course of reading
+is all cut out for me.”
+
+He ran his eyes over the room.
+
+“The Glenarm collection is famous,—the best in the
+country, easily. Mr. Glenarm, your grandfather, was
+certainly an enthusiast. I met him several times; he
+was a trifle hard to meet,”—and the clergyman smiled.
+
+I felt rather uncomfortable, assuming that he probably
+knew I was undergoing discipline, and why my
+grandfather had so ordained it. The Reverend Paul
+Stoddard was so simple, unaffected and manly a fellow
+that I shrank from the thought that I must appear to
+him an ungrateful blackguard whom my grandfather
+had marked with obloquy.
+
+“My grandfather had his whims; but he was a fine,
+generous-hearted old gentleman,” I said.
+
+“Yes; in my few interviews with him he surprised
+me by the range of his knowledge. He was quite able
+to instruct me in certain curious branches of church
+history that had appealed to him.”
+
+“You were here when he built the house, I suppose?”
+
+My visitor laughed cheerfully.
+
+“I was on my side of the barricade for a part of the
+time. You know there was a great deal of mystery
+about the building of this house. The country-folk
+hereabouts can’t quite get over it. They have a superstition
+that there’s treasure buried somewhere on the
+place. You see, Mr. Glenarm wouldn’t employ any local
+labor. The work was done by men he brought from
+afar,—none of them, the villagers say, could speak English.
+They were all Greeks or Italians.”
+
+“I have heard something of the kind,” I remarked,
+feeling that here was a man who with a little cultivating
+might help me to solve some of my riddles.
+
+“You haven’t been on our side of the wall yet? Well,
+I promise not to molest your hidden treasure if you’ll
+be neighborly.”
+
+“I fear there’s a big joke involved in the hidden
+treasure,” I replied. “I’m so busy staying at home to
+guard it that I have no time for social recreation.”
+
+He looked at me quickly to see whether I was joking.
+His eyes were steady and earnest. The Reverend Paul
+Stoddard impressed me more and more agreeably.
+There was a suggestion of a quiet strength about him
+that drew me to him.
+
+“I suppose every one around here thinks of nothing
+but that I’m at Glenarm to earn my inheritance. My
+residence here must look pretty sordid from the outside.”
+
+“Mr. Glenarm’s will is a matter of record in the
+county, of course. But you are too hard on yourself.
+It’s nobody’s business if your grandfather wished to
+visit his whims on you. I should say, in my own case,
+that I don’t consider it any of my business what you
+are here for. I didn’t come over to annoy you or to
+pry into your affairs. I get lonely now and then, and
+thought I’d like to establish neighborly relations.”
+
+“Thank you; I appreciate your coming very much,”
+—and my heart warmed under the manifest kindness
+of the man.
+
+“And I hope”—he spoke for the first time with restraint
+—“I hope nothing may prevent your knowing
+Sister Theresa and Miss Devereux. They are interesting
+and charming—the only women about here of your
+own social status.”
+
+My liking for him abated slightly. He might be a
+detective, representing the alternative heir, for all I
+knew, and possibly Sister Theresa was a party to the
+conspiracy.
+
+“In time, no doubt, in time, I shall know them,” I
+answered evasively.
+
+“Oh, quite as you like!”—and he changed the subject.
+We talked of many things,—of outdoor sports,
+with which he showed great familiarity, of universities,
+of travel and adventure. He was a Columbia man and
+had spent two years at Oxford.
+
+“Well,” he exclaimed, “this has been very pleasant,
+but I must run. I have just been over to see Morgan,
+the caretaker at the resort village. The poor fellow accidentally
+shot himself yesterday, cleaning his gun or
+something of that sort, and he has an ugly hole in his
+arm that will shut him in for a month or worse. He
+gave me an errand to do for him. He’s a conscientious
+fellow and wished me to wire for him to Mr. Pickering
+that he’d been hurt, but was attending to his duties.
+Pickering owns a cottage over there, and Morgan has
+charge of it. You know Pickering, of course?”
+
+I looked my clerical neighbor straight in the eye, a
+trifle coldly perhaps. I was wondering why Morgan,
+with whom I had enjoyed a duel in my own cellar only
+a few hours before, should be reporting his injury to
+Arthur Pickering.
+
+“I think I have seen Morgan about here,” I said.
+
+“Oh, yes! He’s a woodsman and a hunter—our Nimrod
+of the lake.”
+
+“A good sort, very likely!”
+
+“I dare say. He has sometimes brought me ducks
+during the season.”
+
+“To be sure! They shoot ducks at night,—these
+Hoosier hunters,—so I hear!”
+
+He laughed as he shook himself into his greatcoat.
+
+“That’s possible, though unsportsmanlike. But we
+don’t have to look a gift mallard in the eye.”
+
+We laughed together. I found that it was easy to
+laugh with him.
+
+“By the way, I forgot to get Pickering’s address from
+Morgan. If you happen to have it—”
+
+“With pleasure,” I said. “Alexis Building, Broadway,
+New York.”
+
+“Good! That’s easy to remember,” he said, smiling
+and turning up his coat collar. “Don’t forget me;
+I’m quartered in a hermit’s cell back of the chapel, and
+I believe we can find many matters of interest to talk
+about.”
+
+“I’m confident of it,” I said, glad of the sympathy
+and cheer that seemed to emanate from his stalwart
+figure.
+
+I threw on my overcoat and walked to the gate with
+him, and saw him hurry toward the village with long
+strides.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+I EXPLORE A PASSAGE
+
+
+“Bates!”—I found him busy replenishing the candlesticks
+in the library,—it seemed to me that he was always
+poking about with an armful of candles,—“there
+are a good many queer things in this world, but I guess
+you’re one of the queerest. I don’t mind telling you
+that there are times when I think you a thoroughly bad
+lot, and then again I question my judgment and don’t
+give you credit for being much more than a doddering
+fool.”
+
+He was standing on a ladder beneath the great crystal
+chandelier that hung from the center of the ceiling,
+and looked down upon me with that patient injury
+that is so appealing in a dog—in, say, the eyes of an
+Irish setter, when you accidentally step on his tail.
+That look is heartbreaking in a setter, but, seen in a
+man, it arouses the direst homicidal feelings of which
+I am capable.
+
+“Yes, Mr. Glenarm,” he replied humbly.
+
+“Now, I want you to grasp this idea that I’m going
+to dig into this old shell top and bottom; I’m going
+to blow it up with dynamite, if I please; and if I catch
+you spying on me or reporting my doings to my enemies,
+or engaging in any questionable performances
+whatever, I’ll hang you between the posts out there in
+the school-wall—do you understand?—so that the sweet
+Sisters of St. Agatha and the dear little school-girls
+and the chaplain and all the rest will shudder through
+all their lives at the very thought of you.”
+
+“Certainly, Mr. Glenarm,”—and his tone was the
+same he would have used if I had asked him to pass
+me the matches, and under my breath I consigned him
+to the harshest tortures of the fiery pit.
+
+“Now, as to Morgan—”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“What possible business do you suppose he has with
+Mr. Pickering?” I demanded.
+
+“Why, sir, that’s clear enough. Mr. Pickering owns
+a house up the lake,—he got it through your grandfather.
+Morgan has the care of it, sir.”
+
+“Very plausible, indeed!”—and I sent him off to his
+work.
+
+After luncheon I went below and directly to the end
+of the corridor, and began to sound the walls. To the
+eye they were all alike, being of cement, and substantial
+enough. Through the area window I saw the solid earth
+and snow; surely there was little here to base hope upon,
+and my wonder grew at the ease with which Morgan
+had vanished through a barred window and into frozen
+ground.
+
+The walls at the end of the passage were as solid as
+rock, and they responded dully to the stroke of the
+hammer. I sounded them on both sides, retracing my
+steps to the stairway, becoming more and more impatient
+at my ill-luck or stupidity. There was every reason
+why I should know my own house, and yet a stranger
+and an outlaw ran through it with amazing daring.
+
+After an hour’s idle search I returned to the end of
+the corridor, repeated all my previous soundings, and,
+I fear, indulged in language unbecoming a gentleman.
+Then, in my blind anger, I found what patient search
+had not disclosed.
+
+I threw the hammer from me in a fit of temper; it
+struck upon a large square in the cement floor which
+gave forth a hollow sound. I was on my knees in an
+instant, my fingers searching the cracks, and drawing
+down close I could feel a current of air, slight but unmistakable,
+against my face.
+
+The cement square, though exactly like the others in
+the cellar floor, was evidently only a wooden imitation,
+covering an opening beneath.
+
+The block was fitted into its place with a nicety that
+certified to the skill of the hand that had adjusted it.
+I broke a blade of my pocket-knife trying to pry it
+up, but in a moment I succeeded, and found it to be
+in reality a trap-door, hinged to the substantial part
+of the floor.
+
+A current of cool fresh air, the same that had surprised
+me in the night, struck my face as I lay flat and
+peered into the opening. The lower passage was as black
+as pitch, and I lighted a lantern I had brought with me,
+found that wooden steps gave safe conduct below and
+went down.
+
+I stood erect in the passage and had several inches
+to spare. It extended both ways, running back under
+the foundations of the house. This lower passage cut
+squarely under the park before the house and toward
+the school wall. No wonder my grandfather had
+brought foreign laborers who could speak no English
+to work on his house! There was something delightful
+in the largeness of his scheme, and I hurried through
+the tunnel with a hundred questions tormenting my
+brain.
+
+The air grew steadily fresher, until, after I had gone
+about two hundred yards, I reached a point where the
+wind seemed to beat down on me from above. I put
+up my hands and found two openings about two yards
+apart, through which the air sucked steadily. I moved
+out of the current with a chuckle in my throat and a
+grin on my face. I had passed under the gate in the
+school-wall, and I knew now why the piers that held it
+had been built so high,—they were hollow and were the
+means of sending fresh air into the tunnel.
+
+I had traversed about twenty yards more when I felt
+a slight vibration accompanied by a muffled roar, and
+almost immediately came to a short wooden stair that
+marked the end of the passage. I had no means of
+judging directions, but I assumed I was somewhere near
+the chapel in the school-grounds.
+
+I climbed the steps, noting still the vibration, and
+found a door that yielded readily to pressure. In a
+moment I stood blinking, lantern in hand, in a well-lighted,
+floored room. Overhead the tumult and thunder
+of an organ explained the tremor and roar I had heard
+below. I was in the crypt of St. Agatha’s chapel. The
+inside of the door by which I had entered was a part of
+the wainscoting of the room, and the opening was wholly
+covered with a map of the Holy Land.
+
+In my absorption I had lost the sense of time, and I
+was amazed to find that it was five o’clock, but I resolved
+to go into the chapel before going home.
+
+The way up was clear enough, and I was soon in the
+vestibule. I opened the door, expecting to find a service
+in progress; but the little church was empty save where,
+at the right of the chancel, an organist was filling the
+church with the notes of a triumphant march. Cap in
+hand I stole forward and sank down in one of the
+pews.
+
+A lamp over the organ keyboard gave the only light
+in the chapel, and made an aureole about her head,—
+about the uncovered head of Olivia Gladys Armstrong!
+I smiled as I recognized her and smiled, too, as I remembered
+her name. But the joy she brought to the
+music, the happiness in her face as she raised it in the
+minor harmonies, her isolation, marked by the little isle
+of light against the dark background of the choir,—
+these things touched and moved me, and I bent forward,
+my arms upon the pew in front of me, watching and
+listening with a kind of awed wonder. Here was a
+refuge of peace and lulling harmony after the disturbed
+life at Glenarm, and I yielded myself to its solace with
+an inclination my life had rarely known.
+
+There was no pause in the outpouring of the melody.
+She changed stops and manuals with swift fingers and
+passed from one composition to another; now it was an
+august hymn, now a theme from Wagner, and finally
+Mendelssohn’s Spring Song leaped forth exultant in the
+dark chapel.
+
+She ceased suddenly with a little sigh and struck
+her hands together, for the place was cold. As she
+reached up to put out the lights I stepped forward to
+the chancel steps.
+
+“Please allow me to do that for you?”
+
+She turned toward me, gathering a cape about her.
+
+“Oh, it’s you, is it?” she asked, looking about quickly.
+“I don’t remember—I don’t seem to remember—that
+you were invited.”
+
+“I didn’t know I was coming myself,” I remarked
+truthfully, lifting my hand to the lamp.
+
+“That is my opinion of you,—that you’re a rather unexpected
+person. But thank you, very much.”
+
+She showed no disposition to prolong the interview,
+but hurried toward the door, and reached the vestibule
+before I came up with her.
+
+“You can’t go any further, Mr. Glenarm,” she said,
+and waited as though to make sure I understood.
+Straight before us through the wood and beyond the
+school-buildings the sunset faded sullenly. The night
+was following fast upon the gray twilight and already
+the bolder planets were aflame in the sky. The path
+led straight ahead beneath the black boughs.
+
+“I might perhaps walk to the dormitory, or whatever
+you call it,” I said.
+
+“Thank you, no! I’m late and haven’t time to
+bother with you. It’s against the rules, you know, for
+us to receive visitors.”
+
+She stepped out into the path.
+
+“But I’m not a caller. I’m just a neighbor. And I
+owe you several calls, anyhow.”
+
+She laughed, but did not pause, and I followed a
+pace behind her.
+
+“I hope you don’t think for a minute that I chased
+a rabbit on your side of the fence just to meet you; do
+you, Mr. Glenarm?”
+
+“Be it far from me! I’m glad I came, though, for I
+liked your music immensely. I’m in earnest; I think
+it quite wonderful, Miss Armstrong.”
+
+She paid no heed to me.
+
+“And I hope I may promise myself the pleasure of
+hearing you often.”
+
+“You are positively flattering, Mr. Glenarm; but as
+I’m going away—”
+
+I felt my heart sink at the thought of her going
+away. She was the only amusing person I had met at
+Glenarm, and the idea of losing her gave a darker note
+to the bleak landscape.
+
+“That’s really too bad! And just when we were getting
+acquainted! And I was coming to church every
+Sunday to hear you play and to pray for snow, so you’d
+come over often to chase rabbits!”
+
+This, I thought, softened her heart. At any rate her
+tone changed.
+
+“I don’t play for services; they’re afraid to let me
+for fear I’d run comic-opera tunes into the Te Deum!”
+
+“How shocking!”
+
+“Do you know, Mr. Glenarm,”—her tone became confidential
+and her pace slackened,—“we call you the
+squire, at St. Agatha’s, and the lord of the manor, and
+names like that! All the girls are perfectly crazy about
+you. They’d be wild if they thought I talked with you,
+clandestinely,—is that the way you pronounce it?”
+
+“Anything you say and any way you say it satisfies
+me,” I replied.
+
+“That’s ever so nice of you,” she said, mockingly
+again.
+
+I felt foolish and guilty. She would probably get
+roundly scolded if the grave Sisters learned of her talks
+with me, and very likely I should win their hearty contempt.
+But I did not turn back.
+
+“I hope the reason you’re leaving isn’t—” I hesitated.
+
+“Ill conduct? Oh, yes; I’m terribly wicked, Squire
+Glenarm! They’re sending me off.”
+
+“But I suppose they’re awfully strict, the Sisters.”
+
+“They’re hideous,—perfectly hideous.”
+
+“Where is your home?” I demanded. “Chicago, Indianapolis,
+Cincinnati, perhaps?”
+
+“Humph, you are dull! You ought to know from my
+accent that I’m not from Chicago. And I hope I haven’t
+a Kentucky girl’s air of waiting to be flattered to death.
+And no Indianapolis girl would talk to a strange man at
+the edge of a deep wood in the gray twilight of a winter
+day,—that’s from a book; and the Cincinnati girl is
+without my élan, esprit,—whatever you please to call it.
+She has more Teutonic repose,—more of Gretchen-of-the-Rhine-Valley
+about her. Don’t you adore French,
+Squire Glenarm?” she concluded breathlessly, and with
+no pause in her quick step.
+
+“I adore yours, Miss Armstrong,” I asserted, yielding
+myself further to the joy of idiocy, and delighting in
+the mockery and changing moods of her talk. I did
+not make her out; indeed, I preferred not to! I was
+not then,—and I am not now, thank God,—of an analytical
+turn of mind. And as I grow older I prefer,
+even after many a blow, to take my fellow human beings
+a good deal as I find them. And as for women, old
+or young, I envy no man his gift of resolving them into
+elements. As well carry a spray of arbutus to the laboratory
+or subject the enchantment of moonlight upon
+running water to the flame and blow-pipe as try to
+analyze the heart of a girl,—particularly a girl who
+paddles a canoe with a sure stroke and puts up a good
+race with a rabbit.
+
+A lamp shone ahead of us at the entrance of one of
+the houses, and lights appeared in all the buildings.
+
+“If I knew your window I should certainly sing under
+it,—except that you’re going home! You didn’t tell
+me why they were deporting you.”
+
+“I’m really ashamed to! You would never—”
+
+“Oh, yes, I would; I’m really an old friend!” I insisted,
+feeling more like an idiot every minute.
+
+“Well, don’t tell! But they caught me flirting—with
+the grocery boy! Now aren’t you disgusted?”
+
+“Thoroughly! I can’t believe it! Why, you’d a lot
+better flirt with me,” I suggested boldly.
+
+“Well, I’m to be sent away for good at Christmas. I
+may come back then if I can square myself. My!
+That’s slang,—isn’t it horrid?”
+
+“The Sisters don’t like slang, I suppose?”
+
+“They loathe it! Miss Devereux—you know who she
+is!—she spies on us and tells.”
+
+“You don’t say so; but I’m not surprised at her. I’ve
+heard about her!” I declared bitterly.
+
+We had reached the door, and I expected her to fly;
+but she lingered a moment.
+
+“Oh, if you know her! Perhaps you’re a spy, too!
+It’s just as well we should never meet again, Mr. Glenarm,”
+she declared haughtily.
+
+“The memory of these few meetings will always linger
+with me, Miss Armstrong,” I returned in an imitation
+of her own tone.
+
+“I shall scorn to remember you!”—and she folded
+her arms under the cloak tragically.
+
+“Our meetings have been all too few, Miss Armstrong.
+Three, exactly, I believe!”
+
+“I see you prefer to ignore the first time I ever saw
+you,” she said, her hand on the door.
+
+“Out there in your canoe? Never! And you’ve forgiven
+me for overhearing you and the chaplain on the
+wall—please!”
+
+She grasped the knob of the door and paused an instant
+as though pondering.
+
+“I make it four times, not counting once in the road
+and other times when you didn’t know, Squire Glenarm!
+I’m a foolish little girl to have remembered the first. I
+see now how b-l-i-n-d I have been.”
+
+She opened and closed the door softly, and I heard
+her running up the steps within.
+
+I ran back to the chapel, roundly abusing myself for
+having neglected my more serious affairs for a bit of
+silly talk with a school-girl, fearful lest the openings
+I had left at both ends of the passage should have been
+discovered. The tunnel added a new and puzzling factor
+to the problem already before me, and I was eager
+for an opportunity to sit down in peace and comfort to
+study the situation.
+
+[Illustration: “I shall scorn to remember you!”—and she folded her arms under
+the cloak tragically.]
+
+At the chapel I narrowly escaped running into Stoddard,
+but I slipped past him, pulled the hidden door
+into place, traversed the tunnel without incident, and
+soon climbed through the hatchway and slammed the
+false block securely into the opening.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+A PAIR OF EAVESDROPPERS
+
+
+When I came down after dressing for dinner, Bates
+called my attention to a belated mail. I pounced eagerly
+upon a letter in Laurance Donovan’s well-known
+hand, bearing, to my surprise, an American stamp and
+postmarked New Orleans. It was dated, however, at
+Vera Cruz, Mexico, December fifteenth, 1901.
+
+DEAR OLD MAN: I have had a merry time since I saw you
+in New York. Couldn’t get away for a European port
+as I hoped when I left you, as the authorities seemed to
+be taking my case seriously, and I was lucky to get off
+as a deck-hand on a south-bound boat. I expected to get a
+slice of English prodigal veal at Christmas, but as things
+stand now, I am grateful to be loose even in this God-forsaken
+hole. The British bulldog is eager to insert its
+teeth in my trousers, and I was flattered to see my picture
+bulletined in a conspicuous place the day I struck Vera
+Cruz. You see, they’re badgering the Government at
+home because I’m not apprehended, and they’ve got to
+catch and hang me to show that they’ve really got their
+hands on the Irish situation. I am not afraid of the
+Greasers—no people who gorge themselves with bananas
+and red peppers can be dangerous—but the British consul
+here has a bad eye and even as I write I am dimly conscious
+that a sleek person, who is ostensibly engaged in
+literary work at the next table, is really killing time while
+he waits for me to finish this screed.
+
+No doubt you are peacefully settled on your ancestral
+estate with only a few months and a little patience between
+you and your grandfather’s shier. You always were
+a lucky brute. People die just to leave you money, whereas
+I’ll have to die to get out of jail.
+
+I hope to land under the Stars and Stripes within a few
+days, either across country through El Paso or via New
+Orleans—preferably the former, as a man’s social position
+is rated high in Texas in proportion to the amount of reward
+that’s out for him. They’d probably give me the
+freedom of the state if they knew my crimes had been the
+subject of debate in the House of Commons.
+
+But the man across the table is casually looking over
+here for a glimpse of my signature, so I must give him
+a good one just for fun. With best wishes always,
+                     Faithfully yours,
+                             GEORGE WASHINGTON SMITH.
+
+P. S—I shan’t mail this here, but give it to a red-haired
+Irishman on a steamer that sails north to-night. Pleasant,
+I must say, this eternal dodging! Wish I could share your
+rural paradise for the length of a pipe and a bottle! Have
+forgotten whether you said Indian Territory or Indiana,
+but will take chances on the latter as more remotely suggesting
+the aborigines.
+
+Bates gave me my coffee in the library, as I wished
+to settle down to an evening of reflection without delay.
+Larry’s report of himself was not reassuring. I knew
+that if he had any idea of trying to reach me he would
+not mention it in a letter which might fall into the
+hands of the authorities, and the hope that he might
+join me grew. I was not, perhaps, entitled to a companion
+at Glenarm under the terms of my exile, but as
+a matter of protection in the existing condition of affairs
+there could be no legal or moral reason why I
+should not defend myself against my foes, and Larry
+was an ally worth having.
+
+In all my hours of questioning and anxiety at Glenarm
+I never doubted the amiable intentions of my
+grandfather. His device for compelling my residence
+at his absurd house was in keeping with his character,
+and it was all equitable enough. But his dead hand had
+no control over the strange issue, and I felt justified in
+interpreting the will in the light of my experiences. I
+certainly did not intend to appeal to the local police authorities,
+at least not until the animus of the attack on
+me was determined.
+
+My neighbor, the chaplain, had inadvertently given
+me a bit of important news; and my mind kept reverting
+to the fact that Morgan was reporting his injury to
+the executor of my grandfather’s estate in New York.
+Everything else that had happened was tame and unimportant
+compared with this. Why had John Marshall
+Glenarm made Arthur Pickering the executor of his
+estate? He knew that I detested him, that Pickering’s
+noble aims and high ambitions had been praised by my
+family until his very name sickened me; and yet my
+own grandfather had thought it wise to intrust his fortune
+and my future to the man of all men who was
+most repugnant to me. I rose and paced the floor in
+anger.
+
+Instead of accepting Pickering’s word for it that the
+will was all straight, I should have employed counsel
+and taken legal advice before suffering myself to be
+rushed away into a part of the world I had never visited
+before, and cooped up in a dreary house under the eye
+of a somber scoundrel who might poison me any day, if
+he did not prefer to shoot me in my sleep. My rage
+must fasten upon some one, and Bates was the nearest
+target for it. I went to the kitchen, where he usually
+spent his evenings, to vent my feelings upon him, only
+to find him gone. I climbed to his room and found it
+empty. Very likely he was off condoling with his friend
+and fellow conspirator, the caretaker, and I fumed with
+rage and disappointment. I was thoroughly tired, as
+tired as on days when I had beaten my way through
+tropical jungles without food or water; but I wished,
+in my impotent anger against I knew not what agencies,
+to punish myself, to induce an utter weariness that
+would drag me exhausted to bed.
+
+The snow in the highway was well beaten down and
+I swung off countryward past St. Agatha’s. A gray
+mist hung over the fields in whirling clouds, breaking
+away occasionally and showing the throbbing winter
+stars. The walk, and my interest in the alternation of
+star-lighted and mist-wrapped landscape won me to a
+better state of mind, and after tramping a couple of
+miles, I set out for home. Several times on my tramp
+I had caught myself whistling the air of a majestic
+old hymn, and smiled, remembering my young friend
+Olivia, and her playing in the chapel. She was an
+amusing child; the thought of her further lifted my
+spirit; and I turned into the school park as I passed
+the outer gate with a half-recognized wish to pass near
+the barracks where she spent her days.
+
+At the school-gate the lamps of a carriage suddenly
+blurred in the mist. Carriages were not common in this
+region, and I was not surprised to find that this was the
+familiar village hack that met trains day and night at
+Glenarm station. Some parent, I conjectured, paying a
+visit to St. Agatha’s; perhaps the father of Miss Olivia
+Gladys Armstrong had come to carry her home for a
+stricter discipline than Sister Theresa’s school afforded.
+
+The driver sat asleep on his box, and I passed him
+and went on into the grounds. A whim seized me to
+visit the crypt of the chapel and examine the opening
+to the tunnel. As I passed the little group of school-buildings
+a man came hurriedly from one of them and
+turned toward the chapel.
+
+I first thought it was Stoddard, but I could not make
+him out in the mist and I waited for him to put twenty
+paces between us before I followed along the path that
+led from the school to the chapel.
+
+He strode into the chapel porch with an air of assurance,
+and I heard him address some one who had been
+waiting. The mist was now so heavy that I could not
+see my hand before my face, and I stole forward until
+I could hear the voices of the two men distinctly.
+
+“Bates!”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+I heard feet scraping on the stone floor of the porch.
+
+“This is a devil of a place to talk in but it’s the best
+we can do. Did the young man know I sent for you?”
+
+“No, sir. He was quite busy with his books and papers.”
+
+“Humph! We can never be sure of him.”
+
+“I suppose that is correct, sir.”
+
+“Well, you and Morgan are a fine pair, I must say!
+I thought he had some sense, and that you’d see to it
+that he didn’t make a mess of this thing. He’s in bed
+now with a hole in his arm and you’ve got to go on
+alone.”
+
+“I’ll do my best, Mr. Pickering.”
+
+“Don’t call me by name, you idiot. We’re not advertising
+our business from the housetops.”
+
+“Certainly not,” replied Bates humbly.
+
+The blood was roaring through my head, and my
+hands were clenched as I stood there listening to this
+colloquy.
+
+Pickering’s voice was—and is—unmistakable. There
+was always a purring softness in it. He used to remind
+me at school of a sleek, complacent cat, and I hate cats
+with particular loathing.
+
+“Is Morgan lying or not when he says he shot himself
+accidentally?” demanded Pickering petulantly.
+
+“I only know what I heard from the gardener here at
+the school. You’ll understand, I hope, that I can’t be
+seen going to Morgan’s house.”
+
+“Of course not. But he says you haven’t played fair
+with him, that you even attacked him a few days after
+Glenarm came.”
+
+“Yes, and he hit me over the head with a club. It
+was his indiscretion, sir. He wanted to go through the
+library in broad daylight, and it wasn’t any use, anyhow.
+There’s nothing there.”
+
+“But I don’t like the looks of this shooting. Morgan’s
+sick and out of his head. But a fellow like Morgan
+isn’t likely to shoot himself accidentally, and now
+that it’s done the work’s stopped and the time is running
+on. What do you think Glenarm suspects?”
+
+“I can’t tell, sir, but mighty little, I should say. The
+shot through the window the first night he was here
+seemed to shake him a trifle, but he’s quite settled down
+now, I should say, sir.”
+
+“He probably doesn’t spend much time on this side
+of the fence—doesn’t haunt the chapel, I fancy?”
+
+“Lord, no, sir! I hardly suspect the young gentleman
+of being a praying man.”
+
+“You haven’t seen him prowling about analyzing the
+architecture—”
+
+“Not a bit of it, sir. He hasn’t, I should say, what
+his revered grandfather called the analytical mind.”
+
+Hearing yourself discussed in this frank fashion by
+your own servant is, I suppose, a wholesome thing for
+the spirit. The man who stands behind your chair may
+acquire, in time, some special knowledge of your mental
+processes by a diligent study of the back of your
+head. But I was not half so angry with these conspirators
+as with myself, for ever having entertained a single
+generous thought toward Bates. It was, however, consoling
+to know that Morgan was lying to Pickering, and
+that my own exploits in the house were unknown to the
+executor.
+
+Pickering stamped his feet upon the paved porch
+floor in a way that I remembered of old. It marked a
+conclusion, and preluded serious statements.
+
+“Now, Bates,” he said, with a ring of authority and
+speaking in a louder key than he had yet used, “it’s
+your duty under all the circumstances to help discover
+the hidden assets of the estate. We’ve got to pluck the
+mystery from that architectural monster over there, and
+the time for doing it is short enough. Mr. Glenarm was
+a rich man. To my own knowledge he had a couple of
+millions, and he couldn’t have spent it all on that house.
+He reduced his bank account to a few thousand dollars
+and swept out his safety-vault boxes with a broom before
+his last trip into Vermont. He didn’t die with the
+stuff in his clothes, did he?”
+
+“Lord bless me, no, sir! There was little enough
+cash to bury him, with you out of the country and me
+alone with him.”
+
+“He was a crank and I suppose he got a lot of satisfaction
+out of concealing his money. But this hunt for it
+isn’t funny. I supposed, of course, we’d dig it up before
+Glenarm got here or I shouldn’t have been in such
+a hurry to send for him. But it’s over there somewhere,
+or in the grounds. There must he a plan of the house
+that would help. I’ll give you a thousand dollars the
+day you wire me you have found any sort of clue.”
+
+“Thank you, sir.”
+
+“I don’t want thanks, I want the money or securities
+or whatever it is. I’ve got to go back to my car now,
+and you’d better skip home. You needn’t tell your
+young master that I’ve been here.”
+
+I was trying hard to believe, as I stood there with
+clenched hands outside the chapel porch, that Arthur
+Pickering’s name was written in the list of directors of
+one of the greatest trust companies in America, and
+that he belonged to the most exclusive clubs in New
+York. I had run out for a walk with only an inverness
+over my dinner-jacket, and I was thoroughly chilled by
+the cold mist. I was experiencing, too, an inner cold as
+I reflected upon the greed and perfidy of man.
+
+“Keep an eye on Morgan,” said Pickering.
+
+“Certainly, sir.”
+
+“And be careful what you write or wire.”
+
+“I’ll mind those points, sir. But I’d suggest, if you
+please, sir—”
+
+“Well?” demanded Pickering impatiently.
+
+“That you should call at the house. It would look
+rather strange to the young gentleman if you’d come
+here and not see him.”
+
+“I haven’t the slightest errand with him. And besides,
+I haven’t time. If he learns that I’ve been here
+you may say that my business was with Sister Theresa
+and that I regretted very much not having an opportunity
+to call on him.”
+
+The irony of this was not lost on Bates, who chuckled
+softly. He came out into the open and turned away toward
+the Glenarm gate. Pickering passed me, so near
+that I might have put out my hand and touched him,
+and in a moment I heard the carriage drive off rapidly
+toward the village.
+
+I heard Bates running home over the snow and listened
+to the clatter of the village hack as it bore Pickering
+back to Annandale.
+
+Then out of the depths of the chapel porch—out of
+the depths of time and space, it seemed, so dazed I stood
+—some one came swiftly toward me, some one, light of
+foot like a woman, ran down the walk a little way into
+the fog and paused.
+
+An exclamation broke from me.
+
+“Eavesdropping for two!”—it was the voice of Olivia.
+“I’d take pretty good care of myself if I were you,
+Squire Glenarm. Good night!”
+
+“Good-by!” I faltered, as she sped away into the mist
+toward the school.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+THE GIRL IN GRAY
+
+My first thought was to find the crypt door and return
+through the tunnel before Bates reached the house.
+The chapel was open, and by lighting matches I found
+my way to the map and panel. I slipped through and
+closed the opening; then ran through the passage with
+gratitude for the generous builder who had given it a
+clear floor and an ample roof. In my haste I miscalculated
+its length and pitched into the steps under the
+trap at a speed that sent me sprawling. In a moment
+more I had jammed the trap into place and was running
+up the cellar steps, breathless, with my cap
+smashed down over my eyes.
+
+I heard Bates at the rear of the house and knew I had
+won the race by a scratch. There was but a moment in
+which to throw my coat and cap under the divan, slap
+the dust from my clothes and seat myself at the great
+table, where the candles blazed tranquilly.
+
+Bates’ step was as steady as ever—there was not the
+slightest hint of excitement in it—as he came and stood
+within the door.
+
+“Beg pardon, Mr. Glenarm, did you wish anything,
+sir?”
+
+“Oh, no, thank you, Bates.”
+
+“I had stepped down to the village, sir, to speak to
+the grocer. The eggs he sent this morning were not
+quite up to the mark. I have warned him not to send
+any of the storage article to this house.”
+
+“That’s right, Bates.” I folded my arms to hide my
+hands, which were black from contact with the passage,
+and faced my man servant. My respect for his rascally
+powers had increased immensely since he gave me my
+coffee. A contest with so clever a rogue was worth
+while.
+
+“I’m grateful for your good care of me, Bates. I had
+expected to perish of discomfort out here, but you are
+treating me like a lord.”
+
+“Thank you, Mr. Glenarm. I do what I can, sir.”
+
+He brought fresh candles for the table candelabra,
+going about with his accustomed noiseless step. I felt
+a cold chill creep down my spine as he passed behind
+me on these errands. His transition from the rôle of
+conspirator to that of my flawless servant was almost
+too abrupt.
+
+I dismissed him as quickly as possible, and listened
+to his step through the halls as he went about locking
+the doors. This was a regular incident, but I was aware
+to-night that he exercised what seemed to me a particular
+care in settling the bolts. The locking-up process
+had rather bored me before; to-night the snapping of
+bolts was particularly trying.
+
+When I heard Bates climbing to his own quarters I
+quietly went the rounds on my own account and found
+everything as tight as a drum.
+
+In the cellar I took occasion to roll some barrels of
+cement into the end of the corridor, to cover and block
+the trap door. Bates had no manner of business in that
+part of the house, as the heating apparatus was under
+the kitchen and accessible by an independent stairway.
+I had no immediate use for the hidden passage to the
+chapel—and I did not intend that my enemies should
+avail themselves of it. Morgan, at least, knew of it and,
+while he was not likely to trouble me at once, I had resolved
+to guard every point in our pleasant game.
+
+I was tired enough to sleep when I went to my room,
+and after an eventless night, woke to a clear day and
+keener air.
+
+“I’m going to take a little run into the village, Bates,”
+I remarked at breakfast.
+
+“Very good, sir. The weather’s quite cleared.”
+
+“If any one should call I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+He turned his impenetrable face toward me as I rose.
+There was, of course, no chance whatever that any one
+would call to see me; the Reverend Paul Stoddard was
+the only human being, except Bates, Morgan and the
+man who brought up my baggage, who had crossed the
+threshold since my arrival.
+
+I really had an errand in the village. I wished to
+visit the hardware store and buy some cartridges, but
+Pickering’s presence in the community was a disturbing
+factor in my mind. I wished to get sight of him,—
+to meet him, if possible, and see how a man, whose
+schemes were so deep, looked in the light of day.
+
+As I left the grounds and gained the highway Stoddard
+fell in with me.
+
+“Well, Mr. Glenarm, I’m glad to see you abroad so
+early. With that library of yours the temptation must
+be strong to stay within doors. But a man’s got to subject
+himself to the sun and wind. Even a good wetting
+now and then is salutary.”
+
+“I try to get out every day,” I answered. “But I’ve
+chiefly limited myself to the grounds.”
+
+“Well, it’s a fine estate. The lake is altogether
+charming in summer. I quite envy you your fortune.”
+
+He walked with a long swinging stride, his hands
+thrust deep into his overcoat pockets. It was difficult
+to accept the idea of so much physical strength being
+wasted in the mere business of saying prayers in a girls’
+school. Here was a fellow who should have been captain
+of a ship or a soldier, a leader of forlorn hopes. I
+felt sure there must be a weakness of some sort in him.
+Quite possibly it would prove to be a mild estheticism
+that delighted in the savor of incense and the mournful
+cadence of choral vespers. He declined a cigar and this
+rather increased my suspicions.
+
+The village hack, filled with young women, passed at
+a gallop, bound for the station, and we took off our hats.
+
+“Christmas holidays,” explained the chaplain. “Practically
+all the students go home.”
+
+“Lucky kids, to have a Christmas to go home to!”
+
+“I suppose Mr. Pickering got away last night?” he
+observed, and my pulse quickened at the name.
+
+“I haven’t seen him yet,” I answered guardedly.
+
+“Then of course he hasn’t gone!” and these words,
+uttered in the big clergyman’s deep tones, seemed wholly
+plausible. There was, to be sure, nothing so unlikely as
+that Arthur Pickering, executor of my grandfather’s
+estate, would come to Glenarm without seeing me.
+
+“Sister Theresa told me this morning he was here.
+He called on her and Miss Devereux last night. I
+haven’t seen him myself. I thought possibly I might
+run into him in the village. His car’s very likely on the
+station switch.”
+
+“No doubt we shall find him there,” I answered easily.
+
+The Annandale station presented an appearance of
+unusual gaiety when we reached the main street of the
+village. There, to be sure, lay a private car on the
+siding, and on the platform was a group of twenty or
+more girls, with several of the brown-habited Sisters of
+St. Agatha. There was something a little foreign in
+the picture; the girls in their bright colors talking
+gaily, the Sisters in their somber garb hovering about,
+suggesting France or Italy rather than Indiana.
+
+“I came here with the idea that St. Agatha’s was a
+charity school,” I remarked to the chaplain.
+
+“Not a bit of it! Sister Theresa is really a swell, you
+know, and her school is hard to get into.”
+
+“I’m glad you warned me in time. I had thought of
+sending over a sack of flour occasionally, or a few bolts
+of calico to help on the good work. You’ve saved my
+life.”
+
+“I probably have. I might mention your good intentions
+to Sister Theresa.”
+
+“Pray don’t. If there’s any danger of meeting her
+on that platform—”
+
+“No; she isn’t coming down, I’m sure. But you
+ought to know her,—if you will pardon me. And Miss
+Devereux is charming,—but really I don’t mean to be
+annoying.”
+
+“Not in the least. But under the circumstances,—
+the will and my probationary year,—you can understand—”
+
+“Certainly. A man’s affairs are his own, Mr. Glenarm.”
+
+We stepped upon the platform. The private car was
+on the opposite side of the station and had been
+switched into a siding of the east and west road. Pickering
+was certainly getting on. The private car, even
+more than the yacht, is the symbol of plutocracy, and
+gaping rustics were evidently impressed by its grandeur.
+As I lounged across the platform with Stoddard, Pickering
+came out into the vestibule of his car, followed by
+two ladies and an elderly gentleman. They all descended
+and began a promenade of the plank walk.
+
+Pickering saw me an instant later and came up hurriedly,
+with outstretched hand.
+
+“This is indeed good fortune! We dropped off here
+last night rather unexpectedly to rest a hot-box and
+should have been picked up by the midnight express for
+Chicago; but there was a miscarriage of orders somewhere
+and we now have to wait for the nine o’clock, and
+it’s late. If I’d known how much behind it was I
+should have run out to see you. How are things going?”
+
+“As smooth as a whistle! It really isn’t so bad when
+you face it. And the fact is I’m actually at work.”
+
+“That’s splendid. The year will go fast enough,
+never fear. I suppose you pine for a little human society
+now and then. A man can never strike the right
+medium in such things. In New York we are all rushed
+to death. I sometimes feel that I’d like a little rustication
+myself. I get nervous, and working for corporations
+is wearing. The old gentleman there is Taylor,
+president of the Interstate and Western. The ladies
+are his wife and her sister. I’d like to introduce
+you.” He ran his eyes over my corduroys and leggings
+amiably. He had not in years addressed me so pleasantly.
+
+Stoddard had left me to go to the other end of the
+platform to speak to some of the students. I followed
+Pickering rather loathly to where the companions of
+his travels were pacing to and fro in the crisp morning
+air.
+
+I laugh still whenever I remember that morning at
+Annandale station. As soon as Pickering had got me
+well under way in conversation with Taylor, he excused
+himself hurriedly and went off, as I assumed, to be sure
+the station agent had received orders for attaching the
+private car to the Chicago express. Taylor proved to be
+a supercilious person,—I believe they call him Chilly
+Billy at the Metropolitan Club,—and our efforts to converse
+were pathetically unfruitful. He asked me the
+value of land in my county, and as my ignorance on this
+subject was vast and illimitable, I could see that he was
+forming a low opinion of my character and intelligence.
+The two ladies stood by, making no concealment of their
+impatience. Their eyes were upon the girls from St.
+Agatha’s on the other platform, whom they could see
+beyond me. I had jumped the conversation from Indiana
+farm-lands to the recent disorders in Bulgaria,
+which interested me more, when Mrs. Taylor spoke
+abruptly to her sister.
+
+“That’s she—the one in the gray coat, talking to the
+clergyman. She came a moment ago in the carriage.”
+
+“The one with the umbrella? I thought you said—”
+
+Mrs. Taylor glanced at her sister warningly, and
+they both looked at me. Then they sought to detach
+themselves and moved away. There was some one on
+the farther side of the platform whom they wished to see,
+and Taylor, not understanding their manoeuver—he was
+really anxious, I think, not to be left alone with me—
+started down the platform after them, I following. Mrs.
+Taylor and her sister walked to the end of the platform
+and looked across, a biscuit-toss away, to where Stoddard
+stood talking to the girl I had already heard described
+as wearing a gray coat and carrying an umbrella.
+
+The girl in gray crossed the track quickly and addressed
+the two women cordially. Taylor’s back was to
+her and he was growing eloquent in a mild well-bred
+way over the dullness of our statesmen in not seeing the
+advantages that would accrue to the United States in
+fostering our shipping industry. His wife, her sister
+and the girl in gray were so near that I could hear
+plainly what they were saying. They were referring
+apparently to the girl’s refusal of an invitation to accompany
+them to California.
+
+“So you can’t go—it’s too bad! We had hoped that
+when you really saw us on the way you would relent,”
+said Mrs. Taylor.
+
+“But there are many reasons; and above all Sister
+Theresa needs me.”
+
+It was the voice of Olivia, a little lower, a little more
+restrained than I had known it.
+
+“But think of the rose gardens that are waiting for
+us out there!” said the other lady. They were showing
+her the deference that elderly women always have for
+pretty girls.
+
+“Alas, and again alas!” exclaimed Olivia. “Please
+don’t make it harder for me than necessary. But I gave
+my promise a year ago to spend these holidays in Cincinnati.”
+
+She ignored me wholly, and after shaking hands with
+the ladies returned to the other platform. I wondered
+whether she was overlooking Taylor on purpose to cut
+me.
+
+Taylor was still at his lecture on the needs of our
+American merchant marine when Pickering passed hurriedly,
+crossed the track and began speaking earnestly
+to the girl in gray.
+
+“The American flag should command the seas. What
+we need is not more battle-ships but more freight carriers—”
+Taylor was saying.
+
+But I was watching Olivia Gladys Armstrong. In a
+long skirt, with her hair caught up under a gray toque
+that matched her coat perfectly, she was not my Olivia
+of the tam-o’-shanter, who had pursued the rabbit; nor
+yet the unsophisticated school-girl, who had suffered my
+idiotic babble; nor, again, the dreamy rapt organist of
+the chapel. She was a grown woman with at least
+twenty summers to her credit, and there was about her
+an air of knowing the world, and of not being at all a
+person one would make foolish speeches to. She spoke
+to Pickering gravely. Once she smiled dolefully and
+shook her head, and I vaguely strove to remember where
+I had seen that look in her eyes before. Her gold beads,
+which I had once carried in my pocket, were clasped
+tight about the close collar of her dress; and I was glad,
+very glad, that I had ever touched anything that belonged
+to her.
+
+“As the years go by we are going to dominate trade
+more and more. Our manufactures already lead the
+world, and what we make we’ve got to sell, haven’t we?”
+demanded Taylor.
+
+“Certainly, sir,” I answered warmly.
+
+Who was Olivia Gladys Armstrong and what was
+Arthur Pickering’s business with her? And what was
+it she had said to me that evening when I had found her
+playing on the chapel organ? So much happened that
+day that I had almost forgotten, and, indeed, I had
+tried to forget I had made a fool of myself for the edification
+of an amusing little school-girl. “I see you
+prefer to ignore the first time I ever saw you,” she had
+said; but if I had thought of this at all it had been
+with righteous self-contempt. Or, I may have flattered
+my vanity with the reflection that she had eyed me—
+her hero, perhaps—with wistful admiration across the
+wall.
+
+Meanwhile the Chicago express roared into Annandale
+and the private car was attached. Taylor watched
+the trainmen with the cool interest of a man for whom
+the proceeding had no novelty, while he continued to
+dilate upon the nation’s commercial opportunities. I
+turned perforce, and walked with him back toward the
+station, where Mrs. Taylor and her sister were talking
+to the conductor.
+
+Pickering came running across the platform with several
+telegrams in his hand. The express had picked up
+the car and was ready to continue its westward journey.
+
+“I’m awfully sorry, Glenarm, that our stop’s so
+short,”—and Pickering’s face wore a worried look as he
+addressed me, his eyes on the conductor.
+
+“How far do you go?” I asked.
+
+“California. We have interests out there and I have
+to attend some stock-holders’ meetings in Colorado in
+January.”
+
+“Ah, you business men! You business men!” I said
+reproachfully. I wished to call him a blackguard then
+and there, and it was on my tongue to do so, but I concluded
+that to wait until he had shown his hand fully
+was the better game.
+
+The ladies entered the car and I shook hands with
+Taylor, who threatened to send me his pamphlet on
+The Needs of American Shipping, when he got back to
+New York.
+
+“It’s too bad she wouldn’t go with us. Poor girl!
+this must be a dreary hole for her; she deserves wider
+horizons,” he said to Pickering, who helped him upon
+the platform of the car with what seemed to be unnecessary
+precipitation.
+
+“You little know us,” I declared, for Pickering’s
+benefit. “Life at Annandale is nothing if not exciting.
+The people here are indifferent marksmen or there’d be
+murders galore.”
+
+“Mr. Glenarm is a good deal of a wag,” explained
+Pickering dryly, swinging himself aboard as the train
+started.
+
+“Yes; it’s my humor that keeps me alive,” I responded,
+and taking off my hat, I saluted Arthur Pickering
+with my broadest salaam.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+I MAKE AN ENGAGEMENT
+
+
+The south-bound train had not arrived and as I
+turned away the station-agent again changed its time
+on the bulletin board. It was now due in ten minutes.
+A few students had boarded the Chicago train, but a
+greater number still waited on the farther platform.
+The girl in gray was surrounded by half a dozen students,
+all talking animatedly. As I walked toward them
+I could not justify my stupidity in mistaking a grown
+woman for a school-girl of fifteen or sixteen; but it was
+the tam-o’-shanter, the short skirt, the youthful joy in
+the outdoor world that had disguised her as effectually
+as Rosalind to the eyes of Orlando in the forest of Arden.
+She was probably a teacher,—quite likely the
+teacher of music, I argued, who had amused herself
+at my expense.
+
+It had seemed the easiest thing in the world to approach
+her with an apology or a farewell, but those few
+inches added to her skirt and that pretty gray toque
+substituted for the tam-o’-shanter set up a barrier that
+did not yield at all as I drew nearer. At the last moment,
+as I crossed the track and stepped upon the other
+platform, it occurred to me that while I might have
+some claim upon the attention of Olivia Gladys Armstrong,
+a wayward school-girl of athletic tastes, I had
+none whatever upon a person whom it was proper to
+address as Miss Armstrong,—who was, I felt sure, quite
+capable of snubbing me if snubbing fell in with her
+mood.
+
+She glanced toward me and bowed instantly. Her
+young companions withdrew to a conservative distance;
+and I will say this for the St. Agatha girls: their manners
+are beyond criticism, and an affable discretion is
+one of their most admirable traits.
+
+“I didn’t know they ever grew up so fast,—in a day
+and a night!”
+
+I was glad I remembered the number of beads in her
+chain; the item seemed at once to become important.
+
+“It’s the air, I suppose. It’s praised by excellent
+critics, as you may learn from the catalogue.”
+
+“But you are going to an ampler ether, a diviner air.
+You have attained the beatific state and at once take
+flight. If they confer perfection like an academic degree
+at St. Agatha’s, then—”
+
+I had never felt so stupidly helpless in my life.
+There were a thousand things I wished to say to her;
+there were countless questions I wished to ask; but her
+calmness and poise were disconcerting. She had not,
+apparently, the slightest curiosity about me; and there
+was no reason why she should have—I knew that well
+enough! Her eyes met mine easily; their azure depths
+puzzled me. She was almost, but not quite, some one I
+had seen before, and it was not my woodland Olivia.
+Her eyes, the soft curve of her cheek, the light in
+her hair,—but the memory of another time, another
+place, another girl, lured only to baffle me.
+
+She laughed,—a little murmuring laugh.
+
+“I’ll never tell if you won’t,” she said.
+
+“But I don’t see how that helps me with you?”
+
+“It certainly does not! That is a much more serious
+matter, Mr. Glenarm.”
+
+“And the worst of it is that I haven’t a single thing
+to say for myself. It wasn’t the not knowing that was
+so utterly stupid—”
+
+“Certainly not! It was talking that ridiculous twaddle.
+It was trying to flirt with a silly school-girl. What
+will do for fifteen is somewhat vacuous for—”
+
+She paused abruptly, colored and laughed.
+
+“I am twenty-seven!”
+
+“And I am just the usual age,” she said.
+
+“Ages don’t count, but time is important. There are
+many things I wish you’d tell me,—you who hold the
+key of the gate of mystery.”
+
+“Then you’ll have to pick the lock!”
+
+She laughed lightly. The somber Sisters patrolling
+the platform with their charges heeded us little.
+
+“I had no idea you knew Arthur Pickering—when
+you were just Olivia in the tam-o’-shanter.”
+
+“Maybe you think he wouldn’t have cared for my
+acquaintance—as Olivia in the tam-o’-shanter. Men
+are very queer!”
+
+“But Arthur Pickering is an old friend of mine.”
+
+“So he told me.”
+
+“We were neighbors in our youth.”
+
+“I believe I have heard him mention it.”
+
+“And we did our prep school together, and then
+parted!”
+
+“You tell exactly the same story, so it must be true.
+He went to college and you went to Tech.”
+
+“And you knew him—?” I began, my curiosity thoroughly
+aroused.
+
+“Not at college, any more than I knew you at Tech.”
+
+“The train’s coming,” I said earnestly, “and I wish
+you would tell me—when I shall see you again!”
+
+“Before we part for ever?” There was a mischievous
+hint of the Olivia in short skirts in her tone.
+
+“Please don’t suggest it! Our times have been
+strange and few. There was that first night, when you
+called to me from the lake.”
+
+“How impertinent! How dare you—remember that?”
+
+“And there was that other encounter at the chapel
+porch. Neither you nor I had the slightest business
+there. I admit my own culpability.”
+
+She colored again.
+
+“But you spoke as though you understood what you
+must have heard there. It is important for me to know.
+I have a right to know just what you meant by that
+warning.”
+
+Real distress showed in her face for an instant. The
+agent and his helpers rushed the last baggage down the
+platform, and the rails hummed their warning of the
+approaching train.
+
+“I was eavesdropping on my own account,” she said
+hurriedly and with a note of finality. “I was there by
+intention, and”—there was another hint of the tam-o’-shanter
+in the mirth that seemed to bubble for a moment
+in her throat—“it’s too bad you didn’t see me, for
+I had on my prettiest gown, and the fog wasn’t good for
+it. But you know as much of what was said there as I
+do. You are a man, and I have heard that you have had
+some experience in taking care of yourself, Mr. Glenarm.”
+
+“To be sure; but there are times—”
+
+“Yes, there are times when the odds seem rather
+heavy. I have noticed that myself.”
+
+She smiled, but for an instant the sad look came into
+her eyes,—a look that vaguely but insistently suggested
+another time and place.
+
+“I want you to come back,” I said boldly, for the
+train was very near, and I felt that the eyes of the Sisters
+were upon us. “You can not go away where I shall
+not find you!”
+
+I did not know who this girl was, her home, or her
+relation to the school, but I knew that her life and
+mine had touched strangely; that her eyes were blue,
+and that her voice had called to me twice through the
+dark, in mockery once and in warning another time,
+and that the sense of having known her before, of having
+looked into her eyes, haunted me. The youth in
+her was so luring; she was at once so frank and so
+guarded,—breeding and the taste and training of an
+ampler world than that of Annandale were so evidenced
+in the witchery of her voice, in the grace and ease that
+marked her every motion, in the soft gray tone of hat,
+dress and gloves, that a new mood, a new hope and
+faith sang in my pulses. There, on that platform, I felt
+again the sweet heartache I had known as a boy, when
+spring first warmed the Vermont hillsides and the
+mountains sent the last snows singing in joy of their
+release down through the brook-beds and into the wakened
+heart of youth.
+
+She met my eyes steadily.
+
+“If I thought there was the slightest chance of my
+ever seeing you again I shouldn’t be talking to you
+here. But I thought, I thought it would be good fun
+to see how you really talked to a grown-up. So I am
+risking the displeasure of these good Sisters just to test
+your conversational powers, Mr. Glenarm. You see how
+perfectly frank I am.”
+
+“But you forget that I can follow you; I don’t intend
+to sit down in this hole and dream about you. You
+can’t go anywhere but I shall follow and find you.”
+
+“That is finely spoken, Squire Glenarm! But I imagine
+you are hardly likely to go far from Glenarm
+very soon. It isn’t, of course, any of my affair; and yet
+I don’t hesitate to say that I feel perfectly safe from
+pursuit!”—and she laughed her little low laugh that
+was delicious in its mockery.
+
+I felt the blood mounting to my cheek. She knew,
+then, that I was virtually a prisoner at Glenarm, and
+for once in my life, at least, I was ashamed of my folly
+that had caused my grandfather to hold and check me
+from the grave, as he had never been able to control me
+in his life. The whole countryside knew why I was at
+Glenarm, and that did not matter; but my heart rebelled
+at the thought that this girl knew and mocked me with
+her knowledge.
+
+“I shall see you Christmas Eve,” I said, “wherever
+you may be.”
+
+“In three days? Then you will come to my Christmas
+Eve party. I shall be delighted to see you,—and
+flattered! Just think of throwing away a fortune to
+satisfy one’s curiosity! I’m surprised at you, but gratified,
+on the whole, Mr. Glenarm!”
+
+“I shall give more than a fortune, I shall give the
+honor I have pledged to my grandfather’s memory to
+hear your voice again.”
+
+“That is a great deal,—for so small a voice; but
+money, fortune! A man will risk his honor readily
+enough, but his fortune is a more serious matter. I’m
+sorry we shall not meet again. It would be pleasant to
+discuss the subject further. It interests me particularly.”
+
+“In three days I shall see you,” I said.
+
+She was instantly grave.
+
+“No! Please do not try. It would be a great mistake.
+And, anyhow, you can hardly come to my party
+without being invited.”
+
+“That matter is closed. Wherever you are on Christmas
+Eve I shall find you,” I said, and felt my heart
+leap, knowing that I meant what I said.
+
+“Good-by,” she said, turning away. “I’m sorry I
+shan’t ever chase rabbits at Glenarm any more.”
+
+“Or paddle a canoe, or play wonderful celestial music
+on the organ.”
+
+“Or be an eavesdropper or hear pleasant words from
+the master of Glenarm—”
+
+“But I don’t know where you are going—you haven’t
+told me anything—you are slipping out into the
+world—”
+
+She did not hear or would not answer. She turned
+away, and was at once surrounded by a laughing throng
+that crowded about the train. Two brown-robed Sisters
+stood like sentinels, one at either side, as she stepped
+into the car. I was conscious of a feeling that from the
+depths of their hoods they regarded me with un-Christian
+disdain. Through the windows I could see the
+students fluttering to seats, and the girl in gray seemed
+to be marshaling them. The gray hat appeared at a
+window for an instant, and a smiling face gladdened, I
+am sure, the guardians of the peace at St. Agatha’s, for
+whom it was intended.
+
+The last trunk crashed into the baggage car, every
+window framed for a moment a girl’s face, and the
+train was gone.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+THE PASSING OF OLIVIA
+
+
+Bates brought a great log and rolled it upon exactly
+the right spot on the andirons, and a great constellation
+of sparks thronged up the chimney. The old relic of a
+house—I called the establishment by many names, but
+this was, I think, my favorite—could be heated in all
+its habitable parts, as Bates had demonstrated. The
+halls were of glacial temperature these cold days, but
+my room above, the dining-room and the great library
+were comfortable enough. I threw down a book and
+knocked the ashes from my pipe.
+
+“Bates!”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“I think my spiritual welfare is in jeopardy. I need
+counsel,—a spiritual adviser.”
+
+“I’m afraid that’s beyond me, sir.”
+
+“I’d like to invite Mr. Stoddard to dinner so I may
+discuss my soul’s health with him at leisure.”
+
+“Certainly, Mr. Glenarm.”
+
+“But it occurs to me that probably the terms of Mr.
+Glenarm’s will point to my complete sequestration here.
+In other words, I may forfeit my rights by asking a
+guest to dinner.”
+
+He pondered the matter for a moment, then replied:
+
+“I should think, sir,—as you ask my opinion,—that
+in the case of a gentleman in holy orders there would
+be no impropriety. Mr. Stoddard is a fine gentleman;
+I heard your late grandfather speak of him very
+highly.”
+
+“That, I imagine, is hardly conclusive in the matter.
+There is the executor—”
+
+“To be sure; I hadn’t considered him.”
+
+“Well, you’d better consider him. He’s the court of
+last resort, isn’t he?”
+
+“Well, of course, that’s one way of looking at it,
+sir.
+
+“I suppose there’s no chance of Mr. Pickering’s dropping
+in on us now and then.”
+
+He gazed at me steadily, unblinkingly and with entire
+respect.
+
+“He’s a good deal of a traveler, Mr. Pickering is. He
+passed through only this morning, so the mail-boy told
+me. You may have met him at the station.”
+
+“Oh, yes; to be sure; so I did I” I replied. I was not
+as good a liar as Bates; and there was nothing to be
+gained by denying that I had met the executor in the
+village. “I had a very pleasant talk with him. He was
+on the way to California with several friends.”
+
+“That is quite his way, I understand,—private cars
+and long journeys about the country. A very successful
+man is Mr. Pickering. Your grandfather had great
+confidence in him, did Mr. Glenarm.”
+
+“Ah, yes! A fine judge of character my grandfather
+was! I guess John Marshall Glenarm could spot a rascal
+about as far as any man in his day.”
+
+I felt like letting myself go before this masked scoundrel.
+The density of his mask was an increasing wonder
+to me. Bates was the most incomprehensible human
+being I had ever known. I had been torn with a
+thousand conflicting emotions since I overheard him discussing
+the state of affairs at Glenarm House with
+Pickering in the chapel porch; and Pickering’s acquaintance
+with the girl in gray brought new elements
+into the affair that added to my uneasiness. But here
+was a treasonable dog on whom the stress of conspiracy
+had no outward effect whatever.
+
+It was an amazing situation, but it called for calmness
+and eternal vigilance. With every hour my resolution
+grew to stand fast and fight it out on my own account
+without outside help. A thousand times during
+the afternoon I had heard the voice of the girl in gray
+saying to me: “You are a man, and I have heard that
+you have had some experience in taking care of yourself,
+Mr. Glenarm.”
+
+It was both a warning and a challenge, and the memory
+of the words was at once sobering and cheering.
+
+Bates waited. Of him, certainly, I should ask no
+questions touching Olivia Armstrong. To discuss her
+with a blackguard servant even to gain answers to baffling
+questions about her was not to my liking. And,
+thank God! I taught myself one thing, if nothing
+more, in those days at Glenarm House: I learned to
+bide my time.
+
+“I’ll give you a note to Mr. Stoddard in the morning.
+You may go now.”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+The note was written and despatched. The chaplain
+was not at his lodgings, and Bates reported that he had
+left the message. The answer came presently by the
+hand of the Scotch gardener, Ferguson, a short, wiry,
+raw-boned specimen. I happened to open the door myself,
+and brought him into the library until I could read
+Stoddard’s reply. Ferguson had, I thought, an uneasy
+eye, and his hair, of an ugly carrot color, annoyed me.
+
+Mr. Paul Stoddard presented his compliments and
+would be delighted to dine with me. He wrote a large
+even hand, as frank and open as himself.
+
+“That is all, Ferguson.” And the gardener took himself
+off.
+
+Thus it came about that Stoddard and I faced each
+other across the table in the refectory that same evening
+under the lights of a great candelabrum which
+Bates had produced from the store-room below. And
+I may say here, that while there was a slight hitch sometimes
+in the delivery of supplies from the village;
+while the fish which Bates caused to be shipped from
+Chicago for delivery every Friday morning failed once
+or twice, and while the grape-fruit for breakfast
+was not always what it should have been,—the supply
+of candles seemed inexhaustible. They were produced
+in every shade and size. There were enormous
+ones, such as I had never seen outside of a Russian
+church,—and one of the rooms in the cellar was filled
+with boxes of them. The House of a Thousand Candles
+deserved and proved its name.
+
+Bates had certainly risen to the occasion. Silver and
+crystal of which I had not known before glistened on
+the table, and on the sideboard two huge candelabra
+added to the festival air of the little room.
+
+Stoddard laughed as he glanced about.
+
+“Here I have been feeling sorry for you, and yet you
+are living like a prince. I didn’t know there was so
+much splendor in all Wabana County.”
+
+“I’m a trifle dazzled myself. Bates has tapped a new
+cellar somewhere. I’m afraid I’m not a good housekeeper,
+to speak truthfully. There are times when I
+hate the house; when it seems wholly ridiculous, the
+whim of an eccentric old man; and then again I’m actually
+afraid that I like its seclusion.”
+
+“Your seclusion is better than mine. You know my
+little two-room affair behind the chapel,—only a few
+books and a punching bag. That chapel also is one of
+your grandfather’s whims. He provided that all the
+offices of the church must be said there daily or the
+endowment is stopped. Mr. Glenarm lived in the past,
+or liked to think he did. I suppose you know—or maybe
+you don’t know—how I came to have this appointment?”
+
+“Indeed, I should like to know.”
+
+We had reached the soup, and Bates was changing
+our plates with his accustomed light hand.
+
+“It was my name that did the business,—Paul. A
+bishop had recommended a man whose given name was
+Ethelbert,—a decent enough name and one that you
+might imagine would appeal to Mr. Glenarm; but he
+rejected him because the name might too easily be cut
+down to Ethel, a name which, he said, was very distasteful
+to him.”
+
+“That is characteristic. The dear old gentleman!” I
+exclaimed with real feeling.
+
+“But he reckoned without his host,” Stoddard continued.
+“The young ladies, I have lately learned, call
+me Pauline, as a mark of regard or otherwise,—probably
+otherwise. I give two lectures a week on church
+history, and I fear my course isn’t popular.”
+
+“But it is something, on the other hand, to be in touch
+with such an institution. They are a very sightly company,
+those girls. I enjoy watching them across the
+garden wall. And I had a closer view of them at the
+station this morning, when you ran off and deserted
+me.”
+
+He laughed,—his big wholesome cheering laugh.
+
+“I take good care not to see much of them socially.”
+
+“Afraid of the eternal feminine?”
+
+“Yes, I suppose I am. I’m preparing to go into a
+Brotherhood, as you probably don’t know. And girls
+are distracting.”
+
+I glanced at my companion with a new inquiry and
+interest.
+
+“I didn’t know,” I said.
+
+“Yes; I’m spending my year in studies that I may
+never have a chance for hereafter. I’m going into an
+order whose members work hard.”
+
+He spoke as though he were planning a summer outing.
+I had not sat at meat with a clergyman since the
+death of my parents broke up our old home in Vermont,
+and my attitude toward the cloth was, I fear, one of
+antagonism dating from those days.
+
+“Well, I saw Pickering after all,” I remarked.
+
+“Yes, I saw him, too. What is it in his case, genius
+or good luck?”
+
+“I’m not a competent witness,” I answered. “I’ll be
+frank with you: I don’t like him; I don’t believe in
+him.”
+
+“Oh! I beg your pardon. I didn’t know, of course.”
+
+“The subject is not painful to me,” I hastened to
+add, “though he was always rather thrust before me as
+an ideal back in my youth, and you know how fatal that
+is. And then the gods of success have opened all the
+gates for him.”
+
+“Yes,—and yet—”
+
+“And yet—” I repeated. Stoddard lifted a glass of
+sherry to the light and studied it for a moment. He did
+not drink wine, but was not, I found, afraid to look
+at it.
+
+“And yet,” he said, putting down the glass and speaking
+slowly, “when the gates of good fortune open too
+readily and smoothly, they may close sometimes rather
+too quickly and snap a man’s coat-tails. Please don’t
+think I’m going to afflict you with shavings of wisdom
+from the shop-floor, but life wasn’t intended to be too
+easy. The spirit of man needs arresting and chastening.
+It doesn’t flourish under too much fostering or
+too much of what we call good luck. I’m disposed to
+be afraid of good luck.”
+
+“I’ve never tried it,” I said laughingly.
+
+“I am not looking for it,” and he spoke soberly.
+
+I could not talk of Pickering with Bates—the masked
+beggar!—in the room, so I changed the subject.
+
+“I suppose you impose penances, prescribe discipline
+for the girls at St. Agatha’s,—an agreeable exercise of
+the priestly office, I should say!”
+
+His laugh was pleasant and rang true. I was liking
+him better the more I saw of him.
+
+“Bless you, no! I am not venerable enough. The
+Sisters attend to all that,—and a fine company of
+women they are!”
+
+“But there must be obstinate cases. One of the
+young ladies confided to me—I tell you this in cloistral
+confidence—that she was being deported for insubordination.”
+
+“Ah, that must be Olivia! Well, her case is different.
+She is not one girl,—she is many kinds of a girl
+in one. I fear Sister Theresa lost her patience and
+hardened her heart.”
+
+“I should like to intercede for Miss Armstrong,” I
+declared.
+
+The surprise showed in his face, and I added:
+
+“Pray don’t misunderstand me. We met under
+rather curious circumstances, Miss Armstrong and I.”
+
+“She is usually met under rather unconventional circumstances,
+I believe,” he remarked dryly. “My introduction
+to her came through the kitten she smuggled
+into the alms box of the chapel. It took me two days
+to find it.”
+
+He smiled ruefully at the recollection.
+
+“She’s a young woman of spirit,” I declared defensively.
+“She simply must find an outlet for the joy of
+youth,—paddling a canoe, chasing rabbits through the
+snow, placing kittens in durance vile. But she’s demure
+enough when she pleases,—and a satisfaction to
+the eye.”
+
+My heart warmed at the memory of Olivia. Verily
+the chaplain was right—she was many girls in one!
+
+Stoddard dropped a lump of sugar into his coffee.
+
+“Miss Devereux begged hard for her, but Sister Theresa
+couldn’t afford to keep her. Her influence on the
+other girls was bad.”
+
+“That’s to Miss Devereux’s credit,” I replied. “You
+needn’t wait, Bates.”
+
+“Olivia was too popular. All the other girls indulged
+her. And I’ll concede that she’s pretty. That gipsy
+face of hers bodes ill to the hearts of men—if she ever
+grows up.”
+
+“I shouldn’t exactly call it a gipsy face; and how
+much more should you expect her to grow? At twenty
+a woman’s grown, isn’t she?”
+
+He looked at me quizzically.
+
+“Fifteen, you mean! Olivia Armstrong—that little
+witch—the kid that has kept the school in turmoil all
+the fall?”
+
+There was decided emphasis in his interrogations.
+
+“I’m glad your glasses are full, or I should say—”
+
+There was, I think, a little heat for a moment on both
+sides.
+
+“The wires are evidently crossed somewhere,” he said
+calmly. “My Olivia Armstrong is a droll child from
+Cincinnati, whose escapades caused her to be sent home
+for discipline to-day. She’s a little mite who just about
+comes to the lapel of your coat, her eyes are as black
+as midnight—”
+
+“Then she didn’t talk to Pickering and his friends
+at the station this morning—the prettiest girl in the
+world—gray hat, gray coat, blue eyes? You can have
+your Olivia; but who, will you tell me, is mine?”
+
+I pounded with my clenched hand on the table until
+the candles rattled and sputtered.
+
+Stoddard stared at me for a moment as though he
+thought I had lost my wits. Then he lay back in his
+chair and roared. I rose, bending across the table toward
+him in my eagerness. A suspicion had leaped into
+my mind, and my heart was pounding as it roused a
+thousand questions.
+
+“The blue-eyed young woman in gray? Bless your
+heart, man, Olivia is a child; I talked to her myself on
+the platform. You were talking to Miss Devereux.
+She isn’t Olivia, she’s Marian!”
+
+“Then, who is Marian Devereux—where does she
+live—what is she doing here—?”
+
+“Well,” he laughed, “to answer your questions in order,
+she’s a young woman; her home is New York;
+she has no near kinfolk except Sister Theresa, so she
+spends some of her time here.”
+
+“Teaches—music—”
+
+“Not that I ever heard of! She does a lot of things
+well,—takes cups in golf tournaments and is the nimblest
+hand at tennis you ever saw. Also, she’s a fine
+musician and plays the organ tremendously.”
+
+“Well, she told me she was Olivia!” I said.
+
+“I should think she would, when you refused to meet
+her; when you had ignored her and Sister Theresa,—
+both of them among your grandfather’s best friends,
+and your nearest neighbors here!”
+
+“My grandfather be hanged! Of course I couldn’t
+know her! We can’t live on the same earth. I’m in
+her way, hanging on to this property here just to defeat
+her, when she’s the finest girl alive!”
+
+He nodded gravely, his eyes bent upon me with sympathy
+and kindness. The past events at Glenarm
+swept through my mind in kinetoscopic flashes, but the
+girl in gray talking to Arthur Pickering and his
+friends at the Annandale station, the girl in gray who
+had been an eavesdropper at the chapel,—the girl in
+gray with the eyes of blue! It seemed that a year passed
+before I broke the silence.
+
+“Where has she gone?” I demanded.
+
+He smiled, and I was cheered by the mirth that
+showed in his face.
+
+“Why, she’s gone to Cincinnati, with Olivia Gladys
+Armstrong,” he said. “They’re great chums, you
+know!”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+SISTER THERESA
+
+
+There was further information I wished to obtain,
+and I did not blush to pluck it from Stoddard before
+I let him go that night. Olivia Gladys Armstrong lived
+in Cincinnati; her father was a wealthy physician at
+Walnut Hills. Stoddard knew the family, and I asked
+questions about them, their antecedents and place of
+residence that were not perhaps impertinent in view of
+the fact that I had never consciously set eyes on their
+daughter in my life. As I look back upon it now my
+information secured at that time, touching the history
+and social position of the Armstrongs of Walnut Hills,
+Cincinnati, seems excessive, but the curiosity which the
+Reverend Paul Stoddard satisfied with so little trouble
+to himself was of immediate interest and importance.
+As to the girl in gray I found him far more difficult.
+She was Marian Devereux; she was a niece of Sister
+Theresa; her home was in New York, with another
+aunt, her parents being dead; and she was a frequent
+visitor at St. Agatha’s.
+
+The wayward Olivia and she were on excellent terms,
+and when it seemed wisest for that vivacious youngster
+to retire from school at the mid-year recess Miss Devereux
+had accompanied her home, ostensibly for a visit,
+but really to break the force of the blow. It was a pretty
+story, and enhanced my already high opinion of Miss
+Devereux, while at the same time I admired the unknown
+Olivia Gladys none the less.
+
+When Stoddard left me I dug out of a drawer my
+copy of John Marshall Glenarm’s will and re-read it for
+the first time since Pickering gave it to me in New
+York. There was one provision to which I had not
+given a single thought, and when I had smoothed the
+thin type-written sheets upon the table in my room I
+read it over and over again, construing it in a new light
+with every reading.
+
+Provided, further, that in the event of the marriage of
+said John Glenarm to the said Marian Devereux, or in the
+event of any promise or contract of marriage between said
+persons within five years from the date of said John Glenarm’s
+acceptance of the provisions of this will, the whole
+estate shall become the property absolutely of St. Agatha’s
+School at Annandale, Wabana County, Indiana, a corporation
+under the laws of said state.
+
+“Bully for the old boy!” I muttered finally, folding
+the copy with something akin to reverence for my
+grandfather’s shrewdness in closing so many doors upon
+his heirs. It required no lawyer to interpret this
+paragraph. If I could not secure his estate by settling
+at Glenarm for a year I was not to gain it by marrying
+the alternative heir. Here, clearly, was not one of those
+situations so often contrived by novelists, in which the
+luckless heir presumptive, cut off without a cent, weds
+the pretty cousin who gets the fortune and they live
+happily together ever afterward. John Marshall Glenarm
+had explicitly provided against any such frustration
+of his plans.
+
+“Bully for you, John Marshall Glenarm!” I rose
+and bowed low to his photograph.
+
+On top of my mail next morning lay a small envelope,
+unstamped, and addressed to me in a free running hand.
+
+“Ferguson left it,” explained Bates.
+
+I opened and read:
+
+If convenient will Mr. Glenarm kindly look in at St.
+Agatha’s some day this week at four o’clock. Sister Theresa
+wishes to see him.
+
+I whistled softly. My feelings toward Sister Theresa
+had been those of utter repugnance and antagonism. I
+had been avoiding her studiously and was not a little
+surprised that she should seek an interview with me.
+Quite possibly she wished to inquire how soon I expected
+to abandon Glenarm House; or perhaps she wished to
+admonish me as to the perils of my soul. In any event
+I liked the quality of her note, and I was curious to
+know why she sent for me; moreover, Marian Devereux
+was her niece and that was wholly in the Sister’s favor.
+
+At four o’clock I passed into St. Agatha territory
+and rang the bell at the door of the building where I
+had left Olivia the evening I found her in the chapel.
+A Sister admitted me, led the way to a small reception-room
+where, I imagined, the visiting parent was received,
+and left me. I felt a good deal like a school-boy
+who has been summoned before a severe master for
+discipline. I was idly beating my hat with my gloves
+when a quick step sounded in the hall and instantly a
+brown-clad figure appeared in the doorway.
+
+“Mr. Glenarm?”
+
+It was a deep, rich voice, a voice of assurance, a
+voice, may I say? of the world,—a voice, too, may I
+add? of a woman who is likely to say what she means
+without ado. The white band at her forehead brought
+into relief two wonderful gray eyes that were alight
+with kindliness. She surveyed me a moment, then her
+lips parted in a smile.
+
+“This room is rather forbidding; if you will come
+with me—”
+
+She turned with an air of authority that was a part
+of her undeniable distinction, and I was seated a moment
+later in a pretty sitting-room, whose windows
+gave a view of the dark wood and frozen lake beyond.
+
+“I’m afraid, Mr. Glenarm, that you are not disposed
+to be neighborly, and you must pardon me if I seem to
+be pursuing you.”
+
+Her smile, her voice, her manner were charming. I
+had pictured her a sour old woman, who had hidden
+away from a world that had offered her no pleasure.
+
+“The apologies must all be on my side, Sister Theresa.
+I have been greatly occupied since coming here,—
+distressed and perplexed even.”
+
+“Our young ladies treasure the illusion that there
+are ghosts at your house” she said, with a smile that
+disposed of the matter.
+
+She folded her slim white hands on her knees and
+spoke with a simple directness.
+
+“Mr. Glenarm, there is something I wish to say to
+you, but I can say it only if we are to be friends. I
+have feared you might look upon us here as enemies.”
+
+“That is a strong word,” I replied evasively.
+
+“Let me say to you that I hope very much that nothing
+will prevent your inheriting all that Mr. Glenarm
+wished you to have from him.”
+
+“Thank you; that is both kind and generous,” I said
+with no little surprise.
+
+“Not in the least. I should be disloyal to your grandfather,
+who was my friend and the friend of my family,
+if I did not feel kindly toward you and wish you well.
+And I must say for my niece—”
+
+“Miss Devereux.” I found a certain pleasure in pronouncing
+her name.
+
+“Miss Devereux is very greatly disturbed over the
+good intentions of your grandfather in placing her name
+in his will. You can doubtless understand how uncomfortable
+a person of any sensibility would be under the
+circumstances. I’m sorry you have never met her. She
+is a very charming young woman whose happiness does
+not, I may say, depend on other people’s money.”
+
+She had never told, then! I smiled at the recollection
+of our interviews.
+
+“I am sure that is true, Sister Theresa.”
+
+“Now I wish to speak to you about a matter of some
+delicacy. It is, I understand perfectly, no business of
+mine how much of a fortune Mr. Glenarm left. But
+this matter has been brought to my attention in a disagreeable
+way. Your grandfather established this
+school; he gave most of the money for these buildings.
+I had other friends who offered to contribute, but he insisted
+on doing it all. But now Mr. Pickering insists
+that the money—or part of it at least—was only a loan.”
+
+“Yes; I understand.”
+
+“Mr. Pickering tells me that he has no alternative in
+the matter; that the law requires him to collect this
+money as a debt due the estate.”
+
+“That is undoubtedly true, as a general proposition.
+He told me in New York that he had a claim against
+you for fifty thousand dollars.”
+
+“Yes; that is the amount. I wish to say to you, Mr.
+Glenarm, that if it is necessary I can pay that amount.”
+
+“Pray do not trouble about it, Sister Theresa. There
+are a good many things about my grandfather’s affairs
+that I don’t understand, but I’m not going to see an
+old friend of his swindled. There’s more in all this
+than appears. My grandfather seems to have mislaid
+or lost most of his assets before he died. And yet he
+had the reputation of being a pretty cautious business
+man.”
+
+“The impression is abroad, as you must know, that
+your grandfather concealed his fortune before his
+death. The people hereabouts believe so; and Mr. Pickering,
+the executor, has been unable to trace it.”
+
+“Yes, I believe Mr. Pickering has not been able to
+solve the problem,” I said and laughed.
+
+“But, of course, you and he will coöperate in an effort
+to find the lost property.”
+
+She bent forward slightly; her eyes, as they met
+mine, examined me with a keen interest.
+
+“Why shouldn’t I be frank with you, Sister Theresa?
+I have every reason for believing Arthur Pickering a
+scoundrel. He does not care to coöperate with me in
+searching for this money. The fact is that he very
+much wishes to eliminate me as a factor in the settlement
+of the estate. I speak carefully; I know exactly
+what I am saying.”
+
+She bowed her head slightly and was silent for a moment.
+The silence was the more marked from the fact
+that the hood of her habit concealed her face.
+
+“What you say is very serious.”
+
+“Yes, and his offense is equally serious. It may
+seem odd for me to be saying this to you when I am a
+stranger; when you may be pardoned for having no
+very high opinion of me.”
+
+She turned her face to me,—it was singularly gentle
+and refined,—not a face to associate with an idea of
+self-seeking or duplicity.
+
+“I sent for you, Mr. Glenarm, because I had a very
+good opinion of you; because, for one reason, you are
+the grandson of your grandfather,”—and the friendly
+light in her gray eyes drove away any lingering doubt
+I may have had as to her sincerity. “I wished to warn
+you to have a care for your own safety. I don’t warn
+you against Arthur Pickering alone, but against the
+countryside. The idea of a hidden fortune is alluring;
+a mysterious house and a lost treasure make a very enticing
+combination. I fancy Mr. Glenarm did not realize
+that he was creating dangers for the people he
+wished to help.”
+
+She was silent again, her eyes bent meditatively upon
+me; then she spoke abruptly.
+
+“Mr. Pickering wishes to marry my niece.”
+
+“Ah! I have been waiting to hear that. I am exceedingly
+glad to know that he has so noble an ambition.
+But Miss Devereux isn’t encouraging him, as near as
+I can make out. She refused to go to California with
+his party—I happen to know that.”
+
+“That whole California episode would have been
+amusing if it had not been ridiculous. Marian never
+had the slightest idea of going with him; but she is
+sometimes a little—shall I say perverse?—”
+
+“Please do! I like the word—and the quality!”
+
+“—and Mr. Pickering’s rather elaborate methods of
+wooing—”
+
+“He’s as heavy as lead!” I declared.
+
+“—amuse Marian up to a certain point; then they annoy
+her. He has implied pretty strongly that the claim
+against me could be easily adjusted if Marian marries
+him. But she will never marry him, whether she benefits
+by your grandfather’s will or however that may be!”
+
+“I should say not,” I declared with a warmth that
+caused Sister Theresa to sweep me warily with those
+wonderful gray eyes. “But first he expects to find this
+fortune and endow Miss Devereux with it. That is a
+part of the scheme. And my own interest in the estate
+must be eliminated before he can bring that condition
+about. But, Sister Theresa, I am not so easily got rid
+of as Arthur Pickering imagines. My staying qualities,
+which were always weak in the eyes of my family, have
+been braced up a trifle.”
+
+“Yes.” I thought pleasure and hope were expressed
+in the monosyllable, and my heart warmed to her.
+
+“Sister Theresa, you and I are understanding each
+other much better than I imagined we should,”—and
+we both laughed, feeling a real sympathy growing between
+us.
+
+“Yes; I believe we are,”—and the smile lighted her
+face again.
+
+“So I can tell you two things. The first is that Arthur
+Pickering will never find my grandfather’s lost
+fortune, assuming that any exists. The second is that
+in no event will he marry your niece.”
+
+“You speak with a good deal of confidence,” she said,
+and laughed a low murmuring laugh. I thought there
+was relief in it. “But I didn’t suppose Marian’s affairs
+interested you.”
+
+“They don’t, Sister Theresa. Her affairs are not of
+the slightest importance,—but she is!”
+
+There was frank inquiry in her eyes now.
+
+“But you don’t know her,—you have missed your
+opportunity.”
+
+“To be sure, I don’t know her; but I know Olivia
+Gladys Armstrong. She’s a particular friend of mine,
+—we have chased rabbits together, and she told me a
+great deal. I have formed a very good opinion of Miss
+Devereux in that way. Oh, that note you wrote about
+Olivia’s intrusions beyond the wall! I should thank
+you for it,—but I really didn’t mind.”
+
+“A note? I never wrote you a note until to-day!”
+
+“Well, some one did!” I said; then she smiled.
+
+“Oh, that must have been Marian. She was always
+Olivia’s loyal friend!”
+
+“I should say so!”
+
+Sister Theresa laughed merrily.
+
+“But you shouldn’t have known Olivia,—it is unpardonable!
+If she played tricks upon you, you should not
+have taken advantage of them to make her acquaintance.
+That wasn’t fair to me!”
+
+“I suppose not! But I protest against this deportation.
+The landscape hereabouts is only so much sky,
+snow and lumber without her.”
+
+“We miss her, too,” replied Sister Theresa. “We have
+less to do!”
+
+“And still I protest!” I declared, rising. “Sister
+Theresa, I thank you with all my heart for what you
+have said to me,—for the disposition to say it! And
+this debt to the estate is something, I promise you, that
+shall not trouble you.”
+
+“Then there’s a truce between us! We are not enemies
+at all now, are we?”
+
+“No; for Olivia’s sake, at least, we shall be friends.”
+
+I went home and studied the time-table.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+GOLDEN BUTTERFLIES
+
+
+If you are one of those captious people who must
+verify by the calendar every new moon you read of in
+a book, and if you are pained to discover the historian
+lifting anchor and spreading sail contrary to the reckonings
+of the nautical almanac, I beg to call your attention
+to these items from the time-table of the Mid-Western
+and Southern Railway for December, 1901.
+
+The south-bound express passed Annandale at exactly
+fifty-three minutes after four P. M. It was scheduled
+to reach Cincinnati at eleven o’clock sharp. These
+items are, I trust, sufficiently explicit.
+
+To the student of morals and motives I will say a
+further word. I had resolved to practise deception in
+running away from Glenarm House to keep my promise
+to Marian Devereux. By leaving I should forfeit
+my right to any part of my grandfather’s estate; I
+knew that and accepted the issue without regret; but I
+had no intention of surrendering Glenarm House to
+Arthur Pickering, particularly now that I realized how
+completely I had placed myself in his trap. I felt,
+moreover, a duty to my dead grandfather; and—not
+least—the attacks of Morgan and the strange ways of
+Bates had stirred whatever fighting blood there was in
+me. Pickering and I were engaged in a sharp contest,
+and I was beginning to enjoy it to the full, but I did not
+falter in my determination to visit Cincinnati, hoping
+to return without my absence being discovered; so the
+next afternoon I began preparing for my journey.
+
+“Bates, I fear that I’m taking a severe cold and I’m
+going to dose myself with whisky and quinine and go
+to bed. I shan’t want any dinner,—nothing until you
+see me again.”
+
+I yawned and stretched myself with a groan.
+
+“I’m very sorry, sir. Shan’t I call a doctor?”
+
+“Not a bit of it. I’ll sleep it off and be as lively as
+a cricket in the morning.”
+
+At four o’clock I told him to carry some hot water
+and lemons to my room; bade him an emphatic good
+night and locked the door as he left. Then I packed
+my evening clothes in a suit-case. I threw the bag and
+a heavy ulster from a window, swung myself out upon
+the limb of a big maple and let it bend under me to its
+sharpest curve and then dropped lightly to the ground.
+
+I passed the gate and struck off toward the village
+with a joyful sense of freedom. When I reached the
+station I sought at once the south-bound platform, not
+wishing to be seen buying a ticket. A few other passengers
+were assembling, but I saw no one I recognized.
+Number six, I heard the agent say, was on time; and
+in a few minutes it came roaring up. I bought a seat
+in the Washington sleeper and went into the dining-car
+for supper. The train was full of people hurrying to
+various ports for the holidays, but they had, I reflected,
+no advantage over me. I, too, was bound on a definite
+errand, though my journey was, I imagined, less commonplace
+in its character than the homing flight of
+most of my fellow travelers.
+
+I made myself comfortable and dozed and dreamed as
+the train plunged through the dark. There was a wait,
+with much shifting of cars, where we crossed the Wabash,
+then we sped on. It grew warmer as we drew
+southward, and the conductor was confident we should
+reach Cincinnati on time. The through passengers about
+me went to bed, and I was left sprawled out in my open
+section, lurking on the shadowy frontier between the
+known world and dreamland.
+
+“We’re running into Cincinnati—ten minutes late,”
+said the porter’s voice; and in a moment I was in the
+vestibule and out, hurrying to a hotel. At the St.
+Botolph I ordered a carriage and broke all records
+changing my clothes. The time-table informed me that
+the Northern express left at half-past one. There was
+no reason why I should not be safe at Glenarm House
+by my usual breakfast hour if all went well. To avoid
+loss of time in returning to the station I paid the hotel
+charge and carried my bag away with me.
+
+“Doctor Armstrong’s residence? Yes, sir; I’ve already
+taken one load there”
+
+The carriage was soon climbing what seemed to be a
+mountain to the heights above Cincinnati. To this day
+I associate Ohio’s most interesting city with a lonely
+carriage ride that seemed to be chiefly uphill, through
+a region that was as strange to me as a trackless jungle
+in the wilds of Africa. And my heart began to perform
+strange tattoos on my ribs I was going to the house
+of a gentleman who did not know of my existence, to
+see a girl who was his guest, to whom I had never, as
+the conventions go, been presented. It did not seem
+half so easy, now that I was well launched upon the adventure.
+
+I stopped the cabman just as he was about to enter
+an iron gateway whose posts bore two great lamps.
+
+“That is all right, sir. I can drive right in.”
+
+“But you needn’t,” I said, jumping out. “Wait here.”
+
+Doctor Armstrong’s residence was brilliantly lighted,
+and the strains of a waltz stole across the lawn cheerily.
+Several carriages swept past me as I followed the walk.
+I was arriving at a fashionable hour—it was nearly
+twelve—and just how to effect an entrance without being
+thrown out as an interloper was a formidable problem,
+now that I had reached the house. I must catch
+my train home, and this left no margin for explanation
+to an outraged host whose first impulse would very
+likely be to turn me over to the police.
+
+I made a detour and studied the house, seeking a
+door by which I could enter without passing the unfriendly
+Gibraltar of a host and hostess on guard to
+welcome belated guests.
+
+A long conservatory filled with tropical plants gave
+me my opportunity. Promenaders went idly through
+and out into another part of the house by an exit I
+could not see. A handsome, spectacled gentleman
+opened a glass door within a yard of where I stood,
+sniffed the air, and said to his companion, as he turned
+back with a shrug into the conservatory:
+
+“There’s no sign of snow. It isn’t Christmas weather
+at all.”
+
+He strolled away through the palms, and I instantly
+threw off my ulster and hat, cast them behind some
+bushes, and boldly opened the door and entered.
+
+The ball-room was on the third floor, but the guests
+were straggling down to supper, and I took my stand
+at the foot of the broad stairway and glanced up carelessly,
+as though waiting for some one. It was a large
+and brilliant company and many a lovely face passed
+me as I stood waiting. The very size of the gathering
+gave me security, and I smoothed my gloves complacently.
+
+The spectacled gentleman whose breath of night air
+had given me a valued hint of the open conservatory
+door came now and stood beside me. He even put his
+hand on my arm with intimate friendliness.
+
+There was a sound of mirth and scampering feet in
+the hall above and then down the steps, between the
+lines of guests arrested in their descent, came a dark
+laughing girl in the garb of Little Red Riding Hood,
+amid general applause and laughter.
+
+“It’s Olivia! She’s won the wager!” exclaimed the
+spectacled gentleman, and the girl, whose dark curls
+were shaken about her face, ran up to us and threw
+her arms about him and kissed him. It was a charming
+picture,—the figures on the stairway, the pretty graceful
+child, the eager, happy faces all about. I was too
+much interested by this scene of the comedy to be uncomfortable.
+
+Then, at the top of the stair, her height accented by
+her gown of white, stood Marian Devereux, hesitating
+an instant, as a bird pauses before taking wing, and then
+laughingly running between the lines to where Olivia
+faced her in mock abjection. To the charm of the girl
+in the woodland was added now the dignity of beautiful
+womanhood, and my heart leaped at the thought
+that I had ever spoken to her, that I was there because
+she had taunted me with the risk of coming.
+
+[Illustration: At the top of the stair, her height accented by her gown of white,
+stood Marian Devereux.]
+
+Above, on the stair landing, a deep-toned clock began
+to strike midnight and every one cried “Merry Christmas!”
+and “Olivia’s won!” and there was more hand-clapping,
+in which I joined with good will.
+
+Some one behind me was explaining what had just
+occurred. Olivia, the youngest daughter of the house,
+had been denied a glimpse of the ball; Miss Devereux
+had made a wager with her host that Olivia would appear
+before midnight; and Olivia had defeated the plot
+against her, and gained the main hall at the stroke of
+Christmas.
+
+“Good night! Good night!” called Olivia—the real
+Olivia—in derision to the company, and turned and ran
+back through the applauding, laughing throng.
+
+The spectacled gentleman was Olivia’s father, and he
+mockingly rebuked Marian Devereux for having encouraged
+an infraction of parental discipline, while she
+was twitting him upon the loss of his wager. Then her
+eyes rested upon me for the first time. She smiled
+slightly, but continued talking placidly to her host.
+The situation did not please me; I had not traveled so
+far and burglariously entered Doctor Armstrong’s house
+in quest of a girl with blue eyes merely to stand by while
+she talked to another man.
+
+I drew nearer, impatiently; and was conscious that
+four other young men in white waistcoats and gloves
+quite as irreproachable as my own stood ready to claim
+her the instant she was free. I did not propose to be
+thwarted by the beaux of Cincinnati, so I stepped toward
+Doctor Armstrong.
+
+“I beg your pardon, Doctor—,” I said with an assurance
+for which I blush to this hour.
+
+“All right, my boy; I, too, have been in Arcady!” he
+exclaimed in cheerful apology, and she put her hand
+on my arm and I led her away.
+
+“He called me ‘my boy,’ so I must be passing muster,”
+I remarked, not daring to look at her.
+
+“He’s afraid not to recognize you. His inability to
+remember faces is a town joke.”
+
+We reached a quiet corner of the great hall and I
+found a seat for her.
+
+“You don’t seem surprised to see me,—you knew I
+would come. I should have come across the world for
+this,—for just this.”
+
+Her eyes were grave at once.
+
+“Why did you come? I did not think you were so
+foolish. This is all—so wretched,—so unfortunate. You
+didn’t know that Mr. Pickering—Mr. Pickering—”
+
+She was greatly distressed and this name came from
+her chokingly.
+
+“Yes; what of him?” I laughed. “He is well on his
+way to California,—and without you!”
+
+She spoke hurriedly, eagerly, bending toward me.
+
+“No—you don’t know—you don’t understand—he’s
+here; he abandoned his California trip at Chicago; he
+telegraphed me to expect him—here—to-night! You
+must go at once,—at once!”
+
+“Ah, but you can’t frighten me,” I said, trying to
+realize just what a meeting with Pickering in that house
+might mean.
+
+“No,”—she looked anxiously about,—”they were to
+arrive late, he and the Taylors; they know the Armstrongs
+quite well. They may come at any moment
+now. Please go!”
+
+“But I have only a few minutes myself,—you
+wouldn’t have me sit them out in the station down
+town? There are some things I have come to say, and
+Arthur Pickering and I are not afraid of each other!”
+
+“But you must not meet him here! Think what that
+would mean to me! You are very foolhardy, Mr. Glenarm.
+I had no idea you would come—”
+
+“But you wished to try me,—you challenged me.”
+
+“That wasn’t me,—it was Olivia,” she laughed, more
+at ease, “I thought—”
+
+“Yes, what did you think?” I asked. “That I was
+tied hand and foot by a dead man’s money?”
+
+“No, it wasn’t that wretched fortune; but I enjoyed
+playing the child before you—I really love Olivia—and
+it seemed that the fairies were protecting me and that
+I could play being a child to the very end of the chapter
+without any real mischief coming of it. I wish
+I were Olivia!” she declared, her eyes away from me.
+
+“That’s rather idle. I’m not really sure yet what
+your name is, and I don’t care. Let’s imagine that we
+haven’t any names,—I’m sure my name isn’t of any
+use, and I’ll be glad to go nameless all my days if
+only—”
+
+“If only—” she repeated idly, opening and closing
+her fan. It was a frail blue trifle, painted in golden
+butterflies.
+
+“There are so many ‘if onlies’ that I hesitate to
+choose; but I will venture one. If only you will come
+back to St. Agatha’s! Not to-morrow, or the next day,
+but, say, with the first bluebirds. I believe they are
+the harbingers up there.”
+
+Her very ease was a balm to my spirit; she was now
+a veritable daughter of repose. One arm in its long
+white sheath lay quiet in her lap; her right hand held
+the golden butterflies against the soft curve of her cheek.
+A collar of pearls clasped her throat and accented the
+clear girlish lines of her profile. I felt the appeal of
+her youth and purity. It was like a cry in my heart,
+and I forgot the dreary house by the lake, and Pickering
+and the weeks within the stone walls of my prison.
+
+“The friends who know me best never expect me to
+promise to be anywhere at a given time. I can’t tell;
+perhaps I shall follow the bluebirds to Indiana; but
+why should I, when I can’t play being Olivia any
+more?”
+
+“No! I am very dull. That note of apology you
+wrote from the school really fooled me. But I have
+seen the real Olivia now. I don’t want you to go too
+far—not where I can’t follow—this flight I shall hardly
+dare repeat.”
+
+Her lips closed—like a rose that had gone back to be
+a bud again—and she pondered a moment, slowly freeing
+and imprisoning the golden butterflies.
+
+“You have risked a fortune, Mr. Glenarm, very, very
+foolishly,—and more—if you are found here. Why,
+Olivia must have recognized you! She must have seen
+you often across the wall.”
+
+“But I don’t care—I’m not staying at that ruin up
+there for money. My grandfather meant more to me
+than that—”
+
+“Yes; I believe that is so. He was a dear old gentleman;
+and he liked me because I thought his jokes adorable.
+My father and he had known each other. But
+there was—no expectation—no wish to profit by his
+friendship. My name in his will is a great embarrassment,
+a source of real annoyance. The newspapers
+have printed dreadful pictures of me. That is why I
+say to you, quite frankly, that I wouldn’t accept a cent
+of Mr. Glenarm’s money if it were offered me; and
+that is why,”—and her smile was a flash of spring,—“I
+want you to obey the terms of the will and earn your
+fortune.”
+
+She closed the fan sharply and lifted her eyes to mine.
+
+“But there isn’t any fortune! It’s all a myth, a joke,”
+I declared.
+
+“Mr. Pickering doesn’t seem to think so. He had
+every reason for believing that Mr. Glenarm was a very
+rich man. The property can’t be found in the usual
+places,—banks, safety vaults, and the like. Then where
+do you think it is,—or better, where do you think
+Mr. Pickering thinks it is?”
+
+“But assuming that it’s buried up there by the lake
+like a pirate’s treasure, it isn’t Pickering’s if he finds
+it. There are laws to protect even the dead from robbery!”
+I concluded hotly.
+
+“How difficult you are! Suppose you should fall
+from a boat, or be shot—accidentally—then I might
+have to take the fortune after all; and Mr. Pickering
+might think of an easier way of getting it than by—”
+
+“Stealing it! Yes, but you wouldn’t—!”
+
+Half-past twelve struck on the stairway and I started
+to my feet.
+
+“You wouldn’t—” I repeated.
+
+“I might, you know!”
+
+“I must go,—but not with that, not with any hint of
+that,—please!”
+
+“If you let him defeat you, if you fail to spend your
+year there,—we’ll overlook this one lapse,”—she looked
+me steadily in the eyes, wholly guiltless of coquetry but
+infinitely kind,—“then,—”
+
+She paused, opened the fan, held it up to the light
+and studied the golden butterflies.
+
+“Yes—”
+
+“Then—let me see—oh, I shall never chase another
+rabbit as long as I live! Now go—quickly—quickly!”
+
+“But you haven’t told me when and where it was we
+met the first time. Please!”
+
+She laughed, but urged me away with her eyes.
+
+“I shan’t do it! It isn’t proper for me to remember,
+if your memory is so poor. I wonder how it would seem
+for us to meet just once—and be introduced! Good
+night! You really came. You are a gentleman of your
+word, Squire Glenarm!”
+
+She gave me the tips of her fingers without looking
+at me.
+
+A servant came in hurriedly.
+
+“Miss Devereux, Mr. and Mrs. Taylor and Mr. Pickering
+are in the drawing-room.”
+
+“Yes; very well; I will come at once.”
+
+Then to me:
+
+“They must not see you—there, that way!” and she
+stood in the door, facing me, her hands lightly touching
+the frame as though to secure my way.
+
+I turned for a last look and saw her waiting—her
+eyes bent gravely upon me, her arms still half-raised,
+barring the door; then she turned swiftly away into the
+hall.
+
+Outside I found my hat and coat, and wakened my
+sleeping driver. He drove like mad into the city, and
+I swung upon the north-bound sleeper just as it was
+drawing out of the station.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+I MEET AN OLD FRIEND
+
+When I reached the house I found, to my astonishment,
+that the window I had left open as I scrambled
+out the night before was closed. I dropped my bag and
+crept to the front door, thinking that if Bates had discovered
+my absence it was useless to attempt any further
+deception. I was amazed to find the great doors
+of the main entrance flung wide, and in real alarm I
+ran through the hall and back to the library.
+
+The nearest door stood open, and, as I peered in, a
+curious scene disclosed itself. A few of the large cathedral
+candles still burned brightly in several places,
+their flame rising strangely in the gray morning light.
+Books had been taken from the shelves and scattered
+everywhere, and sharp implements had cut ugly gashes
+in the shelving. The drawers containing sketches and
+photographs had been pulled out and their contents
+thrown about and trampled under foot.
+
+The house was as silent as a tomb, but as I stood on
+the threshold trying to realize what had happened, something
+stirred by the fireplace and I crept forward, listening,
+until I stood by the long table beneath the great
+chandelier. Again I heard a sound as of some animal
+waking and stretching, followed by a moan that was
+undoubtedly human. Then the hands of a man clutched
+the farther edge of the table, and slowly and evidently
+with infinite difficulty a figure rose and the dark face
+of Bates, with eyes blurred and staring strangely, confronted
+me.
+
+He drew his body to its height, and leaned heavily
+upon the table. I snatched a candle and bent toward
+him to make sure my eyes were not tricking me.
+
+“Mr. Glenarm! Mr. Glenarm!” he exclaimed in
+broken whispers. “It is Bates, sir.”
+
+“What have you done; what has happened?” I demanded.
+
+He put his hand to his head uncertainly and gaped
+as though trying to gather his wits.
+
+He was evidently dazed by whatever had occurred,
+and I sprang around and helped him to a couch. He
+would not lie down but sat up, staring and passing his
+hand over his head. It was rapidly growing lighter,
+and I saw a purple and black streak across his temple
+where a bludgeon of some sort had struck him.
+
+“What does this mean, Bates? Who has been in the
+house?”
+
+“I can’t tell you, Mr. Glenarm.”
+
+“Can’t tell me! You will tell me or go to jail!
+There’s been mischief done here and I don’t intend to
+have any nonsense about it from you. Well—?”
+
+He was clearly suffering, but in my anger at the sight
+of the wreck of the room I grasped his shoulder and
+shook him roughly.
+
+“It was early this morning,” he faltered, “about two
+o’clock, I heard noises in the lower part of the house.
+I came down thinking likely it was you, and remembering
+that you had been sick yesterday—”
+
+“Yes, go on.”
+
+The thought of my truancy was no balm to my conscience
+just then.
+
+“As I came into the hall, I saw lights in the library.
+As you weren’t down last night the room hadn’t been
+lighted at all. I heard steps, and some one tapping with
+a hammer—”
+
+“Yes; a hammer. Go on!”
+
+It was, then, the same old story! The war had been
+carried openly into the house, but Bates,—just why
+should any one connected with the conspiracy injure
+Bates, who stood so near to Pickering, its leader? The
+fellow was undoubtedly hurt,—there was no mistaking
+the lump on his head. He spoke with a painful difficulty
+that was not assumed, I felt increasingly sure, as
+he went on.
+
+“I saw a man pulling out the books and tapping the
+inside of the shelves. He was working very fast. And
+the next thing I knew he let in another man through
+one of the terrace doors,—the one there that still stands
+a little open.”
+
+He flinched as be turned slightly to indicate it, and
+his face twitched with pain.
+
+“Never mind that; tell the rest of your story.”
+
+“Then I ran in, grabbed one of the big candelabra
+from the table, and went for the nearest man. They
+were about to begin on the chimney-breast there,—it
+was Mr. Glenarm’s pride in all the house,—and that
+accounts for my being there in front of the fireplace.
+They rather got the best of me, sir.
+
+“Clearly; I see they did. You had a hand-to-hand
+fight with them, and being two to one—”
+
+“No; there were two of us,—don’t you understand,
+two of us! There was another man who came running
+in from somewhere, and he took sides with me. I
+thought at first it was you. The robbers thought so,
+too, for one of them yelled, ‘Great God; it’s Glenarm!’
+just like that. But it wasn’t you, but quite another person.”
+
+“That’s a good story so far; and then what happened?”
+
+“I don’t remember much more, except that some one
+soused me with water that helped my head considerably,
+and the next thing I knew I was staring across the table
+there at you.”
+
+“Who were these men, Bates? Speak up quickly!”
+
+My tone was peremptory. Here was, I felt, a crucial
+moment in our relations.
+
+“Well,” he began deliberately, “I dislike to make
+charges against a fellow man, but I strongly suspect one
+of the men of being—”
+
+“Yes! Tell the whole truth or it will be the worse
+for you.”
+
+“I very much fear one of them was Ferguson, the
+gardener over the way. I’m disappointed in him,
+sir.”
+
+“Very good; and now for the other one.”
+
+“I didn’t get my eyes on him. I had closed with
+Ferguson and we were having quite a lively time of it
+when the other one came in; then the man who came to
+my help mixed us all up,—he was a very lively person,—
+and what became of Ferguson and the rest of it I don’t
+know.”
+
+There was food for thought in what he said. He had
+taken punishment in defense of my property—the crack
+on his head was undeniable—and I could not abuse
+him or question his veracity with any grace; not, at
+least, without time for investigation and study. However,
+I ventured to ask him one question.
+
+“If you were guessing, shouldn’t you think it quite
+likely that Morgan was the other man?”
+
+He met my gaze squarely.
+
+“I think it wholly possible, Mr. Glenarm.”
+
+“And the man who helped you—who in the devil was
+he?”
+
+“Bless me, I don’t know. He disappeared. I’d like
+mightily to see him again.”
+
+“Humph! Now you’d better do something for your
+head. I’ll summon the village doctor if you say so.”
+
+“No; thank you, sir. I’ll take care of it myself.”
+
+“And now we’ll keep quiet about this. Don’t mention
+it or discuss it with any one.”
+
+“Certainly not, sir.”
+
+He rose, and staggered a little, but crossed to the
+broad mantel-shelf in the great chimney-breast, rested
+his arm upon it for a moment, passed his hand over the
+dark wood with a sort of caress, then bent his eyes upon
+the floor littered with books and drawings and papers
+torn from the cabinets and all splashed with tallow and
+wax from the candles. The daylight had increased until
+the havoc wrought by the night’s visitors was fully apparent.
+The marauders had made a sorry mess of the
+room, and I thought Bates’ lip quivered as he saw the
+wreck.
+
+“It would have been a blow to Mr. Glenarm; the room
+was his pride,—his pride, sir.”
+
+He went out toward the kitchen, and I ran up stairs
+to my own room. I cursed the folly that had led me to
+leave my window open, for undoubtedly Morgan and
+his new ally, St. Agatha’s gardener, had taken advantage
+of it to enter the house. Quite likely, too, they had
+observed my absence, and this would undoubtedly be
+communicated to Pickering. I threw open my door
+and started back with an exclamation of amazement.
+
+Standing at my chiffonnier, between two windows,
+was a man, clad in a bath-gown—my own, I saw with
+fury—his back to me, the razor at his face, placidly
+shaving himself.
+
+Without turning he addressed me, quite coolly and
+casually, as though his being there was the most natural
+thing in the world.
+
+“Good morning, Mr. Glenarm! Rather damaging
+evidence, that costume. I suppose it’s the custom of the
+country for gentlemen in evening clothes to go out by
+the window and return by the door. You might think
+the other way round preferable.”
+
+“Larry!” I shouted.
+
+“Jack!”
+
+“Kick that door shut and lock it,” he commanded, in
+a sharp, severe tone that I remembered well—and just
+now welcomed—in him.
+
+“How, why and when—?”
+
+“Never mind about me. I’m here—thrown the enemy
+off for a few days; and you give me lessons in current
+history first, while I climb into my armor. Pray pardon
+the informality—”
+
+He seized a broom and began work upon a pair of
+trousers to which mud and briers clung tenaciously.
+His coat and hat lay on a chair, they, too, much the
+worse for rough wear.
+
+There was never any use in refusing to obey Larry’s
+orders, and as he got into his clothes I gave him in as
+few words as possible the chief incidents that had
+marked my stay at Glenarm House. He continued dressing
+with care, helping himself to a shirt and collar from
+my chiffonnier and choosing with unfailing eye the
+best tie in my collection. Now and then he asked a
+question tersely, or, again, he laughed or swore direly in
+Gaelic. When I had concluded the story of Pickering’s
+visit, and of the conversation I overheard between the
+executor and Bates in the church porch, Larry wheeled
+round with the scarf half-tied in his fingers and surveyed
+me commiseratingly.
+
+“And you didn’t rush them both on the spot and have
+it out?”
+
+“No. I was too much taken aback, for one thing—”
+
+“I dare say you were!”
+
+“And for another I didn’t think the time ripe. I’m
+going to beat that fellow, Larry, but I want him to
+show his hand fully before we come to a smash-up. I
+know as much about the house and its secrets as he does,
+—that’s one consolation. Sometimes I don’t believe
+there’s a shilling here, and again I’m sure there’s a big
+stake in it. The fact that Pickering is risking so much
+to find what’s supposed to be hidden here is pretty fair
+evidence that something’s buried on the place.”
+
+“Possibly, but they’re giving you a lively boycott.
+Now where in the devil have you been?”
+
+“Well,—” I began and hesitated. I had not mentioned
+Marian Devereux and this did not seem the time
+for confidences of that sort.
+
+He took a cigarette from his pocket and lighted it.
+
+“Bah, these women! Under the terms of your revered
+grandfather’s will you have thrown away all your rights.
+It looks to me, as a member of the Irish bar in bad
+standing, as though you had delivered yourself up to
+the enemy, so far as the legal situation is concerned.
+How does it strike you?”
+
+“Of course I’ve forfeited my rights. But I don’t
+mean that any one shall know it yet a while.”
+
+“My lad, don’t deceive yourself. Everybody round
+here will know it before night. You ran off, left your
+window open invitingly, and two gentlemen who meditated
+breaking in found that they needn’t take the trouble.
+One came in through your own room, noting, of
+course, your absence, let in his friend below, and tore
+up the place regrettably.”
+
+“Yes, but how did you get here?—if you don’t mind
+telling.”
+
+“It’s a short story. That little chap from Scotland
+Yard, who annoyed me so much in New York and drove
+me to Mexico—for which may he dwell for ever in fiery
+torment—has never given up. I shook him off, though,
+at Indianapolis three days ago. I bought a ticket for
+Pittsburg with him at my elbow. I suppose he thought
+the chase was growing tame, and that the farther east
+he could arrest me the nearer I should be to a British
+consul and tide-water. I went ahead of him into the
+station and out to the Pittsburg sleeper. I dropped my
+bag into my section—if that’s what they call it in your
+atrocious American language—looked out and saw him
+coming along the platform. Just then the car began to
+move,—they were shunting it about to attach a sleeper
+that had been brought in from Louisville and my carriage,
+or whatever you call it, went skimming out of
+the sheds into a yard where everything seemed to be
+most noisy and complex. I dropped off in the dark
+just before they began to haul the carriage back. A
+long train of empty goods wagons was just pulling
+out and I threw my bag into a wagon and climbed after
+it. We kept going for an hour or so until I was thoroughly
+lost, then I took advantage of a stop at a place
+that seemed to be the end of terrestrial things, got out
+and started across country. I expressed my bag to you
+the other day from a town that rejoiced in the cheering
+name of Kokomo, just to get rid of it. I walked into
+Annandale about midnight, found this medieval marvel
+through the kindness of the station-master and was reconnoitering
+with my usual caution when I saw a gentleman
+romantically entering through an open window.”
+
+Larry paused to light a fresh cigarette.
+
+“You always did have a way of arriving opportunely.
+Go on!”
+
+“It pleased my fancy to follow him; and by the time
+I had studied your diggings here a trifle, things began
+to happen below. It sounded like a St. Patrick’s
+Day celebration in an Irish village, and I went down at
+a gallop to see if there was any chance of breaking in.
+Have you seen the room? Well,”—he gave several
+turns to his right wrist, as though to test it,—“we all
+had a jolly time there by the fireplace. Another chap
+had got in somewhere, so there were two of them. Your
+man—I suppose it’s your man—was defending himself
+gallantly with a large thing of brass that looked like
+the pipes of a grand organ—and I sailed in with a chair.
+My presence seemed to surprise the attacking party,
+who evidently thought I was you,—flattering, I must
+say, to me!”
+
+“You undoubtedly saved Bates’ life and prevented the
+rifling of the house. And after you had poured water
+on Bates,—he’s the servant,—you came up here—”
+
+“That’s the way of it.”
+
+“You’re a brick, Larry Donovan. There’s only one of
+you; and now—”
+
+“And now, John Glenarm, we’ve got to get down to
+business,—or you must. As for me, after a few hours
+of your enlivening society—”
+
+“You don’t go a step until we go together,—no, by
+the beard of the prophet! I’ve a fight on here and I’m
+going to win if I die in the struggle, and you’ve got to
+stay with me to the end.”
+
+“But under the will you dare not take a boarder.”
+
+“Of course I dare! That will’s as though it had
+never been as far as I’m concerned. My grandfather
+never expected me to sit here alone and be murdered.
+John Marshall Glenarm wasn’t a fool exactly!”
+
+“No, but a trifle queer, I should say. I don’t have
+to tell you, old man, that this situation appeals to me.
+It’s my kind of a job. If it weren’t that the hounds are
+at my heels I’d like to stay with you, but you have
+enough trouble on hands without opening the house to
+an attack by my enemies.”
+
+“Stop talking about it. I don’t propose to be deserted
+by the only friend I have in the world when I’m up
+to my eyes in trouble. Let’s go down and get some
+coffee.”
+
+We found Bates trying to remove the evidences of the
+night’s struggle. He had fastened a cold pack about his
+head and limped slightly; otherwise he was the same—
+silent and inexplicable.
+
+Daylight had not improved the appearance of the
+room. Several hundred books lay scattered over the
+floor, and the shelves which had held them were hacked
+and broken.
+
+“Bates, if you can give us some coffee—? Let the
+room go for the present.”
+
+‘‘Yes, sir.”
+
+“And Bates—”
+
+He paused and Larry’s keen eyes were bent sharply
+upon him.
+
+“Mr. Donovan is a friend who will be with me for
+some time. We’ll fix up his room later in the day”
+
+He limped out, Larry’s eyes following him.
+
+“What do you think of that fellow?” I asked.
+
+Larry’s face wore a puzzled look.
+
+“What do you call him,—Bates? He’s a plucky fellow.”
+
+Larry picked up from the hearth the big candelabrum
+with which Bates had defended himself. It
+was badly bent and twisted, and Larry grinned.
+
+“The fellow who went out through the front door
+probably isn’t feeling very well to-day. Your man was
+swinging this thing like a windmill.”
+
+“I can’t understand it,” I muttered. “I can’t, for
+the life of me, see why he should have given battle to
+the enemy. They all belong to Pickering, and Bates is
+the biggest rascal of the bunch.”
+
+“Humph! we’ll consider that later. And would you
+mind telling me what kind of a tallow foundry this is?
+I never saw so many candlesticks in my life. I seem
+to taste tallow. I had no letters from you, and I supposed
+you were loafing quietly in a grim farm-house,
+dying of ennui, and here you are in an establishment
+that ought to be the imperial residence of an Eskimo
+chief. Possibly you have crude petroleum for soup and
+whipped salad-oil for dessert. I declare, a man living
+here ought to attain a high candle-power of luminosity.
+It’s perfectly immense.” He stared and laughed. “And
+hidden treasure, and night attacks, and young virgins
+in the middle distance,—yes, I’d really like to stay a
+while.”
+
+As we ate breakfast I filled in gaps I had left in my
+hurried narrative, with relief that I can not describe filling
+my heart as I leaned again upon the sympathy of
+an old and trusted friend.
+
+As Bates came and went I marked Larry’s scrutiny of
+the man. I dismissed him as soon as possible that we
+might talk freely.
+
+“Take it up and down and all around, what do you
+think of all this?” I asked.
+
+Larry was silent for a moment; he was not given to
+careless speech in personal matters.
+
+“There’s more to it than frightening you off or getting
+your grandfather’s money. It’s my guess that
+there’s something in this house that somebody—Pickering
+supposedly—is very anxious to find.”
+
+“Yes; I begin to think so. He could come in here
+legally if it were merely a matter of searching for lost
+assets.”
+
+“Yes; and whatever it is it must be well hidden. As
+I remember, your grandfather died in June. You got
+a letter calling you home in October.”
+
+“It was sent out blindly, with not one chance in a
+hundred that it would ever reach me.”
+
+“To be sure. You were a wanderer on the face of the
+earth, and there was nobody in America to look after
+your interests. You may be sure that the place was
+thoroughly ransacked while you were sailing home. I’ll
+wager you the best dinner you ever ate that there’s more
+at stake than your grandfather’s money. The situation
+is inspiring. I grow interested. I’m almost persuaded
+to linger.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+A TRIPLE ALLIANCE
+
+Larry refused to share my quarters and chose a room
+for himself, which Bates fitted up out of the house
+stores. I did not know what Bates might surmise about
+Larry, but he accepted my friend in good part, as a
+guest who would remain indefinitely. He seemed to interest
+Larry, whose eyes followed the man inquiringly.
+When we went into Bates’ room on our tour of the
+house, Larry scanned the books on a little shelf with
+something more than a casual eye. There were exactly
+four volumes,—Shakespeare’s Comedies, The Faerie
+Queen, Sterne’s Sentimental Journey and Yeats’ Land
+of Heart’s Desire.
+
+“A queer customer, Larry. Nobody but my grandfather
+could ever have discovered him—he found him
+up in Vermont.”
+
+“I suppose his being a bloomin’ Yankee naturally accounts
+for this,” remarked Larry, taking from under the
+pillow of the narrow iron bed a copy of the Dublin
+Freeman’s Journal.
+
+“It is a little odd,” I said. “But if you found a Yiddish
+newspaper or an Egyptian papyrus under his pillow
+I should not be surprised.”
+
+“Nor I,” said Larry. “I’ll wager that not another
+shelf in this part of the world contains exactly that collection
+of books, and nothing else. You will notice that
+there was once a book-plate in each of these volumes and
+that it’s been scratched out with care.”
+
+On a small table were pen and ink and a curious
+much-worn portfolio.
+
+“He always gets the mail first, doesn’t he?” asked
+Larry.
+
+“Yes, I believe he does.”
+
+“I thought so; and I’ll swear he never got a letter
+from Vermont in his life.”
+
+When we went down Bates was limping about the
+library, endeavoring to restore order.
+
+“Bates,” I said to him, “you are a very curious person.
+I have had a thousand and one opinions about you
+since I came here, and I still don’t make you out.”
+
+He turned from the shelves, a defaced volume in his
+hands.
+
+“Yes, sir. It was a good deal that way with your lamented
+grandfather. He always said I puzzled him.”
+
+Larry, safe behind the fellow’s back, made no attempt
+to conceal a smile.
+
+“I want to thank you for your heroic efforts to protect
+the house last night. You acted nobly, and I must
+confess, Bates, that I didn’t think it was in you. You’ve
+got the right stuff in you; I’m only sorry that there are
+black pages in your record that I can’t reconcile with
+your manly conduct of last night. But we’ve got to
+come to an understanding.”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“The most outrageous attacks have been made on me
+since I came here. You know what I mean well enough.
+Mr. Glenarm never intended that I should sit down in
+his house and be killed or robbed. He was the gentlest
+being that ever lived, and I’m going to fight for his
+memory and to protect his property from the scoundrels
+who have plotted against me. I hope you follow me.”
+
+“Yes, Mr. Glenarm.” He was regarding me attentively.
+His lips quavered, perhaps from weakness, for
+he certainly looked ill.
+
+“Now I offer you your choice,—either to stand loyally
+by me and my grandfather’s house or to join these
+scoundrels Arthur Pickering has hired to drive me out.
+I’m not going to bribe you,—I don’t offer you a cent for
+standing by me, but I won’t have a traitor in the house,
+and if you don’t like me or my terms I want you to go
+and go now.”
+
+He straightened quickly,—his eyes lighted and the
+color crept into his face. I had never before seen him
+appear so like a human being.
+
+“Mr. Glenarm, you have been hard on me; there have
+been times when you have been very unjust—”
+
+“Unjust,—my God, what do you expect me to
+take from you! Haven’t I known that you were in
+league with Pickering? I’m not as dull as I look, and
+after your interview with Pickering in the chapel porch
+you can’t convince me that you were faithful to my interests
+at that time.”
+
+He started and gazed at me wonderingly. I had had
+no intention of using the chapel porch interview at this
+time, but it leaped out of me uncontrollably.
+
+“I suppose, sir,” he began brokenly, “that I can hardly
+persuade you that I meant no wrong on that occasion.”
+
+“You certainly can not,—and it’s safer for you not
+to try. But I’m willing to let all that go as a reward
+for your work last night. Make your choice now; stay
+here and stop your spying or clear out of Annandale
+within an hour.”
+
+He took a step toward me; the table was between us
+and he drew quite near but stood clear of it, erect until
+there was something almost soldierly and commanding
+in his figure.
+
+“By God, I will stand by you, John Glenarm!” he
+said, and struck the table smartly with his clenched
+hand.
+
+He flushed instantly, and I felt the blood mounting
+into my own face as we gazed at each other,—he, Bates,
+the servant, and I, his master! He had always addressed
+me so punctiliously with the “sir” of respect that his
+declaration of fealty, spoken with so sincere and vigorous
+an air of independence, and with the bold emphasis
+of the oath, held me spellbound, staring at him. The
+silence was broken by Larry, who sprang forward and
+grasped Bates’ hand.
+
+“I, too, Bates,” I said, feeling my heart leap with
+liking, even with admiration for the real manhood that
+seemed to transfigure this hireling,—this fellow whom I
+had charged with most infamous treachery, this servant
+who had cared for my needs in so humble a spirit of
+subjection.
+
+The knocker on the front door sounded peremptorily,
+and Bates turned away without another word, and admitted
+Stoddard, who came in hurriedly.
+
+“Merry Christmas!” in his big hearty tones was
+hardly consonant with the troubled look on his face. I
+introduced him to Larry and asked him to sit down.
+
+“Pray excuse our disorder,—we didn’t do it for fun;
+it was one of Santa Claus’ tricks.”
+
+He stared about wonderingly.
+
+“So you caught it, too, did you?”
+
+“To be sure. You don’t mean to say that they raided
+the chapel?”
+
+“That’s exactly what I mean to say. When I went
+into the church for my early service I found that some
+one had ripped off the wainscoting in a half a dozen
+places and even pried up the altar. It’s the most outrageous
+thing I ever knew. You’ve heard of the proverbial
+poverty of the church mouse,—what do you suppose
+anybody could want to raid a simple little country
+chapel for? And more curious yet, the church plate
+was untouched, though the closet where it’s kept was
+upset, as though the miscreants had been looking for
+something they didn’t find.”
+
+Stoddard was greatly disturbed, and gazed about the
+topsy-turvy library with growing indignation.
+
+We drew together for a council of war. Here was an
+opportunity to enlist a new recruit on my side. I already
+felt stronger by reason of Larry’s accession; as to
+Bates, my mind was still numb and bewildered.
+
+“Larry, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t join forces
+with Mr. Stoddard, as he seems to be affected by this
+struggle. We owe it to him and the school to put him
+on guard, particularly since we know that Ferguson’s
+with the enemy.”
+
+“Yes, certainly,” said Larry.
+
+He always liked or disliked new people unequivocally,
+and I was glad to see that he surveyed the big clergyman
+with approval.
+
+“I’ll begin at the beginning,” I said, “and tell you
+the whole story.”
+
+He listened quietly to the end while I told him of my
+experience with Morgan, of the tunnel into the chapel
+crypt, and finally of the affair in the night and our interview
+with Bates.
+
+“I feel like rubbing my eyes and accusing you of
+reading penny-horrors,” he said. “That doesn’t sound
+like the twentieth century in Indiana.”
+
+“But Ferguson,—you’d better have a care in his direction.
+Sister Theresa—”
+
+“Bless your heart! Ferguson’s gone—without notice.
+He got his traps and skipped without saying a word to
+any one.”
+
+“We’ll hear from him again, no doubt. Now, gentlemen,
+I believe we understand one another. I don’t like
+to draw you, either one of you, into my private affairs—”
+
+The big chaplain laughed.
+
+“Glenarm,”—prefixes went out of commission quickly
+that morning,—”if you hadn’t let me in on this I
+should never have got over it. Why, this is a page out
+of the good old times! Bless me! I never appreciated
+your grandfather! I must run—I have another service.
+But I hope you gentlemen will call on me, day or night,
+for anything I can do to help you. Please don’t forget
+me. I had the record once for putting the shot.”
+
+“Why not give our friend escort through the tunnel?”
+asked Larry. “I’ll not hesitate to say that I’m dying
+to see it.”
+
+“To be sure!” We went down into the cellar, and
+poked over the lantern and candlestick collections, and
+I pointed out the exact spot where Morgan and I had
+indulged in our revolver duel. It was fortunate that
+the plastered walls of the cellar showed clearly the cuts
+and scars of the pistol-balls or I fear my story would
+have fallen on incredulous ears.
+
+The debris I had piled upon the false block of stone
+in the cellar lay as I had left it, but the three of us
+quickly freed the trap. The humor of the thing took
+strong hold of my new allies, and while I was getting a
+lantern to light us through the passage Larry sat on the
+edge of the trap and howled a few bars of a wild Irish
+jig. We set forth at once and found the passage unchanged.
+When the cold air blew in upon us I paused.
+
+“Have you gentlemen the slightest idea of where
+you are?”
+
+“We must be under the school-grounds, I should say,”
+replied Stoddard.
+
+“We’re exactly under the stone wall. Those tall posts
+at the gate are a scheme for keeping fresh air in the
+passage.”
+
+“You certainly have all the modern improvements,”
+observed Larry, and I heard him chuckling all the way
+to the crypt door.
+
+When I pushed the panel open and we stepped out
+into the crypt Stoddard whistled and Larry swore
+softly.
+
+“It must be for something!” exclaimed the chaplain.
+“You don’t suppose Mr. Glenarm built a secret passage
+just for the fun of it, do you? He must have had some
+purpose. Why, I sleep out here within forty yards of
+where we stand and I never had the slightest idea of
+this.”
+
+“But other people seem to know of it,” observed
+Larry.
+
+“To be sure; the curiosity of the whole countryside
+was undoubtedly piqued by the building of Glenarm
+House. The fact that workmen were brought from a
+distance was in itself enough to arouse interest. Morgan
+seems to have discovered the passage without any
+trouble.”
+
+“More likely it was Ferguson. He was the sexton of
+the church and had a chance to investigate,” said Stoddard.
+“And now, gentlemen, I must go to my service.
+I’ll see you again before the day is over.”
+
+“And we make no confidences!” I admonished.
+
+“‘Sdeath!—I believe that is the proper expression under
+all the circumstances.” And the Reverend Paul
+Stoddard laughed, clasped my hand and went up into
+the chapel vestry.
+
+I closed the door in the wainscoting and hung the
+map back in place.
+
+We went up into the little chapel and found a small
+company of worshipers assembled,—a few people from
+the surrounding farms, half a dozen Sisters sitting somberly
+near the chancel and the school servants.
+
+Stoddard came out into the chancel, lighted the altar
+tapers and began the Anglican communion office. I had
+forgotten what a church service was like; and Larry, I
+felt sure, had not attended church since the last time
+his family had dragged him to choral vespers.
+
+It was comforting to know that here was, at least, one
+place of peace within reach of Glenarm House. But I
+may be forgiven, I hope, if my mind wandered that
+morning, and my thoughts played hide-and-seek with
+memory. For it was here, in the winter twilight, that
+Marian Devereux had poured out her girl’s heart in a
+great flood of melody. I was glad that the organ was
+closed; it would have wrung my heart to hear a note
+from it that her hands did not evoke.
+
+When we came out upon the church porch and I stood
+on the steps to allow Larry to study the grounds, one of
+the brown-robed Sisterhood spoke my name.
+
+It was Sister Theresa.
+
+“Can you come in for a moment?” she asked.
+
+“I will follow at once,” I said.
+
+She met me in the reception-room where I had seen
+her before.
+
+“I’m sorry to trouble you on Christmas Day with my
+affairs, but I have had a letter from Mr. Pickering, saying
+that he will he obliged to bring suit for settlement
+of my account with Mr. Glenarm’s estate. I needn’t
+say that this troubles me greatly. In my position a lawsuit
+is uncomfortable; it would do a real harm to the
+school. Mr. Pickering implies in a very disagreeable
+way that I exercised an undue influence over Mr. Glenarm.
+You can readily understand that that is not a
+pleasant accusation.”
+
+“He is going pretty far,” I said.
+
+“He gives me credit for a degree of power over others
+that I regret to say I do not possess. He thinks, for instance,
+that I am responsible for Miss Devereux’s attitude
+toward him,—something that I have had nothing
+whatever to do with.”
+
+“No, of course not.”
+
+“I’m glad you have no harsh feeling toward her. It
+was unfortunate that Mr. Glenarm saw fit to mention
+her in his will. It has given her a great deal of notoriety,
+and has doubtless strengthened the impression in
+some minds that she and I really plotted to get as much
+as possible of your grandfather’s estate.”
+
+“No one would regret all this more than my grandfather,
+—I am sure of that. There are many inexplicable
+things about his affairs. It seems hardly possible
+that a man so shrewd as he, and so thoughtful of the
+feelings of others, should have left so many loose ends
+behind him. But I assure you I am giving my whole
+attention to these matters, and I am wholly at your
+service in anything I can do to help you.”
+
+“I sincerely hope that nothing may interfere to prevent
+your meeting Mr. Glenarm’s wish that you remain
+through the year. That was a curious and whimsical
+provision, but it is not, I imagine, so difficult.”
+
+She spoke in a kindly tone of encouragement that
+made me feel uneasy and almost ashamed for having
+already forfeited my claim under the will. Her beautiful
+gray eyes disconcerted me; I had not the heart to
+deceive her.
+
+“I have already made it impossible for me to inherit
+under the will,” I said.
+
+The disappointment in her face rebuked me sharply.
+
+“I am sorry, very sorry, indeed,” she said coldly.
+“But how, may I ask?”
+
+“I ran away, last night. I went to Cincinnati to see
+Miss Devereux.”
+
+She rose, staring in dumb astonishment, and after a
+full minute in which I tried vainly to think of something
+to say, I left the house.
+
+There is nothing in the world so tiresome as explanations,
+and I have never in my life tried to make them
+without floundering into seas of trouble.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+PICKERING SERVES NOTICE
+
+
+The next morning Bates placed a letter postmarked
+Cincinnati at my plate. I opened and read it aloud to
+Larry:
+                   On Board the Heloise
+
+                                  December 25, 1901.
+John Glenarm, Esq.,
+     Glenarm House,
+            Annandale, Wabana Co., Indiana:
+ DEAR SIR—I have just learned from what I believe to
+be a trustworthy source that you have already violated
+the terms of the agreement under which you entered into
+residence on the property near Annandale, known as
+Glenarm House. The provisions of the will of John Marshall
+Glenarm are plain and unequivocal, as you undoubtedly
+understood when you accepted them, and your absence,
+not only from the estate itself, but from Wabana
+County, violates beyond question your right to inherit.
+ I, as executor, therefore demand that you at once vacate
+said property, leaving it in as good condition as when
+received by you.         Very truly yours,
+                                 Arthur Pickering,
+     Executor of the Estate of John Marshall Glenarm.
+
+“Very truly the devil’s,” growled Larry, snapping
+his cigarette case viciously.
+
+“How did he find out?” I asked lamely, but my heart
+sank like lead. Had Marian Devereux told him! How
+else could he know?
+
+“Probably from the stars,—the whole universe undoubtedly
+saw you skipping off to meet your lady-love.
+Bah, these women!”
+
+“Tut! They don’t all marry the sons of brewers,”
+I retorted. “You assured me once, while your affair
+with that Irish girl was on, that the short upper lip
+made Heaven seem possible, but unnecessary; then the
+next thing I knew she had shaken you for the bloated
+masher. Take that for your impertinence. But perhaps
+it was Bates?”
+
+I did not wait for an answer. I was not in a mood
+for reflection or nice distinctions. The man came in
+just then with a fresh plate of toast.
+
+“Bates, Mr. Pickering has learned that I was away
+from the house on the night of the attack, and I’m ordered
+off for having broken my agreement to stay here.
+How do you suppose he heard of it so promptly?”
+
+“From Morgan, quite possibly. I have a letter from
+Mr. Pickering myself this morning. Just a moment,
+sir.”
+
+He placed before me a note bearing the same date as
+my own. It was a sharp rebuke of Bates for his failure
+to report my absence, and he was ordered to prepare to
+leave on the first of February. “Close your accounts at
+the shopkeepers’ and I will audit your bills on my arrival.”
+
+The tone was peremptory and contemptuous. Bates
+had failed to satisfy Pickering and was flung off like a
+smoked-out cigar.
+
+“How much had he allowed you for expenses, Bates?”
+
+He met my gaze imperturbably.
+
+“He paid me fifty dollars a month as wages, sir, and
+I was allowed seventy-five for other expenses.”
+
+“But you didn’t buy English pheasants and champagne
+on that allowance!”
+
+He was carrying away the coffee tray and his eyes
+wandered to the windows.
+
+“Not quite, sir. You see—”
+
+“But I don’t see!”
+
+“It had occurred to me that as Mr. Pickering’s allowance
+wasn’t what you might call generous it was better
+to augment it—Well, sir, I took the liberty of advancing
+a trifle, as you might say, to the estate. Your
+grandfather would not have had you starve, sir.”
+
+He left hurriedly, as though to escape from the consequences
+of his words, and when I came to myself
+Larry was gloomily invoking his strange Irish gods.
+
+“Larry Donovan, I’ve been tempted to kill that fellow
+a dozen times! This thing is too damned complicated
+for me. I wish my lamented grandfather had left
+me something easy. To think of it—that fellow, after
+my treatment of him—my cursing and abusing him
+since I came here! Great Scott, man, I’ve been enjoying
+his bounty, I’ve been living on his money! And
+all the time he’s been trusting in me, just because of
+his dog-like devotion to my grandfather’s memory.
+Lord, I can’t face the fellow again!”
+
+“As I have said before, you’re rather lacking at times
+in perspicacity. Your intelligence is marred by large
+opaque spots. Now that there’s a woman in the case
+you’re less sane than ever. Bah, these women! And
+now we’ve got to go to work.”
+
+Bah, these women! My own heart caught the words.
+I was enraged and bitter. No wonder she had been
+anxious for me to avoid Pickering after daring me to
+follow her!
+
+We called a council of war for that night that we
+might view matters in the light of Pickering’s letter.
+His assuredness in ordering me to leave made prompt
+and decisive action necessary on my part. I summoned
+Stoddard to our conference, feeling confident of his
+friendliness.
+
+“Of course,” said the broad-shouldered chaplain, “if
+you could show that your absence was on business of
+very grave importance, the courts might construe in
+that you had not really violated the will.”
+
+Larry looked at the ceiling and blew rings of smoke
+languidly. I had not disclosed to either of them the
+cause of my absence. On such a matter I knew I should
+get precious little sympathy from Larry, and I had,
+moreover, a feeling that I could not discuss Marian
+Devereux with any one; I even shrank from mentioning
+her name, though it rang like the call of bugles in
+my blood.
+
+She was always before me,—the charmed spirit of
+youth, linked to every foot of the earth, every gleam of
+the sun upon the ice-bound lake, every glory of the winter
+sunset. All the good impulses I had ever stifled
+were quickened to life by the thought of her. Amid the
+day’s perplexities I started sometimes, thinking I heard
+her voice, her girlish laughter, or saw her again coming
+toward me down the stairs, or holding against the light
+her fan with its golden butterflies. I really knew so
+little of her; I could associate her with no home, only
+with that last fling of the autumn upon the lake, the
+snow-driven woodland, that twilight hour at the organ
+in the chapel, those stolen moments at the Armstrongs’.
+I resented the pressure of the hour’s affairs, and chafed
+at the necessity for talking of my perplexities with the
+good friends who were there to help. I wished to be
+alone, to yield to the sweet mood that the thought of her
+brought me. The doubt that crept through my mind
+as to any possibility of connivance between her and
+Pickering was as vague and fleeting as the shadow of a
+swallow’s wing on a sunny meadow.
+
+“You don’t intend fighting the fact of your absence,
+do you?” demanded Larry, after a long silence.
+
+“Of course not!” I replied quietly. “Pickering was
+right on my heels, and my absence was known to his
+men here. And it would not be square to my grandfather,
+—who never harmed a flea, may his soul rest in
+blessed peace!—to lie about it. They might nail me for
+perjury besides.”
+
+“Then the quicker we get ready for a siege the better.
+As I understand your attitude, you don’t propose to
+move out until you’ve found where the siller’s hidden.
+Being a gallant gentleman and of a forgiving nature,
+you want to be sure that the lady who is now entitled to
+it gets all there is coming to her, and as you don’t trust
+the executor, any further than a true Irishman trusts a
+British prime minister’s promise, you’re going to stand
+by to watch the boodle counted. Is that a correct analysis
+of your intentions?”
+
+“That’s as near one of my ideas as you’re likely to
+get, Larry Donovan!”
+
+“And if he comes with the authorities,—the sheriff
+and that sort of thing,—we must prepare for such an
+emergency,” interposed the chaplain.
+
+“So much the worse for the sheriff and the rest of
+them!” I declared.
+
+“Spoken like a man of spirit. And now we’d better
+stock up at once, in case we should be shut off from our
+source of supplies. This is a lonely place here; even
+the school is a remote neighbor. Better let Bates raid
+the village shops to-morrow. I’ve tried being hungry,
+and I don’t care to repeat the experience.”
+
+And Larry reached for the tobacco jar.
+
+“I can’t imagine, I really can’t believe,” began the
+chaplain, “that Miss Devereux will want to be brought
+into this estate matter in any way. In fact, I have heard
+Sister Theresa say as much. I suppose there’s no way
+of preventing a man from leaving his property to a
+young woman, who has no claim on him,—who doesn’t
+want anything from him.”
+
+“Bah, these women! People don’t throw legacies to
+the birds these days. Of course she’ll take it.”
+
+Then his eyes widened and met mine in a gaze that
+reflected the mystification and wonder that struck both
+of us. Stoddard turned from the fire suddenly:
+
+“What’s that? There’s some one up stairs!”
+
+Larry was already running toward the hall, and I
+heard him springing up the steps like a cat, while Stoddard
+and I followed.
+
+“Where’s Bates?” demanded the chaplain.
+
+“I’ll thank you for the answer,” I replied.
+
+Larry stood at the top of the staircase, holding a
+candle at arm’s length in front of him, staring about.
+
+We could hear quite distinctly some one walking
+on a stairway; the sounds were unmistakable, just as
+I had heard them on several previous occasions, without
+ever being able to trace their source.
+
+The noise ceased suddenly, leaving us with no hint of
+its whereabouts.
+
+I went directly to the rear of the house and found
+Bates putting the dishes away in the pantry.
+
+“Where have you been?” I demanded.
+
+“Here, sir; I have been clearing up the dinner things,
+Mr. Glenarm. Is there anything the matter, sir?”
+
+“Nothing.”
+
+I joined the others in the library.
+
+“Why didn’t you tell me this feudal imitation was
+haunted?” asked Larry, in a grieved tone. “All it needed
+was a cheerful ghost, and now I believe it lacks absolutely
+nothing. I’m increasingly glad I came. How
+often does it walk?”
+
+“It’s not on a schedule. Just now it’s the wind in
+the tower probably; the wind plays queer pranks up
+there sometimes.”
+
+“You’ll have to do better than that, Glenarm,” said
+Stoddard. “It’s as still outside as a country graveyard.”
+
+“Only the slaugh sidhe, the people of the faery hills,
+the cheerfulest ghosts in the world,” said Larry. “You
+literal Saxons can’t grasp the idea, of course.”
+
+But there was substance enough in our dangers without
+pursuing shadows. Certain things were planned
+that night. We determined to exercise every precaution
+to prevent a surprise from without, and we resolved
+upon a new and systematic sounding of walls and floors,
+taking our clue from the efforts made by Morgan and
+his ally to find hiding-places by this process. Pickering
+would undoubtedly arrive shortly, and we wished to
+anticipate his movements as far as possible.
+
+We resolved, too, upon a day patrol of the grounds
+and a night guard. The suggestion came, I believe,
+from Stoddard, whose interest in my affairs was only
+equaled by the fertility of his suggestions. One of us
+should remain abroad at night, ready to sound the alarm
+in case of attack. Bates should take his turn with the
+rest—Stoddard insisted on it.
+
+Within two days we were, as Larry expressed it, on a
+war footing. We added a couple of shot-guns and several
+revolvers to my own arsenal, and piled the library
+table with cartridge boxes. Bates, acting as quarter-master,
+brought a couple of wagon-loads of provisions.
+Stoddard assembled a remarkable collection of heavy
+sticks; he had more confidence in them, he said, than in
+gunpowder, and, moreover, he explained, a priest might
+not with propriety bear arms.
+
+It was a cheerful company of conspirators that now
+gathered around the big hearth. Larry, always restless,
+preferred to stand at one side, an elbow on the
+mantel-shelf, pipe in mouth; and Stoddard sought the
+biggest chair,—and filled it. He and Larry understood
+each other at once, and Larry’s stories, ranging in subject
+from undergraduate experiences at Dublin to adventures
+in Africa and always including endless conflicts
+with the Irish constabulary, delighted the big boyish
+clergyman.
+
+Often, at some one’s suggestion of a new idea, we ran
+off to explore the house again in search of the key to the
+Glenarm riddle, and always we came back to the library
+with that riddle still unsolved.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+THE RETURN OF MARIAN DEVEREUX
+
+
+“Sister Theresa has left, sir.”
+
+Bates had been into Annandale to mail some letters,
+and I was staring out upon the park from the library
+windows when he entered. Stoddard, having kept watch
+the night before, was at home asleep, and Larry was off
+somewhere in the house, treasure-hunting. I was feeling
+decidedly discouraged over our failure to make any
+progress with our investigations, and Bates’ news did
+not interest me.
+
+“Well, what of it?” I demanded, without turning
+round.
+
+“Nothing, sir; but Miss Devereux has come back!”
+
+“The devil!”
+
+I turned and took a step toward the door.
+
+“I said Miss Devereux,” he repeated in dignified rebuke.
+“She came up this morning, and the Sister left
+at once for Chicago. Sister Theresa depends particularly
+upon Miss Devereux,—so I’ve heard, sir. Miss
+Devereux quite takes charge when the Sister goes away.
+A few of the students are staying in school through the
+holidays.”
+
+“You seem full of information,” I remarked, taking
+another step toward my hat and coat.
+
+“And I’ve learned something else, sir.”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“They all came together, sir.”
+
+“Who came; if you please, Bates?”
+
+“Why, the people who’ve been traveling with Mr.
+Pickering came back with him, and Miss Devereux came
+with them from Cincinnati. That’s what I learned in
+the village. And Mr. Pickering is going to stay—”
+
+“Pickering stay!”
+
+“At his cottage on the lake for a while. The reason
+is that he’s worn out with his work, and wishes quiet.
+The other people went back to New York in the car.”
+
+“He’s opened a summer cottage in mid-winter, has
+he?”
+
+I had been blue enough without this news. Marian
+Devereux had come back to Annandale with Arthur
+Pickering; my faith in her snapped like a reed at this
+astounding news. She was now entitled to my grandfather’s
+property and she had lost no time in returning
+as soon as she and Pickering had discussed together at
+the Armstrongs’ my flight from Annandale. Her return
+could have no other meaning than that there was a
+strong tie between them, and he was now to stay on the
+ground until I should be dispossessed and her rights
+established. She had led me to follow her, and my forfeiture
+had been sealed by that stolen interview at the
+Armstrongs’. It was a black record, and the thought of
+it angered me against myself and the world.
+
+“Tell Mr. Donovan that I’ve gone to St. Agatha’s,”
+I said, and I was soon striding toward the school.
+
+A Sister admitted me. I heard the sound of a piano,
+somewhere in the building, and I consigned the inventor
+of pianos to hideous torment as scales were
+pursued endlessly up and down the keys. Two girls
+passing through the hall made a pretext of looking for
+a book and came in and exclaimed over their inability
+to find it with much suppressed giggling.
+
+The piano-pounding continued and I waited for what
+seemed an interminable time. It was growing dark and
+a maid lighted the oil lamps. I took a book from the
+table. It was The Life of Benvenuto Cellini and “Marian
+Devereux” was written on the fly leaf, by unmistakably
+the same hand that penned the apology for
+Olivia’s performances. I saw in the clear flowing lines
+of the signature, in their lack of superfluity, her own
+ease, grace and charm; and, in the deeper stroke with
+which the x was crossed, I felt a challenge, a readiness
+to abide by consequences once her word was given.
+Then my own inclination to think well of her angered
+me. It was only a pretty bit of chirography, and I
+dropped the book impatiently when I heard her step
+on the threshold.
+
+“I am sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr. Glenarm.
+But this is my busy hour.”
+
+“I shall not detain you long. I came,”—I hesitated,
+not knowing why I had come.
+
+She took a chair near the open door and bent forward
+with an air of attention that was disquieting. She
+wore black—perhaps to fit her the better into the house
+of a somber Sisterhood. I seemed suddenly to remember
+her from a time long gone, and the effort of memory
+threw me off guard. Stoddard had said there were
+several Olivia Armstrongs; there were certainly many
+Marian Devereuxs. The silence grew intolerable; she
+was waiting for me to speak, and I blurted:
+
+“I suppose you have come to take charge of the property.”
+
+“Do you?” she asked.
+
+“And you came back with the executor to facilitate
+matters. I’m glad to see that you lose no time.”
+
+“Oh!” she said lingeringly, as though she were finding
+with difficulty the note in which I wished to pitch
+the conversation. Her calmness was maddening.
+
+“I suppose you thought it unwise to wait for the
+bluebird when you had beguiled me into breaking a
+promise, when I was trapped, defeated,—”
+
+Her elbow on the arm of the chair, her hand resting
+against her check, the light rippling goldenly in her
+hair, her eyes bent upon me inquiringly, mournfully,—
+mournfully, as I had seen them—where?—once before!
+My heart leaped in that moment, with that thought.
+
+“I remember now the first time!” I exclaimed, more
+angry than I had ever been before in my life.
+
+“That is quite remarkable,” she said, and nodded her
+head ironically.
+
+“It was at Sherry’s; you were with Pickering—you
+dropped your fan and he picked it up, and you turned
+toward me for a moment. You were in black that
+night; it was the unhappiness in your face, in your
+eyes, that made me remember.”
+
+I was intent upon the recollection, eager to fix and
+establish it.
+
+“You are quite right. It was at Sherry’s. I was
+wearing black then; many things made me unhappy
+that night.”
+
+Her forehead contracted slightly and she pressed her
+lips together.
+
+“I suppose that even then the conspiracy was thoroughly
+arranged,” I said tauntingly, laughing a little
+perhaps, and wishing to wound her, to take vengeance
+upon her.
+
+She rose and stood by her chair, one hand resting
+upon it. I faced her; her eyes were like violet seas.
+She spoke very quietly.
+
+“Mr. Glenarm, has it occurred to you that when I
+talked to you there in the park, when I risked unpleasant
+gossip in receiving you in a house where you had
+no possible right to be, that I was counting upon something,
+—foolishly and stupidly,—yet counting upon it?”
+
+“You probably thought I was a fool,” I retorted.
+
+“No;”—she smiled slightly—“I thought—I believe
+I have said this to you before!—you were a gentleman.
+I really did, Mr. Glenarm. I must say it to justify
+myself. I relied upon your chivalry; I even thought,
+when I played being Olivia, that you had a sense of
+honor. But you are not the one and you haven’t the
+other. I even went so far, after you knew perfectly
+well who I was, as to try to help you—to give you another
+chance to prove yourself the man your grandfather
+wished you to be. And now you come to me in a shocking
+bad humor,—I really think you would like to be
+insulting, Mr. Glenarm, if you could.”
+
+“But Pickering,—you came back with him; he is
+here and he’s going to stay! And now that the property
+belongs to you, there is not the slightest reason why
+we should make any pretense of anything but enmity.
+When you and Arthur Pickering stand together I take
+the other side of the barricade! I suppose chivalry
+would require me to vacate, so that you may enjoy at
+once the spoils of war.”
+
+“I fancy it would not be very difficult to eliminate
+you as a factor in the situation,” she remarked icily.
+
+“And I suppose, after the unsuccessful efforts of Mr.
+Pickering’s allies to assassinate me, as a mild form of
+elimination, one would naturally expect me to sit calmly
+down and wait to be shot in the back. But you may tell
+Mr. Pickering that I throw myself upon your mercy.
+I have no other home than this shell over the way, and
+I beg to be allowed to remain until—at least—the bluebirds
+come. I hope it will not embarrass you to deliver
+the message.”
+
+“I quite sympathize with your reluctance to deliver
+it yourself,” she said. “Is this all you came to say?”
+
+“I came to tell you that you could have the house,
+and everything in its hideous walls,” I snapped; “to
+tell you that my chivalry is enough for some situations
+and that I don’t intend to fight a woman. I had accepted
+your own renouncement of the legacy in good
+part, but now, please believe me, it shall be yours to-morrow.
+I’ll yield possession to you whenever you ask
+it,—but never to Arthur Pickering! As against him
+and his treasure-hunters and assassins I will hold out
+for a dozen years!”
+
+“Nobly spoken, Mr. Glenarm! Yours is really an
+admirable, though somewhat complex character.”
+
+“My character is my own, whatever it is,” I blurted.
+
+“I shouldn’t call that a debatable proposition,” she
+replied, and I was angry to find how the mirth I had
+loved in her could suddenly become so hateful. She
+half-turned away so that I might not see her face. The
+thought that she should countenance Pickering in any
+way tore me with jealous rage.
+
+“Mr. Glenarm, you are what I have heard called a
+quitter, defined in common Americanese as one who
+quits! Your blustering here this afternoon can hardly
+conceal the fact of your failure,—your inability to keep
+a promise. I had hoped you would really be of some
+help to Sister Theresa; you quite deceived her,—she
+told me as she left to-day that she thought well of you,
+—she really felt that her fortunes were safe in your
+hands. But, of course, that is all a matter of past history
+now.”
+
+Her tone, changing from cold indifference to the
+most severe disdain, stung me into self-pity for my stupidity
+in having sought her. My anger was not against
+her, but against Pickering, who had, I persuaded myself,
+always blocked my path. She went on.
+
+“You really amuse me exceedingly. Mr. Pickering
+is decidedly more than a match for you, Mr. Glenarm,
+—even in humor.”
+
+She left me so quickly, so softly, that I stood staring
+like a fool at the spot where she had been, and then I
+went gloomily back to Glenarm House, angry, ashamed
+and crestfallen.
+
+While we were waiting for dinner I made a clean
+breast of my acquaintance with her to Larry, omitting
+nothing,—rejoicing even to paint my own conduct as
+black as possible.
+
+“You may remember her,” I concluded, “she was the
+girl we saw at Sherry’s that night we dined there. She
+was with Pickering, and you noticed her,—spoke of her,
+as she went out.”
+
+“That little girl who seemed so bored, or tired? Bless
+me! Why her eyes haunted me for days. Lord man,
+do you mean to say—”
+
+A look of utter scorn came into his face, and he eyed
+me contemptuously.
+
+“Of course I mean it!” I thundered at him.
+
+He took the pipe from his mouth, pressed the tobacco
+viciously into the bowl, and swore steadily in Gaelic
+until I was ready to choke him.
+
+“Stop!” I bawled. “Do you think that’s helping me?
+And to have you curse in your blackguardly Irish dialect!
+I wanted a little Anglo-Saxon sympathy, you
+fool! I didn’t mean for you to invoke your infamous
+gods against the girl!”
+
+“Don’t be violent, lad. Violence is reprehensible,”
+he admonished with maddening sweetness and patience.
+“What I was trying to inculcate was rather the fact,
+borne in upon me through years of acquaintance, that
+you are,—to he bold, my lad, to be bold,—a good deal
+of a damned fool.”
+
+The trilling of his r’s was like the whirring rise of
+a flock of quails.
+
+“Dinner is served,” announced Bates, and Larry led
+the way, mockingly chanting an Irish love-song.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+THE DOOR OF BEWILDERMENT
+
+
+We had established the practice of barring all the
+gates and doors at nightfall. There was no way of
+guarding against an attack from the lake, whose frozen
+surface increased the danger from without; but we
+counted on our night patrol to prevent a surprise from
+that quarter. I was well aware that I must prepare to
+resist the militant arm of the law, which Pickering
+would no doubt invoke to aid him, but I intended to
+exhaust the possibilities in searching for the lost treasure
+before I yielded. Pickering might, if he would,
+transfer the estate of John Marshall Glenarm to Marian
+Devereux and make the most he could of that service,
+but he should not drive me forth until I had satisfied
+myself of the exact character of my grandfather’s fortune.
+If it had vanished, if Pickering had stolen it
+and outwitted me in making off with it, that was another
+matter.
+
+The phrase, “The Door of Bewilderment,” had never
+ceased to reiterate itself in my mind. We discussed a
+thousand explanations of it as we pondered over the
+scrap of paper I had found in the library, and every
+book in the house was examined in the search for further
+clues.
+
+The passage between the house and the chapel seemed
+to fascinate Larry. He held that it must have some
+particular use and he devoted his time to exploring it.
+
+He came up at noon—it was the twenty-ninth of
+December—with grimy face and hands and a grin on his
+face. I had spent my morning in the towers, where it
+was beastly cold, to no purpose and was not in a mood
+for the ready acceptance of new theories.
+
+“I’ve found something,” he said, filling his pipe.
+
+“Not soap, evidently!”
+
+“No, but I’m going to say the last word on the tunnel,
+and within an hour. Give me a glass of beer and a
+piece of bread, and we’ll go back and see whether we’re
+sold again or not.”
+
+“Let us explore the idea and be done with it. Wait
+till I tell Stoddard where we’re going.”
+
+The chaplain was trying the second-floor walls, and
+I asked him to eat some luncheon and stand guard while
+Larry and I went to the tunnel.
+
+We took with us an iron bar, an ax and a couple of
+hammers. Larry went ahead with a lantern.
+
+“You see,” he explained, as we dropped through the
+trap into the passage, “I’ve tried a compass on this
+tunnel and find that we’ve been working on the wrong
+theory. The passage itself runs a straight line from
+the house under the gate to the crypt; the ravine is a
+rough crescent-shape and for a short distance the tunnel
+touches it. How deep does that ravine average—about
+thirty feet?”
+
+“Yes; it’s shallowest where the house stands. it
+drops sharply from there on to the lake.”
+
+“Very good; but the ravine is all on the Glenarm side
+of the wall, isn’t it? Now when we get under the wall
+I’ll show you something.”
+
+“Here we are,” said Larry, as the cold air blew in
+through the hollow posts. “Now we’re pretty near that
+sharp curve of the ravine that dips away from the wall.
+Take the lantern while I get out the compass. What
+do you think that C on the piece of paper means? Why,
+chapel, of course. I have measured the distance from
+the house, the point of departure, we may assume, to
+the chapel, and three-fourths of it brings us under those
+beautiful posts. The directions are as plain as daylight.
+The passage itself is your N. W., as the compass
+proves, and the ravine cuts close in here; therefore, our
+business is to explore the wall on the ravine side.”
+
+“Good! but this is just wall here—earth with a layer
+of brick and a thin coat of cement. A nice job it must
+have been to do the work,—and it cost the price of a
+tiger hunt,” I grumbled.
+
+“Take heart, lad, and listen,”—and Larry began
+pounding the wall with a hammer, exactly under the
+north gate-post. We had sounded everything in and
+about the house until the process bored me.
+
+“Hurry up and get through with it,” I jerked impatiently,
+holding the lantern at the level of his head. It
+was sharply cold under the posts and I was anxious to
+prove the worthlessness of his idea and be done.
+
+Thump! thump!
+
+“There’s a place here that sounds a trifle off the key.
+You try it.”
+
+I snatched the hammer and repeated his soundings.
+
+Thump! thump!
+
+There was a space about four feet square in the wall
+that certainly gave forth a hollow sound.
+
+“Stand back!” exclaimed Larry eagerly. “Here goes
+with the ax.”
+
+He struck into the wall sharply and the cement
+chipped off in rough pieces, disclosing the brick beneath.
+Larry paused when he had uncovered a foot of
+the inner layer, and examined the surface.
+
+“They’re loose—these bricks are loose, and there’s
+something besides earth behind them!”
+
+I snatched the hammer and drove hard at the wall.
+The bricks were set up without mortar, and I plucked
+them out and rapped with my knuckles on a wooden
+surface.
+
+Even Larry grew excited as we flung out the bricks.
+
+“Ah, lad,” he said, “the old gentleman had a way
+with him—he had a way with him!” A brick dropped
+on his foot and he howled in pain.
+
+“Bless the old gentleman’s heart! He made it as
+easy for us as he could. Now, for the Glenarm millions,
+—red money all piled up for the ease of counting it,—
+a thousand pounds in every pile.”
+
+“Don’t be a fool, Larry,” I coughed at him, for the
+brick dust and the smoke of Larry’s pipe made breathing
+difficult.
+
+“That’s all the loose brick,—bring the lantern closer,”
+—and we peered through the aperture upon a wooden
+door, in which strips of iron were deep-set. It was fastened
+with a padlock and Larry reached down for the ax.
+
+“Wait!” I called, drawing closer with the lantern.
+“What’s this?”
+
+The wood of the door was fresh and white, but burned
+deep on the surface, in this order, were the words:
+
+                         THE DOOR
+                            OF
+                 BEWILDERMENT
+
+“There are dead men inside, I dare say! Here, my
+lad, it’s not for me to turn loose the family skeletons,”
+—and Larry stood aside while I swung the ax and
+brought it down with a crash on the padlock. It was
+of no flimsy stuff and the remaining bricks cramped me,
+but half a dozen blows broke it off.
+
+“The house of a thousand ghosts,” chanted the irrepressible
+Larry, as I pushed the door open and crawled
+through.
+
+Whatever the place was it had a floor and I set my
+feet firmly upon it and turned to take the lantern.
+
+“Hold a bit,” he exclaimed. “Some one’s coming,”
+—and bending toward the opening I heard the sound
+of steps down the corridor. In a moment Bates ran up,
+calling my name with more spirit than I imagined possible
+in him.
+
+“What is it?” I demanded, crawling out into the
+tunnel.
+
+“It’s Mr. Pickering. The sheriff has come with him,
+sir.”
+
+As he spoke his glance fell upon the broken wall and
+open door. The light of Larry’s lantern struck full
+upon him. Amazement, and, I thought, a certain satisfaction,
+were marked upon his countenance.
+
+“Run along, Jack,—I’ll be up a little later,” said
+Larry. “If the fellow has come in daylight with the
+sheriff, he isn’t dangerous. It’s his friends that shoot
+in the dark that give us the trouble.”
+
+I crawled out and stood upright. Bates, staring at
+the opening, seemed reluctant to leave the spot.
+
+“You seem to have found it, sir,” he said,—I thought
+a little chokingly. His interest in the matter nettled
+me; for my first business was to go above for an interview
+with the executor, and the value of our discovery
+was secondary.
+
+“Of course we have found it!” I ejaculated, brushing
+the dust from my clothes. “Is Mr. Stoddard in the
+library?”
+
+“Oh, yes, sir; I left him entertaining the gentlemen.”
+
+“Their visit is certainly most inopportune,” said
+Larry. “Give them my compliments and tell them I’ll
+be up as soon as I’ve articulated the bones of my friend’s
+ancestors.”
+
+Bates strode on ahead of me with his lantern, and I
+left Larry crawling through the new-found door as I
+hurried toward the house. I knew him well enough to
+be sure he would not leave the spot until he had found
+what lay behind the Door of Bewilderment.
+
+“You didn’t tell the callers where you expected to
+find me, did you?” I asked Bates, as he brushed me off
+in the kitchen.
+
+“No, sir. Mr. Stoddard received the gentlemen. He
+rang the bell for me and when I went into the library
+he was saying, ‘Mr. Glenarm is at his studies. Bates,’—
+he says—‘kindly tell Mr. Glenarm that I’m sorry to interrupt
+him, but won’t he please come down?’ I thought
+it rather neat, sir, considering his clerical office. I
+knew you were below somewhere, sir; the trap-door was
+open and I found you easily enough.”
+
+Bates’ eyes were brighter than I had ever seen them.
+A certain buoyant note gave an entirely new tone to
+his voice. He walked ahead of me to the library door,
+threw it open and stood aside.
+
+“Here you are, Glenarm,” said Stoddard. Pickering
+and a stranger stood near the fireplace in their overcoats.
+
+Pickering advanced and offered his hand, but I
+turned away from him without taking it. His companion,
+a burly countryman, stood staring, a paper in his
+hand.
+
+“The sheriff,” Pickering explained, “and our business
+is rather personal—”
+
+He glanced at Stoddard, who looked at me.
+
+“Mr. Stoddard will do me the kindness to remain,”
+I said and took my stand beside the chaplain.
+
+“Oh!” Pickering ejaculated scornfully. “I didn’t
+understand that you had established relations with the
+neighboring clergy. Your taste is improving, Glenarm.”
+
+“Mr. Glenarm is a friend of mine,” remarked Stoddard
+quietly. “A very particular friend,” he added.
+
+“I congratulate you—both.”
+
+I laughed. Pickering was surveying the room as he
+spoke,—and Stoddard suddenly stepped toward him,
+merely, I think, to draw up a chair for the sheriff; but
+Pickering, not hearing Stoddard’s step on the soft rug
+until the clergyman was close beside him, started perceptibly
+and reddened.
+
+It was certainly ludicrous, and when Stoddard faced
+me again he was biting his lip.
+
+“Pardon me!” he murmured.
+
+“Now, gentlemen, will you kindly state your business?
+My own affairs press me.”
+
+Pickering was studying the cartridge boxes on the
+library table. The sheriff, too, was viewing these effects
+with interest not, I think, unmixed with awe.
+
+“Glenarm, I don’t like to invoke the law to eject you
+from this property, but I am left with no alternative.
+I can’t stay out here indefinitely, and I want to know
+what I’m to expect.”
+
+“That is a fair question,” I replied. “If it were
+merely a matter of following the terms of the will I
+should not hesitate or be here now. But it isn’t the will,
+or my grandfather, that keeps me, it’s the determination
+to give you all the annoyance possible,—to make it
+hard and mighty hard for you to get hold of this house
+until I have found why you are so much interested
+in it.”
+
+“You always had a grand way in money matters. As
+I told you before you came out here, it’s a poor stake.
+The assets consist wholly of this land and this house,
+whose quality you have had an excellent opportunity
+to test. You have doubtless heard that the country
+people believe there is money concealed here,—but I
+dare say you have exhausted the possibilities. This is
+not the first time a rich man has died leaving precious
+little behind him.”
+
+“You seem very anxious to get possession of a property
+that you call a poor stake,” I said. “A few acres
+of land, a half-finished house and an uncertain claim
+upon a school-teacher!”
+
+“I had no idea you would understand it,” he replied.
+“The fact that a man may be under oath to perform
+the solemn duties imposed upon him by the law would
+hardly appeal to you. But I haven’t come here to debate
+this question. When are you going to leave?”
+
+“Not till I’m ready,—thanks!”
+
+“Mr. Sheriff, will you serve your writ?” he said, and
+I looked to Stoddard for any hint from him as to what
+I should do.
+
+“I believe Mr. Glenarm is quite willing to hear whatever
+the sheriff has to say to him,” said Stoddard. He
+stepped nearer to me, as though to emphasize the fact
+that he belonged to my side of the controversy, and the
+sheriff read an order of the Wabana County Circuit
+Court directing me, immediately, to deliver the house
+and grounds into the keeping of the executor of the
+will of the estate of John Marshall Glenarm.
+
+The sheriff rather enjoyed holding the center of the
+stage, and I listened quietly to the unfamiliar phraseology.
+Before he had quite finished I heard a step in
+the hall and Larry appeared at the door, pipe in mouth.
+Pickering turned toward him frowning, but Larry paid
+not the slightest attention to the executor, leaning
+against the door with his usual tranquil unconcern.
+
+“I advise you not to trifle with the law, Glenarm,”
+said Pickering angrily. “You have absolutely no right
+whatever to be here. And these other gentlemen—your
+guests, I suppose—are equally trespassers under the
+law.”
+
+He stared at Larry, who crossed his legs for greater
+ease in adjusting his lean frame to the door.
+
+“Well, Mr. Pickering, what is the next step?” asked
+the sheriff, with an importance that had been increased
+by the legal phrases he had been reading.
+
+“Mr. Pickering,” said Larry, straightening up and
+taking the pipe from his mouth, “I’m Mr. Glenarm’s
+counsel. If you will do me the kindness to ask the
+sheriff to retire for a moment I should like to say a
+few words to you that you might prefer to keep between
+ourselves.”
+
+I had usually found it wise to take any cue Larry
+threw me, and I said:
+
+“Pickering, this is Mr. Donovan, who has every authority
+to act for me in the matter.”
+
+Pickering looked impatiently from one to the other
+of us.
+
+“You seem to have the guns, the ammunition and the
+numbers on your side,” he observed dryly.
+
+“The sheriff may wait within call,” said Larry, and
+at a word from Pickering the man left the room.
+
+“Now, Mr. Pickering,”—Larry spoke slowly,—“as
+my friend has explained the case to me, the assets of
+his grandfather’s estate are all accounted for,—the land
+hereabouts, this house, the ten thousand dollars in securities
+and a somewhat vague claim against a lady
+known as Sister Theresa, who conducts St. Agatha’s
+School. Is that correct?”
+
+“I don’t ask you to take my word for it, sir,” rejoined
+Pickering hotly. “I have filed an inventory of the
+estate, so far as found, with the proper authorities.”
+
+“Certainly. But I merely wish to be sure of my facts
+for the purpose of this interview, to save me the trouble
+of going to the records. And, moreover, I am somewhat
+unfamiliar with your procedure in this country. I am
+a member, sir, of the Irish Bar. Pardon me, but I repeat
+my question.”
+
+“I have made oath—that, I trust, is sufficient even
+for a member of the Irish Bar.”
+
+“Quite so, Mr. Pickering,” said Larry, nodding his
+head gravely.
+
+He was not, to be sure, a presentable member of any
+bar, for a smudge detracted considerably from the appearance
+of one side of his face, his clothes were rumpled
+and covered with black dust, and his hands were
+black. But I had rarely seen him so calm. He recrossed
+his legs, peered into the bowl of his pipe for a moment,
+then asked, as quietly as though he were soliciting an
+opinion of the weather:
+
+“Will you tell me, Mr. Pickering, whether you yourself
+are a debtor of John Marshall Glenarm’s estate?”
+
+Pickering’s face grew white and his eyes stared, and
+when he tried suddenly to speak his jaw twitched. The
+room was so still that the breaking of a blazing log on
+the andirons was a pleasant relief. We stood, the three
+of us, with our eyes on Pickering, and in my own case
+I must say that my heart was pounding my ribs at an
+uncomfortable speed, for I knew Larry was not sparring
+for time.
+
+The blood rushed into Pickering’s face and he turned
+toward Larry stormily.
+
+“This is unwarrantable and infamous! My relations
+with Mr. Glenarm are none of your business. When
+you remember that after being deserted by his own flesh
+and blood he appealed to me, going so far as to intrust
+all his affairs to my care at his death, your reflection
+is an outrageous insult. I am not accountable to you
+or any one else!”
+
+“Really, there’s a good deal in all that,” said Larry.
+“We don’t pretend to any judicial functions. We are
+perfectly willing to submit the whole business and all
+my client’s acts to the authorities.”
+
+(I would give much if I could reproduce some hint
+of the beauty of that word authorities as it rolled from
+Larry’s tongue!)
+
+“Then, in God’s name, do it, you blackguards!”
+roared Pickering.
+
+Stoddard, sitting on a table, knocked his heels together
+gently. Larry recrossed his legs and blew a
+cloud of smoke. Then, after a quarter of a minute in
+which he gazed at the ceiling with his quiet blue eyes,
+he said:
+
+“Yes; certainly, there are always the authorities. And
+as I have a tremendous respect for your American institutions
+I shall at once act on your suggestion. Mr.
+Pickering, the estate is richer than you thought it was.
+It holds, or will hold, your notes given to the decedent
+for three hundred and twenty thousand dollars.”
+
+He drew from his pocket a brown envelope, walked
+to where I stood and placed it in my hands.
+
+At the same time Stoddard’s big figure grew active,
+and before I realized that Pickering had leaped toward
+the packet, the executor was sitting in a chair, where the
+chaplain had thrown him. He rallied promptly, stuffing
+his necktie into his waistcoat; he even laughed a little.
+
+“So much old paper! You gentlemen are perfectly
+welcome to it.”
+
+“Thank you!” jerked Larry.
+
+“Mr. Glenarm and I had many transactions together,
+and he must have forgotten to destroy those papers.”
+
+“Quite likely,” I remarked. “It is interesting to
+know that Sister Theresa wasn’t his only debtor.”
+
+Pickering stepped to the door and called the sheriff.
+
+“I shall give you until to-morrow morning at nine
+o’clock to vacate the premises. The court understands
+this situation perfectly. These claims are utterly worthless,
+as I am ready to prove.”
+
+“Perfectly, perfectly,” repeated the sheriff.
+
+“I believe that is all,” said Larry, pointing to the
+door with his pipe.
+
+The sheriff was regarding him with particular attention.
+
+“What did I understand your name to be?” he demanded.
+
+“Laurance Donovan,” Larry replied coolly.
+
+Pickering seemed to notice the name now and his eyes
+lighted disagreeably.
+
+“I think I have heard of your friend before,” he said,
+turning to me. “I congratulate you on the international
+reputation of your counsel. He’s esteemed so highly in
+Ireland that they offer a large reward for his return.
+Sheriff, I think we have finished our business for
+to-day.”
+
+He seemed anxious to get the man away, and we gave
+them escort to the outer gate where a horse and buggy
+were waiting.
+
+“Now, I’m in for it,” said Larry, as I locked the gate.
+“We’ve spiked one of his guns, but I’ve given him a new
+one to use against myself. But come, and I will show
+you the Door of Bewilderment before I skip.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+A PROWLER OF THE NIGHT
+
+
+Down we plunged into the cellar, through the trap
+and to the Door of Bewilderment.
+
+“Don’t expect too much,” admonished Larry; “I
+can’t promise you a single Spanish coin.”
+
+“Perish the ambition! We have blocked Pickering’s
+game, and nothing else matters,” I said.
+
+We crawled through the hole in the wall and lighted
+candles. The room was about seven feet square. At
+the farther end was an oblong wooden door, close to the
+ceiling, and Larry tugged at the fastening until it came
+down, bringing with it a mass of snow and leaves.
+
+“Gentlemen,” he said, “we are at the edge of the
+ravine. Do you see the blue sky? And yonder, if you
+will twist your necks a bit, is the boat-house.”
+
+“Well, let the scenic effects go and show us where
+you found those papers,” I urged.
+
+“Speaking of mysteries, that is where I throw up my
+hands, lads. It’s quickly told. Here is a table, and here
+is a tin despatch box, which lies just where I found it.
+It was closed and the key was in the lock. I took out
+that packet—it wasn’t even sealed—saw the character
+of the contents, and couldn’t resist the temptation to
+try the effect of an announcement of its discovery on
+your friend Pickering. Now that is nearly all. I found
+this piece of paper under the tape with which the envelope
+was tied, and I don’t hesitate to say that when
+I read it I laughed until I thought I should shake
+down the cellar. Read it, John Glenarm!”
+
+He handed me a sheet of legal-cap paper on which
+was written these words:
+
+         HE LAUGHS BEST WHO LAUGHS LAST
+
+“What do you think is so funny in this?” I demanded.
+
+“Who wrote it, do you think?” asked Stoddard.
+
+“Who wrote it, do you ask? Why, your grandfather
+wrote it! John Marshall Glenarm, the cleverest, grandest
+old man that ever lived, wrote it!” declaimed Larry,
+his voice booming loudly in the room. “It’s all a great
+big game, fixed up to try you and Pickering,—but principally
+you, you blockhead! Oh, it’s grand, perfectly,
+deliciously grand,—and to think it should be my good
+luck to share in it!”
+
+“Humph! I’m glad you’re amused, but it doesn’t
+strike me as being so awfully funny. Suppose those
+papers had fallen into Pickering’s hands; then where
+would the joke have been, I should like to know!”
+
+“On you, my lad, to be sure! The old gentleman
+wanted you to study architecture; he wanted you to
+study his house; he even left a little pointer in an old
+book! Oh, it’s too good to be true!”
+
+“That’s all clear enough,” observed Stoddard, knocking
+upon the despatch box with his knuckles. “But why
+do you suppose he dug this hole here with its outlet on
+the ravine?”
+
+“Oh, it was the way of him!” explained Larry. “He
+liked the idea of queer corners and underground passages.
+This is a bully hiding-place for man or treasure,
+and that outlet into the ravine makes it possible to get
+out of the house with nobody the wiser. It’s in keeping
+with the rest of his scheme. Be gay, comrades! To-morrow
+will likely find us with plenty of business on
+our hands. At present we hold the fort, and let us have
+a care lest we lose it.”
+
+We closed the ravine door, restored the brick as best
+we could, and returned to the library. We made a list
+of the Pickering notes and spent an hour discussing this
+new feature of the situation.
+
+“That’s a large amount of money to lend one man,”
+said Stoddard.
+
+“True; and from that we may argue that Mr. Glenarm
+didn’t give Pickering all he had. There’s more
+somewhere. If only I didn’t have to run—” and Larry’s
+face fell as he remembered his own plight.
+
+“I’m a selfish pig, old man! I’ve been thinking only
+of my own affairs. But I never relied on you as much
+as now!”
+
+“Those fellows will sound the alarm against Donovan,
+without a doubt, on general principles and to land
+a blow on you,” remarked Stoddard thoughtfully.
+
+“But you can get away, Larry. We’ll help you off
+to-night. I don’t intend to stand between you and liberty.
+This extradition business is no joke,—if they
+ever get you back in Ireland it will be no fun getting
+you off. You’d better run for it before Pickering and
+his sheriff spring their trap.”
+
+“Yes; that’s the wise course. Glenarm and I can
+hold the fort here. His is a moral issue, really, and I’m
+in for a siege of a thousand years,” said the clergyman
+earnestly, “if it’s necessary to beat Pickering. I may
+go to jail in the end, too, I suppose.”
+
+“I want you both to leave. It’s unfair to mix you
+up in this ugly business of mine. Your stake’s bigger
+than mine, Larry. And yours, too, Stoddard; why, your
+whole future—your professional standing and prospects
+would be ruined if we got into a fight here with the authorities.”
+
+“Thank you for mentioning my prospects! I’ve
+never had them referred to before,” laughed Stoddard.
+“No; your grandfather was a friend of the Church and
+I can’t desert his memory. I’m a believer in a vigorous
+Church militant and I’m enlisted for the whole war.
+But Donovan ought to go, if he will allow me to advise
+him.”
+
+Larry filled his pipe at the fireplace.
+
+“Lads,” he said, his hands behind him, rocking gently
+as was his way, “let us talk of art and letters,—I’m going
+to stay. It hasn’t often happened in my life that
+the whole setting of the stage has pleased me as much
+as this. Lost treasure; secret passages; a gentleman
+rogue storming the citadel; a private chaplain on the
+premises; a young squire followed by a limelight; sheriff,
+school-girls and a Sisterhood distributed through
+the landscape,—and me, with Scotland Yard looming
+duskily in the distance. Glenarm, I’m going to stay.”
+
+There was no shaking him, and the spirits of all of
+us rose after this new pledge of loyalty. Stoddard
+stayed for dinner, and afterward we began again our
+eternal quest for the treasure, our hopes high from
+Larry’s lucky strike of the afternoon, and with a new
+eagerness born of the knowledge that the morrow would
+certainly bring us face to face with the real crisis. We
+ranged the house from tower to cellar; we overhauled
+the tunnel, for, it seemed to me, the hundredth time.
+
+It was my watch, and at midnight, after Stoddard and
+Larry had reconnoitered the grounds and Bates and I
+had made sure of all the interior fastenings, I sent
+them off to bed and made myself comfortable with a
+pipe in the library.
+
+I was glad of the respite, glad to be alone,—to consider
+my talk with Marian Devereux at St. Agatha’s,
+and her return with Pickering. Why could she not always
+have been Olivia, roaming the woodland, or the
+girl in gray, or that woman, so sweet in her dignity,
+who came down the stairs at the Armstrongs’? Her
+own attitude toward me was so full of contradictions;
+she had appeared to me in so many moods and guises,
+that my spirit ranged the whole gamut of feeling as I
+thought of her. But it was the recollection of Pickering’s
+infamous conduct that colored all my doubts of
+her. Pickering had always been in my way, and here,
+but for the chance by which Larry had found the notes,
+I should have had no weapon to use against him.
+
+The wind rose and drove shrilly around the house.
+A bit of scaffolding on the outer walls rattled loose
+somewhere and crashed down on the terrace. I grew
+restless, my mind intent upon the many chances of the
+morrow, and running forward to the future. Even if
+I won in my strife with Pickering I had yet my way
+to make in the world. His notes were probably worthless,
+—I did not doubt that. I might use them to procure
+his removal as executor, but I did not look forward
+with any pleasure to a legal fight over a property that
+had brought me only trouble.
+
+Something impelled me to go below, and, taking a
+lantern, I tramped somberly through the cellar, glanced
+at the heating apparatus, and, remembering that the
+chapel entrance to the tunnel was unguarded, followed
+the corridor to the trap, and opened it. The cold air
+blew up sharply and I thrust my head down to listen.
+
+A sound at once arrested me. I thought at first it
+must be the suction of the air, but Glenarm House was
+no place for conjectures, and I put the lantern aside and
+jumped down into the tunnel. A gleam of light showed
+for an instant, then the darkness and silence were complete.
+
+I ran rapidly over the smooth floor, which I had traversed
+so often that I knew its every line. My only
+weapon was one of Stoddard’s clubs. Near the Door
+of Bewilderment I paused and listened. The tunnel
+was perfectly quiet. I took a step forward and stumbled
+over a brick, fumbled on the wall for the opening
+which we had closed carefully that afternoon, and at
+the instant I found it a lantern flashed blindingly in
+my face and I drew back, crouching involuntarily, and
+clenching the club ready to strike.
+
+“Good evening, Mr. Glenarm!”
+
+Marian Devereux’s voice broke the silence, and Marian
+Devereux’s face, with the full light of the lantern
+upon it, was bent gravely upon me. Her voice, as I
+heard it there,—her face, as I saw it there,—are the
+things that I shall remember last when my hour comes
+to go hence from this world. The slim fingers, as they
+clasped the wire screen of the lantern, held my gaze for
+a second. The red tam-o’-shanter that I had associated
+with her youth and beauty was tilted rakishly on one
+side of her pretty head. To find her here, seeking, like
+a thief in the night, for some means of helping Arthur
+Pickering, was the bitterest drop in the cup. I felt as
+though I had been struck with a bludgeon.
+
+“I beg your pardon!” she said, and laughed. “There
+doesn’t seem to be anything to say, does there? Well,
+we do certainly meet under the most unusual, not to say
+unconventional, circumstances, Squire Glenarm. Please
+go away or turn your back. I want to get out of this
+donjon keep.”
+
+She took my hand coolly enough and stepped down
+into the passage. Then I broke upon her stormily.
+
+“You don’t seem to understand the gravity of what
+you are doing! Don’t you know that you are risking
+your life in crawling through this house at midnight?
+—that even to serve Arthur Pickering, a life is a pretty
+big thing to throw away? Your infatuation for that
+blackguard seems to carry you far, Miss Devereux.”
+
+She swung the lantern at arm’s length back and forth
+so that its rays at every forward motion struck my face
+like a blow.
+
+“It isn’t exactly pleasant in this cavern. Unless you
+wish to turn me over to the lord high executioner, I will
+bid you good night.”
+
+“But the infamy of this—of coming in here to spy
+upon me—to help my enemy—the man who is seeking
+plunder—doesn’t seem to trouble you.”
+
+“No, not a particle!” she replied quietly, and then,
+with an impudent fling, “Oh, no!” She held up the lantern
+to look at the wick. “I’m really disappointed to
+find that you were a little ahead of me, Squire Glenarm.
+I didn’t give you credit for so much—perseverance.
+But if you have the notes—”
+
+“The notes! He told you there were notes, did he?
+The coward sent you here to find them, after his other
+tools failed him?”
+
+She laughed that low laugh of hers that was like the
+bubble of a spring.
+
+[Illustration: “I beg your pardon!” she said, and laughed.]
+
+“Of course no one would dare deny what the great
+Squire Glenarm says,” she said witheringly.
+
+“You can’t know what your perfidy means to me,” I
+said. “That night, at the Armstrongs’, I thrilled at
+the sight of you. As you came down the stairway I
+thought of you as my good angel, and I belonged to you,
+—all my life, the better future that I wished to make
+for your sake.”
+
+“Please don’t!” And I felt that my words had
+touched her; that there were regret and repentance in
+her tone and in the gesture with which she turned from
+me.
+
+She hurried down the passage swinging the lantern
+at her side, and I followed, so mystified, so angered by
+her composure, that I scarcely knew what I did. She
+even turned, with pretty courtesy, to hold the light for
+me at the crypt steps,—a service that I accepted perforce
+and with joyless acquiescence in the irony of it.
+I knew that I did not believe in her; her conduct as to
+Pickering was utterly indefensible,—I could not forget
+that; but the light of her eyes, her tranquil brow, the
+sensitive lips, whose mockery stung and pleased in a
+breath,—by such testimony my doubts were alternately
+reinforced and disarmed. Swept by these changing
+moods I followed her out into the crypt.
+
+“You seem to know a good deal about this place, and
+I suppose I can’t object to your familiarizing yourself
+with your own property. And the notes—I’ll give myself
+the pleasure of handing them to you to-morrow.
+You can cancel them and give them to Mr. Pickering,—
+a pretty pledge between you!”
+
+I thrust my hands into my pockets to give an impression
+of ease I did not feel.
+
+“Yes,” she remarked in a practical tone, “three hundred
+and twenty thousand dollars is no mean sum of
+money. Mr. Pickering will undoubtedly be delighted
+to have his debts canceled—”
+
+“In exchange for a life of devotion,” I sneered. “So
+you knew the sum—the exact amount of these notes.
+He hasn’t served you well; he should have told you that
+we found them to-day.”
+
+“You are not nice, are you, Squire Glenarm, when you
+are cross?”
+
+She was like Olivia now. I felt the utter futility of
+attempting to reason with a woman who could become
+a child at will. She walked up the steps and out into
+the church vestibule. Then before the outer door she
+spoke with decision.
+
+“We part here, if you please! And—I have not the
+slightest intention of trying to explain my errand into
+that passage. You have jumped to your own conclusion,
+which will have to serve you. I advise you not
+to think very much about it,—to the exclusion of more
+important business,—Squire Glenarm!”
+
+She lifted the lantern to turn out its light, and it
+made a glory of her face, but she paused and held it
+toward me.
+
+“Pardon me! You will need this to light you home.”
+
+“But you must not cross the park alone!”
+
+“Good night! Please be sure to close the door to the
+passage when you go down. You are a dreadfully heedless
+person, Squire Glenarm.”
+
+She flung open the outer chapel-door, and ran along
+the path toward St. Agatha’s. I watched her in the
+starlight until a bend in the path hid her swift-moving
+figure.
+
+Down through the passage I hastened, her lantern
+lighting my way. At the Door of Bewilderment I closed
+the opening, setting up the line of wall as we had left
+it in the afternoon, and then I went back to the library,
+freshened the fire and brooded before it until Bates came
+to relieve me at dawn.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+BESIEGED
+
+
+It was nine o’clock. A thermometer on the terrace
+showed the mercury clinging stubbornly to a point above
+zero; but the still air was keen and stimulating, and
+the sun argued for good cheer in a cloudless sky. We
+had swallowed some breakfast, though I believe no one
+had manifested an appetite, and we were cheering ourselves
+with the idlest talk possible. Stoddard, who had
+been to the chapel for his usual seven o’clock service, was
+deep in the pocket Greek testament he always carried.
+
+Bates ran in to report a summons at the outer wall,
+and Larry and I went together to answer it, sending
+Bates to keep watch toward the lake.
+
+Our friend the sheriff, with a deputy, was outside
+in a buggy. He stood up and talked to us over the wall.
+
+“You gents understand that I’m only doing my duty.
+It’s an unpleasant business, but the court orders me to
+eject all trespassers on the premises, and I’ve got to
+do it.”
+
+“The law is being used by an infamous scoundrel to
+protect himself. I don’t intend to give in. We can
+hold out here for three months, if necessary, and I advise
+you to keep away and not be made a tool for a man
+like Pickering.”
+
+The sheriff listened respectfully, resting his arms on
+top of the wall.
+
+“You ought to understand, Mr. Glenarm, that I ain’t
+the court; I’m the sheriff, and it’s not for me to pass
+on these questions. I’ve got my orders and I’ve got to
+enforce ’em, and I hope you will not make it necessary
+for me to use violence. The judge said to me, ‘We deplore
+violence in such cases.’ Those were his Honor’s
+very words.”
+
+“You may give his Honor my compliments and tell
+him that we are sorry not to see things his way, but
+there are points involved in this business that he doesn’t
+know anything about, and we, unfortunately, have no
+time to lay them before him.”
+
+The sheriff’s seeming satisfaction with his position
+on the wall and his disposition to parley had begun to
+arouse my suspicions, and Larry several times exclaimed
+impatiently at the absurdity of discussing my
+affairs with a person whom he insisted on calling a constable,
+to the sheriff’s evident annoyance. The officer
+now turned upon him.
+
+“You, sir,—we’ve got our eye on you, and you’d better
+come along peaceable. Laurance Donovan—the description
+fits you to a ‘t’.”
+
+“You could buy a nice farm with that reward,
+couldn’t you—” began Larry, but at that moment Bates
+ran toward us calling loudly.
+
+“They’re coming across the lake, sir,” he reported,
+and instantly the sheriff’s head disappeared, and as we
+ran toward the house we heard his horse pounding down
+the road toward St. Agatha’s.
+
+“The law be damned. They don’t intend to come in
+here by the front door as a matter of law,” said Larry.
+“Pickering’s merely using the sheriff to give respectability
+to his manoeuvers for those notes and the rest
+of it.”
+
+It was no time for a discussion of motives. We ran
+across the meadow past the water tower and through the
+wood down to the boat-house. Far out on the lake we
+saw half a dozen men approaching the Glenarm grounds.
+They advanced steadily over the light snow that lay upon
+the ice, one man slightly in advance and evidently the
+leader.
+
+“It’s Morgan!” exclaimed Bates. “And there’s Ferguson.”
+
+Larry chuckled and slapped his thigh.
+
+“Observe that stocky little devil just behind the leader?
+He’s my friend from Scotland Yard. Lads! this
+is really an international affair.”
+
+“Bates, go back to the house and call at any sign of
+attack,” I ordered. “The sheriff’s loose somewhere.”
+
+“And Pickering is directing his forces from afar,”
+remarked Stoddard.
+
+“I count ten men in Morgan’s line,” said Larry, “and
+the sheriff and his deputy make two more. That’s
+twelve, not counting Pickering, that we know of on the
+other side.”
+
+“Warn them away before they get much nearer,” suggested
+Stoddard. “We don’t want to hurt people if
+we can help it,”—and at this I went to the end of the
+pier. Morgan and his men were now quite near, and
+there was no mistaking their intentions. Most of them
+carried guns, the others revolvers and long ice-hooks.
+
+“Morgan,” I called, holding up my hands for a truce,
+“we wish you no harm, but if you enter these grounds
+you do so at your peril.”
+
+“We’re all sworn deputy sheriffs,” called the caretaker
+smoothly. “We’ve got the law behind us.”
+
+“That must be why you’re coming in the back way,”
+I replied.
+
+The thick-set man whom Larry had identified as the
+English detective now came closer and addressed me in
+a high key.
+
+“You’re harboring a bad man, Mr. Glenarm. You’d
+better give him up. The American law supports me,
+and you’ll get yourself in trouble if you protect that
+man. You may not understand, sir, that he’s a very
+dangerous character.”
+
+“Thanks, Davidson!” called Larry. “You’d better
+keep out of this. You know I’m a bad man with the
+shillalah!”
+
+“That you are, you blackguard!” yelled the officer,
+so spitefully that we all laughed.
+
+I drew back to the boat-house.
+
+“They are not going to kill anybody if they can help
+it,” remarked Stoddard, “any more than we are. Even
+deputy sheriffs are not turned loose to do murder, and
+the Wabana County Court wouldn’t, if it hadn’t been
+imposed on by Pickering, lend itself to a game like
+this.”
+
+“Now we’re in for it,” yelled Larry, and the twelve
+men, in close order, came running across the ice toward
+the shore.
+
+“Open order, and fall back slowly toward the house,”
+I commanded. And we deployed from the boat-house,
+while the attacking party still clung together,—a strategic
+error, as Larry assured us.
+
+“Stay together, lads. Don’t separate; you’ll get lost
+if you do,” he yelled.
+
+Stoddard bade him keep still, and we soon had our
+hands full with a preliminary skirmish. Morgan’s line
+advanced warily. Davidson, the detective, seemed disgusted
+at Morgan’s tactics, openly abused the caretaker,
+and ran ahead of his column, revolver in hand,
+bearing down upon Larry, who held our center.
+
+The Englishman’s haste was his undoing. The light
+fall of snow a few days before had gathered in the little
+hollows of the wood deceptively. The detective plunged
+into one of these and fell sprawling on all fours,—a
+calamity that caused his comrades to pause uneasily.
+Larry was upon his enemy in a flash, wrenched his pistol
+away and pulled the man to his feet.
+
+“Ah, Davidson! There’s many a slip! Move, if you
+dare and I’ll plug you with your own gun.” And he
+stood behind the man, using him as a shield while Morgan
+and the rest of the army hung near the boat-house
+uncertainly.
+
+“It’s the strategic intellect we’ve captured, General,”
+observed Larry to me. “You see the American invaders
+were depending on British brains.”
+
+Morgan now acted on the hint we had furnished him
+and sent his men out as skirmishers. The loss of the
+detective had undoubtedly staggered the caretaker, and
+we were slowly retreating toward the house, Larry with
+one hand on the collar of his prisoner and the other
+grasping the revolver with which he poked the man
+frequently in the ribs. We slowly continued our retreat,
+fearing a rush, which would have disposed of us
+easily enough if Morgan’s company had shown more of
+a fighting spirit. Stoddard’s presence rather amazed
+them, I think, and I saw that the invaders kept away
+from his end of the line. We were far apart, stumbling
+over the snow-covered earth and calling to one another
+now and then that we might not become too widely separated.
+Davidson did not relish his capture by the man
+he had followed across the ocean, and he attempted once
+to roar a command to Morgan.
+
+“Try it again,” I heard Larry admonish him, “try
+that once more, and The Sod, God bless it! will never
+feel the delicate imprint of your web-feet again.”
+
+He turned the man about and rushed him toward the
+house, the revolver still serving as a prod. His speed
+gave heart to the wary invaders immediately behind him
+and two fellows urged and led by Morgan charged our
+line at a smart pace.
+
+“Bolt for the front door,” I called to Larry, and Stoddard
+and I closed in after him to guard his retreat.
+
+“They’re not shooting,” called Stoddard. “You may
+be sure they’ve had their orders to capture the house
+with as little row as possible.”
+
+We were now nearing the edge of the wood, with the
+open meadow and water-tower at our backs, while Larry
+was making good time toward the house.
+
+“Let’s meet them here,” shouted Stoddard.
+
+Morgan was coming up with a club in his hand, making
+directly for me, two men at his heels, and the rest
+veering off toward the wall of St. Agatha’s.
+
+“Watch the house,” I yelled to the chaplain; and
+then, on the edge of the wood Morgan came at me furiously,
+swinging his club over his head, and in a moment
+we were fencing away at a merry rate. We both had
+revolvers strapped to our waists, but I had no intention
+of drawing mine unless in extremity. At my right
+Stoddard was busy keeping off Morgan’s personal
+guard, who seemed reluctant to close with the clergyman.
+
+I have been, in my day, something of a fencer, and
+my knowledge of the foils stood me in good stead now.
+With a tremendous thwack I knocked Morgan’s club
+flying over the snow, and, as we grappled, Bates yelled
+from the house. I quickly found that Morgan’s wounded
+arm was still tender. He flinched at the first grapple,
+and his anger got the better of his judgment. We
+kicked up the snow at a great rate as we feinted and
+dragged each other about. He caught hold of my belt
+with one hand and with a great wrench nearly dragged
+me from my feet, but I pinioned his arms and bent
+him backward, then, by a trick Larry had taught me,
+flung him upon his side. It is not, I confess, a pretty
+business, matching your brute strength against that of
+a fellow man, and as I cast myself upon him and felt
+his hard-blown breath on my face, I hated myself more
+than I hated him for engaging in so ignoble a contest.
+
+Bates continued to call from the house.
+
+“Come on at any cost,” shouted Stoddard, putting
+himself between me and the men who were flying to
+Morgan’s aid.
+
+I sprang away from my adversary, snatching his revolver,
+and ran toward the house, Stoddard close behind,
+but keeping himself well between me and the men who
+were now after us in full cry.
+
+“Shoot, you fools, shoot!” howled Morgan, and as we
+reached the open meadow and ran for the house a shot-gun
+roared back of us and buckshot snapped and rattled
+on the stone of the water tower.
+
+“There’s the sheriff,” called Stoddard behind me.
+
+The officer of the law and his deputy ran into the
+park from the gate of St. Agatha’s, while the rest of
+Morgan’s party were skirting the wall to join them.
+
+“Stop or I’ll shoot,” yelled Morgan, and I felt Stoddard
+pause in his gigantic stride to throw himself between
+me and the pursuers.
+
+“Sprint for it hot,” he called very coolly, as though
+he were coaching me in a contest of the most amiable
+sort imaginable.
+
+“Get away from those guns,” I panted, angered by
+the very generosity of his defense.
+
+“Feint for the front entrance and then run for the
+terrace and the library-door,” he commanded, as we
+crossed the little ravine bridge. “They’ve got us headed
+off.”
+
+Twice the guns boomed behind us, and twice I saw
+shot cut into the snow about me.
+
+“I’m all right,” called Stoddard reassuringly, still
+at my back. “They’re not a bit anxious to kill me.”
+
+I was at the top of my speed now, but the clergyman
+kept close at my heels. I was blowing hard, but he
+made equal time with perfect ease.
+
+The sheriff was bawling orders to his forces, who
+awaited us before the front door. Bates and Larry were
+not visible, but I had every confidence that the Irishman
+would reappear in the fight at the earliest moment
+possible. Bates, too, was to be reckoned with, and the
+final struggle, if it came in the house itself, might not
+be so unequal, providing we knew the full strength
+of the enemy.
+
+“Now for the sheriff—here we go!” cried Stoddard—
+beside me—and we were close to the fringe of trees that
+shielded the entrance. Then off we veered suddenly to
+the left, close upon the terrace, where one of the French
+windows was thrown open and Larry and Bates stepped
+out, urging us on with lusty cries.
+
+They caught us by the arms and dragged us over
+where the balustrade was lowest, and we crowded
+through the door and slammed it. As Bates snapped
+the bolts Morgan’s party discharged its combined artillery
+and the sheriff began a great clatter at the front
+door.
+
+“Gentlemen, we’re in a state of siege,” observed
+Larry, filling his pipe.
+
+Shot pattered on the wails and several panes of glass
+cracked in the French windows.
+
+“All’s tight below, sir,” reported Bates. “I thought
+it best to leave the tunnel trap open for our own use.
+Those fellows won’t come in that way,—it’s too much
+like a blind alley.”
+
+“Where’s your prisoner, Larry?”
+
+“Potato cellar, quite comfortable, thanks!”
+
+It was ten o’clock and the besiegers suddenly withdrew
+a short distance for parley among themselves. Outside
+the sun shone brightly; and the sky was never bluer.
+In this moment of respite, while we made ready for
+what further the day might bring forth, I climbed up
+to the finished tower to make sure we knew the enemy’s
+full strength. I could see over the tree-tops, beyond the
+chapel tower, the roofs of St. Agatha’s. There, at least,
+was peace. And in that moment, looking over the black
+wood, with the snow lying upon the ice of the lake white
+and gleaming under the sun, I felt unutterably lonely
+and heart-sick, and tired of strife. It seemed a thousand
+years ago that I had walked and talked with the
+child Olivia; and ten thousand years more since the
+girl in gray at the Annandale station had wakened in
+me a higher aim, and quickened a better impulse than I
+had ever known.
+
+Larry roared my name through the lower floors. I
+went down with no wish in my heart but to even matters
+with Pickering and be done with my grandfather’s
+legacy for ever.
+
+“The sheriff and Morgan have gone back toward the
+lake,” reported Larry.
+
+“They’ve gone to consult their chief,” I said. “I
+wish Pickering would lead his own battalions. It would
+give social prestige to the fight.”
+
+“Bah, these women!” And Larry tore the corner
+from a cartridge box.
+
+Stoddard, with a pile of clubs within reach, lay on
+his back on the long leather couch, placidly reading his
+Greek testament. Bates, for the first time since my arrival,
+seemed really nervous and anxious. He pulled a
+silver watch from his pocket several times, something I
+had never seen him do before. He leaned against the
+table, looking strangely tired and worn, and I saw him
+start nervously as he felt Larry’s eyes on him.
+
+“I think, sir, I’d better take another look at the outer
+gates,” he remarked to me quite respectfully.
+
+His disturbed air aroused my old antagonism. Was
+he playing double in the matter? Did he seek now an
+excuse for conveying some message to the enemy?
+
+“You’ll stay where you are,” I said sharply, and I
+found myself restlessly fingering my revolver.
+
+“Very good, sir,”—and the hurt look in his eyes
+touched me.
+
+“Bates is all right,” Larry declared, with an emphasis
+that was meant to rebuke me.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+THE FIGHT IN THE LIBRARY
+
+
+“They’re coming faster this time,” remarked Stoddard.
+
+“Certainly. Their general has been cursing them
+right heartily for retreating without the loot. He wants
+his three-hundred-thousand-dollar autograph collection,”
+observed Larry.
+
+“Why doesn’t he come for it himself, like a man?” I
+demanded.
+
+“Like a man, do you say!” ejaculated Larry. “Faith
+and you flatter that fat-head!”
+
+It was nearly eleven o’clock when the attacking party
+returned after a parley on the ice beyond the boat-house.
+The four of us were on the terrace ready for them.
+They came smartly through the wood, the sheriff and
+Morgan slightly in advance of the others. I expected
+them to slacken their pace when they came to the open
+meadow, but they broke into a quick trot at the water-tower
+and came toward the house as steady as veteran
+campaigners.
+
+“Shall we try gunpowder?” asked Larry.
+
+“We’ll let them fire the first volley,” I said.
+
+“They’ve already tried to murder you and Stoddard,
+—I’m in for letting loose with the elephant guns,” protested
+the Irishman.
+
+“Stand to your clubs,” admonished Stoddard, whose
+own weapon was comparable to the Scriptural weaver’s
+beam. “Possession is nine points of the fight, and we’ve
+got the house.”
+
+“Also a prisoner of war,” said Larry, grinning.
+
+The English detective had smashed the glass in the
+barred window of the potato cellar and we could hear
+him howling and cursing below.
+
+“Looks like business this time!” exclaimed Larry.
+“Spread out now and the first head that sticks over the
+balustrade gets a dose of hickory.”
+
+When twenty-five yards from the terrace the advancing
+party divided, half halting between us and the
+water-tower and the remainder swinging around the
+house toward the front entrance.
+
+“Ah, look at that!” yelled Larry. “It’s a battering-ram
+they have. O man of peace! have I your Majesty’s
+consent to try the elephant guns now?”
+
+Morgan and the sheriff carried between them a stick
+of timber from which the branches had been cut, and,
+with a third man to help, they ran it up the steps and
+against the door with a crash that came booming back
+through the house.
+
+Bates was already bounding up the front stairway, a
+revolver in his hand and a look of supreme rage on his
+face. Leaving Stoddard and Larry to watch the library
+windows, I was after him, and we clattered over the loose
+boards in the upper hall and into a great unfinished
+chamber immediately over the entrance. Bates had the
+window up when I reached him and was well out upon
+the coping, yelling a warning to the men below.
+
+He had his revolver up to shoot, and when I caught
+his arm he turned to me with a look of anger and indignation
+I had never expected to see on his colorless, mask-like
+face.
+
+“My God, sir! That door was his pride, sir,—it came
+from a famous house in England, and they’re wrecking
+it, sir, as though it were common pine.”
+
+He tore himself free of my grasp as the besiegers
+again launched their battering-ram against the door
+with a frightful crash, and his revolver cracked smartly
+thrice, as he bent far out with one hand clinging to
+the window frame.
+
+His shots were a signal for a sharp reply from one of
+the men below, and I felt Bates start, and pulled him
+in, the blood streaming from his face.
+
+“It’s all right, sir,—all right,—only a cut across my
+cheek, sir,”—and another bullet smashed through the
+glass, spurting plaster dust from the wall. A fierce
+onslaught below caused a tremendous crash to echo
+through the house, and I heard firing on the opposite
+side, where the enemy’s reserve was waiting.
+
+Bates, with a handkerchief to his face, protested that
+he was unhurt.
+
+“Come below; there’s nothing to be gained here,”—.
+and I ran down to the hall, where Stoddard stood, leaning
+upon his club like a Hercules and coolly watching
+the door as it leaped and shook under the repeated blows
+of the besiegers.
+
+A gun roared again at the side of the house, and I ran
+to the library, where Larry had pushed furniture against
+all the long windows save one, which he held open. He
+stepped out upon the terrace and emptied a revolver at
+the men who were now creeping along the edge of the
+ravine beneath us. One of them stopped and discharged
+a rifle at us with deliberate aim. The ball snapped snow
+from the balustrade and screamed away harmlessly.
+
+“Bah, such monkeys!” he muttered. “I believe I’ve
+hit that chap!” One man had fallen and lay howling
+in the ravine, his hand to his thigh, while his comrades
+paused, demoralized.
+
+“Serves you right, you blackguard!” Larry muttered.
+
+I pulled him in and we jammed a cabinet against the
+door.
+
+Meanwhile the blows at the front continued with increasing
+violence. Stoddard still stood where I had left
+him. Bates was not in sight, but the barking of a revolver
+above showed that he had returned to the window
+to take vengeance on his enemies.
+
+Stoddard shook his head in deprecation.
+
+“They fired first,—we can’t do less than get back at
+them,” I said, between the blows of the battering-ram.
+
+A panel of the great oak door now splintered in, but
+in their fear that we might use the opening as a
+loophole, they scampered out into range of Bates’ revolver.
+In return we heard a rain of small shot on the
+upper windows, and a few seconds later Larry shouted
+that the flanking party was again at the terrace.
+
+This movement evidently heartened the sheriff, for,
+under a fire from Bates, his men rushed up and the log
+crashed again into the door, shaking it free of the upper
+hinges. The lower fastenings were wrenched loose an
+instant later, and the men came tumbling into the hall,
+—the sheriff, Morgan and four others I had never seen
+before. Simultaneously the flanking party reached the
+terrace and were smashing the small panes of the French
+windows. We could hear the glass crack and tinkle
+above the confusion at the door.
+
+In the hall he was certainly a lucky man who held to
+his weapon a moment after the door tumbled in. I
+blazed at the sheriff with my revolver as he stumbled
+and half-fell at the threshold, so that the ball passed
+over him, but he gripped me by the legs and had me
+prone and half-dazed by the rap of my head on the floor.
+
+I suppose I was two or three minutes, at least, getting
+my wits. I was first conscious of Bates grappling the
+sheriff, who sat upon me, and as they struggled with each
+other I got the full benefit of their combined, swerving,
+tossing weight. Morgan and Larry were trying for a
+chance at each other with revolvers, while Morgan
+backed the Irishman slowly toward the library. Stoddard
+had seized one of the unknown deputies with both
+hands by the collar and gave his captive a tremendous
+swing, jerking him high in the air and driving him
+against another invader with a blow that knocked both
+fellows spinning into a corner.
+
+“Come on to the library!” shouted Larry, and Bates,
+who had got me to my feet, dragged me down the hall
+toward the open library-door.
+
+Bates presented at this moment an extraordinary appearance,
+with the blood from the scratch on his face
+coursing down his cheek and upon his shoulder. His
+coat and shirt had been torn away and the blood was
+smeared over his breast. The fury and indignation in
+his face was something I hope not to see again in a human
+countenance.
+
+“My God, this room—this beautiful room!” I heard
+him cry, as he pushed me before him into the library.
+“It was Mr. Glenarm’s pride,” he muttered, and sprang
+upon a burly fellow who had came in through one of
+the library doors and was climbing over the long table
+we had set up as a barricade.
+
+We were now between two fires. The sheriff’s party
+had fought valiantly to keep us out of the library, and
+now that we were within, Stoddard’s big shoulders held
+the door half-closed against the combined strength of
+the men in the ball. This pause was fortunate, for it
+gave us an opportunity to deal singly with the fellows
+who were climbing in from the terrace. Bates had laid
+one of them low with a club and Larry disposed of another,
+who had made a murderous effort to stick a knife
+into him. I was with Stoddard against the door, where
+the sheriff’s men were slowly gaining upon us.
+
+“Let go on the jump when I say three,” said
+Stoddard, and at his word we sprang away from the
+door and into the room. Larry yelled with joy as the
+sheriff and his men pitched forward and sprawled upon
+the floor, and we were at it again in a hand-to-hand conflict
+to clear the room.
+
+“Hold that position, sir,” yelled Bates.
+
+Morgan had directed the attack against me and I was
+driven upon the hearth before the great fireplace. The
+sheriff, Morgan and Ferguson hemmed me in. It was
+evident that I was the chief culprit, and they wished to
+eliminate me from the contest. Across the room, Larry,
+Stoddard and Bates were engaged in a lively rough and
+tumble with the rest of the besiegers, and Stoddard, seeing
+my plight, leaped the overturned table, broke past
+the trio and stood at my side, swinging a chair.
+
+At that moment my eyes, sweeping the outer doors,
+saw the face of Pickering. He had come to see that his
+orders were obeyed, and I remember yet my satisfaction,
+as, hemmed in by the men he had hired to kill me
+or drive me out, I felt, rather than saw, the cowardly
+horror depicted upon his face.
+
+Then the trio pressed in upon me. As I threw down
+my club and drew my revolver, some one across the
+room fired several shots, whose roar through the room
+seemed to arrest the fight for an instant, and then, while
+Stoddard stood at my side swinging his chair defensively,
+the great chandelier, loosened or broken by the shots,
+fell with a mighty crash of its crystal pendants. The
+sheriff, leaping away from Stoddard’s club, was struck
+on the head and borne down by the heavy glass.
+
+Smoke from the firing floated in clouds across the
+room, and there was a moment’s silence save for the
+sheriff, who was groaning and cursing under the debris
+of the chandelier. At the door Pickering’s face appeared
+again anxious and frightened. I think the scene
+in the room and the slow progress his men were making
+against us had half-paralyzed him.
+
+We were all getting our second wind for a renewal
+of the fight, with Morgan in command of the enemy.
+One or two of his men, who had gone down early in the
+struggle, were now crawling back for revenge. I think
+I must have raised my hand and pointed at Pickering,
+for Bates wheeled like a flash and before I realized what
+happened he had dragged the executor into the room.
+
+“You scoundrel—you ingrate!” howled the servant.
+
+The blood on his face and bare chest and the hatred
+in his eves made him a hideous object; but in that lull
+of the storm while we waited, watching for an advantage,
+I heard off somewhere, above or below, that same
+sound of footsteps that I had remarked before. Larry
+and Stoddard heard it; Bates heard it, and his eyes fixed
+upon Pickering with a glare of malicious delight.
+
+“There comes our old friend, the ghost,” yelled Larry.
+
+“I think you are quite right, sir,” said Bates. He
+threw down the revolver he held in his hand and leaned
+upon the edge of the long table that lay on its side, his
+gaze still bent on Pickering, who stood with his overcoat
+buttoned close, his derby hat on the floor beside him,
+where it had fallen as Bates hauled him into the room.
+
+The sound of a measured step, of some one walking,
+of a careful foot on a stairway, was quite distinct. I even
+remarked the slight stumble that I had noticed before.
+
+We were all so intent on those steps in the wall that
+we were off guard. I heard Bates yell at me, and Larry
+and Stoddard rushed for Pickering. He had drawn a
+revolver from his overcoat pocket and thrown it up to
+fire at me when Stoddard sent the weapon flying through
+the air.
+
+“Only a moment now, gentlemen,” said Bates, an odd
+smile on his face. He was looking past me toward the
+right end of the fireplace. There seemed to be in the
+air a feeling of something impending. Even Morgan
+and his men, half-crouching ready for a rush at me, hesitated;
+and Pickering glanced nervously from one to the
+other of us. It was the calm before the storm; in a moment
+we should be at each other’s throats for the final
+struggle, and yet we waited. In the wall I heard still
+the sound of steps. They were clear to all of us now.
+We stood there for what seemed an eternity—I suppose
+the time was really not more than thirty seconds—inert,
+waiting, while I felt that something must happen; the
+silence, the waiting, were intolerable. I grasped my pistol
+and bent low for a spring at Morgan, with the overturned
+table and wreckage of the chandelier between me
+and Pickering; and every man in the room was instantly
+on the alert.
+
+All but Bates. He remained rigid—that curious
+smile on his blood-smeared face, his eyes bent toward the
+end of the great fireplace back of me.
+
+That look on his face held, arrested, numbed me; I
+followed it. I forgot Morgan; a tacit truce held us all
+again. I stepped back till my eyes fastened on the
+broad paneled chimney-breast at the right of the hearth,
+and it was there now that the sound of footsteps in the
+wall was heard again; then it ceased utterly, the long
+panel opened slowly, creaking slightly upon its hinges,
+then down into the room stepped Marian Devereux.
+She wore the dark gown in which I had seen her last,
+and a cloak was drawn over her shoulders.
+
+She laughed as her eyes swept the room.
+
+“Ah, gentlemen,” she said, shaking her head, as she
+viewed our disorder, “what wretched housekeepers you
+are!”
+
+Steps were again heard in the wall, and she turned to
+the panel, held it open with one hand and put out the
+other, waiting for some one who followed her.
+
+Then down into the room stepped my grandfather,
+John Marshall Glenarm! His staff, his cloak, the silk
+hat above his shrewd face, and his sharp black eyes were
+unmistakable. He drew a silk handkerchief from the
+skirts of his frock coat, with a characteristic flourish
+that I remembered well, and brushed a bit of dust from
+his cloak before looking at any of us. Then his eyes
+fell upon me.
+
+“Good morning, Jack,” he said; and his gaze swept
+the room.
+
+“God help us!”
+
+It was Morgan, I think, who screamed these words as
+he bolted for the broken door, but Stoddard caught and
+held him.
+
+“Thank God, you’re here, sir!” boomed forth in Bates’
+sepulchral voice.
+
+It seemed to me that I saw all that happened with a
+weird, unnatural distinctness, as one sees, before a
+storm, vivid outlines of far headlands that the usual
+light of day scarce discloses.
+
+I was myself dazed and spellbound; but I do not like
+to think, even now, of the effect of my grandfather’s
+appearance on Arthur Pickering; of the shock that
+seemed verily to break him in two, so that he staggered,
+then collapsed, his head falling as though to strike his
+knees. Larry caught him by the collar and dragged him
+to a seat, where he huddled, his twitching hands at his
+throat.
+
+“Gentlemen,” said my grandfather, “you seem to have
+been enjoying yourselves. Who is this person?”
+
+He pointed with his stick to the sheriff, who was endeavoring
+to crawl out from under the mass of broken
+crystals.
+
+“That, sir, is the sheriff,” answered Bates.
+
+“A very disorderly man, I must say. Jack, what
+have you been doing to cause the sheriff so much inconvenience?
+Didn’t you know that that chandelier was
+likely to kill him? That thing cost a thousand dollars,
+gentlemen. You are expensive visitors. Ah, Morgan,—
+and Ferguson, too! Well, well! I thought better of both
+of you. Good morning, Stoddard! A little work for
+the Church militant! And this gentleman?”—he indicated
+Larry, who was, for once in his life, without anything
+to say.
+
+“Mr. Donovan,—a friend of the house,” explained
+Bates.
+
+“Pleased, I’m sure,” said the old gentleman. “Glad
+the house had a friend. It seems to have had enemies
+enough,” he added dolefully; and he eyed the wreck of
+the room ruefully. The good humor in his face reassured
+me; but still I stood in tongue-tied wonder, staring
+at him.
+
+“And Pickering!” John Marshall Glenarm’s voice
+broke with a quiet mirth that I remembered as the preface
+usually of something unpleasant. “Well, Arthur,
+I’m glad to find you on guard, defending the interests
+of my estate. At the risk of your life, too! Bates!”
+
+“Yes, Mr. Glenarm.”
+
+“You ought to have called me earlier. I really prized
+that chandelier immensely. And this furniture wasn’t
+so bad!”
+
+His tone changed abruptly. He pointed to the
+sheriff’s deputies one after the other with his stick.
+There was, I remembered, always something insinuating,
+disagreeable and final about my grandfather’s staff.
+
+“Clear out!” he commanded. “Bates, see these fellows
+through the wall. Mr. Sheriff, if I were you I’d
+be very careful, indeed, what I said of this affair. I’m
+a dead man come to life again, and I know a great deal
+that I didn’t know before I died. Nothing, gentlemen,
+fits a man for life like a temporary absence from this
+cheerful and pleasant world. I recommend you to try
+it.”
+
+He walked about the room with the quick eager step
+that was peculiarly his own, while Stoddard, Larry and
+I stared at him. Bates was helping the dazed sheriff
+to his feet. Morgan and the rest of the foe were crawling
+and staggering away, muttering, as though imploring
+the air of heaven against an evil spirit.
+
+Pickering sat silent, not sure whether he saw a ghost
+or real flesh and blood, and Larry kept close to him, cutting
+off his retreat. I think we all experienced that bewildered
+feeling of children who are caught in mischief
+by a sudden parental visitation. My grandfather went
+about peering at the books, with a tranquil air that was
+disquieting.
+
+He paused suddenly before the design for the memorial
+tablet, which I had made early in my stay at
+Glenarm House. I had sketched the lettering with some
+care, and pinned it against a shelf for my more leisurely
+study of its phrases. The old gentlemen pulled out his
+glasses and stood with his hands behind his back, reading.
+When he finished he walked to where I stood.
+
+“Jack!” he said, “Jack, my boy!” His voice shook
+and his hands trembled as he laid them on my shoulders.
+“Marian,”—he turned, seeking her, but the girl had
+vanished. “Just as well,” he said. “This room is hardly
+an edifying sight for a woman.” I heard, for an instant,
+a light hurried step in the wall.
+
+Pickering, too, heard that faint, fugitive sound, and
+our eyes met at the instant it ceased. The thought of
+her tore my heart, and I felt that Pickering saw and
+knew and was glad.
+
+“They have all gone, sir,” reported Bates, returning
+to the room.
+
+“Now, gentlemen,” began my grandfather, seating
+himself, “I owe you an apology; this little secret of mine
+was shared by only two persons. One of these was Bates,”
+—he paused as an exclamation broke from all of us; and
+he went on, enjoying our amazement,—“and the other
+was Marian Devereux. I had often observed that at a
+man’s death his property gets into the wrong hands, or
+becomes a bone of contention among lawyers. Sometimes,”
+and the old gentleman laughed, “an executor
+proves incompetent or dishonest. I was thoroughly
+fooled in you, Pickering. The money you owe me is a
+large sum; and you were so delighted to hear of my
+death that you didn’t even make sure I was really out of
+the way. You were perfectly willing to accept Bates’
+word for it; and I must say that Bates carried it off
+splendidly.”
+
+Pickering rose, the blood surging again in his face,
+and screamed at Bates, pointing a shaking finger at the
+man.
+
+“You impostor,—you perjurer! The law will deal
+with your case.”
+
+“To be sure,” resumed my grandfather calmly;
+“Bates did make false affidavits about my death; but
+possibly—”
+
+“It was in a Pickwickian sense, sir,” said Bates
+gravely.
+
+“And in a righteous cause,” declared my grandfather.
+“I assure you, Pickering, that I have every intention of
+taking care of Bates. His weekly letters giving an account
+of the curious manifestations of your devotion to
+Jack’s security and peace were alone worth a goodly
+sum. But, Bates—”
+
+The old gentleman was enjoying himself hugely. He
+chuckled now, and placed his hand on my shoulder.
+
+“Bates, it was too bad I got those missives of yours
+all in a bunch. I was in a dahabiyeh on the Nile and
+they don’t have rural free delivery in Egypt. Your
+cablegram called me home before I got the letters. But
+thank God, Jack, you’re alive!”
+
+There was real feeling in these last words, and I
+think we were all touched by them.
+
+“Amen to that!” cried Bates.
+
+“And now, Pickering, before you go I want to show
+you something. It’s about this mysterious treasure, that
+has given you—and I hear, the whole countryside—so
+much concern. I’m disappointed in you, Jack, that you
+couldn’t find the hiding-place. I designed that as a part
+of your architectural education. Bates, give me a
+chair.”
+
+The man gravely drew a chair out of the wreckage
+and placed it upon the hearth. My grandfather stepped
+upon it, seized one of the bronze sconces above the mantel
+and gave it a sharp turn. At the same moment,
+Bates, upon another chair, grasped the companion
+bronze and wrenched it sharply. Instantly some mechanism
+creaked in the great oak chimney-breast and the
+long oak panels swung open, disclosing a steel door with
+a combination knob.
+
+“Gentlemen,”—and my grandfather turned with a
+quaint touch of humor, and a merry twinkle in his
+bright old eyes—“gentlemen, behold the treasury! It
+has proved a better hiding-place than I ever imagined
+it would. There’s not much here, Jack, but enough to
+keep you going for a while.”
+
+We were all staring, and the old gentleman was unfeignedly
+enjoying our mystification. It was an hour
+on which he had evidently counted much; it was the
+triumph of his resurrection and home-coming, and he
+chuckled as he twirled the knob in the steel door. Then
+Bates stepped forward and helped him pull the door
+open, disclosing a narrow steel chest, upright and held
+in place by heavy bolts clamped in the stone of the chimney.
+It was filled with packets of papers placed on
+shelves, and tied neatly with tape.
+
+“Jack,” said my grandfather, shaking his head, “you
+wouldn’t be an architect, and you’re not much of an
+engineer either, or you’d have seen that that paneling
+was heavier than was necessary. There’s two hundred
+thousand dollars in first-rate securities—I vouch for
+them! Bates and I put them there just before I went
+to Vermont to die.”
+
+“I’ve sounded those panels a dozen times,” I protested.
+
+“Of course you have,” said my grandfather, “but
+solid steel behind wood is safe. I tested it carefully before
+I left.”
+
+He laughed and clapped his knees, and I laughed with
+him.
+
+“But you found the Door of Bewilderment and Pickering’s
+notes, and that’s something.”
+
+“No; I didn’t even find that. Donovan deserves the
+credit. But how did you ever come to build that tunnel,
+if you don’t mind telling me?”
+
+He laughed gleefully.
+
+“That was originally a trench for natural-gas pipes.
+There was once a large pumping-station on the site of
+this house, with a big trunk main running off across
+country to supply the towns west of here. The gas was
+exhausted, and the pipes were taken up before I began
+to build. I should never have thought of that tunnel in
+the world if the trench hadn’t suggested it. I merely
+deepened and widened it a little and plastered it with
+cheap cement as far as the chapel, and that little room
+there where I put Pickering’s notes had once been the
+cellar of a house built for the superintendent of the gas
+plant. I had never any idea that I should use that passage
+as a means of getting into my own house, but Marian
+met me at the station, told me that there was trouble
+here, and came with me through the chapel into the
+cellar, and through the hidden stairway that winds
+around the chimney from that room where we keep the
+candlesticks.”
+
+“But who was the ghost?” I demanded, “if you were
+really alive and in Egypt?”
+
+Bates laughed now.
+
+“Oh, I was the ghost! I went through there occasionally
+to stimulate your curiosity about the house.
+And you nearly caught me once!”
+
+“One thing more, if we’re not wearing you out—I’d
+like to know whether Sister Theresa owes you any
+money.”
+
+My grandfather turned upon Pickering with blazing
+eyes.
+
+“You scoundrel, you infernal scoundrel, Sister
+Theresa never borrowed a cent of me in her life! And
+you have made war on that woman—”
+
+His rage choked him.
+
+He told Bates to close the door of the steel chest, and
+then turned to me.
+
+“Where are those notes of Pickering’s?” he demanded;
+and I brought the packet.
+
+“Gentlemen, Mr. Pickering has gone to ugly lengths
+in this affair. How many murders have you gentlemen
+committed?”
+
+“We were about to begin actual killing when you arrived,”
+replied Larry, grinning.
+
+“The sheriff got all his men off the premises more or
+less alive, sir,” said Bates.
+
+“That is good. It was all a great mistake,—a very
+great mistake,”—and my grandfather turned to Pickering.
+
+“Pickering, what a contemptible scoundrel you are!
+I lent you that three hundred thousand dollars to buy
+securities to give you better standing in your railroad
+enterprises, and the last time I saw you, you got me to
+release the collateral so you could raise money to buy
+more shares. Then, after I died”—he chuckled—“you
+thought you’d find and destroy the notes and that would
+end the transaction; and if you had been smart enough
+to find them you might have had them and welcome.
+But as it is, they go to Jack. If he shows any mercy
+on you in collecting them he’s not the boy I think he is.”
+
+Pickering rose, seized his hat and turned toward the
+shattered library-door. He paused for one moment, his
+face livid with rage.
+
+“You old fool!” he screamed at my grandfather.
+“You old lunatic, I wish to God I had never seen you!
+No wonder you came back to life! You’re a tricky old
+devil and too mean to die!”
+
+He turned toward me with some similar complaint
+ready at his tongue’s end; but Stoddard caught him by
+the shoulders and thrust him out upon the terrace.
+
+A moment later we saw him cross the meadow and
+hurry toward St. Agatha’s.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+CHANGES AND CHANCES
+
+
+John Marshall Glenarm had probably never been so
+happy in his life as on that day of his amazing home-coming.
+He laughed at us and he laughed with us, and
+as he went about the house explaining his plans for its
+completion, he chaffed us all with his shrewd humor
+that had been the terror of my boyhood.
+
+“Ah, if you had had the plans of course you would
+have been saved a lot of trouble; but that little sketch
+of the Door of Bewilderment was the only thing I left,
+—and you found it, Jack,—you really opened these good
+books of mine.”
+
+He sent us all away to remove the marks of battle, and
+we gave Bates a hand in cleaning up the wreckage,—
+Bates, the keeper of secrets; Bates, the inscrutable and
+mysterious; Bates, the real hero of the affair at Glenarm.
+
+He led us through the narrow stairway by which he
+had entered, which had been built between false walls,
+and we played ghost for one another, to show just how
+the tread of a human being around the chimney sounded.
+There was much to explain, and my grandfather’s
+contrition for having placed me in so hazardous a predicament
+was so sincere, and his wish to make amends
+so evident, that my heart warmed to him. He made me
+describe in detail all the incidents of my stay at the
+house, listening with boyish delight to my adventures.
+
+“Bless my soul!” he exclaimed over and over again.
+And as I brought my two friends into the story his delight
+knew no bounds, and he kept chuckling to himself;
+and insisted half a dozen times on shaking hands with
+Larry and Stoddard, who were, he declared, his friends
+as well as mine.
+
+The prisoner in the potato cellar received our due attention;
+and my grandfather’s joy in the fact that an
+agent of the British government was held captive in
+Glenarm House was cheering to see. But the man’s detention
+was a grave matter, as we all realized, and made
+imperative the immediate consideration of Larry’s future.
+
+“I must go—and go at once!” declared Larry.
+
+“Mr. Donovan, I should feel honored to have you remain,”
+said my grandfather. “I hope to hold Jack
+here, and I wish you would share the house with us.”
+
+“The sheriff and those fellows won’t squeal very hard
+about their performances here,” said Stoddard. “And
+they won’t try to rescue the prisoner, even for a reward,
+from a house where the dead come back to life.”
+
+“No; but you can’t hold a British prisoner in an
+American private house for ever. Too many people
+know he has been in this part of the country; and you
+may be sure that the fight here and the return of Mr.
+Glenarm will not fail of large advertisement. All I can
+ask of you, Mr. Glenarm, is that you hold the fellow a
+few hours after I leave, to give me a start.”
+
+“Certainly. But when this trouble of yours blows
+over, I hope you will come back and help Jack to live
+a decent and orderly life.”
+
+My grandfather spoke of my remaining with a
+warmth that was grateful to my heart; but the place and
+its associations had grown unbearable. I had not mentioned
+Marian Devereux to him, I had not told him of
+my Christmas flight to Cincinnati; for the fact that I
+had run away and forfeited my right made no difference
+now, and I waited for an opportunity when we should
+be alone to talk of my own affairs.
+
+At luncheon, delayed until mid-afternoon, Bates produced
+champagne, and the three of us, worn with excitement
+and stress of battle, drank a toast, standing, to the
+health of John Marshall Glenarm.
+
+“My friends,”—the old gentleman rose and we all
+stood, our eyes bent upon him in, I think, real affection,
+—“I am an old and foolish man. Ever since I was
+able to do so I have indulged my whims. This house
+is one of them. I had wished to make it a thing of
+beauty and dignity, and I had hoped that Jack would
+care for it and be willing to complete it and settle here.
+The means I employed to test him were not, I admit,
+worthy of a man who intends well toward his own flesh
+and blood. Those African adventures of yours scared
+me, Jack; but to think”—and he laughed—“that I
+placed you here in this peaceful place amid greater dangers
+probably than you ever met in tiger-hunting! But
+you have put me to shame. Here’s health and peace to
+you!”
+
+“So say we all!” cried the others.
+
+“One thing more,” my grandfather continued, “I don’t
+want you to think, Jack, that you would really have
+been cut off under any circumstances if I had died while
+I was hiding in Egypt. What I wanted, boy, was to
+get you home! I made another will in England, where
+I deposited the bulk of my property before I died, and
+did not forget you. That will was to protect you in case
+I really died!”—and he laughed cheerily.
+
+The others left us—Stoddard to help Larry get his
+things together—and my grandfather and I talked for
+an hour at the table.
+
+“I have thought that many things might happen
+here,” I said, watching his fine, slim fingers, as he polished
+his eye-glasses, then rested his elbows on the table
+and smiled at me. “I thought for a while that I should
+certainly be shot; then at times I was afraid I might
+not be; but your return in the flesh was something I
+never considered among the possibilities. Bates fooled
+me. That talk I overheard between him and Pickering
+in the church porch that foggy night was the thing that
+seemed to settle his case; then the next thing I knew he
+was defending the house at the serious risk of his life;
+and I was more puzzled than ever.”
+
+“Yes, a wonderful man, Bates. He always disliked
+Pickering, and he rejoiced in tricking him.”
+
+“Where did you pick Bates up? He told me he was
+a Yankee, but he doesn’t act or talk it.”
+
+My grandfather laughed. “Of course not! He’s an
+Irishman and a man of education—but that’s all I know
+about him, except that he is a marvelously efficient servant.”
+
+My mind was not on Bates. I was thinking now of
+Marian Devereux. I could not go on further with my
+grandfather without telling him how I had run away
+and broken faith with him, but he gave me no chance.
+
+“You will stay on here,—you will help me to finish
+the house?” he asked with an unmistakable eagerness
+of look and tone.
+
+It seemed harsh and ungenerous to tell him that I
+wished to go; that the great world lay beyond the confines
+of Glenarm for me to conquer; that I had lost as
+well as gained by those few months at Glenarm House,
+and wished to go away. It was not the mystery, now
+fathomed, nor the struggle, now ended, that was uppermost
+in my mind and heart, but memories of a girl
+who had mocked me with delicious girlish laughter,—
+who had led me away that I might see her transformed
+into another, more charming, being. It was a comfort
+to know that Pickering, trapped and defeated, was not
+to benefit by the bold trick she had helped him play upon
+me. His loss was hers as well, and I was glad in my
+bitterness that I had found her in the passage, seeking
+for plunder at the behest of the same master whom Morgan,
+Ferguson and the rest of them served.
+
+The fight was over and there was nothing more for me
+to do in the house by the lake. After a week or so I
+should go forth and try to win a place for myself. I
+had my profession; I was an engineer, and I did not
+question that I should be able to find employment. As
+for my grandfather, Bates would care for him, and I
+should visit him often. I was resolved not to give him
+any further cause for anxiety on account of my adventurous
+and roving ways. He knew well enough that his
+old hope of making an architect of me was lost beyond
+redemption—I had told him that—and now I wished to
+depart in peace and go to some new part of the world,
+where there were lines to run, tracks to lay and bridges
+to build.
+
+These thoughts so filled my mind that I forgot he
+was patiently waiting for my answer.
+
+“I should like to do anything you ask; I should like
+to stay here always, but I can’t. Don’t misunderstand
+me. I have no intention of going back to my old ways.
+I squandered enough money in my wanderings, and I
+had my joy of that kind of thing. I shall find employment
+somewhere and go to work.”
+
+“But, Jack,”—he bent toward me kindly,—“Jack, you
+mustn’t be led away by any mere quixotism into laying
+the foundation of your own fortune. What I have is
+yours, boy. What is in the box in the chimney is yours
+now—to-day.”
+
+“I wish you wouldn’t! You were always too kind,
+and I deserve nothing, absolutely nothing.”
+
+“I’m not trying to pay you, Jack. I want to ease my
+own conscience, that’s all.”
+
+“But money can do nothing for mine,” I replied, trying
+to smile. “I’ve been dependent all my days, and
+now I’m going to work. If you were infirm and needed
+me, I should not hesitate, but the world will have its
+eyes on me now.”
+
+“Jack, that will of mine did you a great wrong; it
+put a mark upon you, and that’s what hurts me, that’s
+what I want to make amends for! Don’t you see? Now
+don’t punish me, boy. Come! Let us be friends!”
+
+He rose and put out his hands.
+
+“I didn’t mean that! I don’t care about that! It
+was nothing more than I deserved. These months here
+have changed me. Haven’t you heard me say I was going
+to work?”
+
+And I tried to laugh away further discussion of my
+future.
+
+“It will be more cheerful here in the spring,” he said,
+as though seeking an inducement for me to remain.
+“When the resort colony down here comes to life the
+lake is really gay.”
+
+I shook my head. The lake, that pretty cupful of
+water, the dip and glide of a certain canoe, the remembrance
+of a red tam-o’-shanter merging afar off in an
+October sunset—my purpose to leave the place strengthened
+as I thought of these things. My nerves were
+keyed to a breaking pitch and I turned upon him stormily.
+
+“So Miss Devereux was the other person who shared
+your confidence! Do you understand,—do you appreciate
+the fact that she was Pickering’s ally?”
+
+“I certainly do not,” he replied coldly. “I’m surprised
+to hear you speak so of a woman whom you can
+scarcely know—”
+
+“Yes, I know her; my God, I have reason to know her!
+But even when I found her out I did not dream that
+the plot was as deep as it is. She knew that it was a
+scheme to test me, and she played me into Pickering’s
+hands. I saw her only a few nights ago down there in
+the tunnel acting as his spy, looking for the lost notes
+that she might gain grace in his eyes by turning them
+over to him. You know I always hated Pickering,—he
+was too smooth, too smug, and you and everybody else
+were for ever praising him to me. He was always held
+up to me as a model; and the first time I saw Marian
+Devereux she was with him—it was at Sherry’s the night
+before I came here. I suppose she reached St. Agatha’s
+only a few hours ahead of me.”
+
+“Yes. Sister Theresa was her guardian. Her father
+was a dear friend, and I knew her from her early childhood.
+You are mistaken, Jack. Her knowing Pickering
+means nothing,—they both lived in New York and
+moved in the same circle.”
+
+“But it doesn’t explain her efforts to help him, does
+it?” I blazed. “He wished to marry her,—Sister
+Theresa told me that,—and I failed, I failed miserably
+to keep my obligation here—I ran away to follow her!”
+
+“Ah, to be sure! You were away Christmas Eve,
+when those vandals broke in. Bates merely mentioned
+it in the last report I got as I came through New York.
+That was all right. I assumed, of course, that you had
+gone off somewhere to get a little Christmas cheer; I
+don’t care anything about it.”
+
+“But I had followed her—I went to Cincinnati to see
+her. She dared me to come—it was a trick, a part of
+the conspiracy to steal your property.”
+
+The old gentleman smiled. It was a familiar way of
+his, to grow calm as other people waxed angry.
+
+“She dared you to come, did she! That is quite like
+Marian; but you didn’t have to go, did you, Jack?”
+
+“Of course not; of course I didn’t have to go, but—”
+
+I stammered, faltered and ceased. Memory threw
+open her portals with a challenge. I saw her on the
+stairway at the Armstrongs’; I heard her low, soft
+laughter, I felt the mockery of her voice and eyes! I
+knew again the exquisite delight of being near her. My
+heart told me well enough why I had followed her.
+
+“Jack, I’m glad I’m not buried up there in that Vermont
+graveyard with nobody to exercise the right of
+guardianship over you. I’ve had my misgivings about
+you; I used to think you were a born tramp; and you disappointed
+me in turning your back on architecture,—the
+noblest of all professions; but this performance of yours
+really beats them all. Don’t you know that a girl like
+Marian Devereux isn’t likely to become the agent of any
+rascal? Do you really believe for a minute that she
+tempted you to follow her, so you might forfeit your
+rights to my property?”
+
+“But why was she trying to find those notes of his?
+Why did she come back from Cincinnati with his party?
+If you could answer me those things, maybe I’d admit
+that I’m a fool. Pickering, I imagine, is a pretty plausible
+fellow where women are concerned.”
+
+“For God’s sake, Jack, don’t speak of that girl as
+women! I put her in that will of mine to pique your
+curiosity, knowing that if there was a penalty on your
+marrying her you would be wholly likely to do it,—for
+that’s the way human beings are made. But you’ve
+mixed it all up now, and insulted her in the grossest
+way possible for a fellow who is really a gentleman. And
+I don’t want to lose you; I want you here with me,
+Jack! This is a beautiful country, this Indiana!
+And what I want to do is to found an estate, to
+build a house that shall be really beautiful,—something
+these people hereabouts can be proud of,—
+and I want you to have it with me, Jack, to
+link our name to these woods and that pretty lake. I’d
+rather have that for my neighbor than any lake in Scotland.
+These rich Americans, who go to England to live,
+don’t appreciate the beauty of their own country. This
+landscape is worthy of the best that man can do. And
+I didn’t undertake to build a crazy house so much as
+one that should have some dignity and character. That
+passage around the chimney is an indulgence, Jack,—
+I’ll admit it’s a little bizarre,—you see that chimney
+isn’t so big outside as it is in!”—and he laughed and
+rubbed his knees with the palms of his hands,—“and my
+bringing foreign laborers here wasn’t really to make it
+easier to get things done my way. Wait till you have
+seen the May-apples blossom and heard the robins sing
+in the summer twilight,—help me to finish the house,—
+then if you want to leave I’ll bid you God-speed.”
+
+The feeling in his tone, the display of sentiment so
+at variance with my old notion of him, touched me in
+spite of myself. There was a characteristic nobility and
+dignity in his plan; it was worthy of him. And I had
+never loved him as now, when he finished this appeal,
+and turned away to the window, gazing out upon the
+somber woodland.
+
+“Mr. Donovan is ready to go, sir,” announced Bates
+at the door, and we went into the library, where Larry
+and Stoddard were waiting.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+SHORTER VISTAS
+
+
+Larry had assembled his effects in the library, and to
+my surprise, Stoddard appeared with his own hand-bag.
+
+“I’m going to see Donovan well on his way,” said the
+clergyman.
+
+“It’s a pity our party must break up,” exclaimed my
+grandfather. “My obligations to Mr. Donovan are very
+great—and to you, too, Stoddard. Jack’s friends are
+mine hereafter, and when we get new doors for Glenarm
+House you shall honor me by accepting duplicate
+keys.”
+
+“Where’s Bates?” asked Larry, and the man came in,
+respectfully, inperturbably as always, and began gathering
+up the bags.
+
+“Stop—one moment! Mr. Glenarm,” said Larry.
+“Before I go I want to congratulate you on the splendid
+courage of this man who has served you and your house
+with so much faithfulness and tact. And I want to tell
+you something else, that you probably would never learn
+from him—”
+
+“Donovan!” There was a sharp cry in Bates’ voice,
+and he sprang forward with his hands outstretched entreatingly.
+But Larry did not heed him.
+
+“The moment I set eyes on this man I recognized
+him. It’s not fair to you or to him that you should not
+know him for what he is. Let me introduce an old
+friend, Walter Creighton; he was a student at Dublin
+when I was there,—I remember him as one of the best
+fellows in the world.”
+
+“For God’s sake—no!” pleaded Bates. He was deeply
+moved and turned his face away from us.
+
+“But, like me,” Larry went on, “he mixed in politics.
+One night in a riot at Dublin a constable was killed.
+No one knew who was guilty, but a youngster was suspected,
+—the son of one of the richest and best-known
+men in Ireland, who happened to get mixed in the row.
+To draw attention from the boy, Creighton let suspicion
+attach to his own name, and, to help the boy’s case
+further, ran away. I had not heard from or of him until
+the night I came here and found him the defender of
+this house. By God! that was no servant’s trick,—it was
+the act of a royal gentleman.”
+
+They clasped hands; and with a new light in his face,
+with a new manner, as though he resumed, as a familiar
+garment, an old disused personality, Bates stood transfigured
+in the twilight, a man and a gentleman. I think
+we were all drawn to him; I know that a sob clutched
+my throat and tears filled my eyes as I grasped his hand.
+
+“But what in the devil did you do it for?” blurted
+my grandfather, excitedly twirling his glasses.
+
+Bates (I still call him Bates,—he insists on it)
+laughed. For the first time he thrust his hands into his
+pockets and stood at his ease, one of us.
+
+“Larry, you remember I showed a fondness for the
+stage in our university days. When I got to America I
+had little money and found it necessary to find employment
+without delay. I saw Mr. Glenarm’s advertisement
+for a valet. Just as a lark I answered it to see
+what an American gentleman seeking a valet looked
+like. I fell in love with Mr. Glenarm at sight—”
+
+“It was mutual!” declared my grandfather. “I never
+believed your story at all,—you were too perfect in the
+part!”
+
+“Well, I didn’t greatly mind the valet business; it
+helped to hide my identity; and I did like the humor
+and whims of Mr. Glenarm. The housekeeping, after
+we came out here, wasn’t so pleasant”—he looked at his
+hands ruefully—“but this joke of Mr. Glenarm’s making
+a will and then going to Egypt to see what would
+happen,—that was too good to miss. And when the
+heir arrived I found new opportunities of practising
+amateur theatricals; and Pickering’s efforts to enlist
+me in his scheme for finding the money and making me
+rich gave me still greater opportunities. There were
+times when I was strongly tempted to blurt the whole
+thing; I got tired of being suspected, and of playing
+ghost in the wall; and if Mr. Glenarm hadn’t got here
+just as he did I should have stopped the fight and
+proclaimed the truth. I hope,” he said, turning to
+me, “you have no hard feelings, sir.” And he threw
+into the “sir” just a touch of irony that made us all
+roar.
+
+“I’m certainly glad I’m not dead,” declared my grandfather,
+staring at Bates. “Life is more fun than I ever
+thought possible. Bless my soul!” he said, “if it isn’t a
+shame that Bates can never cook another omelette for
+me!”
+
+We sent Bates back with my grandfather from the
+boat-house, and Stoddard, Larry and I started across the
+ice; the light coating of snow made walking comparatively
+easy. We strode on silently, Stoddard leading.
+Their plan was to take an accommodation train at the
+first station beyond Annandale, leave it at a town forty
+miles away, and then hurry east to an obscure place in
+the mountains of Virginia, where a religious order
+maintained a house. There Stoddard promised Larry
+asylum and no questions asked.
+
+We left the lake and struck inland over a rough country
+road to the station, where Stoddard purchased tickets
+only a few minutes before the train whistled.
+
+We stood on the lonely platform, hands joined to
+hands, and I know not what thoughts in our minds and
+hearts.
+
+“We’ve met and we’ve said good-by in many odd corners
+of this strange old world,” said Larry, “and God
+knows when we shall meet again.”
+
+“But you must stay in America—there must be no
+sea between us!” I declared.
+
+“Donovan’s sins don’t seem heinous to me! It’s simply
+that they’ve got to find a scapegoat,”—and Stoddard’s
+voice was all sympathy and kindness. “It will
+blow over in time, and Donovan will become an enlightened
+and peaceable American citizen.”
+
+There was a constraint upon us all at this moment of
+parting—so many things had happened that day—and
+when men have shared danger together they are bound
+by ties that death only can break. Larry’s effort at
+cheer struck a little hollowly upon us.
+
+“Beware, lad, of women!” he importuned me.
+
+“Humph! You still despise the sex on account of
+that affair with the colleen of the short upper lip.”
+
+“Verily. And the eyes of that little lady, who guided
+your grandfather back from the other world, reminded
+me strongly of her! Bah, these women!”
+
+“Precious little you know about them!” I retorted.
+
+“The devil I don’t!”
+
+“No,” said Stoddard, “invoke the angels, not the
+devil!”
+
+“Hear him! Hear him! A priest with no knowledge
+of the world.”
+
+“Alas, my cloth! And you fling it at me after I have
+gone through battle, murder and sudden death with you
+gentlemen!”
+
+“We thank you, sir, for that last word,” said Larry
+mockingly. “I am reminded of the late Lord Alfred:
+
+     “I waited for the train at Coventry;
+      I hung with grooms and porters on the bridge,
+      To watch the three tall spires,—’ ”
+
+he quoted, looking off through the twilight toward St.
+Agatha’s. “I can’t see a blooming spire!”
+
+The train was now roaring down upon us and we
+clung to this light mood for our last words. Between
+men, gratitude is a thing best understood in silence;
+and these good friends, I knew, felt what I could not
+say.
+
+“Before the year is out we shall all meet again,” cried
+Stoddard hopefully, seizing the bags.
+
+“Ah, if we could only be sure of that!” I replied. And
+in a moment they were both waving their hands to me
+from the rear platform, and I strode back homeward
+over the lake.
+
+A mood of depression was upon me; I had lost much
+that day, and what I had gained—my restoration to the
+regard of the kindly old man of my own blood, who had
+appealed for my companionship in terms hard to deny—
+seemed trifling as I tramped over the ice. Perhaps
+Pickering, after all, was the real gainer by the day’s
+event. My grandfather had said nothing to allay my
+doubts as to Marion Devereux’s strange conduct, and
+yet his confidence in her was apparently unshaken.
+
+I tramped on, and leaving the lake, half-unconsciously
+struck into the wood beyond the dividing wall, where
+snow-covered leaves and twigs rattled and broke under
+my tread. I came out into an open space beyond St.
+Agatha’s, found the walk and turned toward home.
+
+As I neared the main entrance to the school the door
+opened and a woman came out under the overhanging
+lamp. She carried a lantern, and turned with a hand
+outstretched to some one who followed her with careful
+steps.
+
+“Ah, Marian,” cried my grandfather, “it’s ever the
+task of youth to light the way of age.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+
+AND SO THE LIGHT LED ME
+
+
+He had been to see Sister Theresa, and Marian was
+walking with him to the gate. I saw her quite plainly
+in the light that fell from the lamp overhead. A long
+cloak covered her, and a fur toque capped her graceful
+head. My grandfather and his guide were apparently
+in high spirits. Their laughter smote harshly upon me.
+It seemed to shut me out,—to lift a barrier against me.
+The world lay there within the radius of that swaying
+light, and I hung aloof, hearing her voice and jealous of
+the very companionship and sympathy between them.
+
+But the light led me. I remembered with bitterness
+that I had always followed her,—whether as Olivia,
+trailing in her girlish race across the snow, or as the
+girl in gray, whom I had followed, wondering, on that
+night journey at Christmas Eve; and I followed now.
+The distrust, my shattered faith, my utter loneliness,
+could not weigh against the joy of hearing that laugh
+of hers breaking mellowly on the night.
+
+I paused to allow the two figures to widen the distance
+between us as they traversed the path that curved
+away toward the chapel. I could still hear their voices,
+and see the lantern flash and disappear. I felt an impulse
+to turn back, or plunge into the woodland; but I
+was carried on uncontrollably. The light glimmered,
+and her voice still floated back to me. It stole through
+the keen winter dark like a memory of spring; and so
+her voice and the light led me.
+
+Then I heard an exclamation of dismay followed by
+laughter in which my grandfather joined merrily.
+
+“Oh, never mind; we’re not afraid,” she exclaimed.
+
+I had rounded the curve in the path where I should
+have seen the light; but the darkness was unbroken.
+There was silence for a moment, in which I drew quite
+near to them.
+
+Then my grandfather’s voice broke out cheerily.
+
+“Now I must go back with you! A fine person you
+are to guide an old man! A foolish virgin, indeed, with
+no oil in her lamp!”
+
+“Please do not! Of course I’m going to see you quite
+to your own door! I don’t intend to put my hand to
+the lantern and then turn back!”
+
+“This walk isn’t what it should be,” said my grandfather,
+“we’ll have to provide something better in the
+spring.”
+
+They were still silent and I heard him futilely striking
+a match. Then the lantern fell, its wires rattling
+as it struck the ground, and the two exclaimed with renewed
+merriment upon their misfortune.
+
+“If you will allow me!” I called out, my hand fumbling
+in my pocket for my own match-box.
+
+I have sometimes thought that there is really some
+sort of decent courtesy in me. An old man caught in
+a rough path that was none too good at best! And a
+girl, even though my enemy! These were, I fancy, the
+thoughts that crossed my mind.
+
+“Ah, it’s Jack!” exclaimed my grandfather. “Marian
+was showing me the way to the gate and our light went
+out.”
+
+“Miss Devereux,” I murmured. I have, I hope, an
+icy tone for persons who have incurred my displeasure,
+and I employed it then and there, with, no doubt, its
+fullest value.
+
+She and my grandfather were groping in the dark for
+the lost lantern, and I, putting out my hand, touched
+her fingers.
+
+“I beg your pardon,” she murmured frostily.
+
+Then I found and grasped the lantern.
+
+“One moment,” I said, “and I’ll see what’s the trouble.”
+
+I thought my grandfather took it, but the flame of
+my wax match showed her fingers, clasping the wires of
+the lantern. The cloak slipped away, showing her arm’s
+soft curve, the blue and white of her bodice, the purple
+blur of violets; and for a second I saw her face, with a
+smile quivering about her lips. My grandfather was
+beating impatiently with his stick, urging us to leave the
+lantern and go on.
+
+“Let it alone,” he said. “I’ll go down through the
+chapel; there’s a lantern in there somewhere.”
+
+“I’m awfully sorry,” she remarked; “but I recently
+lost my best lantern!”
+
+To be sure she had! I was angry that she should so
+brazenly recall the night I found her looking for Pickering’s
+notes in the passage at the Door of Bewilderment!
+
+She had lifted the lantern now, and I was striving to
+touch the wax taper to the wick, with imminent danger
+to my bare fingers.
+
+“They don’t really light well when the oil’s out,” she
+observed, with an exasperating air of wisdom.
+
+I took it from her hand and shook it close to my ear.
+
+“Yes; of course, it’s empty,” I muttered disdainfully.
+
+“Oh, Mr. Glenarm!” she cried, turning away toward
+my grandfather.
+
+I heard his stick beating the rough path several yards
+away. He was hastening toward Glenarm House.
+
+“I think Mr. Glenarm has gone home.”
+
+“Oh, that is too bad!” she exclaimed.
+
+“Thank you! He’s probably at the chapel by this
+time. If you will permit me—”
+
+“Not at all!”
+
+A man well advanced in the sixties should not tax his
+arteries too severely. I was quite sure that my grandfather
+ran up the chapel steps; I could hear his stick
+beating hurriedly on the stone.
+
+“If you wish to go farther”—I began.
+
+I was indignant at my grandfather’s conduct; he had
+deliberately run off, leaving me alone with a young
+woman whom I particularly wished to avoid.
+
+“Thank you; I shall go back now. I was merely walking
+to the gate with Mr. Glenarm. It is so fine to have
+him back again, so unbelievable!”
+
+It was just such a polite murmur as one might employ
+in speaking to an old foe at a friend’s table.
+
+She listened a moment for his step; then, apparently
+satisfied, turned back toward St. Agatha’s. I followed,
+uncertain, hesitating, marking her definite onward
+flight. From the folds of the cloak stole the faint perfume
+of violets. The sight of her, the sound of her
+voice, combined to create—and to destroy!—a mood
+with every step.
+
+I was seeking some colorless thing to say when she
+spoke over her shoulder:
+
+“You are very kind, but I am not in the least afraid,
+Mr. Glenarm.”
+
+“But there is something I wish to say to you. I
+should like—”
+
+She slackened her step.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“I am going away.”
+
+“Yes; of course; you are going away.”
+
+Her tone implied that this was something that had
+been ordained from the beginning of time, and did not
+matter.
+
+“And I wish to say a word about Mr. Pickering.”
+
+She paused and faced me abruptly. We were at the
+edge of the wood, and the school lay quite near. She
+caught the cloak closer about her and gave her head a
+little toss I remembered well, as a trick compelled by the
+vagaries of woman’s head-dress.
+
+“I can’t talk to you here, Mr. Glenarm; I had no intention
+of ever seeing you again; but I must say this—”
+
+“Those notes of Pickering’s—I shall ask Mr. Glenarm
+to give them to you—as a mark of esteem from me.”
+
+She stepped backward as though I had struck her.
+
+“You risked much for them—for him”—I went on.
+
+“Mr. Glenarm, I have no intention of discussing that,
+or any other matter with you—”
+
+“It is better so—”
+
+“But your accusations, the things you imply, are unjust,
+infamous!”
+
+The quaver in her voice shook my resolution to deal
+harshly with her.
+
+“If I had not myself been a witness—” I began.
+
+“Yes; you have the conceit of your own wisdom, I
+dare say.”
+
+“But that challenge to follow you, to break my pledge;
+my running away, only to find that Pickering was close
+at my heels; your visit to the tunnel in search of those
+notes,—don’t you know that those things were a blow
+that hurt? You had been the spirit of this woodland to
+me. Through all these months, from the hour I watched
+you paddle off into the sunset in your canoe, the thought
+of you made the days brighter, steadied and cheered me,
+and wakened ambitions that I had forgotten—abandoned
+—long ago. And this hideous struggle here,—it seems
+so idle, so worse than useless now! But I’m glad I followed
+you,—I’m glad that neither fortune nor duty kept
+me back. And now I want you to know that Arthur
+Pickering shall not suffer for anything that has happened.
+I shall make no effort to punish him; for your
+sake he shall go free.”
+
+A sigh so deep that it was like a sob broke from her.
+She thrust forth her hand entreatingly.
+
+“Why don’t you go to him with your generosity?
+You are so ready to believe ill of me! And I shall not
+defend myself; but I will say these things to you, Mr.
+Glenarm: I had no idea, no thought of seeing him at
+the Armstrongs’ that night. It was a surprise to me,
+and to them, when he telegraphed he was coming. And
+when I went into the tunnel there under the wall that
+night, I had a purpose—a purpose—”
+
+“Yes?” she paused and I bent forward, earnestly
+waiting for her words, knowing that here lay her great
+offending.
+
+“I was afraid,—I was afraid that Mr. Glenarm might
+not come in time; that you might be dispossessed,—lose
+the fight, and I came back with Mr. Pickering because
+I thought some dreadful thing might happen here—to
+you—”
+
+She turned and ran from me with the speed of the
+wind, the cloak fluttering out darkly about her. At the
+door, under the light of the lamp, I was close upon her.
+Her hand was on the vestibule latch.
+
+“But how should I have known?” I cried. “And you
+had taunted me with my imprisonment at Glenarm;
+you had dared me to follow you, when you knew that
+my grandfather was living and watching to see whether
+I kept faith with him. If you can tell me,—if there
+an answer to that—”
+
+“I shall never tell you anything—more! You were so
+eager to think ill of me—to accuse me!”
+
+“It was because I love you; it was my jealousy of that
+man, my boyhood enemy, that made me catch at any
+doubt. You are so beautiful,—you are so much a part
+of the peace, the charm of all this! I had hoped for
+spring—for you and the spring together!”
+
+“Oh, please—!”
+
+Her flight had shaken the toque to an unwonted angle;
+her breath came quick and hard as she tugged at
+the latch eagerly. The light from overhead was full
+upon us, but I could not go with hope and belief struggling
+unsatisfied in my heart. I seized her hands and
+sought to look into her eyes.
+
+“But you challenged me,—to follow you! I want to
+know why you did that!”
+
+She drew away, struggling to free herself
+
+“Why was it, Marian?”
+
+“Because I wanted—”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“I wanted you to come, Squire Glenarm!”
+
+
+Thrice spring has wakened the sap in the Glenarm
+wood since that night. Yesterday I tore March from
+the calendar. April in Indiana! She is an impudent
+tomboy who whistles at the window, points to the sunshine
+and, when you go hopefully forth, summons the
+clouds and pelts you with snow. The austere old woodland,
+wise from long acquaintance, finds no joy in her.
+The walnut and the hickory have a higher respect for
+the stormier qualities of December. April in Indiana!
+She was just there by the wall, where now the bluebird
+pauses dismayed, and waits again the flash of her golden
+sandals. She bent there at the lakeside the splash of
+a raindrop ago and tentatively poked the thin, brittle
+ice with the pink tips of her little fingers. April in the
+heart! It brings back the sweet wonder and awe of those
+days, three years ago, when Marian and I, waiting for
+June to come, knew a joy that thrilled our hearts like
+the tumult of the first robin’s song. The marvel of it
+all steals over me again as I hear the riot of melody in
+meadow and wood, and catch through the window the
+flash of eager wings.
+
+My history of the affair at Glenarm has overrun the
+bounds I had set for it, and these, I submit, are not
+days for the desk and pen. Marian is turning over the
+sheets of manuscript that lie at my left elbow, and demanding
+that I drop work for a walk abroad. My
+grandfather is pacing the terrace outside, planning, no
+doubt, those changes in the grounds that are his constant
+delight.
+
+Of some of the persons concerned in this winter’s
+tale let me say a word more. The prisoner whom Larry
+left behind we discharged, after several days, with all
+the honors of war, and (I may add without breach of
+confidence) a comfortable indemnity. Larry has made
+a reputation by his book on Russia—a searching study
+into the conditions of the Czar’s empire, and, having
+squeezed that lemon, he is now in Tibet. His father
+has secured from the British government a promise of
+immunity for Larry, so long as that amiable adventurer
+keeps away from Ireland. My friend’s latest letters to
+me contain, I note, no reference to The Sod.
+
+Bates is in California conducting a fruit ranch, and
+when he visited us last Christmas he bore all the marks
+of a gentleman whom the world uses well. Stoddard’s
+life has known many changes in these years, but they
+must wait for another day, and, perhaps, another historian.
+Suffice it to say that it was he who married us
+—Marian and me—in the little chapel by the wall, and
+that when he comes now and then to visit us, we renew
+our impression of him as a man large of body and of
+soul. Sister Theresa continues at the head of St. Agatha’s,
+and she and the other Sisters of her brown-clad
+company are delightful neighbors. Pickering’s failure
+and subsequent disappearance were described sufficiently
+in the newspapers and his name is never mentioned at
+Glenarm.
+
+As for myself—Marian is tapping the floor restlessly
+with her boot and I must hasten—I may say that I am
+no idler. It was I who carried on the work of finishing
+Glenarm House, and I manage the farms which my
+grandfather has lately acquired in this neighborhood.
+But better still, from my own point of view, I maintain
+in Chicago an office as consulting engineer and I have
+already had several important commissions.
+
+Glenarm House is now what my grandfather had
+wished to make it, a beautiful and dignified mansion.
+He insisted on filling up the tunnel, so that the Door of
+Bewilderment is no more. The passage in the wall and
+the strong box in the paneling of the chimney-breast
+remain, though the latter we use now as a hiding-place
+for certain prized bottles of rare whisky which John
+Marshall Glenarm ordains shall be taken down only on
+Christmas Eves, to drink the health of Olivia Gladys
+Armstrong. That young woman, I may add, is now a
+belle in her own city, and of the scores of youngsters all
+the way from Pittsburg to New Orleans who lay siege
+to her heart, my word is, may the best man win!
+
+And now, at the end, it may seem idle vanity for a
+man still young to write at so great length of his own
+affairs; but it must have been clear that mine is the
+humblest figure in this narrative. I wished to set forth
+an honest account of my grandfather’s experiment in
+looking into this world from another, and he has himself
+urged me to write down these various incidents
+while they are still fresh in my memory.
+
+Marian—the most patient of women—is walking toward
+the door, eager for the sunshine, the free airs of
+spring, the blue vistas lakeward, and at last I am ready
+to go.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The House of a Thousand Candles
+by Meredith Nicholson
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