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diff --git a/old/50090-8.txt b/old/50090-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index baa7bca..0000000 --- a/old/50090-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5371 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Red Lady, by Katharine Newlin Burt - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: The Red Lady - -Author: Katharine Newlin Burt - -Release Date: September 30, 2015 [EBook #50090] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RED LADY *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - -THE RED LADY - -By Katharine Newlin Burt - -Houghton Mifflin Company - -1920 - -[Illustration: 0001] - -[Illustration: 0007] - - - - -THE RED LADY - - - - -CHAPTER I--HOW I CAME TO THE PINES - - -|IT is the discomfort of the thing which comes back upon me, I believe, -most forcibly. Of course it was horrible, too, emphatically horrible, -but the prolonged, sustained, baffling discomfort of my position is what -has left the mark. The growing suspicion, the uncanny circumstances, my -long knowledge of that presence: it is all extraordinary, not least, the -part I somehow managed to play. - -I was housekeeper at the time for little Mrs. Brane. How I had come to -be her housekeeper might have served to forewarn me, if I had had the -clue. None but an inexperienced, desperate girl would have taken the -position after the fashion in which I was urged to take it. I remember -the raw, colorless day, and how it made me shiver to face its bitter -grayness as I came out of the dismal New York boardinghouse to begin my -dreary, mortifying search for work. I remember the hollowness of purse -and stomach; and the dullness of head. I even remember wondering that -hair like mine, so conspiculously golden-red, could possibly keep its -flame under such conditions. And halfway down the block, how very well I -remember the decent-looking, black-clad woman who touched my arm, looked -me hard in the face, and said, "A message for you, madam." - -She got away so quickly that I had n't opened the blank envelope before -she was round the corner and out of sight. - -The envelope contained a slip of white paper on which was neatly printed -in pen and ink: "Excellent position vacant at The Pines, Pine Cone, N.C. -Mrs. Theodore Brane wants housekeeper. Apply at once." - -This was not signed at all. I thought: "Some one is thinking kindly of -me, after all. Some oldtime friend of my father's, perhaps, has sent -a servant to me with this message." I returned to my third-story back -hall-bedroom and wrote at once, offering my services and sending my -references to Mrs. Brane. Two days later, during which my other -efforts to find a position entirely failed, there came a letter on good -note-paper in a light, sloping hand. - -The Pines - -My dear Miss Gale: - -I shall be delighted to try you as housekeeper. I think you will find -the place satisfactory. It is a small household, and your duties will -be light, though I am very much out of health and must necessarily leave -every detail of management to you. I want you to take your meals with -me. I shall be glad of your companionship. The salary is forty dollars a -month. - -Sincerely yours - -Edna Worthington Brane - -And to my delight she enclosed the first month's salary in advance. I -wonder if many such checks are blistered with tears. Mine was, when -I cashed it at the bank at the corner, where my landlady, suddenly -gracious, made me known. - -Three days later, I was on my way to "The Pines." - -The country, more and more flat and sandy, with stunted pines and negro -huts, with shabby patches of corn and potatoes, was sad under a low, -moist sky, but my heart was high with a sense of adventure at all times -strong in me, and I read promise between the lines of Mrs. Brane's kind -little note. - -I slept well in my berth that night and the next afternoon came safely -to Pine Cone. My only experience had been the rather annoying, covert -attention of a man on the train. He was a pleasant-enough looking -fellow and, though he tried to conceal his scrutiny, it was disagreeably -incessant. I was glad to leave him on the train, and I saw his face -peering out of the window at me and caught a curious expression when I -climbed into the cart that had been sent to meet me from "The Pines." It -was a look of intense excitement, and, it seemed to me, almost of -alarm. Also, his fingers drew a note-book from his pocket and he fell -to writing in it as the train went out. I could not help the ridiculous -fancy that he was taking notes on me. - -I had never been in the South before, and the country impressed me -as being the most desolate I had ever seen. Our road took us straight -across the level fields towards a low, cloudlike bank of pines. We -passed through a small town blighted by poverty and dark with negro -faces which had none of the gayety I associated with their race. These -men and women greeted us, to be sure, but in rather a gloomy fashion, -not without grace and even a certain stateliness. The few whites looked -poorer than the blacks or were less able to conceal their poverty. - -My driver was a grizzled negro, friendly, but, I soon found, very deaf. -He was eager to talk, but so often misinterpreted my shouted questions -that I gave it up. I learned, at least, that we had an eight-mile -drive before us; that there was a swamp beyond the pine woods; that -the climate was horribly unhealthy in summer so that most of the gentry -deserted, but that Mrs. Brane always stayed, though she sent her little -boy away. - -"Lit'l Massa Robbie, he's jes' got back. Sho'ly we-all's glad to see him -too. Jes' makes world of diffunce to hev a child about." - -I, too, was glad of the child's presence. A merry little lad is good -company, and can easily be won by a housekeeper with the pantry keys in -her hand. - -"Mrs. Brane is an invalid?" was one of my questions, I remember, to -which I had the curious answer, "Oh, no, missy, not to say timid, not -timorous. It's jes' her way, don' mean nothin'. She's a right peart -little lady. No, missy, don' get notions into yo' haid. We ain't none of -us timid; no, indeed." - -And he gave his head a valiant roll and clipped his fat gray horse with -a great show of valor. Evidently he had mistaken my word "invalid," for -"timid," but the speech was queer, and gave me food for thought. - -We had come to an end of our talk by the time we reached the low ridge -of pines, and we plodded through the heavy sand into the gloom, out of -it, and down into the sudden dampness of the swamp, in silence. This was -strange country; a smothered sort of stream under high, steep banks -went coiling about under twisted, sprawling trees, all draped with -deadlooking gray moss. Everything was gray: sky, road, trees, earth, -water. The air was gray and heavy. I tried not to breathe it, and was -glad when we came out and up again to our open sandy stretches. There -was a further rise and more trees; a gate, an ill-weeded drive, and in a -few minutes we stopped before a big square white house. It had six -long columns from roof to ground, intersected at the second story by a -balcony floor. The windows were large, the ceilings evidently very -high. In fact, it was the typical Southern house, of which I had seen -pictures, stately and not unbeautiful, though this house looked in need -of care. - -I felt very nervous as I stepped across the porch and pulled the bell. -My hands were cold, and my throat dry. But, no sooner was the door -opened, than I found myself all but embraced by a tiny, pale, dark woman -in black, who came running out into the high, cold hall, took me by both -hands, and spoke in the sweetest voice I had ever heard. - -"Oh, Miss Gale, indeed I'm glad to see you. Come in now and have tea -with me. My little boy and I have been waiting for you, all impatience -since three o'clock. George must just have humored the old horse. -They're both so old that they spoil each other, out of fellow-feeling, I -reckon." - -She went before me through a double doorway, trailing her scarf behind -her, and I came into a pleasant, old-fashioned room, crowded with fussy -little ornaments and large furniture. - -It was thickly carpeted, and darkly papered, but was lit to warmth by -a bright open fire of coals. The glow was caught high up by a hanging -chandelier with long crystal pendants, and under this stood a little -boy. My heart tightened at sight of him, he looked so small and -delicate. - -"Here is our new friend, Robbie," said Mrs. Brane. "Come and shake -hands." - -I took the clammy little hand and kissed the sallow little face. The -child looked up. Such a glare of speechless, sudden terror I have never -seen in the eyes of any child. I hope I shall never see it again. I -stepped back, half afraid, and hurt, for I love children, and children -love me, and this little, sickly thing I longed to take close to my -heart. - -"Why, Robbie!" said Mrs. Brane, "Robbie, dear! He's very timid, Miss -Gale, you'll have to excuse him." - -She had not seen the look, only the shrinking gesture. He was much worse -than "timid." But I was really too overwhelmed to speak. I turned away, -tears in my silly eyes, and took off my hat and coat in silence, tucking -in a stray end of hair. The child had got into his mother's lap, and -was clinging to her, while she laughed and coaxed him. Under her -encouragements he ventured to look up, then threw himself back, -stiffened and shrieked, pointing at me, "It's her hair! It's her hair! -See her hair!" - -For a few moments his mother was fairly unnerved, then she began -to laugh again, looked apologetically at me, and, rocking the poor, -frightened baby in her arms, "Oh, Miss Gale," she said sweetly, "we're -not used to such splendor in our old house. Come, Robbie dear, all women -are not as little and black and dreary as your poor mamma. I'll let him -creep off into a corner, Miss Gale, while we have tea, then he'll get -used to your prettiness and that wonderful hair from a distance." - -As I came up, the child fled from me and crouched in a far corner of the -room, from which his little white face glimmered fearfully. - -Mrs. Brane poured tea, and chattered incessantly. It was evident that -she had suffered greatly from loneliness. Her eyes showed that she had -lived too long in memories. I felt a warm desire to cheer and to protect -her. She was so small and helpless-looking. - -"Since my husband died," she said, "I really have n't had the courage to -go away. It's difficult to pull up roots, and, then, there are the old -servants who depend so absolutely upon me. If I moved away it would -simply be to explode their whole existence. And I can't quite afford to -pension them." Here she paused and added absently, "At least, not yet." - -I wondered if she had expectations of wealth. Her phrase suggested it. - -"By the by," she went on, "you must meet Delia, and Jane and Annie. They -are your business from now on. Delia's the cook, while Annie and Jane -do all the other work. I'll tell you about them so you'll be able to -understand their crotchets. They're really old dears, and as loyal as -loyalty itself. Sometimes,"--she laughed a hollow little laugh that -sounded as if it had faded from long disuse,--"I wonder how on earth I -could get rid of them." - -She gave me a humorous account of the three old women who did the -indoors work at "The Pines." She had hardly finished when Jane came in. -This was the fat, little one; wrinkled, with gray curls; a pursed-up -face, little, bright, anxious eyes. Again I was struck by the furtive, -frightened air every one at "The Pines" wore, except George, the colored -coachman, with his bravado. - -Jane was introduced to me, and gave me rather a gloomy greeting. -Nevertheless, I thought that she, too, after her own fashion, was glad -to see me. - -"You don't keep colored servants for indoors, do you, Mrs. Brane?" I -asked, when Jane had taken away the tea-things and we were on our way -upstairs. - -"Oh, mercy, no! Of all wretched, superstitious, timid creatures, negro -women are the most miserable. I would n't have one in the house with me -over a single night. This is your room, Miss Gale. It is in the old part -of the house, what we call the northern wing. Opposite you, along the -passageway, is Robbie's nursery, which my husband used in the old days -as a sort of study. This end of the house has the deep windows. You -won't see those window sills anywhere else at 'The Pines.' My husband -discovered the reason. There's a double wall at this end of the house. -I think the old northern wall was burnt or torn down, or out of repair, -and a former owner just clapped on another wall over it; or, perhaps, -he thought it would make this end of the house warmer and more -weatherproof. It's the quarter our storms come from. Whatever the -reason, it makes these end rooms very pretty, I think. There's nothing -like a deep window, is there? I hope you will like your room." - -I was sure that I should. It was really very fresh and pretty, seemed -to have been done over recently, for the paper, the matting, the coat -of white paint on the woodwork, the muslin curtains, were all spick and -span. After Mrs. Brane had left me, I went to the window and looked -out. I had a charming view of the old garden, still gay with late fall -flowers, and with roses which bloomed here, probably all winter long. -A splendid magnolia tree all but brushed the window with its branches. -Just below stood a pretty arbor covered with rose-vines and honeysuckle. -I drew in a deep breath of the soft, fragrant air. I was very happy, -that night, very grateful for the "state of life to which Heaven had -called me." - - - - -CHAPTER II--SOMETHING IN THE HOUSE - - -|DOWNSTAIRS, the little room that opened from the drawing-room was given -to me by Mrs. Brane for my "office." Here every morning Jane, Annie, and -Delia came to me for orders. - -It was a fortnight after my arrival, everything having run smoothly and -uneventfully, when, earlier than usual, there came footsteps and a rap -on the door of this room. My "Come in" served to admit all three old -women, treading upon one another's heels. So odd and so ridiculous was -their appearance that I had some ado to keep my laughter in my throat. - -"Why," said I, "what on earth's the matter?" - -Jane's little, round, crumpled face puckered and blinked; Annie's -stolid, square person was just a symbol of obstinate fear; Delia, long, -lean, and stooping, with her knotted hand fingering her loose -mouth, shuffled up to me. "We're givin' notice, ma'am," she whined. -Astonishment sent me back into my chair. - -"Delia!" - -Delia wavered physically, and her whitish-blue eyes watered, but the -spirit of fear possessed her utterly. - -"I can't help it, ma'am, I've been in this house me last night." - -"But it's impossible! Leave Mrs. Brane like this, with no notice, no -time to get any one else? Why, only the other day she was saying, 'I -don't see how I could get rid of them even if I wanted to.'" - -I meant this to sting, and I succeeded. All three queer, old faces -flushed. - -Delia muttered, "Well, she's found the way, that's all." - -"What has happened?" I demanded. "Is it because of me?" - -"No'm," the answer came promptly. "You're the best manager we've had -here yet, an' you're a kind young lady." This compliment came from -Delia, the most affable of the three. "But, the fact is----" - -A pause, and the fright they must have had to bring them all pale and -gasping and inarticulate, like fish driven from the dim world of their -accustomed lives, communicated itself in some measure to me. - -"Yes?" I asked a little uncertainly. - -Then Annie, the stolid, came out with it. - -"There's somethin' in the house." - -At the words all three of them drew together. - -"We've been suspectin' of it for a long time. Them housekeepers did n't -leave a good place an' a kind mistress so quick for nothin'." Delia -had taken up the tale. "But we kinder mistrusted like that it was -foolishness of some kind. But, miss, well--it ain't." - -I was silent a moment, looking at them, and feeling, I confess, rather -blank. - -"What is it, then?" I asked sharply. - -"It's somethin'," Jane wobbled into the talk. - -"Or somebody," contributed Annie. - -I rapped my desk. "Something or somebody doing what? Doing it where?" - -"All over the house, miss. But especially in the old part where us -servants live. That's where it happened to them housekeepers in the day -time, an' that's where it happened to us last night." - -"Well, now, let's have it!" said I impatiently. "What happened to you -last night?" - -"Delia was in the kitchen makin' bread late last night," said Annie. - -"Oh, let Delia tell it herself," I insisted. - -"But, ma'am, it happened first off to me. I was a-goin' down to help -her. She was so late an' her with a headache. So I put on me wrapper, -an' come down the passage towards the head o' the back stairs. Just as I -come to the turn, ma'am, in the dark--I'm so well used to the way that I -did n't even light a candle--somebody went by me like a draught of cold -air, an' my hair riz right up on me head!" - -"In other words, a draught of cold air struck you, eh?" I said -scornfully. - -"No, ma'am, there was steps to it, rayther slow, light steps that was -n't quite so dost to me as the draught of air." - -I could make nothing of this. - -Delia broke in. - -"She come into the kitchen, white as flour she was, an' we went up to -bed together. But scarce was we in bed when in come Jane, a-shakin' so -that the candle-grease spattered all over the floor--you can see it for -yourself this day-" - -"And what had happened to Jane?" I asked with a sneer. - -"I was a-layin' in bed, miss, in the dark, a bit wakeful, an' I heard, -jes' back of me in the wall, somebody give a great sigh." - -I threw back my head, laughing. "You silly women! Is this all? Now, you -don't mean to tell me that a draught of cold air, some falling plaster -or a rat in the wall, are going to drive you away, in your old age, from -a good home out into the world?" - -"Wait a moment, miss," cried Delia; "there's somethin' else." - -I waited. This something else seemed difficult to tell. - -"You go ahead," breathed Delia at last, nudging Annie, who gulped and -set off with unusual rapidity. - -"Robbie was sick last night, towards morn-in'. He had the night terrors, -Mary said" (Mary was Robbie's nurse of whom at that time I had seen -little), "an' she could n't get him quiet. He kep' a-talkin' about a -lady with red hair"--they looked at me out of the corners of their eyes, -and I felt my face grow hot--"a lady that stood over him--well! there's -no tellin' the fancies of a nervous child like him! Anyways, Mary was -after a hot-water bottle, an' we, bein' wakeful an' jumpy-like, was -after helpin' her. Delia an' me, we went for a cup of hot milk, an' me -an' Mary come upstairs from the kitchen again together an' went towards -the nursery. Now, miss,"--again they cuddled up to one another, and -Annie's throat gave a queer sort of click,--"jes' as we come to the turn -of the passage, we seen somethin' come out o' the nursery, quick an' -quiet, an' jump away down the hall an' out o' sight. Delia an' me, bein' -scairt already, run away to our own room, but Mary she made fer the -nursery as quick as she could, an' there she found Robbie all but in -fits, so scairt he could n't scream, doublin' an' twistin', an' rollin' -his eyes. But when she got him calmed down at last, why, it was the same -story--a lady with red hair that come an' stood over him, an' stuck -her face down closter an' closter--jes' a reg'lar nightmare--but we all -three seen the thing come boundin' out o' his room." - -"Why isn't Mary here to give notice?" I asked after a few moments. -During that time I conquered, first, a certain feeling of fear, caused -less by the story than by the look in Delia's light eyes, and, second, -a very strong sensation of anger. I could not help feeling that they -enjoyed that endless repetition of the "lady with red hair." Did the -silly creatures suspect me of playing ghoulish tricks to terrify a -child? - -"Well, Mary, she looks rather peaky this mornin'," said Annie, "but -she's young an' venturesome, an' she says mebbe we jes' fancied the -thing cornin' out o' the nursery, an', anyways, she's the kind that -would n't leave her charge. She's that fond of Robbie." - -"I think I like this Mary," said I. Then, looking them over as -scornfully as I could, I went on coldly: "Very well, I'll take your -story to Mrs. Brane. I will tell her that you want to leave at once. No, -don't waste any more time. Do your work, and be prepared to pack your -trunks. I think Mrs. Brane may be glad to have you go." - -But I was really very much surprised to find that I was right in this. -Mrs. Brane almost eagerly consented, and even seemed to feel relief. - -"By all means pack them off as soon as you can. I shall advertise for -a man and wife to take their places. It will mean some pretty hard work -for Mary and you for a short time, I am afraid, as I simply will not -have any of these blacks in the house. But--" - -I did n't in the least mind hard work, and I told her so and hastened to -give the result of my interview, first to Annie, Delia, and Jane, who, -to my satisfaction, seemed quite as much dashed as relieved at the -readiness with which their mistress let them go, and, second, to Mary, -the nurse. - - - - -CHAPTER III--MARY - - -|I FOUND Mary, with Robbie, in the garden. She got up from her rustic -chair under a big magnolia tree, and came hurrying to meet me, more to -keep me from her charge, I thought, than to shorten my walk. - -She need not have distressed herself. I felt keenly enough Robbie's -daytime fear of me, but that I should inspire horrible dreams of -red-haired women bending over his bed at night, filled me with a real -terror of the child. I would not, for anything, have come near to him. - -I stopped and waited for Mary. - -She looked as fresh and sturdy as some hardy blooming plant, nothing -"peaky" about her that I could see: short and trim with round, loyal -eyes, round, ruddy face, a pugnacious nose, and a bull-dog's jaw--not -pretty, certainly, but as trusty and delightful to look at as health, -and honesty, and cleanliness could make her. I rejoiced in her that -morning, and I have rejoiced in her ever since, even during that worst -time when her trust in me wavered a little, a very little. - -"Mary," I said, "can you give me five minutes or so? I have a good deal -to say to you." - -She glanced back at Robbie. He was busy, playing with some sticks on the -gravel path. - -"Yes, miss. Certainly." And I had her quiet, complete attention. - -"You aren't frightened out of your senses, then, this morning?" I asked. - -She did not smile back at me, but she shook her head. "No, Miss Gale," -she said sturdily, "though I did see thet thing come out of the nursery -plain enough. But it might have been Mrs. Brane's Angora cat. Times like -that when one is a bit upset, why, things can look twice as big as they -really are, and, as for Robbie's nightmare, why, as I make it out, it -means just nothing but that some time, when he was a mere infant maybe, -some red-haired woman give him a great scare. He's a terrible nervous -little fellow, anyways, and terrible secret in his ways. At first, I -could n't take to him, somehow, he was so queer. But now--why,"--and -here she did smile with an honest radiance,--"it would take more'n a -ghost to scare me away from takin' care of him. And a scared ghost, at -that." - -"Did you know that Delia and Annie and Jane are all leaving us to-day?" - -Mary put up her hands and opened her blue eyes. "My Lor'! The poor, -silly fools! Excuse me, Miss Gale, but I never did see such a place for -cowards. Them housekeepers and their nerves!" - -"Housekeepers, Mary?" - -"Yes'm. We've had three this summer. They was as lonely and jumpy women -as ever I saw. The first, she could n't sleep for hearin' footsteps -above her head, and the second, she felt somebody pass her in the -hallway, and the third, she would n't say what the matter was, but she -was the most frightened of all. You promise to be a young lady with more -grit. I'm glad of it, for I do think a delicate lady like Mrs. Brane -had ought to have some peace and quiet in her house. Now, miss, I'll do -anything to help you till you can find some one to take those women's -places. I can cook pretty good, and I can do the laundry, too, and not -neglect my Robbie, neither." - -I dismissed the thought of the three housekeepers. - -"Oh, Mary, thank you! You are just splendid! Mrs. Brane says she is -going to get a man and wife." - -"Now, that's good. That's what we need--a man," said Mary. She was -emphatically an old-fashioned woman, that is, a woman completely capable -of any sort of heroism, but who never feels safe unless there is a man -in the house. "Those black men, I think, are worse'n ghosts about a -place. Not that they come in often, but one of the housekeepers was -askin' that George be allowed to sleep inside. I was against it myself. -Now, you depend upon me, miss." - -I was almost absurdly grateful, partly because her pluck steadied my -nerves, which the morning's occurrences had flurried a little, and -partly because I was glad that she did not share Robbie's peculiar -prejudice. I went back to the house thoroughly braced, and watched the -three old women depart without a pang. - -Nevertheless, that description of the other housekeepers did linger -uncomfortably in my memory. - - - - -CHAPTER IV--PAUL DABNEY - - -|I'LL be glad to get at this kitchen," said Mary when we went down -to survey the scene of our impromptu labors; "those old women were -abominably careless. Why, they left enough food about and wasted enough -to feed an army. I would n't wonder, miss, if some of them blacks from -outside come in here and make a fine meal off of pickin's. They could -easy enough, and Mrs. Brane never miss it." - -"I dare say," said I, inspecting the bright, cheerful place with real -pleasure; "but, at any rate, Delia was a clean old soul. Everything's as -bright as a new pin." - -Mary begrudged Delia this compliment. "Outside, miss," she said, "but -it's a whited sepulchre"--she pronounced it "sepoolcur"--"Look in here a -moment. There's a closet that's just a scandal." - -She threw open a low door in the far end of the kitchen and, bending, I -peered in. - -"Why," I said, "it's been used as a storehouse for old junk. One end is -just a heap of broken-down furniture and old machinery. It would be a -job to clear out, too, heavy as lead. I doubt if a woman could move most -of it. I think Delia tried, for I see that things have been pushed to -one side. Let me have a candle. You go on with your bread-making, while -I get to work in here. I might do a little to straighten things out." - -Mary lit a candle and handed it to me, and I went poking about amongst a -clutter of broken implements, pots and kettles, old garden tools, even -a lawn-mower, and came against a great mass of iron, which turned out to -be a lawn-roller. However did it get in here, and why was it put here? I -gave it a push, and found that it rolled ponderously, but very silently -aside. In the effort I lost my balance a little, and put my hand out to -the wall. It went into damp darkness, and I fell. There was no wall at -the narrow, low end of the closet under the stairs, but a hole. - -"Oh, miss," called Mary, coming to the door, her hands covered with -flour, "Mrs. Brane says she wants you, please, to take tea up to the -drawing-room. There's company, I fancy, and my hands are in the dough." - -I came out, a little jarred by my fall, a little puzzled by that closet -with its dark, open end so carefully protected by a mass of heavy -things. Then, for the first time, I began really to suspect that -something was not quite right at "The Pines." I said nothing to Mary. -Her steady, cheerful sanity was invaluable. Hastily I washed my rusty, -dusty hands, smoothed my hair, prepared the tea-tray, and went upstairs. - -Mrs. Brane was entertaining two men in the drawing-room. - -I came in and set the tray down on the little table at Mrs. Brane's -elbow. As I did so, I glanced at the two men. One was a large, stout -man with gray hair and a gray beard and a bullying manner, belied by the -kindly expression of his eyes. I liked him at once. The other, for -some reason, impressed me much less favorably. He had an air of lazy -indifference, large, demure eyes, black hair very sleekly groomed, -clothes which even my ignorance of such matters proclaimed themselves -just what was most appropriate for an afternoon visit to a Southern -country house, and a low, deprecatory, pleasant voice. He gave me a -casual look when Mrs. Brane very pleasantly introduced me--she made much -more of a guest of me than of a housekeeper--and dropped his eyes again -on the cup between his long, slim hands. He dropped them, however, not -before I had time to notice that his pupils had grown suddenly large. -Otherwise, his expression did not change--indeed, why should it?--but -this inexplicable look in his eyes gave me an unpleasant little shock. - -"Mr. Dabney," Mrs. Brane was saying, "has been sent over by Mrs. Rodman, -one of our distant neighbors, to enliven our dulness. He wants to study -my husband's Russian library, and, as my husband made it an especial -request that his books should not be lent, this means that we shall see -Mr. Dabney very often. Dr. Haverstock has been looking Robbie over. The -poor little fellow's nerves are in a pretty bad condition--" - -"You'll let me see him, won't you?" murmured young Dabney; "I rather -adore young children." - -"Oh," laughed the big doctor in his noisy way, "any one who hasn't red -hair may see Robbie. I hear he has a violent objection to red hair, eh, -Miss Gale! Very pretty red hair, too." - -Of course it was friendly teasing, but it angered me unreasonably, and -I felt the color rising to my conspicuous crop. Especially as Mr. Dabney -looked at me with an air of mildly increasing interest. - -"How very odd!" he said. - -"Would you mind taking Mr. Dabney to the bookroom when he's finished his -tea, Miss Gale," asked Mrs. Brane in her sweet way. "I'd like to talk -Robbie over a little longer with Dr. Haverstock, if you'll excuse me, -Mr. Dabney. Show him the card catalogue, Miss Gale. Thank you." - -It was an unwelcome duty, and I intended to make it as short as -possible. I had not reckoned on young Mr. Dabney's ability as an -entertainer. - -He began to talk as we crossed the hall. - -"Splendid house, isn't it, Miss Gale? The sort of place you read about -and would like to write about if you had the gift. Have you ever been in -the South before?" - -"No," I said discouragingly. "This is the room." - -"I know the country about here very well. Have you been able to get -around much?" - -"Naturally not. As a housekeeper--" - -For a moment, as we came into the book-room he had stood looking gravely -down; now he gave me a sudden frank, merry look and laughed. "Oh," he -said, "it's absurd, too absurd, you know,--your being a housekeeper, I -mean. You're just playing at it, are n't you?" - -"Indeed, Mr. Dabney," I said, "I am not. I am very little likely to play -at anything. I am earnestly trying to earn my living. The card catalogue -is over there between the front windows. Is there anything else?" - -"Was I rude?" he asked with an absurdly boyish air; "I am sorry. I did -n't mean to be. But surely you can't mind people's noticing it?" - -I fell into this little trap. "Noticing what?" I could n't forbear -asking him. - -"Why," said he, "the utter incongruity of your being a housekeeper at -all. I believe that that is what frightened Robbie." - -There was a strange note in his voice now, an edge. Was he trying to be -disagreeable? I could not make out this young man. I moved away. - -"Miss Gale,"--he was perfectly distant and casual again,--"I'll have to -detain you just a moment. This bookcase is locked, you see--" - -"I'll ask Mrs. Brane." - -I came back in a few minutes with the key. Mr. Dabney was busy with the -card catalogue, but, for some reason,--I have always had a catlike -sense in such matters,--I felt that he had only just returned to this -position, and that he wanted me to believe that he had spent the entire -time of my absence there. - -"These other housekeepers," he said, "were n't very earnest about -earning their living, were they? Mrs. Brane was telling me--" - -"Oh," I smiled, rather surprised that Mrs. Brane had been so -confidential. To me she had never mentioned the other housekeepers. -"They were very nervous women. You see, I am not." - -He turned the key about in his hand, looked down, then up at me -demurely. He had the most disarming and trust-inspiring look. - -"No," he said, "you are not nervous. It's a great thing to have a steady -nerve. You're not easily startled." Then, turning to the bookcase, he -added sharply, looking back at me as he spoke, "Do you know anything -about Russia?" - -"No," I answered; "that is, very little." There were reasons why this -subject was distasteful to me. Again I moved away. - -He opened the bookcase. - -"Phew!" he said,--"the dust of ages here! I'll have to ask Mrs. Brane to -let you--" - -I went out and shut the door. - -But I was not so easily to escape young Dabney's determination to see -more of me. Mrs. Brane, that very evening, asked me to spend my mornings -dusting, her husband's books and cataloguing them. At first I dreaded -these hours with our visitor, but as the days went by I came more and -more to enjoy them. I found myself talking to Mr. Dabney freely, more -about my thoughts and fancies than about my life, which holds too -much that is painful. And he was, at first, a most frank and engaging -companion. I was young and lonely, I had never had such pleasant -intercourse. Well, there is no use apologizing for it, trying to -explain it, beating about the bush,--I lost my heart to him. It went -out irrevocably before the shadow fell. And I thought that his heart had -begun to move towards mine. Sometimes there was the strangest look of -troubled feeling in his eyes. - -This preoccupation kept me from thinking of other things. I was -always going over yesterday's conversation with Mr. Dabney, planning -to-morrow's, enjoying to-day's. Mrs. Brane seemed to watch us with -sympathy. After a week or so, she put an end to what she called "Paul -Dabney's short comings and long goings" and invited him to stay with -us. He accepted, and I was wonderfully happy. I felt very young for the -first time in my whole sad life. I remember this period as a sort of -shadowy green stretch in a long, horrible, rocky journey. It came--the -quiet, shady stretch--soon enough to an end. - - - - -CHAPTER V--"NOT IN THE DAYTIME, MA'AM" - - -|MARY'S labors and mine did not last very long. At the end of a week, -a promising couple applied for the position described in Mrs. Brane's -advertisement. They drove up to the house in a hired hack one morning, -and Mrs. Brane and I interviewed them in my little office. They were -English people, and had one or two super-excellent references. These -were rather antiquated, to be sure, dating to a time before the couple's -marriage, but they explained that for a long while they had been living -on their savings, but that now the higher cost of living had forced them -to go into service again. - -The woman would have been very handsome except for a defect in her -proportions: her face was very much too large. Also, there was a lack -of expression in the large, heavy-lidded eyes. The man was the most -discreet type of English house servant imaginable, with side whiskers -and a small, thin-lipped, slightly caved-in mouth. His eyes were so -small that they were almost negligible in the long, narrow head. Their -general appearance, however, was presentable, and their manner left -nothing to be desired. To me, especially, they were so respectful, so -docile, so eager to serve, that I found it almost disconcerting. They -had the oddest way of fixing their eyes on me, as though waiting for -some sort of signal. Sometimes, I fancied that, far down underneath the -servility of those two pairs of eyes, there was a furtive expression -of something I could not quite translate, fear, perhaps, or--how can -I express it?--a sort of fearful awareness of secret understanding. -Perhaps there is no better way to describe it than to say that I should -not have been astonished if, looking up quickly into the woman's large, -blank, handsome face, I should have surprised a wink. And she would have -expected me to understand the wink. - -Of course, I did not gather all these impressions at once. It was only -as the days went by that I accumulated them. Once, and once only, Henry -Lorrence, the new man, was guilty of a real impertinence. I had been -busy in the bookroom with my interminable, but delightful, task of -dusting and arranging Mr. Brane's books in Paul Dabney's company, and, -hearing Mary's voice calling from the garden rather anxiously for "Miss -Gale," I came out suddenly into the hall. Henry was standing there near -the door of the bookroom, doing nothing that I could see, though he -certainly had a dust-cloth in his hand. He looked not at all abashed by -my discovery of him; on the contrary, that indescribable look of mutual -understanding or of an expectation of mutual understanding took strong -possession of his face. - -"I see you're keepin' your eyes on him, madam," said he softly, jerking -his head towards the room where I had left Mr. Dabney. - -I was vexed, of course, and I suppose my face showed it. My reproof was -not so severe, however, as to cause such a look of cowering fear. Henry -turned pale, his thin, loose lips seemed to find themselves unable to -fit together properly. He stammered out an abject apology, and melted -away in the hall. - -I stood for several minutes staring after him, I remember, and when, -turning, I found that Mr. Dabney had followed me to the door and -was watching both me and the departing man, I was distinctly and -unreasonably annoyed with him. - -He, too, melted away into the room, and I went out to see Mary in -the garden. Truly I never thought myself a particularly awe-inspiring -person, but, since I had come to "The Pines," every one from Robbie to -this young man, every one, that is, except Mary and Mrs. Brane, seemed -to regard me with varying degrees of fear. It distressed me, but, at -the same time, gave me a new feeling of power, and I believe it was a -support to me in the difficult and terrifying days to come. - -At the box hedge of the garden, Mary met me. As usual, she kept me at a -distance from her charge. - -"Miss Gale," she said, "may I speak to you for a minute?" - -"For as many minutes as you like," I said cordially. - -She moved to a little arbor near by where there was a rustic seat. I sat -down upon it, and she stood before me, her strong, red hands folded on -her apron. I saw that she was grave and anxious, though as steady As -ever. - -"Miss Gale,'t is a queer matter," she began. - -My heart gave a sad jump. "Oh, Mary," I begged her, "don't say anything, -please, about ghosts or weird presences in the house." - -She tried to smile, but it was a half-hearted attempt. - -"Miss Gale," she said, "you know I aren't the one to make mountains out -of mole-hills, and you know I ain't easy scairt. But, miss, for Robbie's -sake, somethin' must be done." - -"What must be done, Mary?" - -"Well, miss, I don't say as it mayn't be nerves; nerves is mysterious -things as well I know, havin' lived in a haunted house in the old -country where chains was dragged up and down the front stairs regular -after dark, and such-like doin's which all of us took as a matter of -course, but which was explained to the help when they was engaged. But -I do think that Mrs. Brane had ought to move Robbie out of that wing. -Yes'm, that I do." - -"Has anything more happened?" I asked blankly. - -"Yes'm. That is to say, Robbie's nightmares has been gettin' worse than -ever, and, last night, when I run into the nursery, jumpin' out of my -bed as quick as I could and not even stoppin' for my slippers--you -know, miss, I sleep right next to the nursery, and keeps a night light -burnin', for I'm not one of the people that holds to discipline and lets -a nervous child cry hisself into fits--when I come in I seen the nursery -door close, and just a bit of a gown of some sort whiskin' round the -edge. Robbie was most beside hisself, I did n't hardly dare to leave -him, but I run to the door and I flung it wide open sudden, the way a -body does when they're scairt-like but means to do the right thing, and, -in course, the hall was dark, but miss,"--Mary swallowed,--"I heard a -footstep far down the passage in the direction of your room." - -My blood chilled all along my veins. "In the direction of my room?" - -"Yes, miss, so much so that I thought it must'a' been you, and I felt a -bit easier like, but when I come back to Robbie--" here she turned her -troubled eyes from my face--"why, he was yellin' and screamin' again -about that woman with red hair.... Oh, Miss Gale, ma'am, don't you be -angry with me. You know I'm your friend, but, miss, did you ever walk in -your sleep?" - -"No, Mary, no," I said, and, to my surprise, I had no more of a voice -than a whisper to say it in. - -After a pause, "You must lock me in at night after this, Mary," I added -more firmly. - -"Or, better still, after Robbie is sound asleep, let me come into your -bedroom. You can make me up some sort of a bed there, and we will keep -watch over Robbie. I am sure it is just a dream of his--the woman with -red hair bending over him--and I am sure, too, that the closing door, -and the gown, and the footstep were the result of a nervous and excited -imagination. You had been waked suddenly out of a sound sleep." - -"I was broad awake, ma'am," said Mary, in the voice of one who would -like to be convinced. - -I sat there cold in the warm sun, thinking of that woman with long, -red hair who visited Robbie. That it might be myself, prompted by some -ghoulish influence of sleep and night, made my very heart sick. - -"Mary," I asked pitifully enough, "didn't Robbie ever see the woman with -red hair before I came to 'The Pines'?" - -Unwillingly she shook her head. "No, miss. The first time he woke up -screamin' about her was the night before Delia and Jane and Annie gave -notice." - -"But he was afraid of red-haired women before, Mary, because, as soon -as I took off my hat downstairs in the drawing-room the afternoon I -arrived, he pointed at me and cried, 'It's her hair!'" - -"Is that so, miss?" said Mary, much impressed. "Well, that does point -to his havin' been scairt by some red-haired person before you come -here." - -"Surely Robbie could tell you something that would explain the whole -thing," I said irritably. "Haven't you questioned him?" - -Mary flung up her hands. "Have n't I? As long as I dared, Miss Gale, -it's as much as his life is worth. Dr. Haverstock has forbidden it -absolutely." - -"That's strange, I think, for I know that the first way to be rid of -some nervous terror is to confess its cause." - -"Yes, miss." Mary was evidently impressed by my knowledge. "And that's -just what Dr. Haverstock said hisself. But he says it has got to be -drawn out of Robbie by what he calls the indirect method. He has asked -Mr. Dabney to win the child's confidence; that is, it was Mr. Dabney's -own suggestion, I believe. Mr. Dabney was with Mrs. Brane and the doctor -when they was discussing Robbie and he says he likes children and -they likes him, as, indeed, they do, miss. Robbie and him are like -two kiddies together, a-playin' at railroads and such in the gravel -yesterday--" - -"Did he ask Robbie about the red-haired woman yesterday, because that -may have brought on the nightmare last night?" - -"I don't know, miss. I was n't in earshot of them. Mr. Dabney, he always -coaxes Robbie a bit away from the bench where I set and sew out here." - -"I think I'll ask Mr. Dabney," I said. I began to move away; then, -with an afterthought I turned back to Mary. She was studying me with a -dubious air. - -"I think we had better try the plan of watching closely over Robbie -before we say anything to alarm Mrs. Brane," I said. "It would distress -her very much to move Robbie out of his nursery, and she has been very -tired and languid lately. She has been doing too much, I think. This new -woman, Sara Lorrence, is a terror for house-cleaning, and she's -urged Mrs. Brane to let her give the old part of the house a thorough -cleaning. Mrs. Brane simply won't keep away. She works almost as hard -as Sara, and goes into every crack and cranny and digs out old -rubbish--nothing's more exhausting." - -"Yes, ma'am," Mary agreed, "she's sure a wonder at cleaning, that Sara. -She's straightened out our kitchen closet somethin' wonderful, miss." - -"She has?" I wondered if Sara, too, had discovered that queer opening -in the back of the closet. I had almost forgotten it, but now I decided, -absurd as such action probably was, to investigate the black hole into -which I had fallen when I tried to move the lawn roller. - -I chose a time when Sara Lorrence was out of the kitchen, cutting -lettuces in the kitchen-garden. For several minutes I watched her broad, -well-corseted body at its task, then, singing softly to myself,--for -some reason I had a feeling that I was in danger,--I walked across the -clean board floor and stepped into the closet to which my attention -had first been drawn by Mary. It was indeed a renovated spot, sweet -and garnished like the abode of devils in the parable; pots scoured and -arranged on shelves, rubbish cleared out, the lawn-mower removed, the -roller taken to some more appropriate place. But it was, in its further -recesses, as dark as ever. I moved in, bending down my head and feeling -before me with my hand. My fingers came presently against a wall. I -felt about, in front, on either side, up and down; there was no break -anywhere. Either I had imagined an opening or my hole had been boarded -up. - -I went out, lighted a candle, and returned. The closet was entirely -normal,--just a kitchen closet with a sloping roof; it lay under the -back stairs, one small, narrow wall, and three high, wide ones. The -low, narrow wall stood where I had imagined my hole. I went close and -examined it by the light of my candle. There was only one peculiarity -about this wall; it had a temporary look, and was made of odd, old -boards, which, it seemed to me, showed signs of recent workmanship. -Perhaps Henry had made repairs. I blew out my candle and stepped from -the closet. - -Sara had come back from the garden. She greeted my appearance with a -low, quavering cry of fear. "Oh, my God!" Then, recovering herself, -though her large face remained ashen, "Excuse me, ma'am," she -said timidly, "I wasn't expectin' to see you there"--and she added -incomprehensibly--"_not in the daytime_, ma'am." - -Now, for some reason, these words gave me the most horrible chill of -fear. My mind simply turned away from them. I could not question Sara of -their meaning. Subconsciously, I must have refused to understand them. -It is always difficult to describe such psychological phenomena, but -this is one that I am sure many people have experienced. It is akin to -the paralysis which attacks one in frightening dreams and sometimes in -real life, and prevents escape. The sort of shock it gave me absolutely -forbade my taking any notice of it. I spoke to Sara in a strained, hard -voice. - -"You have been putting the closet in order," I said. "Has Henry been -repairing it? I mean has he been mending up that--hole?" - -"Yes, ma'am," she said half sullenly, "accordin' to your orders." And -she glanced around as though she were afraid some one might be listening -to us. - -"My orders? I gave no orders whatever about this closet!" My voice was -almost shrill, and sounded angry, though I was not angry, only terribly -and quite unreasonably frightened. - -"Just as you please, ma'am," said Sara with that curious submissiveness -and its undercurrent of something else,--"just as you say. Of course -you did n't give no such orders. Not you. I just had Henry nail it up -myself"--? here she fixed those expressionless eyes upon me and the lid -of one, or I imagined it, just drooped--"on account of sleuths." - -"Sleuths?" I echoed. - -"A kitchen name for rats, ma'am," said Sara, and came as near to -laughing as I ever saw her come. "Rats, ma'am, that comes about old -houses such as this." And here she glanced in a meaning way over her -shoulder out of the window. - -My glance followed hers; in fact, my whole body followed. I went and -stood near the window. The kitchen was on a lower level than the garden, -so that I looked up to the gravel path. Here Mr. Dabney was walking with -Robbie's hand in his. Robbie was chattering like a bird, and Paul Dabney -was smiling down at him. It was a pretty picture in the pale November -sunshine, a prettier picture than Sara's face. But, as I looked at them -gratefully, feeling that the very sight of those two was bringing me -back from a queer attack of dementia, Robbie, looking by chance my way, -threw himself against his companion, stiffening and pointing. I heard -his shrill cry, "There she is! I _wisht_ they'd take her away!" - -I flinched out of his sight, covering my face with my hands and hurrying -towards the inner door which led to the kitchen stairs. I did not -want to look again at Sara, but something forced me to do so. She was -watching me with a look of fearful amusement, a most disgusting look. I -rushed through the door and stumbled up the stairs. I was shaking with -anger, and fear, and pain of heart, and, yet, this last feeling was the -only one whose cause I could fully explain to myself. Paul Dabney had -seen a child turn pale and stiff with fear at the mere sight of me, and -I could not forget the grim, stern look with which he followed Robbie's -little pitiful, pointing finger. And I had fancied that this man was -falling in love with me! - -Truly my nerves should have been in no condition to face the dreadful -ordeal of the time that was to come, but, truly, too, and very -mercifully, those nerves are made of steel. They bend often, and with -agonizing pain, but they do not break. I know now that they never will. -They have been tested supremely, and have stood the test. - - - - -CHAPTER VI--A STRAND OF RED-GOLD HAIR - - -|I WENT to bed early that night, and, partially undressing myself, I put -on a wrapper and sat on my bed reading till Mary should come to tell me -that Robbie had fallen asleep, and that it was time for our night-watch -to begin. I had not spoken to Mary again on the subject, for soon after -my investigations in the kitchen, Mrs. Brane had asked me to help her in -her work of going over the old, long-closed drawers and wardrobes in -the north wing, and I had had a very busy and tiring afternoon. It was -a relief, however, to find that Sara dropped her labors when I appeared. -Mrs. Brane looked almost as relieved as I felt. - -"That is the most indefatigable worker I ever met, Miss Gale," she said -in her listless, nervous way; "she's been glued to my side ever since we -began this interminable piece of work." - -"I wish you'd give it up, dear Mrs. Brane," I said, "and let the -indefatigable Sara tire out her own energy. I'm sure that you have -none to spare, and this going over of old letters, and papers, and books -and clothes is very tiring and depressing work for you." - -She gave a tormented sigh. "Oh, isn't it? It's aging me." She stood -before a great, old highboy, its drawers pulled out, and she looked -so tiny and helpless, as small almost as Robbie. All the rest of -the furniture was as massive as the highboy, the four-poster and the -marble-topped bureau, and the tall mirror with its tarnished frame. I -liked the mirror, and rather admired its reflection of myself. - -Mrs. Brane looked wistfully about the room, and her eyes, like mine, -stopped at the mirror. "How young you look beside me," she said, "and so -bright, with that wonderful hair! I wish you'd let me know you better, -dear; I am really very fond of you, you know, and you must have -something of a history with your beauty and your 'grand air,' and that -halo of tragedy Mr. Dabney talks about." She smiled teasingly, but I was -too sad to smile back. - -"My history is not romantic," I said bitterly; "it is dull and sordid. -You are very good to me, dear Mrs. Brane." I was close to tears. "I wish -I could do more for you." - -"More! Why, child, if it wasn't for you, I'd run away from 'The Pines' -and never come back. _No_ inducement, no consideration of any kind would -keep me in this place." - -She certainly spoke as though she had in mind some very weighty -inducement and consideration. - -"Why do you stay, Mrs. Brane." I asked impulsively. "At least, why don't -you go away for a change? It would do you so much good, and it would be -wonderful for Robbie. Why, Mrs. Brane, you have n't left this place for -a day, have you, since your husband died?" - -"No, dear," said the little lady sorrowfully, "hardly for an hour. It's -my prison." She looked about the room again, and added as though she -were talking to herself, "I don't dare to leave it." - -"Dare?" I repeated. - -She smiled deprecatingly. "That was a silly word to use, was n't it?" -Again that tormented little sigh. "You see, I'm a silly little person. -I'm not fit to carry the weight of other people's secrets." - -Again I repeated like some brainless parrot, "Secrets?" - -"Of course there are secrets, child," she said impatiently. "Every one -has secrets, their own or other people's. You have secrets, without -doubt?" - -I had. She had successfully silenced me. After that we worked steadily, -and there was no further attempt at confidence. - -Nevertheless, as I lay on my bed trying to read and waiting for Mary's -summons, I decided that I would make a strong effort to get Mrs. Brane -and Robbie out of the house. I had come to the conclusion that my -employer was the victim of a mild sort of mania, one symptom of which -was a fear of leaving her home. I thought I would consult with Dr. -Haverstock and get him to order Robbie and Robbie's mother a change of -air. It might cure the little fellow of his nervous terrors. How I wish -I had thought of this plan a few days sooner! What dreadful reason I -have for regretting my delay! - -Mary was a long time in coming. I must have fallen asleep, for a while -later, I became aware that I had slipped down on my pillows and that -my book had fallen to the floor. I got up, feeling rather startled, and -looked at my clock. It was already half-past twelve, and Mary had not -called me. I went to my door and found that it was locked. I remembered -that it had been my alternate plan for Mary to lock me in, and I -supposed that she had forgotten that our final decision was in favor of -the other scheme, or she had preferred to watch over Robbie alone. I was -a little hurt, but I acquiesced in my imprisonment and went back to bed. -I put out the light, and was very soon asleep again. - -I was waked by a dreadful sound of screaming. I sat up in bed, stiff -with fear, my heart leaping. Then I ran towards the door, remembered -that it was locked, and stood in the middle of the room, pressing my -hands together. - -The screaming stopped. Robbie had had his nightmare, and it was over. -Thank God! this time my alibi was established without doubt. I was -enormously relieved, for I had begun myself to fear that I had been -walking in my sleep, and, perhaps, influenced by the description of -Robbie's favorite nightmare, had unconsciously acted out the horror -beside his bed. After a while, the house being fairly quiet, though I -thought I would hear Mary moving about, I went back to my bed. When she -could leave her charge I knew that she would come to me with her story. -I tried to be calm and patient, but of course I was anything but that. - -It was nearly morning, a faint, greenish light spread in the sky, -opening fanlike fingers through the slats of my shutter. After a while, -it seemed interminable, a step came down the hall. It was not Mary's -padded, nurselike tread, it was the quick, resolute footstep of a man. -It stopped outside my door. There was no ceremony of knocking, no key -turned. The handle was sharply moved, and, to my utter amazement, the -door opened. - -There stood Paul Dabney, fully dressed, his face pale and grim. - -"Come out," he said. "Come with me and see what has been done." I -noticed that he kept one hand in his pocket, and that the pocket bulged. - -I got up, still in my wrapper, my hair hanging in two long, dishevelled -braids, and came, in a dazed way, towards him. He took me by the wrist, -using his left hand, the other still in his pocket. His fingers were -as cold and hard as steel. I shrunk a little from them, and he gave my -wrist a queer, cruel little shake. - -"What does it feel like, eh?" he snarled. - -I merely looked at him. His unexpected appearance, his terrible manner, -the opening of that locked door without the use of any key, above all, -a dull sense of some overwhelming tragedy for which I was to be held -responsible,--all these things held me dumb and powerless. I let -him keep his grasp on my wrist, and I walked beside him along the -passage-way as though I were indeed a somnambulist. So we came to the -nursery door. Inside, I saw Mary kneeling beside Robbie's little bed, -and heard her sobbing as though her heart would break. - -"What is it?" I whispered, looking at Paul Dabney and pulling back. - -My look must have made some impression on him. A queer sort of gleam -of doubt seemed to pass across his face. He drew me towards the cot, -keeping his eyes riveted upon me. - -There lay the little boy who had never allowed me to come so near to -him before, passive and still--a white little face, a body like a broken -flower. I saw at once that he was dead. - -"Oh, miss," sobbed Mary, keeping her face hidden, "why didn't you keep -to your plan? Oh, God have mercy on us, we have killed the poor soul!" - -"Mary," I whispered, "you locked me in." - -"Oh, indeed, Miss Gale, no. I thought you said you'd come and spend the -night with me. I had a couch made up. I waited for you, and I must have -fallen asleep..." Here she got to her feet, drying her eyes. We were -both talking in whispers, Dabney still held my wrist, the little corpse -lay silent there before us as though he were asleep. "I was waked by -Robbie. Oh, my lamb! My lamb!" Again she wept and tears poured down my -own face. - -"I heard him," I choked. "I would have come. But the door was locked." - -Here Mr. Dabney's fingers tightened perceptibly, almost painfully upon -my wrist. - -"I opened your locked door," he sneered. "Remember that." - -Mary looked at me with bewildered eyes. "I did n't lock your door, -miss." - -We stared at each other in dumb and tragic mystification. - -"I came to Robbie as fast as I could," she went on. "I was too late to -see any one go out. He was in convulsions, the pitiful baby! In my arms, -he died before ever I could call for help. Mr. Dabney come in almost at -once and and--Oh, miss, who's to tell his mother?" - -I made a move. "I must--" I began, but that cold, steel grip on my wrist -coerced me. - -"You go, Mary," said Dabney, "and break it to her carefully. Send for -Dr. Haverstock. This--sleep-walker will stay here with me," he added -between his teeth. - -Mary, with a little moan, obeyed and went out and slowly away. Paul -Dabney and I stood in silence, linked together strangely in that room of -death. This was the man I loved. I looked at him. - -"You look as innocent as a flower," he said painfully. "Perhaps this -will move you." - -He drew me close to Robbie. He lifted one of the little hands and laid -it, still warm, in mine. The small fingers were clenched into a fist, -and about two of them was wrapped a strand of red-gold hair. - -I fell down at Paul Dabney's feet. - -The consciousness of his grip on my wrist, which kept me from measuring -my length on the floor, stayed with me through a strange, short journey -into forgetfulness. - -"Ah!" said Paul Dabney, as I came back and raised my head; "I thought -that would cut the ground from under you." - -He quietly untwisted the hairs from the child's clutch, and, still -keeping his hold of me, he put the lock into his pocket-book and -replaced it in an inner pocket. - -"Stand up!" he said. - -I obeyed. The blood was beginning to return to my brain, and with it an -intolerable sense of outrage. I returned him look for look. - -"If I am unfortunate enough to walk in my sleep," I said quiveringly, -"and if, through this misfortune, I have been so terribly unhappy as to -cause the death of this poor delicate child, is that any reason, Paul -Dabney, that you should hold me by the wrist and threaten me and treat -me like a murderess?" - -I was standing at my full height, and my eyes were fixed on his. To -my inexpressible relief, the expression of his face changed. His eyes -faltered from their implacable judgment, his lips relaxed, his fingers -slowly slipped from my wrist. I caught his arm in both my hands. - -"Paul! Paul!" I gasped. Not for long afterwards did I realize that I had -used his name. "How can you, how can you put me through such agony? As -though this were not enough! O God! God!" - -I broke down utterly. I shook and wept. He held me in his arms. I could -feel him tremble. - -"Go back to your room," he said at last, in a low, guilty sort of voice. -"Try to command yourself." - -I faltered away, trying pitifully as a punished child, to be obedient, -to be good, to merit trust. He looked after me with such a face of -doubt and despair that, had it not been for Robbie's small, wax-like -countenance, I must have been haunted by the look. - -I got somehow to my room and lay down on my bed. I was broken in body, -mind, and spirit. For the time being there was no strength or courage -left in me. But they came back. - - - - -CHAPTER VII--THE RUSSIAN BOOK-SHELVES - - -|IT was fortunate for us all, especially for poor Mary, that, after -Robbie's death, Mrs. Brane needed every care and attention that we could -give her. For myself, I had expected prompt dismissal, but, as it -turned out, Mrs. Brane more than ever insisted upon my staying on -as housekeeper. Neither Mary, because of her loyalty to me, nor Paul -Dabney, for some less friendly reason, had told the poor little woman -of the cause of Robbie's death, nor of their suspicions concerning my -complicity, unconscious or otherwise. - -It may seem strange to the reader that I should not have left "The -Pines." It seems strange to me now. But there was more than one reason -for my courage or my obstinacy. First, I felt that after Dabney's -extraordinary treatment of me, treatment which he made no attempt to -explain and for which he made no apology, my honor demanded that I -should stay in the house and clear up the double mystery of the locked -door that opened, and of the strand of red-gold hair that was wrapped -around poor little Robbie's fingers. Of course I may have dreamed that -the door was locked; I may have, that time when I fancied myself broad -awake, been really in a state of trance, and, instead of finding a -locked door and going back to bed, I may then have gone through the -door and down the hall to Robbie's nursery, coming to myself only, when, -being again in bed, I had awakened to the sound of his screams. This -explanation, I know, was the one adopted by Mary. Mr. Dabney had other -and darker suspicions. I realized that in some mysterious fashion he had -constituted himself my judge. I realized, too, by degrees, and here, if -you like, was the chief reason for my not leaving "The Pines," that Paul -Dabney simply would not have let me go. Unobtrusively, quietly, more, -almost loathfully, he kept me under a strict surveillance. I became -conscious of it slowly. If I had to leave the place on an errand he -accompanied me or he sent Mary to accompany me. At about this time Mrs. -Brane, without asking any advice from me, engaged two outdoor men. -They were to tidy up the grounds, she told me, and to do some repairing -within and without. They were certainly the most inefficient workmen I -have ever seen. They were always pottering about the house or grounds. -I grew weary of the very sight of them. It seemed to me that one was -always in my sight, whatever I did, wherever I went. - -Mrs. Brane felt Robbie's death terribly, of course; she suffered not -only from the natural grief of a mother, but from a morbid fancy that, -in some way, the tragedy was her own fault. "I should have taken him -away. I should not have let him live in this dreary, dreadful house. -What was anything worth compared to his dear life! What is anything -worth to me now!" There was again the suggestion that living in this -house was worth something. I should have discussed all these matters -with Mr. Dabney. Indeed, I should have made him my confidant on all -these mysteries which confronted me, had it not been for his harshness -on that dreadful night. As it was, I could hardly bear to look at him, -hardly bear to speak to him. And, yet, poor, wretched, lonely-hearted -girl that I was, I loved him more than ever. I kept on with my work -of dusting books, and he kept on with his everlasting notes on Russian -literature, so we were as much as ever in each other's company. But what -a sad change in our intercourse! The shadow of sorrow and discomfort -that lay upon "The Pines" lay heaviest of all in that sunny, peaceful -bookroom where we had had such happy hours. And I could not help being -glad of his presence, and, sometimes, I found his eyes fixed upon me -with such a look of doubt, of dumb and miserable feeling. I was trying -to make up my mind to speak to him in those days. I think that in the -end I should have done so, with what result I cannot even now imagine, -had it not been, first, for the episode of the Russian Baron, and, -second, for another matter, infinitely and incomparably more dreadful -than any other experience of my life. - -The Russian Baron came to "The Pines" one morning about ten days after -little Robbie's death. Mrs. Brane received him in the drawing-room, and -presently rang the bell and sent Sara upstairs with a message for me. - -I came down at once. The Baron sat opposite to Mrs. Brane before the -small coal fire. He was a heavy, high-shouldered, bearded man, with that -look of having too many and too white teeth which a full black beard -gives. His figure reminded me of a dressed-up bolster. It was round and -narrow, and without any shape, and it looked soft. His plump hands were -buttoned into light-colored gloves, which he had not removed, and his -feet were encased in extravagantly long, pointed, very light tan shoes. -He kept his eyebrows raised, and his eyes opened so wide that the whites -showed above the iris, and this with no sense of effort and for no -reason whatever. It disguised every possible expression except one of -entirely unwarranted, extreme surprise. At first, when I came into the -room, I thought that in some way I must have caused the look, but I soon -found that it was habitual to him. Mrs. Brane looked at once nervous, -and faintly amused. - -"Miss Gale," she said, "this is Baron Borff." She consulted the card on -her lap. "He was a friend of my husband's when my husband was in Europe, -and he, too, like Mr. Dabney, wants to see my husband's collection of -Russian books." - -The Baron stood up, and made me a bow so deep that I discovered his hair -was parted down the back. - -"Mees Gale," said the Baron, looking up at me while he bowed. He -suggested the contortions of a trained sea-animal of some kind. - -"I shall have to ask you to show him the books, Miss Gale," went on Mrs. -Brane. "It seems to be one of your principal duties in the house, does -n't it! And I certainly did not engage you for a librarian. But I have -not been very well since my little boy died--" Her lips quivered and -the Baron gave a magnificent, deep, organ-like murmur of sympathy, his -unreasonably astonished eyes being fixed meanwhile upon me. In fact, -he had stared at me without deviation since my entrance, and I was -thoroughly out of countenance. - -"It ees true that I should not have intruded myself at this so tragic -time into your house of mourning," he said, "but, unfortunately, my time -in your country is so very short that unless I come at this juncture I -should not be able to come at all, and so--" - -"I understand, of course," said Mrs. Brane, rising and twisting the -Baron's card in her hand. "I am very glad you came. Will you not take -dinner with us this evening?" - -The Baron looked at me as if for consent or advice, and, thinking that -he was considering his hostess's health I made a motion of my lips of -"no," at which he promptly but very politely and effusively declined her -hospitality, and followed me out of the room. - -Young Dabney met us in the hall. I introduced him to the Baron, who -turned very pale, quite green, in fact. I was astonished at this loss -of color on his part, especially as Mr. Dabney was extremely polite -and gentle with him in his demure way, and strolled beside him into the -bookroom chatting in the most friendly fashion, and reminding me of his -manner to me on the first afternoon of our acquaintance. The Baron stood -in the middle of the bookroom peeling off his gloves as though his hands -were wet. His forehead certainly was, and he stayed green and kept those -astonished eyes fixed upon me so that I felt like screaming at him to -remove them. - -Paul Dabney sat on the window seat and took up a book. - -"I shall be perfectly quiet, Baron," he said, "and not disturb your -investigations." - -He was admirably quiet, but I could not help but see that he did very -little reading. He did not turn a page, but sat with one hand in his -pocket. I remembered that he had held his hand just that way on the -night of Robbie's death. One of the outdoors men came across the lawn, -and began to trim the vine beside one of the open windows. I thought the -Baron could not complain of any too much privacy for his researches. - -"This is the Russian library," I said, and led the way to the shelves. -He followed me so closely that I could feel his breath on my neck. He -was breathing fast, and rather unevenly. - -"Thank you so much," he said. He took out a volume, and rustled the -pages. At last, "I wonder if I might be allowed to pursue my studies -with no other assistance than yours, Miss Gale," he asked irritably. He -wiped his forehead. "I am a student, a recluse. It is a folly, but -these presences"--he pointed towards Mr. Dabney and the man at the -window--"disturb me." - -I glanced at Paul Dabney, who smiled and came down from his window seat, -moving towards the door, the book under his arm, his hand still in his -pocket. He did not say anything, but went out quietly and nearly closed -the door. I shut it quite. A second later I heard him speaking to -the man outside, and he, too, removed himself. The Baron gave a great -whistling sigh of relief, ran to each of the windows in turn, then came -back to me and spoke in a low, muttering voice. - -"You are incomparable, madame," he said. - -I was perfectly astonished, both at the speech and the manner. But this -was my first specimen of the Russian nobility, and supposing that it -was the aristocratic Russian method of compliment, I bowed, and -was going to follow Mr. Dabney out, when the Baron, kneeling by the -bookcase, clutched my skirt in his hand. - -"You will not leave me?" - -I withdrew my skirt from his grasp. "Not if I can be of any help to you, -Baron," I said and could not restrain a smile, he was so absurd. - -"Help? _Boje moe! Da!_" - -He turned from me, and began rapidly to remove all the books from the -bookcase. I thought this a peculiar way to pursue studies, especially -as he was so frightfully quick about it; I have never seen any one so -marvellously quick with his hands, tumbling the books down one after the -other. When the case was entirely empty, and I knew that I should have -the work of filling it again, he very calmly removed a shelf and began -feeling with his fingers along the back of the case. I stared at him, -silent and fascinated. I thought him harmlessly insane. He was evidently -very much excited. He tapped with his fingers. Perspiration streamed -down his face. He glanced at me over his shoulder. - -"You see," he said. "It is back there. Don't you hear?" - -I heard that his tapping produced a hollow sound. - -"What are you about?" I asked him sternly. - -At that he began tumbling the books back in their places as feverishly -as he had taken them out. In an incredibly short time they were -arranged. - -"Yes, yes, you are quite right," he said as though my bewildered -question had been a piece of advice. "Now you see for yourself." He got -up and dusted his knees. "It is much safer for you, but I did not dare -to trust it to writing. You have, however, much better opportunities -than I knew. It will be in Russian, of course, but that, too, will give -you no trouble. I meant to contrive a meeting with Maida, but this is -much better." - -I stared at him, open-mouthed, the jargon made no sense at all. - -He took my hand and raised it to his lips. - -"You are extraordinary, astonishing! Such youth! Such innocence! _Bo je -moe!_ How is it done?" He put his mouth close to my ear, and muttered -something in Russian, the spitting, purring tongue which I detest. What -he said, for I was able to translate it, sent me back, white and shaking -into the nearest chair. - -"It will not be long, eh?" the Baron had sputtered into my ear, "before -the young man, too, is found with three of those golden hairs about his -fingers, eh?" - -I sat down and covered my eyes with my hands, an action that seemed to -throw him into a convulsion of mirth. When I looked up, the abominable, -grotesque figure was gone. - -I went over to the window. He was walking rapidly down the driveway. -As he turned the corner I saw a man step from the side of the road and -saunter after him. It was one of the outside men engaged by Mrs. Brane. - -I ran upstairs to my own room, and sat down at random in the chair -before my dressing-table and rested my head in my hands. I sat there for -a long, long time, and I felt that I was fighting against a mist. Just -so must some victim dragonfly struggle with the dreadful stickiness of -the spider's web. I was blinded mentally by the very meshes that were -beginning to wrap round me. I knew now that I was in great danger of -some kind, that I was being played with by sinister and evil forces, -that, perhaps purposely, I was being terrified and bewildered and -mystified. There was none whom I could surely count for a friend, no one -except Mary, and how could she or any one else understand the undefined, -dreamlike, grotesque forms my experiences had taken. Mrs. Brane, -perhaps, was the person for me to take into my confidence, and yet, was -it fair to frighten her when she was so delicate? Already one person -too many had been frightened in that house. Mr. Dabney was my enemy. No -matter what the feeling that possessed his heart, his brain was pitted -against me. I was being made a victim, a cat's-paw. But how and by whom? -This Baron had treated me as an accomplice. He had showed me a secret. -He had made to me a horrible suggestion. The power that had frightened -away the three housekeepers, the power that had scared Delia and Jane -and Annie from their home, the power that had thrown little Robbie into -the convulsions that caused his death, the power that had taken every -one but me and the Lorrences--for Mary now slept near Mrs. Brane--out of -the northern wing--this power was threatening Paul Dabney and, from -the Baron's whispered words, I understood that it was threatening Paul -Dabney through me. Was it not a supernatural evil? Was I not perhaps -possessed? Could I be driven to commit crimes and to leave as evidence -against myself those strands of hair? Flesh and blood could not bear -the horror of all this. I would go to Mr. Dabney at once. - -With this resolution to comfort me, I rose and made myself ready for -dinner. It was too late to change my dress, but Mrs. Brane was not -particular as to our dressing for dinner; besides, my frock was neat and -fresh, a soft gray crêpe with wide white collar and cuffs. My working -dresses were all made alike and trimmed in this Quaker style which I had -found becoming. I thought that, in spite of extreme pallor and shadows -under my eyes, I looked rather pretty. I believe that was the last -evening when I took any particular pleasure in my own looks. I was -rather nervous over my impending interview with Paul Dabney and it was -with a certain relief that I heard from Mrs. Brane in the diningroom -that our guest had gone out and would not be back that night. - -"How queer it seems to be alone again!" she said, but I thought she -looked more alarmed than relieved. - -That night, however, in spite of her timidity, she was in better spirits -than I had seen her since Robbie's death. Her listlessness was not quite -so extreme as usual, she even chatted about her youth and dances she -used to go to. She must have been as pretty as a fairy and she had -evidently been something of a belle, though I have noticed that all -Southern women see themselves in retrospect as the center of a little -throng of suitors. Mary waited on us, for Henry had the toothache and -had gone to bed. It was quite a cozy and cheerful meal. In spite of -myself, the disagreeable impression produced by the Baron faded a little -from my mind and, as it faded, another feeling began to strengthen. -In other words, I began to be acutely curious about the hollow sound -produced by tapping on the back of that bookcase. - -"I think you made a great impression on the Baron, Miss Gale," said Mrs. -Brane teasingly as we sat at our coffee in the drawing-room; "he really -seemed unable to take his eyes off you. I don't wonder. You are really -extraordinarily pretty in an odd way." - -"In an odd way?" I could n't help asking. - -"Why, yes, you are the strangest-looking pretty girl I've ever seen. You -know, my dear, if I should catalogue your features no one would think -it the portrait of an angelic-looking creature. It would sound like a -vixen. Now, stiffen up your vanity and listen." She looked me over and -gave me this description. "You have fiery hair, in the first place, -which is the right color for a vixen, you know, and you have a long, -slender, pale face, and green-blue eyes, though they do look black at -night and gray sometimes, but still they are the real Becky Sharp color -and no mistake. You have very thin, red lips, and, if their expression -was not so unmistakably sweet, I should say they were frightfully -capable of looking cruel and--well, yes--mean." - -"Oh, Mrs. Brane, what a dreadful portrait!" - -"What did I tell you? It is true, too, line by line, and yet you are -quite the loveliest-looking woman I have ever seen. Miss Gale, come, -now, you must see the impression you make. Are you not concerned over -the condition of poor Paul Dabney?" - -"I have not noticed his condition," said I bitterly. - -She shook her head at me. "Fibs!" she said. "The poor boy is as restless -as a hawk. He is getting pale and thin and gaunt. He eats nothing. He -can't let you out of his sight." - -"If he is consumed by love of me," I said, "it is strange that he has -never confided to me as to his sufferings." - -"But has n't he really, Janice?--I am just going to call you by your -first name, may I?" I was so grateful to her for the pretty way she said -it and for the sweet look she gave me, that I kissed the hand she held -out. - -"Has n't he really made love to you, Janice? I could have sworn that, -during all those hours you two have spent in the bookroom, something of -the sort was going on." - -"Nothing of the sort at all. In fact, Mrs. Brane, I think that Paul -Dabney dislikes me very much." - -She thought this over, stirring her coffee absently and staring into the -coalfire. "It is rather mysterious, but, sometimes, I have thought that -too. At least, his feeling for you is very strong, one way or the other. -Sometimes it has seemed to me that he both hates and loves you. How do -you treat him, Janice?" - -I tried to avoid her eyes. "Not any way at all," I stammered. "That is, -just the way I feel, with polite indifference." - -Mrs. Brane gave a little trill of sad laughter. "Oh, how I am enjoying -this nonsense, Janice! I have n't talked such delicious stuff for years. -No, dear, you don't treat him with polite indifference at all. You treat -him with the most dreadful and crushing and stately hauteur imaginable. -Now, you were much more affable with the Baron." - -I gave a little involuntary shiver. - -"How ridiculous that creature was, was n't he?" laughed Mrs. Brane. "I -could hardly keep my face straight as I looked at him. He was like a -make-up of some kind. He did n't seem real, do you know what I mean? I -wish he had stayed to dinner. He would have amused me." - -"He did n't amuse me," I said positively; "I thought he was detestable." - -"Poor Baron Borff! And he was _so_ enamoured. You have a very hard -heart, Janice. Never mind, when I get rich, I'll set you up like a -queen. You must not be a housekeeper always even if you do refuse to be -a baroness. You did n't know I had hopes of wealth, did you?" She looked -rather sly as she put this question. - -"I had fancied it, Mrs. Brane," I said. - -She looked about the room nervously and lowered her voice. - -"It is so queer, Janice," she said; then she moved over to the sofa -where I sat and spoke very low indeed: "It is so queer to have a fortune -and--_not to know where it is_." - -I, too, looked anxiously about me, even behind me where there was no -possible space for a listener. - -"If you would only tell me, Mrs. Brane," I began earnestly,--"if you -would only tell me something, about this fortune of yours, I feel that I -might be able to help you. Mrs. Brane, does any one know? Mr. Dabney, for -instance?" - -"No," she murmured. "I have never told any one; I ought not to tell -you.--Oh, Mary, is that you? How you made me jump! I suppose it's -bedtime." - -"Yes'm," said Mary, "and past bedtime. Don't you want to get strong and -well, Mrs. Brane?" - -She laughed and stood up obediently, gave me a look that said "Hush," -and followed Mary out. I took up a book and began to read. - -After an hour or two, oppressed by the dead stillness of the house, I -went upstairs to my own room. - -But I did not undress. The most overwhelming desire possessed me -suddenly to go down to the bookroom and to discover, if I could, the -secret of the bookcase. There is no doubt about it, there is the blood -of adventurers in my veins. Danger is a real temptation to me, danger -and the devious way. I would rather, I believe, be playing with peril -than not. - -The house was very silent. I was alone in the old wing. My nerves had -been badly shaken only that afternoon, but I was keen for adventure. -Curiosity was far stronger than my fears. I took off my shoes and opened -the door. A faint light shone at the far end of the passage, the night -light that Mrs. Brane had been burning there since Robbie's death. I -walked along the hallway to the stairs. I had never realized before how -noiseless one may be in stocking feet, nor how noisy an old floor is -of itself under the quietest step. Boards snapped under me like pistol -shots. But no one in the sleeping house seemed the wiser for my stealthy -passing. I got down the stairs and found my way into the bookroom, saw -that the shutters were all tightly fastened and the shades drawn down. -Then I lighted the gas-jet near the Russian collection and knelt before -it on the floor. - -I began quietly to take out the books, as I had seen the Baron take -them. I had removed perhaps half a dozen from the middle shelf when the -strangest feeling made me look around. - -The door of the bookroom was open and I had left it shut. I rose to my -feet. At the same instant something just outside the threshold of the -door seemed to rise to its feet. I looked at it. _It was myself._ - -There is no way of describing the horror of such a sight. - -This figure wore my dress of gray with its Quaker collar and cuffs, its -long, slender face was framed in fiery hair, its green-blue eyes, narrow -and long-lashed, were fixed on mine. There was no mirror outside of -that door; besides, no mirror could have reflected the look of white -damnation that possessed this face. Haggard and hard and vile, with a -wicked, stony leer in the eyes, with a wicked, tight smile on the lips, -with a blasted, devastated look too dreadful to describe, it faced me. -And it was myself, as I might have been after a lifetime of crime and -cruelty. - -I stood and looked at it till a black cloud seemed to roll up over it, -from which for a second its evil countenance smiled imperturbably at me. -Then the face, too, was blotted out and I fell down on the floor. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. A DANGEROUS GAME - - -|I CAME to my senses. I looked up slowly. - -The thing was gone. I put out the light and fled like a hunted creature -to my room. There I locked myself in and dropped down on my knees beside -my bed. - -At first it was entirely a battle with fear that kept me, rigid and -silent, on my knees. I knew that unless I overcame the extremity of my -nervous terror, I should lose my mind. If I went out of my room at all, -it would be to go raving and shrieking down the hall and to alarm the -house. Self-control was possible only if I should stay here and -conquer the evil spirit of "The Pines"--conquer its effect upon my -own steadiness and self-respect. I would not repeat the grotesque -tragi-comedy of Jane and Delia and Annie, and present myself, gasping -and wild-eyed, to Mrs. Brane demanding my dismissal on the spot. Neither -would I be like the other three housekeepers. Even in that moment of -prostration I am glad to say that I was not utterly a victim; the demon -that had possessed the house had to a certain extent already met its -match in me. - -Of course, during those first hours, I did entertain the belief that I -was possessed by a denizen from another world who had come to this -house to terrify and to kill and had borrowed my astral body for -its clothing--a horrid idea enough and not unnatural under the -circumstances. If I remember rightly I decided that if the awful figure -came again or if any other tragedy should happen at "The Pines" I should -kill myself. Fortunately my reason, though badly shaken, did at least -reassert itself. After all, I am not a natural believer in ghosts. The -supernatural has never greatly interested or impressed me. It is not -so much-that I am skeptical as that I am pragmatic--that is, I have to -discern some use or meaning in spiritual experiences. It is this turn of -mind, inherited, I think, from my French father, that saved me now. Very -gradually, as I knelt there in that God-given attitude of prayer, an -attitude whose subjective benefit to the human race no one will ever be -able to measure, an attitude which, in its humility, in its resignation, -in its shutting out of this world's light, so opens the inner eyes of -the soul--as I knelt there, my mood began to change from one of insane -superstition and fear to one of quiet and most determined thought. - -In fact, my reason reasserted itself and powerfully. One by one, all the -alarming incidents began to link themselves together, to suggest a plan, -a logical whole. It was as though, with my eyes shut and hidden in my -hands, I saw for the first time. - -Three housekeepers, one after the other, had been frightened away from -"The Pines." The old servants of the house had been forced, also by -supernatural fears, to leave. A most determined attempt had been made -against Robbie's nerves and Mary's courage. And now, at the climax -of the crescendo--for then it seemed to me, God forgive me! that -my experience had been worse than Robbie's death--I, the fourth -housekeeper, was being terrified almost out of my wits. All these things -pointed to one conclusion. It was somebody's interest to isolate little -Mrs. Brane. It was especially somebody's interest to frighten every one -away from the northern wing. Somewhere in this house, and presumably -in this part of the house, there was something enormously valuable, -something to tempt evil spirits clad in substantial flesh and blood, -as substantial, for instance, as that of the bolster-like figure of -the Baron. And the leader of this enterprise, the master-spirit, was a -hell-cat with red-gold hair and a face like my own. - -This was a horrid thought in itself and almost an incredible one, but it -was, at least, not supernatural. The creature that had seemed to rise -up on the threshold of the bookroom was a living being, a woman of flesh -and blood. I repeated this over and over to myself. I felt that I must -possess my mind perfectly of this fact and lay hold of it so that no -future manifestations might so nearly drive me to distraction as the -manifestation of to-night. She was a real woman, a female criminal, -wily and brave and very cunning. She had deliberately made use of this -extraordinary chance resemblance, had artfully heightened it, had copied -my habitual costume, for excellent reasons of her own. It was probably -entirely by her agency that I had been brought to "The Pines." With a -blinding realization of my own stupidity I remembered the suspicious -fashion in which I had learned of the position--a slip of paper handed -to me on the street! I had been chosen deliberately, for my resemblance, -by this thief for a double purpose of mystification and of diverting -suspicion. What more convenient for a night-prowler than to possess a -double in some authorized inmate of the house? Night-prowler?--why, she -might walk up and down the house in broad daylight, and, providing only -that she was careful not to be seen simultaneously with me, nor at -too close intervals of time at an unreasonable distance from my known -whereabouts, she might stand at Mrs. Brane's elbow or flit past Mary -down the stairs or go through the kitchen under Sara Lorrence's very -nose. - -More light here broke upon me so brilliantly that it brought me to -my feet. I began walking up and down the room in a fever of excited -thought. I knew now why Henry Lorrence and the woman who called herself -his wife, cringed when they met my eye, whitened at my lightest -reproof, and, at the same time, could barely repress that leer of evil -understanding. They, too, had been brought to "The Pines." They were -members of the gang of which my double was the leader. Only--and this -cleared up a whole fog of mystery--they did not know the secret of the -dual personality. They thought that the criminal and the housekeeper -were one and the same person under a different make-up. They were -evidently under strict orders not to betray, even by a word or look, -even when there was no one by, their knowledge of collusion with Mrs. -Brane's reputed housekeeper; but Sara had made a bad slip. She had -spoken of "instruction" and she had said that she had not expected to -see me come out of the kitchen closet in the daytime. - -My God! What danger we were all in! While we shivered and shook over -ghosts and nightmares, light footsteps in the wall and draughts of cold -air going by, a dangerous gang of thieves had actually taken up its -abode with us; one of them was hiding somewhere in the old house, the -others served us, walked about amongst us, took our orders, spoke to -us discreetly with soft voices and hypocritical, lowered eyes. We were -entirely at their mercy and the only suspecting person in the house, -Paul Dabney, suspected _me_. Undoubtedly he, too, had explained to -his own satisfaction the mystery of "The Pines," and _his_ explanation -was--Janice Gale. He knew nothing about me, but he did--he must--know -something about Mrs. Brane's mysterious fortune. Bobbie's nightmares, -the strand of hair about his little fingers, were evidence enough -against my innocence. I might be a sleep-walker,--he could not prove -that I was not,--but in his heart he believed me to be a sleep-walker -with a purpose. He was watching me, playing amateur detective in the -house. He had constituted himself a guardian of Mrs. Brane. Perhaps he -was in love with her. - -You see, this is not only the history of the Pine Cone mystery. It is -the history of my love for Paul Dabney. This must be understood, for it -explains my actions. The part I managed to play, which it astounds -me even now to think that I was able to play, would barely have been -possible without the goad of my bitterness and pain and anger. I would -have gone at once to Paul Dabney and have told him everything I knew -and let him call in outside help. But, ever since he had held me by the -wrist and, in spite of his very apparent mental abhorrence for me, -had taken me into his arms, my pride was up. I would fight this thing -through alone. I would make no appeal to him, rather I would save the -household myself, and when I had exposed the real criminal and shamed -Paul Dabney's cruelty to a lonely girl and humbled him in his conceit, I -would go away and begin life again as far as possible from him. - -This resolution utterly possessed me. Under its spur I began to think -with great lucidity. I suppose it was then, at about four o'clock on -that November morning, with the quiet house sleeping around me and the -quiet world outside just faintly turning gray with dawn, that I began to -see the weapon which lay within my grasp. It was a matter of turning -the situation upside down. In fact, if we did that more often with our -mental tangles, if suddenly in the midst of a train of thought we made a -_volte-face_, and from looking at things from our own obvious viewpoint, -we suddenly chose a right angle for contemplation, I am sure there would -be many illuminations similar to mine that night. But I did not make any -_volte-face_ deliberately. It was a sort of accident. Quite suddenly I -saw the situation as though I were a criminal myself, a criminal or -a sleuth, the mental attitude must be in some respects the same. What -advantage did this fantastic resemblance give the woman downstairs that -it did not also give me? - -Now you have it, the whole astounding situation. You see what decision I -was coming to. I would deliberately play out the dangerous game. For -the woman's benefit I would pretend that I believed the apparition to -be ghostlike, dreamlike, the fabrication of my own feverish mind, but to -Sara and Henry and any other Barons that might visit us, I would play my -vixen as skilfully, as informingly as Heaven and my own wits and courage -would let me. I would discover the whereabouts of Mrs. Brane's fortune, -I would save it for her, and I would trap the thieves. That was my -resolve, the fruit of my night's vigil. Having made it, I undressed -myself and went to bed. I fell asleep at once like an overwearied child. - - - - -CHAPTER IX--MAIDA - - -|I WAS surprised to find, when I examined myself in the glass next -morning, that I did not look like a person that has seen a ghost. I had -rather more color than usual and my eyes were bright; also the fact -that I had controlled and overcome my nerves seemed to have acted like -a tonic to my whole system. In some mysterious way I had tapped a whole -reservoir of nervous strength and resilience. The same thing often -happens physically: one is tired to the very point of exhaustion, one -goes on, there is a renewal of strength, the effort that seems about -to crack the muscles suddenly lightens, becomes almost easy again. I -suppose the nervous system is subject to the same rules. At any rate, in -my case, the explanation works. - -Without any exaggerated horror I dressed again in my Quaker costume and -I went down to breakfast. There must have been something in my face, -however, for Mrs. Brane, after we had had our coffee, began to look at -me rather searchingly, and at last she said, "You are getting very thin, -Janice, do you know that?" - -"I had n't noticed it. Perhaps." - -"Not perhaps at all. Certainly. Your gown is beginning to hang on you -and your face is just a wedge between all that hair. You look a little -feverish too. Suppose you try to take a little more exercise and fresh -air. After all, keeping house at 'The Pines' does not demand so much -strenuous desk work, does it? And now that Paul Dabney is away, you can -neglect that endless library work." - -"Has he gone for good?" I asked, as lightly as possible, though my heart -fell. - -"No, my dear. You will still be able to torment him with your proud -'Maisie' looks and ways. He is coming back this evening on the afternoon -train. He'll be late for tea, but we'll wait for him, shall we? He did -n't want to be met, said he would walk up. I think he dreads that long, -poky ride with old George nursing old Gregory through the sand. When -you're a young man who flies about the country in a motor, 'The Pines' -vehicle must be an instrument of torture. Janice, suppose you put on -your cloak and hat and come out with me for a nice long walk. It would -do us both good, I have n't had any heart for exercise. There seems to -be nothing to live for now--but Dr. Haverstock--" - -"You think Dr. Haverstock something to live for?" I asked, rather -puzzled. - -She laughed a little and blushed a great deal. "Mercy, no! I meant to -say, 'But Dr. Haverstock has told me that I must take more exercise'--I -don't know why I stopped that way--absent-mindedness. I was looking -through the window at one of those men." - -"Do you think they are very useful members of society, Mrs. Brane? They -seem to do very little work." - -She gave me an odd, half-amused, half-embarrassed look. - -"They think they are useful, poor fellows! They are my pet charity." - -"Oh," said I blankly. I was not sure whether she was joking or not. - -"Come on, Janice. Don't worry your head over my extravagances. Your duty -is just to be a nice, cheerful, young companion for me. It's a help -to me to see that fiery gold head of yours moving about this musty old -house. Don't wear your hat. It's not cold, and I love to see the sun on -your hair." - -I tried to suppress my little shiver, but couldn't. She interpreted it -very naturally, however. "Oh, it is n't a bit cold, not a bit." - -So we went out into the mild, soft day, and I went without my hat for -the sake of letting her see the sun on my hair. As we walked down the -ill-weeded drive on which the labors of the two men had made little or -no impression, I wondered if narrow, green eyes under a mass of just -such hair were watching us from some secret post of observation. I -thought that I could feel them boring into my back. I could not restrain -a backward look. The old house stood quietly, its long windows blank -except for an upper one, out of which Sara was shaking a pillow. I -wondered why she should be working in the nursery, but I did n't like to -draw Mrs. Brane's attention to the fact. - -To my surprise Mrs. Brane was a very energetic walker. She stepped along -briskly on her tiny feet, and a faint color came into her poor, wistful -face. - -"I should be a different person, Janice," she sighed, "if I could get -away from this place and live in some more bracing climate, or some more -cheerful country. How lovely Paris would be!" - -She laughed her hollow, little laugh. - -"My husband lived in Paris for a long time. Before that he was in -Russia. He knew a great deal of Russian, even dialects. He was a great -traveler. I met him at Aix-les-Bains. He was taking the baths, and so -was I. We were both invalids, and I suppose it was a sort of bond. But -invalids should not be allowed to marry. Of course, we had no serious -disease; it was rheumatism with him, and nervous prostration with me. I -wonder if there is n't such a thing as a nerve-germ, Janice." - -"I wondered," absently. I was busy with my own thoughts, and she was a -great chatterer. - -"I think old houses get saturated with nerve-germs, truly I do. That's -the real explanation of ghosts. I am sure rooms are haunted by the -sorrows and mournful preoccupations of the people that die in them. I -am not very superstitious, and I am so glad that you are n't. I trembled -for you. You see those other housekeepers--" - -"Do tell me about the other housekeepers," I begged, "especially the one -just before me. What was she like?" - -"Oh, a little, fat thing, white as wax, very bustling, but with no real -ability. She stayed with me for some time, though, and I was beginning -to think that--you know, Janice, I owe you an apology." - -"Why, dear Mrs. Brane?" - -"Because I never told you about those three housekeepers and their -alarms. It was rather shabby of me not to warn you. But, you see, I did -n't want to suggest fears to you. I hope I won't suggest them now. But -all my other housekeepers have been haunted." - -"Haunted?" I asked with as much surprise as I could assume. - -"Yes; the first heard a voice in the wall, and the second knew that some -one was in her room at night. The third was so badly frightened that she -would n't tell me what happened at all." - -"Where is she now?" - -"I don't know. She went away leaving me no address, and I've never heard -a word of her since. At first I thought she might have made away with -something, some money or jewelry, but I have never missed anything." - -"Mrs. Brane," I asked hesitatingly, "what is your explanation of these -apparitions, of the things that alarmed the housekeepers, of the things -that frightened Delia and Annie and Jane?" - -As we talked, we had been coming down the long hill on top of which -stood "The Pines," and now were beginning to go towards that swamp, with -its black, smothered stream, across which George had driven me on the -day of my arrival. I did not like the direction of our walk; I did -not like the swamp nor my memory of the oily-looking stream under the -twisted, sprawling trees, draped with Spanish moss. But I supposed it -was Mrs. Brane's business, and not mine. Besides, I was now interested -in what she was saying. - -She listened to my question, and seemed to ponder her reply rather -doubtfully. At last she made up her mind to some measure of frankness. - -"Of course, I have a sort of explanation of my own for their leaving," -she said; "rather a suspicion than an explanation. But, Janice," she -looked about her, drew closer and spoke very low, "if I tell you this -suspicion you must promise to keep it very strictly to yourself. I -am going against orders in speaking of it at all. And against my own -resolution, too. But I feel as if I must have a confidante, and I do -think that you are a person to be trusted." - -"Oh, Mrs. Brane," I said half-tearfully, "indeed, indeed I am. You will -not be sorry if you tell me everything, everything that has to do with -these queer happenings at 'The Pines.'" - -We came down the sandy slope to the bridge and on it we paused, leaning -against the rail and looking far down at the sluggish, gray water. -The black roots of the trees crawled down into it like snakes from the -banks. It was the stillest, deadliest-looking water I have ever seen. - -"Just underneath this bridge there is a quicksand," said Mrs. Brane; "a -mule was lost here two years ago, and a poor, half-witted negress killed -herself by letting herself drop down from the bridge. Was n't it a -dreadful death to choose--slow and suffocating? Ugh!" - -"I hate this place," I said half angrily; "why do we stay here? Let's go -and do our talking somewhere else." - -"I have a fancy to tell you here," she half laughed. The laugh ended in -a little shriek. "Janice! There's some one under the bridge!" - -I clutched the rail and leaned forward, though God knows, I was in no -mind for horrid sights. This was neither horrid nor ghostly, however; -no drowned negress haunting the scene of her death. The discreet, -bewhiskered face of Henry Lorrence looked respectfully up at us. He was -squatting on the bank of the stream under the shadow of the bridge, his -coat lay beside him, and he was busy with some tools. - -"What are you doing, Henry?" asked Mrs. Brane in rather a shrill voice. -She had been startled. - -"Mendin' up the bridge, ma'am," said Henry thickly, for his mouth was -full of rusty-looking nails. "There's a couple of weak planks here, -ma'am, that I noticed the other afternoon, and they seemed to me -dangerous to life and limb over this here stream at such a height. If -a person fell through, ma'am, there would n't be much chance for him, -would there?" - -"I should think not. You're quite right." - -"Better wait till I've got it fixed before you goes acrost, ma'am. It -will be a matter of a few hours, and I ain't sure't will be safe then. -The whole bridge should be rebuilt." - -"We'll stay on this side," said Mrs. Brane; "we can go back and walk -along the ridge. I don't think the air is particularly healthy down in -this swamp, anyway, even at this time of the year. We won't be back this -way, Henry. Make a good job of it." - -"Yes, ma'am," said Henry, with one of his servile, thin-lipped smiles, -"I mean to make a regular good job." - -He began to hammer away vigorously. He had quite an assortment of tools, -a saw and an axe and some planks. It really looked as if he were going -to make a thorough good job of it, and I hoped he would. A fall through -the bridge into that thick, gray, turbid water with its faint odor of -rottenness--it was not a pleasant thought. And even a very loud crying -for help would not reach "The Pines." There was no nearer place, and the -road led only to us. Not a nice spot for an accident at all! - -Mrs. Brane and I hastened back to the higher ground, where we found a -path, soft with pine needles, where the sunlight sifted through wide -branches to the red-brown, hushed earth. - -"You see," she said, "there is no safe place for confidence. If I had -not happened to see Henry at just that instant, he would have heard -my suspicions, and Heaven knows what effect they might have had on his -dull, honest, old mind!" - -An honest, old mind, indeed!--if my own suspicions were correct. I -wondered if the whiskers were false. Henry was really too perfect an -image of the reliable old family servant. He might have been copied from -a book. - -"Well, here we can look about us, at any rate," I said; "there's no -place for eavesdroppers to hide in." - -"After all, there is n't so much to tell. If I knew more, why, then, -there would be no mystery, and I should be safely away from 'The Pines.' -You see, I suspect that there has been an attempt at burglary which has -failed." - -"An attempt at burglary? Oh, Mrs. Brane!" This was almost as perfect an -imitation of the stereotyped exclamation of perfect ignorance as Henry's -get-up was of the English house-servant. I blushed at it, but Mrs. Brane -did not notice. - -"My husband died of paralysis, a sudden stroke. He could not speak. And -that is why I have never been able to leave 'The Pines.'" - -"I don't understand," said I, honestly this time. - -"Of course you don't. You see, there were secrets in my husband's life. -He had an adventurous past. I fear he was very wild." She sighed, but I -could see that his wildness was a pleasure to her. She was one of those -foolish women to whose sheltered virtue the fancy picture of daring vice -appeals very strongly. I was far wiser than she. There were some sordid -memories in my life. - -"When he married me, he was a man of quite forty-five, and he reformed -completely. I think he had had a shock, a fright of some kind which -served as a warning. Sometimes I fancied that he lived under a dread of -trouble. Certainly, he was very watchful and secret in his ways, and, -from being such a globe-trotter, he became the veriest stick-at-home. -He never left 'The Pines,' winter or summer, though he would send Robbie -and me away,"--she gave the pitiful, little sigh that came always now -with Robbie's name. "He was not at all rich, though we were sufficiently -comfortable on my small fortune. But at times he talked like a very -wealthy man. He made plans, he was very strange about it. At last, -towards the end of his life he began to drop hints. He would tell me -that some day Robbie would be rich beyond dreams; that, if he died, I -would be left provided for like a queen. He said, always very fearfully, -very stealthily, that he had left everything to me, everything--and of -course I thought I knew that he had very little to leave. He said that I -must be braver than he had been. 'With a little caution, Edna, a very -little caution, you can reap the fruits of it all.' Of course I -questioned him, but he teased me and pretended that he had been talking -nonsense. He made his will, though, at about this time, and left me -everything he had, everything, and he underlined the 'everything.' One -night we were sitting at dinner. He had been perfectly well all day, but -he had taken a ride in the sun and complained of a slight headache. We -had wine for dinner. I've never been able to touch a drop since--is n't -it odd? Suddenly, while he was talking, he put his hand to his head. 61 -feel queer,' he said, and his voice was thick. He grabbed the arms of -his chair, and fixed his eyes upon me. 'Perhaps I had better tell you -now, Edna,' the words were all heavy and blurred, 'it is in the house, -you know--the old part.' He stood up, went over to the door, closed it -carefully; he looked into the pantry to be sure that the waitress was -not there. He came back and stood beside my chair, looking down at me. -His face was flushed. 'You will find the paper,' he began; and then the -words began to come queer, he struggled with them, his tongue seemed to -stick to his mouth. Suddenly he threw up his arms and fell down on the -floor." Mrs. Brane wiped her eyes. "Poor Theodore! Poor fellow! He never -spoke again. He lived for several days, and his eyes followed me about -so anxiously, so yearningly, but he was entirely helpless, could not -move a finger, could not make a sound. He died and left me tormented by -the secret that he could not tell. It has been like a curse. It _has_ -been a curse. It has killed Robbie. I believe that it will some day kill -me." - -Here the poor woman sank down on a log and cried. I comforted her as -well as I could, and begged her to forget this miserable business. "No -problematic fortune is worth so much misery and distress," I said, "and -if, in all this time, in spite of your searching--and I suppose you have -searched very thoroughly--" - -"Oh, yes," she sighed, "I have worn myself out with it. Every scrap of -paper in the house has been gone over a hundred times, every drawer and -closet. Why, since Sara stirred me up with her cleaning in the old -part of the house, I have been over everything again during this last -fortnight, but with not the slightest result." - -"You see. It is useless. And, dear Mrs. Brane, I hope you won't mind -my suggesting it, but, perhaps, the whole idea is a mistake, or some -fantastic obsession of your husband's mind. He was ill towards the last, -probably more ill than you knew. You may be wasting your health and life -in the pursuit of a mere chimera. You have no further suspicions of any -attempt at burglary, have you?" - -"No." My words had had some effect. She stood up and began to walk home -thoughtfully and calmly. "No. There have been no disturbances for a long -time. Sara and Henry have not been frightened nor have you. Mary has -seen no ghosts. Perhaps you are right, dear, and the whole thing is a -fiction." She sighed. One does not relinquish the hope of a fabulous -fortune without a sigh. - -We were rather silent on the way home. I was planning an interview with -Sara, my first move in the difficult and dangerous game that I had set -myself to play. I was frightened, yes, but terribly interested. I left -Mrs. Brane after lunch and went down to the kitchen. Sara was seated -by the table peeling potatoes, the most commonplace and respectable of -figures. She lifted her large, handsome face and stood up, setting down -the bowl. - -"Go on with your work, Sara," I said, "I shall not keep you but a -moment." - -She sat down and I stood there, my hand resting on the table. My heart -was beating fast, and I was conscious of a tightening in my throat. -Unconsciously, I narrowed my eyes, and tightened my lips till my -expression must have been something like that mask of wickedness I had -seen in the doorway of the book-room. I spoke in a low, hard voice, -level and cruel, and I put my whole theory to the test at once; -foolishly enough, I think, for I might have given myself away if my -guess had not been correct in this detail. - -"How goes it, _Maida?_" I asked. It was the name the Baron had used. - -She started; the knife stopped its work. She looked up, glancing -nervously about the room. - -"God!" she said. "You're gettin' nervy, ain't you?" - -No speech could have been more unlike the speech of the smooth and -respectful Sara. - -I smiled as evilly as I could. "Once in a while I take a risk, that's -all. Don't refer to it again. But answer my questions, will you? -Anything new?" - -"God, no! I'm about done with this game. Housework is no holiday to me, -and since they nabbed the Nobleman my heart's gone out of me. Our game's -about up, unless we get that--"here she used a string of vile, -whispered epithets--"this afternoon, and I don't think it's likely. He's -got nine lives, that cat of a Hovey!" - -My heart thumped. I dared not ask her meaning. - -Sara went on, only it was certainly Maida that spoke in the coarse, -breathless, furtive voice. "If the Nobleman has talked, they're coming -back for us. There's a dozen chances the bridge trick won't work. And, -even if it does, the whole pack will be down here to investigate. All -very well for you to say that we need just twenty-four free hours to -pull the thing off, but I tell you what, madam, Jaffrey and me are -gettin' pretty sick--we'd like a glimpse of them jools." - -One phrase of this speech had struck me deaf and half blind. I made a -sign of caution to the horrible creature, and I went out. I stopped -in the hall to look at the tall grandfather's clock ticking loudly and -solemnly. It was already very nearly five o'clock. Paul Dabney's train -was in, and he was on his way to "The Pines." I stood there stupidly -repeating "the bridge trick" over and over to myself. The bridge trick! -Henry had had a saw and an axe. He might just as easily have been -weakening a plank as strengthening it. Had it not been for my presence, -his entire reliance on my skill in diverting Mrs. Brane's suspicion, we -should not have seen him at his work. But thinking me his leader, the -real instigator of the crime, he had probably decided that for some -reason I had brought Mrs. Brane purposely to watch him at his task. It -was five o'clock. Paul Dabney would be near the bridge. He was probably -bringing with him a detective, this Hovey, of whom Sara had spoken so -vilely. And the red-haired woman did not mean them to reach "The Pines" -that night. By this time she probably had some knowledge of the secret -of the bookcase, and she must feel that she had successfully frightened -away my desire to take out a book at night. She would rob the bookcase -some time within the next twenty-four hours, before any one found the -smothered bodies of Paul Dabney and his companion, and with her treasure -she would be off. Sara and Henry would give notice. I stood there as -though movement were impossible, and yet I knew that everything depended -upon haste. - -I began to reckon out the time. The train got in to Pine Cone at -four-thirty, and it would probably be late. It was always late. It -would take two men walking at a brisk pace at least an hour to reach the -swamp. It was now just five o'clock. I had thirty minutes, therefore, in -which to save the secret of the bookcase and to rescue the man I loved. -It would take me at least twenty minutes to get to the bridge; once -below the top of the hill I could run as fast as I liked. Every second -was valuable now. I went into the bookroom and shut the door. Kneeling -on the floor I tumbled out the books as I had seen the Baron, doubtless -Sara's "Nobleman," do. Then I removed the middle shelf and began tapping -softly with my fingers. There was the hollow spot, and there, just back -of the shelf I had removed, was a tiny metal projection. I pushed it. -Down dropped a little sliding panel, and I thrust my hand into the -shallow opening. I was cold and shuddering with haste and fear and -excitement. My fingers touched a paper, and I drew it out. I did not -even glance at it. I hid it in my dress, closed the panel, restored the -shelf, and returned the books as quickly and quietly as I could. Then I -went out into the hall. - -The clock had ticked away fifteen of my precious minutes. If the train -was late, I still had time. I went out of the front door and began, -with as good an air of careless sauntering as I could force my body to -assume, to stroll down the winding driveway. I longed to take a short -cut, but I did not dare. I was sure that my double was on the watch. -She would not leave that driveway unguarded on such an afternoon. I felt -that my life was not a thing to wager on at that moment. I doubted if I -should be allowed to reach the bridge alive. The utter importance of -my doing so gave me the courage to use some strategy. I actually forced -myself to return, still sauntering, to the house and I got a parasol. -Then I walked around to the high-walled garden. Here I strolled about -for a few moments, and then slipped away, plunged through a dense mass -of bushes at the back, followed the rough course of a tiny stream, and, -climbing a stone wall, came out on the road below the hill and several -feet outside of "The Pines" gateway. My return for a parasol and the -changed direction of my walk would be certain to divert suspicion of my -going towards the bridge. Nevertheless, I felt like a mouse who allows -itself a little hope when the watchful cat, her tail twitching, her -terrible eyes half shut, allows it to creep a perilous little distance -from her claws. As soon as I was well out of sight of the house, I -chose a short cut at random, shut my parasol, and ran as I had never run -before. - - - - -CHAPTER X--THE SWAMP - - -|I HAVE always loved pine trees since that desperate afternoon, for the -very practical reason that the needles prevent the growth of underbrush. -My skirts were left free, and my feet had their full opportunity for -speed, and I needed every ounce of strength and breath. Before I came to -the top of the last steep slope that plunged down to the stream, I heard -a hoarse, choking cry, that terrible cry for "Help! Help! Help!" It -was a man's voice, but so thick and weak and hollow that I could not -recognize it for Paul Dabney's. I did not dare to answer it, such was -my dread of being stopped by some murderess lurking in the gnarled and -stunted trees. But I fairly hurled myself down the path. There was the -bridge. I saw that a great gap yawned in the middle of it. I hurried to -the edge. Down below me in the gray, rotten-smelling shadows floated -a desperate, white face. Paul Dabney's straining eyes under his -mud-streaked hair looked up at me, and the faint hope in them went out. - -"You again!" he gasped painfully. "You've come back to see the end..." -He smiled a twisted, ironical smile. "If I could get my hand out of this -infernal grave I'd let you wrap some of that hair of yours around my -fingers. That's your trade-mark, is n't it? Did you come back for -that?" He sank an inch lower, his chin had gone under. He lifted it out, -bearded with filthy mud, and leaned back as though against a pillow, -closing his eyes. He had given up hope. - -All this, of course, took but a moment of time. I had been looking -about, searching the place for help. Near the edge of the horrible, -sluggish stream lay a board, left there by Henry after his devilish -work, or, else, fallen when Paul Dabney had broken through. It lay on -the farther bank. I stood up, measured the distance of the break in the -bridge, and, going back a few paces, ran and jumped across. It was -a good jump. I hardly looked to see, however, but hurried down the -opposite bank and shoved out the board towards Paul Dabney. Only his -face now glimmered like a death-mask on the surface of the mud. - -"Paul," I cried desperately, urgently, commandingly, "pull out your arm. -I have come to save you." - -His eyes opened. He stared at me. Then life seemed to come back to -his face. He made a frantic, choking, gasping struggle; once he went -altogether down; then, with a sucking sound his arm came up, the fingers -closed on my board. I caught his poor, cold, slimy hand. I pulled with -all my strength. His grip was like a convulsion. Inch by inch I dragged -him towards the bank. The stream surrendered its victim with a sort of -sticky sob, and he lay there on the ground beside me, lifeless as a log, -hardly to be recognized as a human being, so daubed and drenched was he -with the black ooze that had so nearly been his death. My attempts -to restore him were soon successful, for it was exhaustion, not -suffocation, that had made him faint. He had taken very little of the -mud into his mouth, but, struggling there in the bottomless, horrible -slough for nearly half an hour had taxed his strength to the last gasp. - -He opened his eyes and looked up at me with an expression of grave -astonishment. I knew that he had not expected me to be such a serious -criminal as to make this deliberate attempt on his life, and, yet, I was -sure as his large, gray eyes searched me that he was deliberating the -possibility. He sat up presently, and, taking my handkerchief, he wiped -off his face and hair and hands. - -"The rest is hopeless," he said. - -"The other man?" I asked him shudderingly, my eyes fixed on the smooth -and oily water. - -He looked at me with a puzzled face. "The other man! There was not any -other man..." Then, stilt looking at me, a faint, unwilling flush stole -up his cheek. - -"Miss Gale," he said, "you are without doubt my guardian angel. And -yet, strangely enough, I had a dreadful vision of what you might be as -another kind of angel. When I was going down,"--he shivered all over and -glanced at the stream, whose surface was now as smooth as it would have -been had he sunk beneath it,--"when I was going down, and at the last of -my strength,--I was delirious, I suppose,--but I had a sort of vision. I -thought you stood there on the bank above me, and looked down with your -narrow face between its two wings of red hair, and mocked me. Just as -I was settling down to death, you disappeared. And, just a few moments -later, there you were again, this time with the aura of a saint... Miss -Gale,"--and here he looked at me with entire seriousness, dropping his -tone of mockery,--"do you believe in dual personalities?" - -"Really, Mr. Dabney," I said, "I don't think it's a very good time to -take up the subject." - -He looked away from me, and spoke low with an air of confusion. "You -called me 'Paul' when you shoved out that blessed board, which has gone -down in my place..." - -I paid no attention to this remark, but stood up. Silently he, too, rose -and we laid a log across the deadly opening of the bridge and balanced -carefully back to safety. I could not think of my leap of a few minutes -before without a feeling of deathly sickness. - -"You risked your life," murmured Paul Dabney; "you risked your life to -save me..." He stopped me as we climbed up the hill. It was very dark -there amongst the trees. He took me by the wrists, and, "Janice Gale," -he said desperately, speaking through his teeth, "look up at me, for the -love of God." - -I did look up, and he plunged his eyes into mine as though he were -diving for a soul. - -I put up no barriers between my heart and his searching eyes. It was so -dusky there that he could not read any of my secrets. I let him search -till at last he sighed from the bottom of his soul, and let my hands -fall, passing his own across his forehead with a pitiful air of -confusion and defeat. - -"'La belle dame sans merci has thee in thrall,'" he murmured, and -we went up into the glimmering twilight of the open spaces where the -swallows were still wheeling high in search of the falling sun. - -When we reached the house, I asked Paul Dabney timidly if he did not -think it best to change and not to alarm Mrs. Brane by any sight of his -condition. He agreed with a wry sort of smile, and went slowly up the -stairs. I saw that he held tight to the railing, and that his feet -dragged. He was very near, indeed, to collapse; the walk up the hill had -been almost too much for him. - -Nevertheless, he appeared at dinner-time as trim and neat as possible, -with the air of demure boyishness, which was so disarming, completely -restored. - -Not only was he neat and trim in person, but he was mentally alert and -gay. He ate hardly anything, to be sure, drank not at all, and sat, -tight-strung, leaning a little forward in his chair, his hand in -his pocket, as he laughed and talked. His eyes held, beneath bright, -innocent surfaces, rather a harried, hunted look. But he was very -entertaining, so much so that his pallor, the little choking cough that -bothered him, and my own condition of limp reaction to the desperate -excitement of the afternoon, passed entirely unnoticed by Mrs. Brane. -Her better spirits of the morning had returned in force. She was very -glad to see Paul Dabney, so glad that I suffered a twinge of heart. - -"Oh," she laughed, "but it's good to have a man in the house. -Shakespeare is right, you know, when he says, 'a woman naturally born to -fears.'" - -"I don't think he was right at all," Paul Dabney took her up. "I believe -that the man is naturally the more fearful animal. Shakespeare ought to -have said, 'a woman naturally feigning fear.' I'm with the modern poet, -'the female of the species is more deadly than the male.' Take the lady -spider, for instance." - -"What does the lady spider do?" asked Mrs. Brane. - -"She devours her lover while she is still in his embrace." - -"How horrible!" - -"Horrible, but the creature is a very faithful and devoted mother. I -think there are many women"--here his hunted and haggard look -rested upon me--"who would be glad to rid themselves of a lover when -his--particular--usefulness is over." - -"All women kill the thing they love," I smiled, and I had a dreadful -feeling that my smile was like the cruel and thin-lipped smile of the -woman who had planned Paul Dabney's death. - -That was one of the most terrifying consequences of the nervous shock I -had suffered, that I had quite often now this obsession, as though -the vixen were using me, obsessing my body with her blackened soul, -as though gradually I were becoming her instrument. The smile left my -shaken lips, and I saw a sort of reflection of it draw Dabney's mouth -stiffly across his teeth. His pallor deepened; he looked away and began -to crumble his bread with restless fingers. - -Henry passed through, and we followed him into the drawing-room, where -coffee was always served. When Paul Dabney had first come into the -dining-room I had glanced shrewdly at Henry. The jaw behind the whiskers -had dropped, the eyes had blinked, then discretion was perfectly -restored. But I felt a threatening sort of gloom emanate from the man -towards me, and I realized that my position was doubly dangerous. There -was a spirit of mutiny in my supposed accomplices. I trusted my double, -however, to control the pair. Their fear of her was doubtless greater -than their dread of detection, and Henry probably was relieved of some -portion of his fears by the non-appearance of the Hovey, whom Sara had -so befouled with epithets, and whom she evidently so greatly feared. - -Mrs. Brane excused herself early, and I, too, rose shortly after she had -left the room. I moved slowly towards the door. Paul Dabney stood by the -high mantel, one hand in his pocket, the other resting on the shelf, -his head a little bent, looking somberly at me from under his handsome -brows. He looked very slim and young. The thought of his loneliness, of -his danger, so much greater than he suspected, smote my heart. I wanted -to go back and tell him everything, even my love. I was hesitating, -ready to turn, when he spoke. The voice, sharp and stinging as a lash, -fell with a bite across my heart. - -"Good-night, _sleep-walker_," he said. - -My hand flew to my breast because of the pain he caused me. He watched -me narrowly. His pale face was rigid with the guard he kept upon some -violent feeling. My hurt turned to anger. - -"You suspect me of sinister things, Paul Dabney," I said hotly; "you -think that I prowl about Mrs. Brane's house while she sleeps, in search -of something valuable, perhaps." I laughed softly. "Perhaps you are -right. I give you leave to pursue your investigations, though I can't -say I consider you a very ingenious detective." - -He started, and the color came in a wave across his face. For some -reason the slight upon his amateur detecting seemed to sting. I was -glad. I would have liked to strike him, to cause him physical pain. I -came in a sort of rush straight over to him, and he drew warily back -till he stood against the wall, his eyes narrowed upon me, his head -bent, as I have seen the eyes and heads of men about to strike. - -"Listen to me," I said; "I give you fair warning. This afternoon I saved -your life at the risk of my own. I may not be able to do that again. -I advise,"--here I threw all the contempt possible into my voice,--"I -advise you to keep out of this, to stay in your room and lock your -door at night. Don't smile. It is a very serious warning. Good-night, -_dreamer_, and--_lover without faith_." - -At this he put his hand to his eyes, and I left him standing with this -gesture of ashamed defeat. - -It was a night of full and splendid moon; my room was as white as the -calyx of a lily, so white that its very radiance made sleep impossible. -Besides, I was excited by my battle with Paul Dabney, and by the thought -of that paper in my dress. God willing, now, the struggle would soon be -over. If I lived through the next twenty-four hours, I would find the -treasure, capture the thieves, confront Paul Dabney with my innocence -and my achievement, and leave "The Pines" forever. My ordeal was not -so nearly over as I hoped. There were further tangles in the female -spider's web. It makes me laugh now and blush to think how, all the -while, the creature made her use of me, how the cat let the little -mouse run hither and thither in its futile activity; no, not altogether -futile, I did play an extraordinary rôle. I did that very afternoon save -Paul Dabney's life; I did bewilder the queen spider and disturb and tear -her web, but, when all is said and done, it was she who was mistress of -"The Pines" that night. - -I did not light my gas, so splendid was the moon, but crouching near my -open window on the floor, I took out the paper and spread it open on my -knee. It was covered with close lines in the Russian script. The writing -was so fine and delicate that, to read it, I should need a stronger -light. I rose, drew my shade and lit the gas. Again I spread out the -paper, then gave a little exclamation of dismay. It was the Russian -script, perfectly legible to me, but, alas! the language was not that of -modern Russian speech. It was the old Slavonic language of the Church. -The paper was as much a mystery to me as though it were still hidden in -the bookcase. - - - - -CHAPTER XI--THE SPIDER - - -|IN vain I tortured my wits; here and there a word was comprehensible. -I made out the number 5 and fairly ground my teeth. Here was the key to -the secret; here was my chart, and I could not decipher it. I folded up -the paper with great care, ripped open a seam of my mattress, and folded -the mystery in. By night I would keep it there; by day I would carry -it about on my body. Somehow, I would think out a way to decipher it; -I would go to New York and interview a priest of the Greek Church. If -necessary I would bribe him to secrecy... my brain was full of plans, -more or less foolish and impossible. At any rate, I reasoned that the -Red-haired Woman, not finding any paper in the bookcase, would do one -of two things--either she would suspect a previous theft and disposal of -the treasure and give up her perilous mission, or she would suspect me -whom she had found once at night before the book-shelves. In this case -I was, of course, both in greater danger, and, also, providentially -protected. At least, she would not kill me till she had got that paper -out of my possession. My problem was, first, to find the meaning of my -valuable chart, then to put it in her way, and, while she endeavored -to get a translation--I could not believe her to possess a knowledge of -ecclesiastical Russian--it was my part to rifle the hoard and to set the -police on her track. When I had the meaning of the paper, I would send -word to the police at Pine Cone. Till then, I would play the game alone. -So did my vanity and wounded feelings lead me on, and so very nearly to -my own destruction. - -After I had finished sewing up my mattress-seam, I put out my light and -went to stand near my window. Unconsciously affected by my fears, I kept -close to the long, dark curtain, and stood still, looking down at the -silvered garden paths, the green-gray lines of the box, the towering, -fountain-like masses of the trees, waving their spray of shadow tracery -across the turf. I stood there a long time brooding over my plans--it -must have been an hour--before I saw a figure come out into the garden. -It was Paul Dabney. He was walking quietly to and fro, smoking and -whistling softly. I could hear the gravel crunch beneath his feet. - -All at once he stopped short and threw up his head as though at a -signal. He tossed away his cigarette. He stared at the arbor, the one -where poor Mary used to watch her little charge at play, and then, -as though he were drawn against his will, he went slowly towards it, -hesitated, bent his head a little, and stepped in. I heard the low -murmur of his voice. I thought that Mrs. Brane was in the arbor, and my -heart grew sick with jealousy. I was about to drag myself away from -the window when another figure came out of the arbor and stood for an -instant in the bright moonlight looking straight up to my window. I grew -cold. I stood there holding my breath. I heard a little, low, -musical, wicked laugh. The creature--my own cloak drooping from her -shoulders--turned and went back into the shelter of the vine. My God! -What was she about to do to Paul, the blind fool to sit there with that -horrible thing and to fancy that he sat with me? Having failed in her -attempt to drown him, she was now beguiling him out of the house for a -few hours, in order to give one of her accomplices a chance to search -the bookcase. I had no scruples about playing eavesdropper. I took off -my shoes and hurried noiselessly down the stairs. I stole to a shuttered -window in the dining-room, and, inch by inch, with infinite caution, I -raised the sash. I was so near to the arbor that a hand stretched out -at the full length of its arm could touch the honeysuckle vines. I stood -there and strained my ears. - -The woman was speaking so low that it was but a gentle thread of voice. -It was extraordinarily young and sweet, the tone--sweeter than my voice, -though astonishingly like it. - -"Why did I save you, Paul Dabney?" she was murmuring, "can't you guess? -_Now_, can't you guess?" - -There came the sound of a soft, long-drawn, dreadful kiss. I burned with -shame from head to foot. - -"You devil--you she-devil!" said Paul Dabney in low, hot speech; "you -can kiss!" - -I could bear no more. She must be in his arms. What was the reason -for this deviltry, this profanation of my innocence and youth, this -desecration of my name? I hated and loathed Paul Dabney for his hot -voice, for his kiss. He thought that he held _me_ there in his arms, -that he insulted _me_, tamely submissive, with his words, "You devil, -you she-devil..." I fled to my room. I threw myself upon my bed. I -sobbed and raved in a crazed, smothered fashion to my pillow. I struck -the bed with my hands. I do not know how long that dreadful meeting -lasted; I realized, with entire disregard, that _while_ it lasted Sara -was searching the bookcase. To this day I can think of it only with a -sickness of loathing. Once I fancied that I heard Paul Dabney's step -under my window. But I hid my head, covered my ears. I lay in a still -fever of rage and horror all that night. The insult--so strange and -unimaginable a one--to my own unhappy love was more than I could bear. I -wanted to kill, and kill, and kill these two, and, last, myself. - - - - -CHAPTER XII--NOT REG'LAR - - -|I MEANT to ask Mrs. Brane the next morning to excuse me from my work of -cataloguing the books of her husband's library. I had no courage to face -Paul Dabney. Unluckily, Mrs. Brane did not come down to breakfast. She -had a severe headache. I did not like to disturb her with my request, -nor did I like to give up my duty without permission, for the catalogue -was nearly completed and Mrs. Brane was very impatient about it, so I -dragged myself into the bookroom at the usual time. Paul Dabney was not -yet there. He breakfasted late, going out first for a long tramp and a -swim. I hoped that he would not come at all this morning. - -I went languidly to work. I did not feel the slightest interest to know -whether or not Sara Lorrence had taken advantage of the decoying of Paul -Dabney and had made an investigation of the Russian book-shelves. I felt -utterly wretched and drained of life, and of the desire to live. - -When at last Paul Dabney's footstep came along the hall, and, somewhat -hesitatingly, in at the door, I did not turn my head. He stopped at -sight of me, and stood still. I could feel that his eyes were on me, -and I struggled against a nervous curiosity to see the expression of his -look. But I would not yield. I kept on doggedly, taking down a volume, -dusting it, clapping its leaves together, putting it back and making a -note of its title and author in the book that Mrs. Brane had given me -for the purpose. My face burned, my finger-tips turned to ice. Anger, -disgust, shame, seemed to have taken the place of the blood along my -veins. At last, "You are not as affable a companion by day as you are -by night," drawled the young man, and came strolling a step nearer to me -across the floor. - -"I know you made me promise," he went on, "not to speak of any moonlight -madness by the common light of day, but, strangely enough, your spell -does n't hold. I feel quite able to break my word to you now." - -He paused. I wondered if he could feel the tumult of my helpless rage. -"I have been very much afraid of you," he said, "but that is changed. No -man can be afraid of the serpent he has fondled, even when he knows that -its fang is as poisonous as sin. I am not afraid of you at all." - -The book slid to the floor. My head seemed to bend of its own weight -to meet my hands. A great strangling burst of laughter tore my throat, -pealed from my lips, filled the room. I laughed like a maniac. I rocked -with laughter. Then, staggering to my feet, I went over to the window -bench, and sat there sobbing and crying as though my heart must break. - -Paul Dabney shut the door, swore, paced the room, at last came over to -me and bade me, roughly, to "stop my noise." - -"Don't make a fool of yourself," he said coldly. "You won't make one of -me, I assure you." - -At that I looked up at him through a veil of tears, showing him a face -that must have been as simple as an angry child's. - -"Look at me, Paul Dabney," I gasped. "Look hard--as hard as you looked -yesterday afternoon down there near the swamp after I had saved -your life. And, when you have looked, tell me what you know about -me--me--me--Janice Gale." - -He caught me by the hands and looked. My tears, falling, left my vision -clear, and his face showed so haunted and haggard and spent, so wronged, -that with a welcome rush, tenderness and pity and understanding came -back for a moment to my heart. I realized, for just that moment, what he -must be suffering from this dreadful tangle in which he had been caught. -How could he know me for what I really was when that demon came to him -with my face and voice and hands and eyes? And yet--the moment passed -and left me hard again--I felt that he ought to have known. Some glimmer -of the truth should have come to him. In fact, after a moment he dropped -my hands and put his own over his eyes. He went over to the window and -stood there, staring out, unseeing, I was sure. His shoulders sagged, -his whole slight, energetic body drooped. I saw his fist shut and open -at his side. After a long time, he turned and came slowly back to stand -before me. - -"Janice Gale," he said, in a changed and much more gentle voice, "I wish -you would tell me what the accursed--mystery means. Do you remember last -night? Do you remember--do your lips remember our kisses? I can't look -at the sweetness and the sorrow of them and believe it. Is this your -real self, or is that? Are you possessed by a night-demon, or is this a -mask of youth and innocence? I do believe you must be a victim of that -strange psychic affliction of a divided personality. Janice--tell me, do -you know what you do"--he dropped his voice as a man who speaks of -ghostly and unhallowed things--"after you have gone to sleep?" - -I wanted to tell him, but I wanted more strongly to triumph over him. -The rush of tenderness had passed. I could not forget the insult of -his tone to me, the jeering, biting contempt of his speeches. I longed -passionately to bring him down to my feet, to humble him, and then--to -raise him up. Love is a cruel sort of madness, a monster perfectionist. -My love for him could not forgive his blindness. He ought to have known, -he ought to have seen my soul too clearly to be so easy a dupe, and his -love for me ought to have driven him shuddering from those other lips. -It ought to have been his shield and weapon of defense, instead of his -lure. - -"I have nothing to confess," I told him coldly. "Why should I confess to -you? You have come to this house to persecute and to insult me. How do -you dare"--I shook with a resurgent rage and disgust--"to speak to me -of--_kisses?_ When are you going away from this house? Or must I go, -and begin to struggle again, to hunt for work? If I had a brother or a -father or any protector strong enough to deal with the sort of man you -are, I should have you horse-whipped for your conduct to me! Oh, I -could strike you myself! I hate and loathe you!" I sobbed, having worked -myself up almost to the frenzy of the past night. "I want to punish you! -You have hurt and shamed me!" I fought for self-control. "Thank God! It -will soon be over." - -I stood up, and tried to pass him. He held out his arms to bar me, and, -looking down at me, his face flushed and quivering, he said between his -teeth: "When it is over, as you must know, my dear Sphinx, one of us two -will be dead. I am not the first man, I fancy, that you have driven to -madness or worse. I hope I shall have the strength to make the world -safe from you before I go. That's what I live for now, though you've -made my life rather more of a hell than even I ever thought life could -be made." - -Our eyes met, and the looks crossed like swords. - -"Let me go out. Your faith is not much greater than your skill, Master -Detective-Lover. I think the outcome will astonish you. Let me go out, I -say." - -He moved away, grim and pale, his jaws set, and I went out. - -On my way to my room Mary met me in the hall. "I want to speak to you," -she began; then broke off, "Oh, Miss Gale, dear, how bad you look!" she -said. - -I was so glad to see her dear, honest, trusting, truthful face that I -put my head down on her shoulder, and cried like a baby in her arms. She -made me go to my room and lie down, she bathed my face and laid a cold, -wet cloth across my temples. - -"Poor blessed girl!" she said in her nursey way, "she's all wore out. -Poor soul! Poor pretty!" A dozen such absurd and comforting ejaculations -she made use of, how comforting my poor motherless youth had never till -then let me know. When I was quieter she brought her sewing and sat -beside my bed, rocking and humming. She asked no questions; just told me -when I tried to apologize to "hush now and try to get a little nap." And -actually I did go to sleep. - -I woke up as though on the crest of a resurgent wave of life. I sat on -my bed and smiled at Mary; then, gathering my knees in my hands, I said, -"Now, I'm all right again, nursey; tell me what you wanted to ask me -when you met me in the hall." - -It was extraordinary how calm and clear I felt, how sufficient to myself -and able to meet what was coming and bring it to a triumphant end. With -what good and healing spirits do we sometimes walk when we are asleep. - -"Don't hesitate, dear Mary. I'm done with my nonsense now. I'm perfectly -able to face any domestic crisis, from ghosts to broken china." - -"Well, ma'am," said Mary, beginning to rock in an indignant, staccato -fashion--there are as many ways of rocking as there are moods in the one -who rocks--"it's that there Sara. Never, in all my days of service in -the old country and here, have I met with the like of her!" - -"In what way? I mean, what _is_ she like?" - -"Why, ma'am, she's like a whited sepulcher"--this time she pronounced it -"sep-looker"--"that's what she's like. She's as smooth and -soft-spoken as a pet dove, that she is"--Mary's similes were quite -extraordinary--"she fair coos, and so full of her 'ma'ams' and 'if you -pleases.' She's a good worker, too, steady and quiet, too quiet to -be nacheral. And, indeed, ma'am, nacheral it ain't, not for her. A -murderess at heart, miss, that's what she is." - -I was startled. I gripped my knees more tightly. - -"Yes, miss. Up to this mornin', though I can't say I had a likin' for -her, for that would n't be the truth, and I always hold to my mother's -sayin' of 'tell the truth and shame the devil'; but this mornin', ma'am, -I run into her quite by accident, a-standin' in the nursery--and what -she should be doin' in my blessed lamb's room I can't say, and a-cursin' -and a-swearin', and her face like a fury--O Lor', miss! I can't give you -no notion of what she was like, nor the langwidge; filth it was, ma'am, -though I should n't use the word. And, miss, I made sure it was you she -was in a rage with, a-stampin' and a-mouthin' there like the foul fiend. -She did n't know I was seein' her first-off, but when she did, the -shameless hussy went on as bad as before. Never did I see nor hear the -like of it. I tried to shame her, but it was like tryin' to shame a -witch's caldron, a-boilin' with cats' tongues and vipers', and dead -men's hands. Awful it was, to make your blood run cold! Miss Gale, you -had n't ought to keep the creature in the house. It ain't safe." - -"Could you find out why she was so angry?" - -"Indeed, ma'am, there was so much cursin' and sputterin' that I could -n't make out much sense to her, but it was somethin' about bein' made a -mock of and gettin' nothin' for your pains. She'd been glum all mornin', -miss, I seen that, and I'd left her alone. Her and Henry had been havin' -words at breakfast time, but _this_ was fair awful. Seems like as if she -had just kept the whole rumpus in her wickit breast till it boiled over -and she run into the nursery and let it go off, like some poison bottle -with the cork blown away, if you know what I mean. Miss, it ain't safe -to keep her in the house!" - -I laughed a little. - -"No, Mary, I don't believe it is very safe." - -"Yes, miss. And that's not all. There is doin's I don't like in this -house, and I'd have come to you before, but it seems like I've made you -so much trouble in this place and you've been lookin' peaky--" - -"You've been a perfect godsend to me, Mary!" I cried. "Please tell -me anything, everything. Never hesitate to come to me. Never delay an -instant." - -"Well, ma'am, there's two or three things that has been vexin' me, -little things in themselves, but not reg'lar--now, that's what I say, -ma'am, you can stand anything so long as it's reg'lar. In the old -country now, as I told you, I worked in a haunted house, and the help -was told to expect a ghost and it come reg'lar every night a-draggin' -its chains up the stairs; but, bless me, did we mind it? Not a bit.'T -was all reg'lar and seemly, if you know what I mean, nothin' that you -could n't expect and prepare your mind for. What I don't like about the -happenin's here is they're most irreg'lar. There's no tellin' whatever -where they'll break out nor how." - -This typically English distinction as to the desirable regularity of -apparitions amused me so much that I did not hurry Mary in her story. -She got back to it presently. - -"Miss Gale, you know that long, gray cloak of yours with the rose-silk -linin'?" - -"Yes, Mary." My heart did beat a trifle faster. - -"And the little hat you leave with the cloak down in the front hall on -the rack behind the door?" - -"Yes, Mary.".... - -"Well, miss,"--the rocking grew impressive, portentous, climatic. -"Somebody has been usin''em at night." - -"Oh, Mary!" - -"Yes, miss. And it must'a' been that Sara. Like as not she sneaks off -and meets some feller down the road, or even over to Pine Cone. And her -a married woman! Pleased she'd be to fix the blame of her bad doin's on -you. What would Mrs. Brane think, miss, if she seen you, one of these -moonlight nights as bright as day, a-walkin' away from her house at some -unseemly hour. Ir-reg'lar, she'd call it! Yes, miss. It makes my blood -boil!" - -"It is certainly not a pleasant idea," I said dryly--"No, miss; to put -it mild, not pleasant, not a bit. Well, miss, I found your cloak this -morn-in' hangin' in its place and the hem drenched with dew. You can see -for yourself if you go down in the hall. Now, it stands to reason, if -you'd worn it yourself, the hem would n't'a' touched the grass hardly, -but a short woman like Sara is--" - -"Unless I had sat down on a low rustic bench," I put in. - -"Well, _miss_, was you out last night?" - -"No, Mary--unless I've been walking in my sleep." - -She looked a little startled, and stared at me with round, anxious eyes -to which tears came. - -"Oh, miss, I don't think it. Really and truly I don't." - -She had not seen the strand of red-gold hair about Robbie's fingers -and the kind soul had diligently weeded out any suspicions even of my -unconscious complicity in Robbie's death. - -"Nor do I, Mary dear. In fact, I was broad awake all last night. I -never closed my eyes. Perhaps I drank too much coffee after dinner, or, -perhaps, it was the moon." - -"There now!" The rocking became triumphant. "That proves it. Sara, it -must'a' been." - -"What else, Mary? What are the other little things?" - -"Why, ma'am, it seems foolish to mention 'em, but I just think I kinder -ought." - -"Indeed you ought, Mary." - -"I had to go down to the kitchen late last Friday night. Mrs. Brane -could n't sleep, and I thought I'd give her a glass of warm milk same as -I ust to give my poor lamb. Well, miss, I found the kitchen door locked; -the one at the foot of the back stairs, not the one that goes outdoors, -which nacherly would be fastened at night. The key was n't on my side of -the door, so it stands to reason't was locked on the kitchen side, and -Sara and Henry must'a' been in that kitchen, though it was dark, not a -glimmer under the door or through the keyhole, and not a sound--or else -they'd gone out the back way. Why should Sara lock her kitchen door and -go round the other way? Don't it seem a bit odd to you, ma'am? And when -I axed her the next mornin', she kinder snarled like and told me to mind -my own business, that the kitchen door was her affair, and that if I -valued my soul I'd best keep to my bed nights in this house." - -We were silent for a moment while I digested this sinister injunction, -and the rocker "registered" the indignation of a respectable -Englishwoman. - -"Anything else, Mary?" I asked at last. - -Mary stopped rocking. She folded her hands on her work and her round -eyes took on a doubting, puzzled look. - -"Yes, ma'am. One other thing. And maybe it means naught, and, maybe, -it means a lot. Deviltry it must be of some kind, I says, or else mere -foolishness." She paused, and I saw her face pucker tearfully. "You know -how I did love that pitiful little Robbie, miss?" - -"Yes, Mary dear." - -"Well, times when I feel like my heart would bust out with grievin', I -go off and away by myself somewhere and kinder mourn." - -"Yes, you dear, faithful soul!" - -"And I'm like to choose some spot that 'minds me of my lamb." - -"Yes." - -"Well,'t was only this mornin' that I woke up and missed him out of -common, so sweet he was when he waked up, and cheery as a robin! So,'t -was early, early mornin', the sun just up, and I crep' out quiet and -went out to the garden and sat down in the arbor where I ust to sit and -watch the little darlin' at his play--well, miss, I have to tell you -that I sat there cryin' like a baby, and 't was a while before I seen -that there lay a paper under the bench, like as if it might have fallen -there from a body's pocket. I picked it up, and't was covered with -heathenish writin'. Here. I kep' it in my apron to show you, miss." - -She took the paper from her pocket, and I sprang up and seized it -eagerly. I had no doubt whatever that it had been lost by my double as -she sat with Paul last night. It was a letter in the Russian script. I -read it rapidly. - -"Ever dear and honored madame, I await the summons of your necessity. A -message received here"--there followed a name and address of some town -in the county, unknown to me--"will bring me to Pine Cone in a few hours -by motor-cycle. I hold myself at your commands, and will lend you the -service of my knowledge in translating the Slavonic curiosity you have -described to me so movingly. I need not remind you of your promises. -One knows that they are never broken, even to death. Appoint a place -and hour. Meet me or send some accredited messenger. It could all be -arranged between sunrise and sunset or--should you prefer--between -sunset and sunrise. Do not forget your faithful servant, and the servant -of that Eternal Eye that watches the good and evil of this earthly -life." - - - - -CHAPTER XIII--THE SPIDER BITES - - -|I WAS so excited by the importance of Mary's accidental discovery that -I folded up the paper, thrust it into my pocket, and was turning towards -the desk, when Mary, in an aggrieved voice, recalled herself to my -attention. - -"Well, miss, maybe it ain't my business, and, maybe, it is, and I don't -want to push myself forward, but--" - -"Oh, Mary," I said, "indeed it is your business, and a very important -business, too, and just as soon as I think it safe to tell you, I will, -every word of it; only I have to ask you to trust me just a little bit -further, and to let me make use of this paper. You don't imagine how -terribly important it is to me!" - -I could see that Mary was shocked by my uncanny knowledge. "Indeed, Miss -Gale, if you can make anything out of that heathen writin'--" - -I smiled as reassuringly as I could. "It is not heathenish. It is -Russian, and it was written by a sort of clergy man." - -"Oh, miss! And under the rustic bench in our arbor!" - -"Yes, Mary. I know it all sounds as wild as a dream, and I can't explain -it just yet, but you will trust me, Mary, a little longer, and keep the -secret of this paper to yourself? Don't mention it; don't even whisper -of it; don't show that you have ever heard of such a thing--everything -depends upon this." - -Mary had stood up, and now smoothed down her apron and drew in a -doubtful, whistling breath which she presently expelled in sharp, little -tongue-clicks--"Teks! Teks! Teks!" I translated all this readily. She -did not like my superior and secret knowledge; she did not like my air -of cool captaincy; she did not like my reserve, nor my disposal of her -"devil-paper." But the good soul could not help but be loyalty itself. -She made no more protest than that of the "Teks!"--then said, in a -rather sad but perfectly dependable voice, "Very good, miss." - -I came over and patted her on the shoulder. - -"Mary, you are the best woman in the world and the best friend I ever -had." - -This brought her around completely. Her natural, honest, kindly smile -broke out upon her face. - -"Bless you, miss," she said heartily, "I'd do most anything for you. You -can trust me not to speak of the paper." - -"I know I can, Mary dear." - -When she had gone I did go over to my desk and took out a slip of paper. -After some careful thinking I printed in ink a few lines in Russian -script. - -"At eleven o'clock of next Wednesday morning I will meet you in the -ice-cream parlor of the only drug-store in Pine Cone. Be prepared to -translate the Slavonic curiosity, and be assured of a reward." I dared -not risk any signature, but, for fear there might be something in these -lines that would rouse the suspicion of their authenticity, I racked my -brain for some signal that might be a convincing one. At last I pulled -out a red-gold hair from my head, placed it on the paper as though it -had fallen there, and folded it in. Then I put my paper into a blank -envelope, which I sealed and secreted in my dress. This done, I tore -the letter Mary had found into a hundred minute pieces and burned -them, hiding the ashes in my window-box of flowers. I had memorized the -address and name of Mr. Gast. - -At lunch I asked Mrs. Brane, who had sufficiently recovered from her -headache to appear, whether she would n't like me to go over to Pine -Cone and buy her the shade hat for which she had been longing ever -since Mary had reported the arrival of some Philippine millinery in the -principal shop. I said that I felt the need of a good, long walk. - -Henry, without a flicker of interest in my request, went on with perfect -and discreet performance of table-duty, but I felt that he was mentally -pricking up his ears. He must have wondered what the purpose of my -expedition really was. I hoped that, if any rumor of it reached the -ears of my double, she would take the precaution of keeping close in -her mysterious hiding-place during my absence. It was absurd how I felt -responsible for the life of every member of the household. Paul Dabney -did not ask to accompany me on my walk, though Mrs. Brane evidently -expected him to. He was absent and silent at lunch, crumbled his bread, -and wore his air of demure detachment like a shield. He was as white as -the table napery, but had a cool, self-reliant expression that for some -reason annoyed me. - -I started on my long and lonely walk about half an hour after lunch. I -was nervous and fearful, and wished that I, too, had a pocket such as -Paul Dabney's bulging one where, so often, I fancied he kept his right -hand on the smooth handle of an automatic. I thought scornfully of his -timidity. My own danger was so enormously greater than his, and his own -was so enormously greater than he could possibly suspect. - -I must confess, however, that it taxed my nerve severely to cross the -bridge over the quicksand that afternoon. It had been mended, of course, -the very evening of Paul's accident but I tested every plank before I -gave it my weight, and I clung to the railing with both clammy hands. -Not until I reached the other bank did I let the breath out of my lungs. - -On the dusty, shady highroad courage returned to me, and I walked ahead -at a good pace. I did want very strongly to reach that bridge again -before dark. I would not trust my letter to the rural delivery box near -"The Pines" lane. I was determined to mail it at the post-office, and -to be sure that it went out by the evening mail. I was successful, -addressed the blank envelope, and slipped it in, bought Mrs. Brane's -hat, and, hurrying home, found myself in time for five o'clock tea. I -had met with no misadventure of any kind; not even a shadow had fallen -on my path; but I was as tired as though I had been through every terror -that had tormented my imagination. I went to bed that night and slept -well. - -The four days that followed the mailing of my letter were as still as -the proverbial lull before the storm. We all went quietly about our -lives. Whatever mutiny was hidden in the souls of Henry and his female -accomplice smouldered there without explosion. Sara, indeed, was sullen, -and obeyed my orders with an air of resentment. Paul Dabney seemed to be -immersed in study. It looked to me sometimes as though every one in -the house was waiting, as breathlessly and secretly as I was, for the -meeting with that unknown Servant of the Eternal Eye. Certainly it -was curious that on the very Wednesday morning Mrs. Brane should have -decided to send Gregory, the old horse, to Pine Cone, for a new pair of -shoes, and that she should herself have suggested my going with George -for a little outing. Her face was perfectly innocent, but I could -not refrain from asking her, "What made you think of sending me, Mrs. -Brane?" - -She gave me a knowing, teasing little look. "Somebody takes a great -interest in your health, proud Maisie," she said. - -Paul Dabney! I was not a little startled by the opportuneness of his -interest. It was, to say the least, a trifle odd that he should want me -to drive to Pine Cone on the very morning of my appointment. I was half -minded to refuse to drive with George, then decided that this refusal -would only serve to point any suspicion that Paul Dabney might be -entertaining of me, so I agreed meekly to the arrangement and set off in -due time seated in the brake-cart by George's substantial side. He was -undoubtedly a comfort to me, and I kept him chattering all the way. He -had lost the air of bravado he had shown on our first drive together, -for "The Pines" had been, to all appearances, a place of supreme -tranquillity since Robbie's death. His talk was all of the country-side, -a string of complaints. The roads needed mending, the fences were down, -"government don't do nothin' fer this yere po' place." He pointed out -a tall, ragged, dead pine near a turn in the road, I remember, and -groaned, "Jes a tech to send that tree plum oveh yeah on the top of -us-all, missy." This complaint was one of a hundred and stuck in my mind -because of later happenings. - -We jogged into Pine Cone at eleven, and I occupied myself variously till -the hour of the appointment, when, with a sickish feeling of nervous -suspense, I forced my steps towards the drug-store. I went in through -the fly-screen door, and passed the soda-water fountain and the counters -where stale candy and coarse calicoes beckoned for a purchaser, and I -went on between green rep, tasseled portières to the damp, dark, inner -room where the marble-topped tables, vacant of food, seemed to attract, -by some mysterious promise, a swarm of dull and sluggish flies whose -mournful buzzing filled the stagnant air. - -There was one person in the ice-cream parlor--a man. I moved doubtfully -towards him, and he lifted his head. This head was a replica of the -pre-Raphaelite figures of Christ, a long, oval, high-browed countenance, -with smooth, long, yellow hair parted in the middle of the brow, with -oblong eyes, a long nose, a mouth drooping exaggeratedly at the corners, -and a very long, silky, yellow beard, also parted in the middle and -hanging in two rippling points almost to his waist. He was dressed in -a rusty black suit, the very long sleeves of which hung down quite over -his hands. - -At sight of me he turned pale, rose, the dolorous mouth drooping more -extremely. "Madame," he said in the lisping, clumsy speech of those -whose supply of teeth falls short of lingual demands, "is as prompt as -the justice of Heaven." And he bowed and cringed painfully. - -I sat down opposite to him, and gave the languid, pimply-faced youth who -came an order for two plates of ice-cream. I was horribly embarrassed -and confused, but by a mighty effort I maintained an air of -self-possession. The priest--I should have known him for a renegade -priest anywhere--sat meekly with his hidden hands resting on the table -before him, and his great, smooth lids pulled down over his eyes. Once -he looked up for an instant. - -"Madame preserves her youth," he lisped, "as though she had lived upon -the blood of babes." And he ran the tip of his tongue over his lips. - -This horrible speech was, no doubt, exactly suited to the taste of my -counterpart. I knew that I was expected to laugh, and I dragged my lips -across my teeth in imitation of the ghastly smile. It passed muster. - -He fell upon his ice-cream, when it was brought to him, like a starved -creature, and then I noticed the horrible deformity of his hands. He -hooked a twisted stump about the handle of his spoon. Nearly all the -fingers were gone; what was left were mere torn fragments of bone and -tendon. His hands must have been horribly crushed, the top part of the -hands crushed off entirely. It made me sick to look at them. - -I produced my chart, and passed it over to him. He paused in his repast, -wiped off his lips and beard, took out a blank sheet of paper from one -of his ragged pockets, and translated with great rapidity, scribbling -down the lines with a stump of a pencil about which he wrapped his -crooked index stump very cleverly. He grew quite hot with excitement as -he wrote; his enormous forehead turned pink. He smacked his lips: -"_Nu_, madame, _Boje moe_, what a reward for your great, your excellent -courage!" - -He handed back both pages to me, and began on his ice-cream again. I -took the translation and read it eagerly. - -"The crown alone is worth every risk, almost every crime. Each jewel -is a fortune to dream about. The robe is encrusted with the wealth of -magic. If each stone is taken out and offered cautiously for sale at -different and widely separated places, the danger of detection would now -be very slight. You will have at each sale the dowry of a queen. And all -of this splendor is hidden in the wall. There are two ways of reaching -it. The easier is through the hole in the kitchen closet, the closet -under the stairs. These are directions, easy to remember and easier to -follow: Go up the sixteen steps, go along the passage to the inclined -plane. Ascend the inclined plane. Count five rafters from the first -perpendicular rafter from the top of the plane on your left side. The -fifth rafter, if strongly moved, pulls forward. Behind it, on end, -stands the iron box. The key is hidden back of the eighteenth brick to -the left of the fifth rafter on the row which is the thirtieth from the -floor of the passage. Have courage, have self-control, have always a -watchful eye for Her. She knows." - -This was not signed. Now, I did a careful thing. I read this translation -over five or six times. And then I memorized the directions. Sixteen -steps up, ascend the inclined plane, five rafters from the one on your -left at the top of the plane, the eighteenth brick to the left of the -fifth rafter in the thirtieth row. And then I repeated "sixteen, five, -eighteen, thirty," till they made an unforgettable jingle in my brain. - -"You will not forget me, madame?" murmured the priest, this time in -Russian. "Madame ruined me, and madame will lift me up." I lifted my -eyes from the paper and smiled that horrible smile. - -"I will not forget you," I said in the same tongue. "You will still be -at the address?" - -"Until you advise me to change it," he said cringingly. - -"Excellent. _Do svedania_." - -He stood up and blessed me. I bent my head, and he stalked out, his -long, light hair flapping against his shoulders as he walked. The clerks -at the drug-store counter gaped and tittered at him. I followed him to -the door. There he made me another bow, smiled a big, toothless smile, -mounted his motor-cycle, and went off at a tremendous speed, his -deformed hands hooked over the bars, the wind of his own motion sending -the long points of his beard flying behind him like pennons. - -A few moments after his departure another man came out of the saloon -opposite, walked quickly to another motor-cycle, mounted it, and went -humming after the cloud of dust that hid my mysterious translator. - -It was odd that sleepy Pine Cone should at the same time entertain two -such travelers on this vehicle; it was even more odd that the second -traveler bore so extraordinary a likeness to one of Mrs. Brane's outdoor -men, those whom she had described to me as her pet charity. - -I might have followed this train of thought to its logical conclusion, -I might even have remembered that one of these same men had followed the -Baron's departure from "The Pines," had I not, at the moment, glanced in -the opposite direction and seen, far along the wide, dusty highway, the -departing brake-cart with George's fat person perched upon its seat. I -was possessed by indignation. He was actually leaving Pine Cone without -me. He was already too far away to hear my angry shout even if he had -not been deaf. As I watched helplessly, Gregory reached the top of the -hill, deliberately passed it, and pulled the brake-cart, dilapidated -whip, fat George, and all, out of my sight. There was nothing for it but -a walk home. I got a wretched lunch in the ice cream parlor, and set out -in no very good humor. As soon as I was out of sight of the town, I took -out my translation of the chart, refreshed my memory for the last time, -tore it into a thousand tiny bits, and buried the shreds deep in the -sandy soil of the roadside. I kept the original Slavonic writing in the -bosom of my dress. I meant in my own good time to let this paper fall -into the hands of the thieves, and so, having notified the police, to -catch them in the very hiding-place. - -I stepped along rapidly. It was now past noon, a mild November day -of Indian summer warmth and softness; the pines swung their fragrant -branches against the sky. It was very still and pleasant on the woody -road. I was really glad that George had forgotten me. As I came round -one of the pretty turns of the road I heard a great, groaning rush of -sound, and, hurrying my steps, found that the great dead pine George had -pointed out to me had, indeed, true to his prophecy, fallen across the -road. It was a great, ragged giant of a tree, and as the bank on one -side of the road was steep and high, I was forced to go well into the -woods on the other, and to circle about the enormous root which stood -up like a wall between me and the road. Back of the tree I stepped down -into a hollow, and, as I stepped, looking carefully to my footing, for -the ground was very rough, a heavy smother of cloth fell over my head -and shoulders, and I was thrown violently backward to the ground. At the -same instant the stuff was pulled tight across my mouth. I could hardly -breathe, much less cry out. I was half suffocated and blind as a mole. -My arms were seized, and drawn back of me and tied at the wrists. The -hands that did this were fine and cold, and strong as steel. They were -a woman's hands, and I could feel the brush of skirts. It froze my blood -to know that I was being handled and trussed up by a pitiless image of -myself. - -Having made me entirely blind, dumb, and helpless as a log, the creature -proceeded to search me with the most intolerable thoroughness. Of -course, the paper I had taken from the bookcase was promptly found, and -I heard a little gasp of satisfaction, followed by a low oath when she -discovered the nature of the script. She was no doubt furious at not -being able to find any translation. I was roughly handled, dragged about -on the stony ground, tossed this way and that, while the cold, hurried, -clever fingers thrust themselves through my clothing. At last they -fairly stripped me, every article was shaken out or torn apart, a -knife cut off the top of my head-covering, leaving my face in its tight -smother, my hair was taken down, shaken out, combed with hasty and -painful claws. When, after a horrible lifetime of fear and disgust, -anger and pain, the thing that handled me discovered that there was -really nothing further of any value to her upon me, she gave way to -a fury of disappointment. There, in the still woods, she cursed with -disgusting oaths, she beat me with her hands, with branches she found -near me on the ground. - -"Discipline," she said, "discipline, and be thankful, my girl, that I -don't do you a worse injury. I can't stand being angry unless I make -somebody squirm for it. Besides, I mean you to lie quiet for a day or -two, till I need you again." - -I did squirm, and she showed no mercy. - -Nevertheless, she began to be afraid, I suppose, of being discovered at -her cruelty. She threw my clothes over me, laughed at my plight, and I -heard her light footsteps going away from me into the woods. - -I lay there, raging, sobbing, struggling, till long after dusk, then, -my hands becoming gradually loosened, I wriggled one hand free, tore the -rope from the other, rid myself of the sacking on my head and sat up, -panting, trembling, exhausted, bathed in sweat. Slowly I got into my -clothes and smoothed my torn hair, crying with the pain of my hurts. -It had been an orgy of rage and cruelty, and I had been, God knows, a -helpless victim. Nevertheless, the discipline inflicted upon me did not -break my spirit. I was lashed and stung to a cold rage of hatred and -disgust. I would outwit the creature, hunt her down, and give her -to justice so that she might suffer for her sins. I could not well -understand the furious boldness of her action of this afternoon. Why did -she leave me to make my escape, to go back to "The Pines," to tell my -story and so to set the police on her track? For some reason she must -rely on my holding my tongue. As I stumbled on my painful way, the -reason came to me with some certainty. She thought that I, too, meant to -steal the fortune. It would not enter the head of a criminal that such -a temptation could be resisted by a penniless girl of my history. And, -indeed, what other explanation could she possibly entertain for my -previous secretiveness? Naturally, she could not understand my desire to -triumph over Paul Dabney. And this desire was as strong in me as ever -it had been. Indeed, I felt that in a certain way the events of the -afternoon left me with slight advantage over my double. It was now a -race between us. She knew that I was on the track of the treasure; she -knew that I knew of her intentions. I had the translation; she had not. -She would have it soon enough, I was sure; therefore I must be quick. No -later than that night, or, at farthest, the following night, while she -still fancied me laid up by the beating I had received, I must contrive -to get at Mrs. Brane's fortune. Dreadful as my experience had been, I -was still bent upon the success of my venture; truly I believe I was -more bent upon it. - -If I failed now, there was no knowing what consequences might fall upon -"The Pines" household and upon me. Very easily--I trembled to think how -easily--some member of the family might be murdered and I be made to -appear the murderess. I had, by my bold course, provided blind justice -with a half-dozen witnesses against my innocence. The Baron, the priest, -Sara, Henry, Paul Dabney--not one of them but could stand up and swear -to my criminality, perhaps to a score of past crimes. - -As I limped and stumbled home, wiping the tears from my eyes and the -blood from my chafed face, I decided to keep the truth of my adventure -to myself. An accident of some kind I must invent to explain my plight. -I decided that the fallen pine would have to bear the blame for my cuts -and bruises. I would say that I had been caught by the slashing outer -branches as it fell. - -Before I reached the gateway of "The Pines," in fact, just as I was -dragging myself up the steep slope from the swamp, a will-o'-the-wisp -of light came dancing to meet me. The circle of its glow presently made -visible the unmistakable flat feet of George, who, at sight of me, broke -into a chant of relief and of reproach. - -He set down his lamp before me and held up his hands. - -"My lordamassy, Miss Gale, what fo' yo' put dis yere po' ole nigger in -sech a wo'ld o' mis'ry? Here am Massa Dabney a-tarin' up de groun' all -aroun' about hie an' a-callin' me names coz I done obey yo' instid o' -him. An' he done gib me one dolleh, yessa, an' yo'-all done gib me two. -I tole him de trufe. Yessa, I says, one dolleh done tuk me to Pine Cone -an' two dollehs done bring me back." - -I pushed my hair from my tired forehead. "You mean I told you to drive -home without me, George?" - -George danced a nigger dance of despair--a sort of cake-walk, grotesque -and laughable in the circle of lantern-light. - -"Oh, lawsamassy, don' nobody 'member nothin' they done say to a po' ole -niggerman like George? Yo' come out, miss, while I was a-harnessin' -Gregory, an' yo' gib de dollehs an' yo' say, 'Be sho to drive away back -to de house af teh Gregory got his new shoes without waitin' fer me.' -Yo' say yo' like de walk. There, now! Yo'-all do commence to begin to -recollec', don' yo'?" - -"Yes, yes. I do, of course, George," I agreed faintly--what use to -disclaim this minor action of my double? "Give me your arm, there's a -good fellow. I've been hurt." - -He was as tender as a "mammy," all but carried me up to the house and -handed me over to Paul Dabney, who was pacing the hall like a caged -tiger, and who received me with a feverish eagerness, rather like the -pounce of a watchful beast of prey. I told my story--or, rather, my -fabrication--to him and Mrs. Brane and Mary. Paul did not join in the -ejaculation of sympathy and affection; he tried to be stoically cynical -even in the face of my quite apparent weakness and pain, but I thought -his eyes and mouth corners rather betrayed his self-control, and he -helped me carefully, with a sort of restrained passion, up to my room, -where I refused poor Mary's offers of help and ministered to myself as -best I could. - -I was really in a pitiful condition; the beating had been delivered with -the intention of laying me up, and I began to think that it would be -successful. I don't mind admitting that I cried myself to sleep that -night. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV--MY FIRST MOVE - - -|THE woman who had so unmercifully used me had not taken into account -the fact that the spirit is stronger than the flesh. Certainly, the next -morning I wanted nothing so much as to lie still in my bed for a week. -My cuts and bruises were stiff and sore; I ached from head to foot. -But my resolution was strong. I had my meals sent up to me that day, -however, but in the evening, after dinner, I sent for Sara. - -She came and presented herself, sullen and impassive, at the foot of my -bed. I fixed my eyes on her as coldly and malevolently as I could. - -"Sara," I said, "as you see, I chose to be laid up to-day." - -She grinned. - -"Now, without a moment's delay I want you to leave for Pine Cone and -stay there for the next twenty-four hours, or until I send for you." - -She looked surprised and reluctant, a red flush came up into her big -face. - -"So's you can make off with the swag," she muttered; then shrank at the -scowl I gave her, and made an awkward and unwilling apology. - -"All right, then," she said. "How about the work? What about Mrs. -Brane?" - -"I'll make it right with Mrs. Brane," I said crisply. "Trust me for -that. Now, before you go, step over to the desk there and write what I -tell you." - -She obeyed, and I dictated slowly: "Meet me on bridge at eleven o'clock -to-night. Wait for me till I come. Maida." - -She looked at me with her lids narrowed suspiciously, and my heart -quailed, but the moment of inspection passed. In fact, nobody could have -imagined the resemblance that undoubtedly existed between the leader of -the enterprise and my wretched, daring self. - -"Who's that for?" she asked, "and what's up? Ain't I to know anything? -What price all this?" - -"What price!" I echoed, "just our lives--that's all. Do as I say, and -you'll be a wealthy woman in a fortnight. Don't do it, even a little of -it, and--and perhaps you can guess where and what you will be." - -She gave me a hunted look, glanced about the room over her shoulder, -and, obedient to my gesture, handed me the paper she had written. - -"And no questions asked," I added sternly. "Don't let me hear another -word of it. Now, get my cloak and hat and leave them in the kitchen -on the chair near the stove. Get out as soon as you can; don't wait a -minute. And leave the kitchen door unlocked. Go all the way to Pine Cone -and stay in the room above the drug-store. The woman is always ready to -take a boarder. I'll send you word before to-morrow night. Get out, and -be quick. Above all, don't be on the bridge to-night." - -She vanished like a shadow, and I sat waiting with a pounding heart. If -she fell in with that red-haired double now, my game was up. Everything -depended upon her leaving the house without any conflicting orders, -without her suspecting my duplicity. - -I sat up in bed till it seemed to me that she had had time to get my hat -and cloak and to make her own preparations. Then, wincing with pain, I -dragged myself up and limped over to my window. A moment later Sara came -round the corner of the house and started down the road. There was just -enough twilight for me to make her out. She walked slowly and doggedly, -carrying a little bag in her hand. I wondered if Mary would come flying -to me with the news of this departure, or if Mrs. Brane and Paul Dabney -would observe it. No attempt was made to stop her, however, or to call -her back. She went on stolidly, and stolidly passed out of my sight. It -was in strange circumstances that I saw her big, handsome face again. - -I waited till I thought she must have had time to reach the lane outside -of "The Pines" gate, then I began painfully, slowly to creep into my -clothes. Often I had to rest; several times I stopped to cry for pain. -But I kept on, and at last I stood fully dressed before my mirror. My -mouth was cut and torn; my face scratched; a raw patch on one cheek; the -marks of the branch lay red across the base of my neck, and burned about -my shoulders. The sight of my injuries and the pain of them, throbbing -afresh with movement, inflamed my anger and my courage. I moved about -the room several times, gradually limbering myself; then I went quietly -out of my room and down the hall towards the kitchen stairs. It was -then about ten o'clock. Mrs. Brane and Paul Dabney were probably in -the drawing-room, quietly sipping their coffee; Mary would be upstairs -preparing Mrs. Brane's bedroom for the night; Henry would have washed up -his dishes and be gone upstairs to his room, unless he had received some -further orders from the hidden mistress of the house. I had to take this -risk. I stole down the kitchen stairs, and, opening the door a crack, -I peeped into the kitchen. The lamp had been turned low, the fire was -banked up for the night. A plate, with cup and fork and spoon, was laid -out on the kitchen table, and on the back of the stove a frying-pan full -of food was set to keep warm. What a _gourmande_ Sara must think her -leader whom she saw eating heartily enough at Mrs. Brane's table, but -who insisted, besides, on a heavy meal at night! I thought I knew who -would presently appear to enjoy her supper. She would fancy the kitchen -door securely locked; she would fancy that I was successfully laid by -the heels. I wondered what her plans for the night might be. I set my -teeth hard to keep down the rage that mounted in me at the very thought -of her. Sara had obediently placed my cloak and hat on one of the -kitchen chairs. I decided that there was no time to waste. I slipped -quickly into the room--I was in stocking feet--locked the kitchen door, -hid the key in my pocket, put the note that I had dictated to Sara -under the plate on the table, and then, stealing softly to the door of -a narrow closet where Sara kept her brooms, I squeezed myself in and -locked the door on the inside. When the key was removed, I put my eye -to the large, worn keyhole, and had a clear but limited view of the dim, -empty room. I knelt as comfortably as I could, for I knew that I should -have to keep my position without the motion of a finger when the room -should have an occupant. My heart beat heavily and loudly, my hurts -throbbed at every beat. It was a painful, a well-nigh unbearable -half-hour that I spent cramped there in the closet, waiting, waiting, -waiting.... At last--such a long last--there came the ghostly sound of a -step. - -It drew nearer; I heard a faint noise of shifting boards, the door of -the low closet under the stairs opened, and out stepped the hideous -image of myself. The shock of that resemblance almost sent me off into -a faint. I had seen the creature only once face to face; now, in the dim -light of the kitchen lamp, I studied her features. Disfigured by passion -and guilt, it was nevertheless my face. This woman was older, certainly, -by many years, but a touch of paint and powder, the radiance of -moonlight, might easily disguise the lines and shadows. She was as -slender as a girl, and a clever actress could simulate a look of -innocence. I almost forgave Paul Dabney as I watched this other "Me" -move about the kitchen on her noiseless feet. - -She went to the stove, took up the frying-pan, and carried it over -to the table. On the way she noticed my cloak and hat and stopped, -evidently startled, holding the pan in her hands. She glanced nervously -about the room, went over to the door that was at the foot of the stairs -and tried it. I was thankful that I had taken the precaution of locking -it. I hoped she would not notice that the key was gone. She returned -to the table and sat down before the plate. Then she saw the note -and snatched it up. She bent her fiery head, arranged so carefully in -imitation of mine, over the writing. I saw her lips move. She looked -up frowning, uncertain, surprised. Then she walked over to the stove, -thrust Sara's note into the fire, returned, and stood in deep thought in -the middle of the room. I was sick with suspense. Clouds passed over my -eyes. Would she fall into my clumsy trap? Presently she walked slowly -over to my cloak and hat and put them on. With the hat pressing her soft -hair down about her face, she was so terribly like me that my uncanny -fears returned. She must be some spirit clothed in my aura, possessing -herself in some infernal fashion of my outward semblance. A cold sweat -had broken out over me. I felt it run down my temples. - -Another long minute she stood there, debating with herself; then she -looked at the clock, made use of her ghastly smile, and stepped quietly -across the kitchen and out into the night. I waited--a fortunate -precaution--for she came back five minutes later and peered about. There -was nothing to alarm her since she could not hear the pounding of my -heart. She decided to follow the instructions, and again disappeared. I -waited another fifteen minutes, then, cold with fear and excitement, I -came out of my hiding-place. I glided over to the door, and looked out. -It was a dark and cloudy night. I could hear the swinging and rustling -of the trees. There was no other sound, nor could I see anything astir -in the little garden except the gate which was ajar and creaking faintly -on its hinges. She had gone. - -I came back hastily into the kitchen and lighted a candle which was -stuck into a tin candlestick on a shelf. I looked at the clock. It was -now half-past ten. In half an hour the woman would reach the bridge. She -would wait for Maida, perhaps an hour, perhaps not so long; after that, -she would be suspicious and return. I had therefore not more than an -hour, with any certainty, to follow the directions I had memorized; to -rifle the hoard, and to make my escape from the thief's hiding-place. -Then I would telephone to the Pine Cone police. - -I opened the door of the low closet under the stairs. - - - - -CHAPTER XV--THE SECRET OF THE KITCHEN CLOSET - - -|I LIGHTED my candle and stepped into the closet, shutting the door -behind me. The small space, no longer cluttered by old odds and ends of -gardening tools, was clear to my eyes in every corner, and presented -so commonplace an appearance that I was almost ready to believe that -nightmares had possessed me lately, and that an especially vivid one had -brought me to stand absurdly here in the sleeping house peering at an -innocent board wall. Nevertheless, I set down my candle on the floor and -attacked the boards put up by Henry with what skill and energy I could. - -They moved at once as though they were on oiled hinges, and the whole -low side of the closet came forward in my hands. Before me opened the -black hole into which I had fallen the morning when Mary and I had -explored the kitchen after Delia's departure. I did not know what lay -there in the dark, but, unless I had the courage of my final adventure, -there was no use in having braved and endured so much. I slid my lighted -candle ahead of me and crept along the floor into the hole. - -I had to creep only for an instant, then damp, cool space opened above -my head and I stood up. I was in a narrow passageway of enormous height; -in fact, the whole outer wall of the house stood at my right hand, and -the whole inner wall at my left, crossed here and there by the beams of -the deep window sills to which Mrs. Brane had called my attention on the -evening of my arrival at "The Pines." It was the most curious place. A -foot or two in front of me a narrow stairs made of packing-boxes and odd -pieces of lumber nailed together, went up between the walls. Holding my -candle high, so that as far as possible I could see before and above -me, I began to mount the steps. I was weak with excitement and with the -heavy beating of my heart. - -I counted sixteen steps, and saw that I had come to the top of the queer -flight. The narrow, enormously high, passage, like an alley between -towering sky-scrapers led on with an odd look, somewhere ahead of me -sloping up. I walked perhaps twenty steps, and saw that I had come to -the foot of an inclined plane. Probably Mr. Brane had found it easier of -construction than his amateur stairs. I mounted it slowly, stopping to -listen and to hold my breath. There was no sound in the house but the -faint scuttling of rats and the faint, faint pressure of my steps. I -realized that I must now be on a level with the passage in the northern -wing, and that here it was that the various housekeepers and servants -had heard a ghostly footfall or a gusty sigh. It would be easy enough to -play ghost here; in fact, I felt like an unholy spirit entombed between -the walls of the sleeping, unsuspecting house. - -I reached the top of the inclined plane, and stopped with my left -hand against the wall. Here I could see a long row of parallel rafters -between which ran horizontal beams. In the spaces so enclosed lay the -rows of bricks, hardened cement curling along their edges. My hand -rested against the first parallel rafter on the left side. I began to -count: one, two, three, four, five. This was certainly the fifth rafter -on the left wall from the top of the inclined plane. I put down my -candle. If my chart was right, and not the crazy fiction of a diseased -brain as I half imagined it to be, this fifth rafter hid the iron box -in which lay a treasure thought by the writer of the directions to be -"worthy of any risk, almost of any crime." I put my arms out at a -level with my shoulders, and grasped the beam in both hands. I pulled. -Instantly, a section about as long as myself moved forward. I pulled -again. This time the heavy beam came out suddenly, and I fell with it. -The thud seemed to me loud enough to wake the dead. I crouched, holding -my breath, where I had fallen, then, freeing myself from the beam which -had caught my skirt, I stood up. I peered into the opening behind the -beam. In the narrow darkness of the space there seemed to be a narrower, -denser darkness. I put my hand on it, and touched the edge of a long, -narrow box. - -Instantly the fascination of all stories of hidden treasure, the wonder -thrill of Ali Baba's hidden cave, the spell of Monte Cristo, had me, and -I felt no fear of any kind. Wounds, and pains, and terrors dropped from -me. I pulled out the box as boldly and as eagerly as any pirate in a -tale. It was heavy, the box. I eased it to the floor and laid it flat. -It was an old, shallow box of iron, rusted and stained. There was no -mark of any kind upon it, just a keyhole in the front. I must now find -the eighteenth brick in the thirtieth row in order to possess myself of -the key to my treasure. I counted carefully, pressing each brick with an -unsteady, feverish finger. On the thirtieth row from the floor, eighteen -bricks from the fifth rafter... yes, this was certainly the thirtieth -row. I counted twice to make sure, and now, from the rafter, the -eighteenth brick. It looked quite as secure as any other, and, indeed, -I had to work hard to clear away the cement that held it in place. When -that was done, I had no difficulty in loosening it. I took it out--yes, -there behind it lay an iron key. I did not stop to replace the brick, -but, hurrying back to my box, knelt down before it. My hands were -shaking so that I had to steady my right with my left in order to fit in -the key. - -It would not turn. I worked and twisted and poked. Nothing would move -the rusty lock. Sweat streamed down my face. There was nothing for it -but to go back to the kitchen, get some kerosene, pour it into the lock, -and so oil the rusty contrivance. Every minute was as precious as life -itself. I made the trip at desperate speed, returned with a small bottle -full of oil, and saturated the lock. After another five minutes of -fruitless twisting, suddenly the key turned. I grasped the lid. It -opened with a faint, protesting squeak. - -It seemed to me at first that the box was full of bright and moving -life; then I saw, with a catching breath, that the flame of my candle -played across the surface of a hundred gems. There lay in the box an -ecclesiastical robe of some kind, encrusted all over with jewels. And -at one end rested a slender circlet, like a Virgin's crown, studded -with crimson, and blue, and white, and yellow stones. So did the whole -bewildering, beautiful thing gleam and glisten and shoot sparks that -it seemed indeed to be on fire. I have never till that night felt the -mysterious lure of precious stones. Kneeling there alone in the strange -hiding-place, I was possessed by an intolerable longing to escape with -these glittering things, and to live somewhere in secret, to fondle -and cherish their unearthly fires. It was a thirst, an appetite, the -explanation of all the terrible digging and delving, the sweat and the -exhaustion of the mine... it was something akin to the hypnotism that -the glittering eye of the serpent has for its victim, a desire, a peril -rooted deep in the hearts of men, one of the most mysterious things in -our mysterious spirit. I knelt there, forgetful of my danger, forgetful -of my life, forgetful of everything except the beauty of those stones. -Then, with a violent start, I remembered. I carefully drew out the -robe, laid it over my arm, and, taking the heavy circlet in my hand, I -prepared myself for flight. The load was extraordinarily heavy. I bent -under it. - -I had taken perhaps six steps towards safety when I heard a sound. - -It was not the sound of rats, it was not the sound of my own light -step... it was something else. I did not know what that sound was, but -some instinct told me that it was a danger signal. I put out my candle -and flattened myself against the wall. Then I did distinctly hear an -approaching step. It was not anywhere else in the house. It was between -those two walls. It was ascending the steps, it was coming up the plane. -Through the pitchy darkness it advanced, bringing with it no light, but -moving surely as though it knew every step of the way. There was hardly -room for two people between those high walls; any one passing me, where -I stood, must brush against me. I dared not move even to lay down my -treasure and put myself into an attitude of self-defense. - -I thought that my only chance lay in the miracle of being passed without -notice. Near to me the footsteps stopped, and I remembered that any foot -coming along the passage would perforce strike against the box and the -fallen beam. There was no hope. Nevertheless, like some frozen image, I -stood there clasping the robe and crown, incapable of motion, incapable -of thought. - -I could hear a faint breathing in the dark. It was not more than two -feet away from me. It seemed to my straining eyeballs that I could make -out the lines of a body standing there, its blank face turned in my -direction. Then--my heart leaped with the terror of it--the invisible -being laughed. - -"You have n't gone," said the low, sweet, horrible voice; "I can smell -the candle, so you must have put it out when you heard me. If I had n't -struck my foot against a board, I'd have come upon you in the midst of -your interesting work. There's no place to hide here. You've either -run back to the end of the passage and crept in under my bedclothes, or -you're flattened up against the wall. I think you're near me. I think I -hear your heart..." No doubt, she did; it was laboring like a ship in -a storm. She paused probably to listen to my pounding blood, then she -laughed again. "You're badly scared, aren't you? It's a feeling of -security, my girl, compared to the fright you'll get later. Why don't -you scream? Too scared? Or are you afraid you'll kill somebody else, -besides Robbie, of fright. A ghost screaming in the wall! Grrrrrr!" - -I can give no idea of the terrible sound she made in her throat. And -the truth was I could n't scream. I was pinned there against the wall as -though there were hands around my neck. - -She made a step forward--it was like a ghastly game of Blind Man's Buff; -most of those games must be based on fearful race-memories of outgrown -terrors; then she gave a sudden spring to one side, an instinctive, -beastlike movement, and her hand struck my face. Instantly she had flung -herself upon me. I let fall my booty and fought with all my strength. I -might as well have struggled with a tigress. She was made of strings -of steel. Her arms and legs twisted about me like serpents, her furious -strength was disgusting, loathsome, her breath beat upon my face. I fell -under her, and she turned up my skirt over my head, fastening it in the -darkness with such devilish quick skill that I could not move my arms. -Also she crammed fold after fold into my mouth till I was gagged, my -jaws forced open till they ached. The pain in my throat and neck was -intolerable. - -Then, groping about, she found the candle and I heard her strike a -match. Afterwards she inspected the treasure, drawing deep sighs of -satisfaction and murmuring to herself. After a long time of enjoyment, -she sat down beside me, placing the candle so that it shone upon me. I -could see the light through the thinnish stuff over my face. - -"Now, Janice," she said, "I shall make you more comfortable, and then I -shall afford you some of the most excellent entertainment you can well -imagine. There are people all over the world who would give ten years -of their lives to hear what you are going to hear to-night. I have some -interesting stories to tell. There is plenty of time before us. I shall -not have to leave you till just before daybreak, and we might as well -have a pleasant time together. I was too busy the other afternoon in the -woods and too hurried to give you any real attention. This time I shall -do my duty by you. You are really rather a remarkable girl, and I am -proud of you. That beating I gave you would have laid up most young -women for a fortnight. But you are made of adventurous stuff." She -sighed, a strange sound to come from her lips; then, skillfully, she -drew the skirt partially from my face, possessed herself of my hands -which she bound securely with a string she took from her pocket--a piece -of twine which, if I stirred a finger, cut into my wrists like a knife. -She gradually drew the gag out of my mouth, keeping a strangling hold on -my throat as she did so, and when my jaw snapped back in place--it had -been almost out of its socket--still keeping that grip on my wind-pipe, -she tied a silk handkerchief over my mouth, knotting it tightly behind -my head. Then she released me and moved a little away. I looked at her, -no doubt, with the eyes of a trapped animal, so that, bending down to -inspect me, she laughed again. - -"I'm not going to kill you, you know," she said sweetly,--"not yet. -I could have killed you the other day if it had n't been more to my -purpose to let you live. I could have killed you any time these past few -weeks. Don't you know that, you silly, reckless child? All of you here -in this absurd house lay in the hollow of my hand." She held out one of -her very long, slender hands, so like my own, as she spoke, and slowly, -tensely, drew her fingers together as though she were crushing some -small live thing to death. "I did n't really mean to kill Robbie. But I -did mean to get him out of that room, alive or dead. He killed himself, -which saved me the trouble. I don't like killing children--it's quite -untrue what they say of me in that respect--though I've been driven to -it once or twice. It's being too squeamish about babies' lives that's -put an end to most careers of burglary. That's the God's truth, Janice. -You're shaking, are n't you? How queer it must be to have nerves -like that--young, innocent, ignorant nerves! Poor Janice! Poor little -red-haired facsimile of myself! What explanation did you find for that -resemblance? I fancied you'd frighten yourself into a superstitious -spasm over it, and stop your night-meddling for good. But you didn't. -I'll be bound, though, that the true explanation never occurred to you." - -I had been staring up into her beautiful, ghastly face, but now I closed -my eyes. A most intolerable thought had come to me. It came slowly, -gropingly, out of the remote past, and it turned my heart into a heavy -gray stone. - -"Are you remembering, Janice? No, that's not possible. You were too -young." She leaned over me again, and pushed back a lock of hair that -had been troubling my eyes. "You've grown to be a very beautiful girl." - -I groaned aloud, and writhed there. I knew the truth now. There was a -mother from whom I had been taken when I was a few months old--a mother -of whom my father would never let me speak, a mother I had been told to -forget, to blot out of my imagination as though she had never been. What -dreadful reason my father must have had for his secret, sordid manner of -living! What a shadow had lain on my childhood with its drab wanderings, -its homelessness, its disgraceful shifts and pitiful poverty! All that -far-off misery, which I had tried so hard to forget in the new land, -came back upon me now with an added, crushing weight. I lay there and -longed to die. - -The woman began to talk again. - -"Yes," she said, "I am your mother. My name was Wenda Tour, and I -married Sergius Gale, who was your father. I am Polish-French, and -he was Russian-French. When I married him he was an innocent, little, -pale-faced student at the University of Moscow. I was only sixteen, -myself, training for a dancer, acting... a clever, abused, gifted young -waif, and fairly innocent, too, though I'd always been light-fingered and -skillful at all sorts of tricks. I think I was in love with Sergius; at -any rate, I was anxious to escape from the trainer, who was a brute. But -Sergius began to bore me. Oh, my God! how insufferably he bored me! And -he was so wearisomely weak, weaker than most men, and, the Lord knows, -they're mostly made of butter, or milk-and-water mixtures. And you bored -me dreadfully, too; the very thought of you before you came filled -me with a real distaste for life. By the time you made your squalling -entrance into the world, I had got myself into rather complicated -trouble, and managed to make a scapegoat of your father, the poor fool! -It was a sharp business, and it might have made us both rich, but I was -clumsier than I am now, and Sergius was a hindrance. It did n't quite go -through, and I had to make a get-away, a quick one. I've made some even -quicker since then. After he'd spent some sobering and salutary months -in a Russian prison, your father came out, reformed and completely cured -of his passion for red-haired vixens with a natural taste for crime. -I've often wondered how he treated you, little miniature of myself as -you were even in your cradle. I don't believe you had a very comfortable -childhood, Janice. The crudest thing I ever did, and the wickedest, was -to let you come into the world, or, having let you come, to allow you -to remain here. I ought to have put you out of your misery before it had -really begun. You wouldn't be lying here shaking. You would n't have to -pay the piper for me as I fear I shall be forced to make you pay before -I leave you to-night. I hate to do it. I honestly do. There must be a -soft spot left in me somewhere, but there's no use balking. It's got -to be done. It's too good a chance to miss. I can wipe out my past as -though it had been written on a slate. You can't blame me yourself, -Janice. The jewels mean wealth, and your death means my freedom. When -they find you here--and they will find you--they will think that they -have found my corpse. Don't you see? Even Maida, even the Baron, even -Jaffrey, even the priest, will swear to it--you see. If you had n't been -so clever, or a little bit cleverer, you would n't have played my game, -or you'd have taken more pains to keep your plan a secret from me. Once -I was sure you did n't think your double a ghost, I began to suspect -you; when you pulled that lover of yours"--she laughed, and even in -my misery I felt the sting of anger and of shame--"of ours, I should -say--when you pulled him out of the mud, why, I found myself able to -read you like a child's first primer. Oh, you've been a nuisance to me, -kept me on pins and needles. I knew you would n't dare to search the -house. I suppose you guessed that would mean the end of your life, but -you've certainly given me some unhappy minutes. That fool of a Baron, -blabbing out his secret to you... but I made it all work out to my -salvation. They've nabbed the Baron and the priest; I suppose they'll -get Maida to-night; Jaffrey will be caught snoring in his bed"--she -chuckled--"and there's an end to all my partners, all the fools that -thought they'd come in for a share of booty. The only thing that bothers -me is that they'll never know how neatly I bagged them all, and made a -get-away myself. They will think me dead. They'll bear witness. They'll -point at your dead body, Janice, and say, 'Yes, that's she.' Oh, it's -a rare trick I'm playing on the police, on the gang, on every -one--especially that cat of a Hovey with his eyes." She rubbed her lips -angrily, a curious, to me inexplicable, gesture. "But it's a poor joke -for you, my girl. Playing your hand alone against a lot of hardened old -hands like us is a fool's work. That's what it is! Did you think I'd let -you run off with a fortune under my very nose? No; you'll have to pay -for that insolence. Daughter or no daughter, you'll have to pay. At -least, I'll be saving your soul alive. If I had n't got back to you -to-night, you'd be a thief flying out into the world. Perhaps your -dying to-night is the best thing that could happen to you. I don't know. -Looking back--well, it's hard to say." - -She sat there thinking, forgetful of me, and I opened my miserable eyes -and stared hopelessly at the clear, hard profile, so beautiful, so evil, -so unutterably merciless. She had been sixteen when I was born, twenty -years ago. She was now only thirty-six, and yet her face was almost old. - -She turned upon me again with her ghastly smile. "You don't look pleased -to see your mother, my dear. Perhaps I was a trifle rough with you -at our first interview, but you've been spared a great many worse -thrashings by having been separated from me at such an early age. I have -a devilish temper, as you know. I'd probably have flogged you to -death before you were out of your pinafores. I'd like to hear your -history--oh, I've kept track of its outlines, I always thought you -might some day be useful--but I don't dare take that handkerchief off of -your mouth. That handkerchief belonged to my second husband, the Comte -de Trème.... Yes, I went up in the world after I'd put Sergius into -prison. I've been a great lady. It's a tremendous advantage to any -career, to learn the grand air and to get a smattering of education. -Poor Trème! He was n't quite the weakling that most of them have been. I -have a certain respect for him actually. He was a good man, and no milk -and water in his veins, either. If any one could have exorcised the -devil in me, it was he. He did his best, but I was too much for him... -and in the end, poor fool, he put a bullet into his brain because--oh, -these idiot aristocrats!--of the _disgrace_. It was after Trème, a long -while after Trème, when I was queening it in St. Petersburg,--because, -you see, I did n't fall into disgrace at all; I let Trème shoulder it; -he was dead, and it could n't hurt him, and I was glad to stab that -high-nosed family of his,--about three years after his death, I -suppose, when the ex-army captain came along. Brane, you know, Theodore -Brane----He was a handsome chap, long and lean and blue-eyed. I lost my -head over him. I was still pretty young, twenty or thereabouts. He -would n't marry me, d---- him! And I was a fool. That's where I lost my -footing. Well, this is going to put me back again and revenge me on that -cold-blooded coward. We lived together, and we lived like princes--on -Trème's fortune. You should have seen his family! It was when the Trème -estate was bled dry that I happened to remember those jewels. Yes. I'd -seen them in the cathedral at Moscow in a secret crypt, down under the -earth. I was a child at the time, a little red-haired imp of nine or -ten, and I got round a silly old sheep of a priest, and begged him so -hard to let me go down through the trapdoor with him that he consented. -He thought it could do no harm, I suppose,--a child of that age! I saw -the Beloved Virgin of the Jewels! She stood there blazing, a candlestick -made of solid gold burning on her right hand and her left--an -unforgettable sight--the robe and the circlet that are here beside us -now in Brane's double wall in North Carolina... God! it's strange--this -life! - -"I often thought of that Holy Wealthy Lady in her crypt. When Brane and -I were at an end of our means, and of our wits, and he beginning to get -tired of the connection, I made up my mind to have a try at the Moscow -Virgin's wardrobe. I did n't tell Brane, though he was a thief himself, -cashiered from the British army for looting in India. I thought this -scheme would be a bit too stiff for him. I went alone to Moscow, and -I became the most pious frequenter of ikons, the most devout of -worshipers, a generous patron to all droning priests. And there was -one--one with a big, oval Christ-face--that I meant to corrupt. He was -rotten to the core, anyway, a grayish-white sepulcher if ever there -was one. I got him so that he cringed at my feet. He was a white, soft -worm--ugh! I chose him for the scapegoat. That's the real secret of my -success, Janice. I never forgot to provide a scapegoat, some one -upon whom the police were bound to tumble headlong at the very first -investigation. I am afraid you are the scapegoat this time--you and -'Dabney'--this will give his fool-heart a twist, set him to rights until -next time. - -"It's a rotten trick to play on you, but you should n't have mixed up -in it. A sensible girl would n't have taken the bait--a slip of paper -handed to her in the street! For shame, Janice! It was my first idea, -and I laughed at it. I thought I'd have to think up something better. -But it worked. Folly is just as deserving of punishment as crime--more -so, I believe. It's only just that a fool should lie tied up and gagged. -That's the way the world works, and it's not such a bad world, after -all, if you make yourself its master and kick over a few conventions.... - -"Well, Father Gast ate out of my hand, and thought me as beautiful -as one of God's angels, only a little more merciful to the desires -of men... and one day he gave me a permit, got a young acolyte of the -cathedral to take me down to worship at the shrine of the Most Beloved -Virgin of the Jewels. It was dark in the crypt, except for the candle -that poor boy carried above his head. The Virgin stood there glistening. -I knelt down to pray. The boy knelt down. I snatched the candlestick -of gold that stood on the Virgin's right hand and cracked his skull. He -dropped without so much as a whimper. Then I stripped our Holy Lady, and -came up out of the crypt." - -She stopped to draw a long, long breath, as she must have stopped when, -in the dim Kremlin, she had come up out of the bowels of the earth -carrying her treasure, leaving the boy acolyte senseless before the -naked shrine. For all the terrible preoccupation of my mind, racing with -death, I could not help but listen to her story. My imagination seemed -to be stimulated by the terror of my plight. I might have been in -the crypt; I seemed to smell the damp, incense-laden, close smell of -candle-lighted chapels. I felt the weight of the jeweled robe, the -fearful necessity for escape. - -After her long breath, she began again eagerly. - -"I came up out of the crypt, and I called to my Christ-faced _baba_. He -was waiting for me near the altar at his hypocritical prayers. He came -quickly over to me, staring at the bundle in my arms, and I kept him -fascinated by the smile I wore. I can command the look in my eyes at -such moments. It's the eyes that give away a secret. You can see the -change of mood, the intention to deceive, the fear, the suspicion, the -decision to kill--but even in those days I knew how to guard my eyes. -Father Gast looked at me, and I smiled. - -"'Hist!' I said to him, 'I have something amusing to show you. Kneel -down by this opening and look at the little acolyte. Lean forward.' - -"The fool obeyed. He knelt, his big hands holding to the edge of the -trap, and peered into the darkness below. I let the door of the trap -fall. It was a square of solid masonry, easy enough to let fall, but too -heavy for one man to lift alone. But he was a trifle too quick for me, -drew back his head like a snake. It caught his hands. He howled like a -dog. I tore off a fastening of the Virgin's robe and hid it in his gown. -He fainted before I had gone out of the place. - -"I had a hand-bag and a waiting droshky; I packed away my jewels and -left Moscow by the first train. I went to Paris, traveling at. -speed with all the art of disguise and subterfuge I could command. -Nevertheless, on my way from the Gare du Nord to the address Brane had -given me, I thought that I was being followed. Of course, I gave the -_cocher_ another number, went in at a certain house I knew, escaped by -the back, and made my way on foot to Brane's apartment, unobserved. They -made no difficulty about admitting me. I found everything in confusion. -Brane had packed his boxes. He was planning a journey." She laughed -bitterly. "I did n't know it then, but, in the interval, he'd met this -little black-eyed American woman and he'd made up his mind to be a _bon -sujet_. He was going to give me the slip. I opened one of his boxes, -wrapped up my booty in a dress-coat of his, well at the bottom, and then -I hid myself. I wanted to spy upon my Englishman. Brane came in, locked -up his luggage, and went out again at once. He was in the apartments -barely five minutes, and I never saw him again--the handsome, -good-for-nothing devil! I waited for him to come back. Presently some -men came in and carried off the boxes. I waited in the apartment for -several hours, but my lover did not return. He had gone to America, -Janice--think of it! with that treasure in his box." - -The candle, which had been flickering for several minutes, here went -out, and she was busy for a while, taking another from her pocket and -lighting it. I wondered what time it was. Surely long past midnight. The -minutes seemed to hurry through my brain on wings of fear. If only she -would sit there, talking, talking, telling me the story of her crimes, -till daylight! Then there might be some faint hope for me. They would -discover my absence, they would hunt. I might be able to work the -handkerchief off of my mouth and risk a cry for help. All sorts of -impossible hopes kept darting painfully through my despair. They -were infinitely more agonizing than any acceptance of fate, but I was -powerless to quiet them. Surely they would search for me; surely they -would chance upon that hole in the kitchen closet; surely God would lead -them to it! Ah, if only I had told Mary! If only my vanity had not led -me to trust only in myself! - -"Now, you know the history of the robe, Janice," began the woman after -she had settled herself again at my side. "The treasure that has already -caused three deaths, the acolyte's, and Robbie's, and--_yours_. - -"I can't go into all the details of my adventures after I left Brane's -apartments. I soon found that he had been married and had gone to -America, and it was not long before I had his address. But it was very -long, a lifetime, before I was free to come after my treasure. Other -adventures intervened. Other people. I wrote some threatening letters, -but Brane never answered them, and I was not foolish enough to ruin -myself by trying to ruin him. I suppose he knew that and felt safe in -ignoring my attempts at blackmail and intimidation. - -"Well, I am triumphant now--to-night. How's that for a moral tale? What -does the Bible say, 'the ungodly flourish like a green bay-tree'? - -"But you will be interested to hear how I came to 'The Pines,' how I -managed to hide myself here, how I rid myself of those three idiotic -housekeepers and brought you down to take their place, how I introduced -Maida and Jaffrey, how I worked the whole affair. I don't know how much -you know. But I think there are several things that may surprise you. -Now, listen; we have still several hours. You shall have the story--you -alone, Janice--the true story of the Pine Cone Mystery. You are my -father confessor, Janice. My secrets are as safe with you to-night as -though I whispered them into a grave." - - - - -CHAPTER XVI--THE WITCH OF THE WALL - - -|I HAD news of Brane's death from the very priest whose hands I had -mutilated in the door of the trap. The fellow had been disciplined, -unfrocked, driven from Russia, where it was no longer possible for him -to make a living, and, as my method is, I had kept in touch with him. -I had even helped him to make a sort of fresh start--oh, by no means -an honorable one--in America, and purposely I'd seen to it that his new -activities should keep him in the neighborhood of Pine Cone. One who -knows the underworld as I do, Janice, has friends everywhere, has a tool -to her hand in the remotest corners of the earth. Gast was my spy on -Theodore Brane; Gast and the Baron. That nobleman, upon whom I dare -say you thought you made such an impression, Janice, was at one time -Theodore's valet. I knew him for a thief in the old days, but I kept him -in the household and so completely in subjection that the wretch would -tremble whenever he caught my eye. He, too, came over to this country, -and, ostensibly, his business became that of a cabinet-maker, a dealer -in old furniture. He had other, less reputable, business on the side. At -various times Brane bought furniture through him--Brane was always -ready to do a kindness to his inferiors. It was through the Baron that -Theodore got possession of that bookcase, the one with the double -back, but our wily ex-valet did n't put me wise to the possible -hiding-place,--even after I let him know that Brane had something to -hide--till I had bribed him for all I was worth. That is, he never did -put me wise. He blabbed his secret to you. It was only by finding you on -your knees before the shelves, the night after that fool's visit, that -I guessed he'd given himself away to my double. Till then I did n't -realize how safe I was in depending upon our resemblance, pretty -daughter. But, after that night, I amused myself greatly at your -expense. And I admit, Janice, I am forced to admit, that you amused -yourself at mine. I had no notion till to-night that you had dared to -use Maida, to question her, to force her to write notes! And then, -to write to Gast, to meet him, to get his translation and to destroy -it--Dieu! you have some courage, some wit, my girl!" - -Her tone of pride, of complete power set my heart on fire with anger, so -that for a moment, I even lost my fear. - -"Who found that letter of Gast's under the arbor seat? Whoever it was--I -suppose it must have been you--put me into a rage that was like enough -to drive me to any sort of violence. It was the last force of it that -you felt in the woods that afternoon. Dieu! I suffered from that anger. -To lie closed up in the wall, gnawing my own vitals, helpless, and to -know that you had got the clue, that you would perhaps be making use of -it! It was lucky for me that Jaffrey mentioned in my hearing the trip -that you were planning to Pine Cone. I enjoyed thrashing you, Janice, -and I enjoyed my little game at your friend Dabney's expense.... But I -am going too fast, I must get back to the beginning again. What are you -shaking for now? Scared? No, I believe you're angry." - -She peered into my burning face, and met the look, which must have been -a hateful one, blazing in my eyes. - -"Remember, my dear," she said tauntingly, "that it behooves you to be in -charity with all the world." - -Indeed, it was not the least of my torments on that terrible night to -know that the last images to possess my brain should be such horrid -ones, of treachery, and cruelty, and murder. Sometimes I thought I would -close my eyes to her, shut out her presence from my mind, but the feat -was impossible. I was too greatly fascinated by her smooth, sweet voice, -by her vital presence, by the interest of her story. - -"As I was telling you," she went on, "it was through Father Gast that I -heard of Brane's sudden death. It gave me the fright of my life, for I -thought he must have told about the treasures to his wife. Gast swore -that the Englishman had n't the courage to make use of his trove any -more than he had the courage to confess its whereabouts, but I decided -that there was no time to lose. Mrs. Brane might have a bolder spirit. - -"I came over to this country disguised as a meek, brown-haired young -widow, named Mrs. Gaskell, and I rented a room above the Pine Cone -drug-store. This was last fall, about two months after Theodore Brane's -death. - -"Ask Mrs. Brane some time--oh, I forgot, you are not apt to see her -again--no doubt, if you did ask her, she would tell you about the dear, -sweet woman who brought her little runaway Robbie home one afternoon and -took a friendly cup of tea with her. Yes, and learned in about half -an hour--only this the silly, little chatter-box would n't admit--more -about the habits of her husband and about her own life and plans and -character than most of the detectives I've hoodwinked could have learned -in a month. If it had n't been for Mrs. Gaskell, and for Mrs. Gaskell's -popularity with Robbie's nurse, and for Mrs. Gaskell's skill in winning -Robbie's confidence, I should never have learned about that hole in the -kitchen closet. - -"Mary was n't Robbie's nurse in those days. Oh, no, my task would -n't have been so easy in that case. He was being cared for by a -happy-go-lucky negro woman from whom he ran away about twice a week. She -had a passion for driving over to Pine Cone every time George went for -supplies, and she was only too willing to leave her charge with Mrs. -Gaskell, who did so adore little children. From that girl I learned all -about the habits of 'The Pines' household, and from Robbie himself I got -the clue of clues. - -"I understood that child. I could play upon him as though he had been -a little instrument of strings. He was the kind of secretive, sensitive -little animal that can be opened up or shut tight at will. A harsh -look would scare him into a deaf-mute, a little kindness would set him -chattering. I asked him questions about the house: where his father -had worked and spent most of his time; where he himself played; what, -especially, were his favorite play-places. He told me there were lots of -closets in the house, but that he was 'scared of dark closets,' and he -was 'most scared of the closet under the kitchen stairs.' I asked him -why, and he told me a long story about going in there and finding -his father bent over at one end of it--one of those mixed-up, garbled -accounts that children give; but I gathered that his father had been -vexed at the child's intrusion, and had told him to keep out of the -kitchen and out of the kitchen closet. It was the faintest sort of clue, -a mere will-o'-the-wisp, but I decided to follow it up. - -"One day, when I knew that all the servants at 'The Pines' were off to -a county fair, I met with Robbie and his nurse, and easily persuaded the -girl to let me take her charge back to 'The Pines' while she joined the -other holiday-seekers. Robbie and I got a lift, and we were dropped at -'The Pines' gate. I asked him to take me up to the house by a short cut, -and in through the kitchen garden. I told him to pick me a nice nosegay -of flowers, and I went in to get a 'drink of water.' The kitchen was -empty, and I lost no time in slipping into the small kitchen closet. I -saw at once that it had been purposely crowded with heavy stuff, and -I began to search it. Of course I found the hole; I even went into the -hollow wall here, and explored the whole passage. Dieu! I was excited, -pleased! I knew that I was on the track of my treasure. And I saw how -easy it would be for some one to hide in that wall, and live there -comfortably enough for an indefinite time. I had what I'd come for, and -I decided that Mrs. Gaskell's stay in Pine Cone would come to an end -that night. - -"It was disconcerting to hear Robbie's voice calling, 'Mithith Gathkell, -where are you? I was still in the passageway, but I crawled through that -hole in a hurry--too late! I met Robbie face to face. He'd come to find -me, and was standing timidly in the closet doorway with his hands full -of flowers. I knew that I should have to tie up his tongue for good and -all. I fixed him with my eyes, and let my face change till it must have -looked like the face of the worst witch in the worst old fairy-tale he'd -ever heard, and then, still staring at him, I slowly lifted off my brown -wig and I drew up my own red hair till it almost touched the top of the -kitchen closet. And I said, 'Grrrrrrrrr! I'm the witch that lives under -the stairs! I'm the witch that lives under the stairs!' in the worst -voice I could get out of my throat, a sort of suckling gobble it was, -pretty bad!" - -She laughed, and again my rage and hatred overwhelmed my fear. "I had to -run at him, and put my hand over his mouth or he'd have raised the roof -with his screams. I got my wig on again, and I carried him out into the -garden, and I told him that if ever he went near that closet or even -whispered to any one that he'd seen that red-haired woman, I'd tell her -to come and stand by his bed at night and stick her face down at him -till he was all smothered by her long red hair. He was all confused and -trembling. I don't know what he thought. He seemed to imagine that Mrs. -Gaskell and the witch were two distinct people, but, at any rate, he was -scared out of his little wits, and I knew when I got through with him -that wild horses would n't tear the story of that experience out of him. -Children are like that, you know." - -I did know, and I lay there and cursed her in my heart. I thought -of what agonies the poor little child had suffered in the mysterious -silence of his baby mind--that pitiful, terrible silence of childhood -that has covered so many cruelties, so much unspeakable fear, since the -childhood of the human race began. My heart, crushed as it was, ached -for little Robbie, sickened for him. I would have given so much to hold -him in my arms, and comfort him, and reassure his little shaken soul. -God willing, he was happy now, and reassured past all the powers of -earth or hell to disturb his beautiful serenity. - -|THE next morning"--again I was listening to the story--"Mrs. Gaskell -left Pine Cone to the regret of all its inhabitants. I doubt if -ever there has been a more popular summer visitor. And not many days -afterwards, a gypsy woman came to 'The Pines' to peddle cheap jewelry. -Old Delia was in the kitchen, and old Delia refused to take any interest -in the wares. She told the woman to clear out, but she refused to go -until she had been properly dismissed by the lady of the house. At -last, to get rid of her, Delia went off to speak to her mistress, and -no sooner had she closed the door, than the gypsy slipped across the -kitchen, and got herself into that closet. And the odd part of it is, -that she never came out. When Delia returned with more emphatic orders -of dismissal, the peddling gypsy had gone. Nobody had seen her leave the -place, but that did not cause much distress to any one but Mrs. Brane. -I think that she was disturbed; at least I know that she ordered a -thorough search of the house and grounds, for footsteps were running all -about everywhere that day, and lights were kept burning in the house all -night. I think, perhaps, some of the negroes sat up to keep watch. But -the peddler made not so much as a squeak that night. She lay on a pile -of blankets she had carried in on her back, and she ate a crust of bread -and an apple. She was sufficiently comfortable, and very much pleased -with herself. Towards morning she went to sleep and slept far into the -next day. - -"So you see, Janice, there I was in the house, and I was sure that not -far from me was Brane's treasure trove. This double wall of which he had -evidently made use--he had built up that queer flight of steps and made -a floor and an inclined plane--convinced me that I was hot on the -track of the jewels. You can guess how I worked to find them. All to no -purpose. I had to be very careful. Rats, to be sure, make a noise in the -walls of old houses, but the noise is barely noticeable, and it does not -sound like carpentry. However, I had convinced myself, by the end of the -third dreary day, that if the robe and crown were hidden in the double -wall, they were very secretly and securely hidden, and that I should -need some further directions to find them. It was annoying, especially -as my provisions had given out, and I knew that I should have to venture -down into the kitchen at night and pick up some fragments of food. I -was glad then and all the time, that Mrs. Brane's servants were such -decrepit old bodies, half-blind and half-deaf, and altogether stupid. -Many's the time I've crouched behind the junk in that closet and -listened to their silly droning! But it gave me a sad jump when I heard -the voice of Mrs. Brane's first housekeeper. - -"She was young and nervous, and had a high, breathless manner of -talking, and she was bent upon efficiency. Well, so was I. I had decided -that, outside of the wall, there were two rooms in the Brane house that -must be thoroughly investigated--the bookroom where Theodore kept his -collection of Russian books, and the room upstairs in the north wing -which he had used as a sort of den, and which, after his death, Mrs. -Brane had converted into a nursery. I think she must have had a case -of nerves after her husband's death, for she was set on having a -housekeeper and a new nurse for Robbie, and she was always flitting -about that house like a ghost. Maybe, after all, he had dropped her a -hint about some money or jewels being hidden somewhere in the house! -That was Maida's notion, for she says Mrs. Brane was as keen as 'Sara' -about cleaning out the old part of the house, and never left her alone -an instant. - -"To get back to the first days I spent in this accursed wall... that -housekeeper gave me a lot of misery. In the first place, she slept in -the north wing, the room you had, Janice,"--I was almost accustomed to -this horrible past tense she used towards me; I was beginning to think -of my own life as a thing that was over--"and she was a terribly light -sleeper. Twice, as I was sneaking along that passageway trying to locate -the rooms, she came out with a candle in her hand, and all but saw me. -I decided that my only chance to really search the place lay in getting -rid of the inhabitants of that northern wing. I thought, perhaps, I -could give that part of the house a bad name. Once it was empty, I could -practically live there. I had n't reckoned with that bull-dog of a Mary. - -"It was easy enough to scare the housekeeper. I found out just where the -wall of her bedroom stood, and I got close behind it near her bed and -groaned. That was quite enough. Two nights, and the miserable thing -left. Mrs. Brane got another woman at once, a lazy, absent-minded woman, -and I wasted no time getting rid of her. I simply stole near to her bed -one pitch-black night, and sighed. She left almost at once. - -"Then Mrs. Brane, confound her! sent to New York to Skane for a -detective, and he played house-boy for a fortnight. I had to keep as -still as a mouse. I was almost starved, for I did n't dare take enough -food to hoard, and for a while that detective prowled the house all -night. I must have come near looking like a ghost in those days. Thank -God, the entire quiet bored Skane's man, and reassured the rest of the -household. When he had gone I did n't try ghost-tricks for sometime. I -fed myself up, and did a little night-prowling, down in the bookroom, -and in some of the empty bedrooms, with no result. Then came the third -housekeeper. - -"That third housekeeper, my dear daughter, all but did for me. She was -a fussy little female with the sort of energy that goes prying about -for unnecessary pieces of labor. And she lit upon the kitchen closet. -Fortunately, Delia and the other two women were so annoyed by her -methods that they did n't take up her instructions to clean out the -closet with any zeal. So, one morning, I heard her in the kitchen -scolding and carrying on, 'You lazy women, I'll just have to shame you -by doing it myself.' - -"Now, while I crouched there, listening to her, it occurred to me that -I had heard her voice before. I racked my frightened brains. I had -never seen the woman, but I was certain that the voice, a peculiar one, -belonged somewhere in my memory. I decided there might be some useful -association. I risked coming into the closet, and taking a look. Then I -fled back and laughed to myself. I had known that little wax-face when -she was a very great somebody's maid, and I knew enough about her to -send her to the chair. Was n't it luck! I went back into my hole, for -all the world like a spider, and sat there waiting for my prey. - -"She did a lot of clattering around in the closet; then, I knew by the -silence, that she'd lit upon the hole. I crept near, and waited for her, -crouched in the dark. She came crawling through the hole--I can see her -silly, pale, dust-streaked face now! I pounced upon her with all the -swiftness and the silence of a long-legged tarantula. I stopped her -mouth before she could squeal, and I carried her back to the end of the -passage here, and I talked to her for about five seconds. At the end of -that time every bone in her body had turned to water. She had sworn as -though to God to hold her tongue, and to get out of the house; to keep -her mouth shut forever and ever, amen. And I let her go. She scuttled -out of the closet like a rat, and I heard her tell Delia to leave the -place alone. The third housekeeper left the next day, and, as I heard by -listening to kitchen gossip, she gave no reason for her going. - -"But, of course, I had had a terrible experience myself. I was n't going -to risk anything like that again. Besides, I was sick of living in -the wall. I got out that night--half the time Delia forgot to lock the -outside door, and always blamed her own carelessness when she found it -open in the morning. I had decent clothes with me, and I tramped to a -station at some distance, and went up to New York. I'd decided to take -a few of my pals in on the game. I had several old pals in New York, and -some introductions. It's a first-class city for crooks, almost as good -as London, and not half so well policed. And there, my girl, I took the -trouble of hunting you up. - -"It was n't because I meant to use you at 'The Pines.' It was just out -of curiosity--motherly love"--I wish I could describe the drawling irony -of the expression on her lips. "You are one of the people I've kept -track of. I always felt you might be useful, that I might be able to -frighten you into usefulness. Many's the time I've seen you when you -were a child, and, later, when you were working in Paris. Not much more -than a child then, but such a slim, little, white-faced beauty. What -was it, the work? Oh, yes, you were a little assistant milliner, and -you turned down the chance of being Monsieur le Baron's _maîtresse_, and -lost your job for the reward of virtue--little fool! I knew you had gone -to America, but I had lost track of your whereabouts. I soon picked up -your tracks, though, and found out that you were in New York looking -for work. Your beauty has been against you, Janice; it's always against -moral and correct living. It's a great help in going to the devil and -beating him at his own game, however, as you might discover if I were -immoral enough to let you live. The instant I set eyes on you in New -York and saw what a ridiculous copy of your mother you had grown to be, -I felt that here was an opportunity of some sort if I could only make -use of it. I racked my brains, and, as usual, the inspiration came. - -"I got Mrs. Brane's advertisement, so far unanswered, and I handed it -to you myself in the street. As soon as I was sure that you had got the -job, I left for 'The Pines.' I slipped in like a thief at night, one of -the nights when Delia forgot to lock the back door. I had shadowed -you pretty closely those days between the time you answered the -advertisement, and left for 'The Pines,' and it was n't a difficult -matter for me to get a copy of your wardrobe. You don't know what a -help it was to me that you chose a sort of uniform. I knew that you'd be -wearing one of those four gray dresses most of the time. - -"After you were in the house, I grew pretty bold, and it was then I -decided to get Robbie out of that nursery. So I made myself up as the -witch that lives under the stairs, and waked him by bending down over -his bed with my hair hanging in his face. I was nearly caught at it, -too, by Mary, and I scared the old women out of the house--which I had -n't in the least intended to do. - -"I didn't half like Mrs. Brane's plan of getting a man and wife to take -the place of the old women, and I saw at once the necessity for Jaffrey -and Maida. However, I was determined not to let them know that there -were two red-haired women in the house. I was fascinated by this plan -of using you, Janice, of getting witnesses to swear to your identity as -Madame Trème, of baiting a trap--with you for bait--into which all of -my accomplices would tumble, as they have tumbled, and, then, as a last -stroke, putting an end to you and making a clean get-away myself. If any -one swings for your murder, it will be Maida, who left 'The Pines' so -hurriedly and secretly to-night. - -"There's another reason why I did n't take them into the secret of your -resemblance: I was glad to have them fancy themselves always under my -eye. The risk of their giving themselves away to you was very small, for -I had arranged a signal, without which they were positively forbidden to -show by sign, or look, or word, even when they seemed to be alone with -me, that they had any collusion with Mrs. Brane's housekeeper, that they -thought her anything in the world but Mrs. Brane's housekeeper. I have -my tools pretty well scared, Janice, and I knew they would obey my -orders to the letter." - -In this Madame was wrong. Maida and Jaffrey had both disobeyed this -order. With no signal from me, they had spoken in their own character -to me as though I had indeed been Madame Trème. Like the plans of most -generals, Madame's plans had their weak points. - -"You know how it all worked," she went on, unconscious of my mental -connotations, "and, then, _sacre nom de Dieu!_ came 'Dabney'! - -"God! How the rats scuttled in the house the night after he came! I had -Maida to thank for putting me wise. That innocent-faced, slim youngster, -with his air of begging-off punishment--I admit, he'd have given me very -little uneasiness. You see--" - -As she talked I had been watching her with the fixity of my despair, -but, a few moments before this last speech of hers concerning Dabney, -the flickering of the light across her face had drawn my attention to -the second candle. It had burned for more than half its length, and I -knew that morning was at hand. - -Morning, and a faint hope! The story was not finished, and, though I -thought I could tell the rest myself, the woman was so absorbed in the -delightful contemplation of her triumph and her cleverness, that I knew -she would go on to the end. The wild, resurgent hope deafened me for -a few minutes to her low murmur of narration. It had come to me like -a flash that, with my legs unbound, I might be able to knock over the -candle, put it out, get to my feet in one lightning spring, and make -a dash for the hole in the closet. Would there not be a chance of my -reaching it alive? Would not the noise of my flight, in spite of my -stocking feet and the handkerchief over my mouth, be enough to attract -the attention even of a sleeping house, much more certainly, of an -awakened and suspicious one? It was, of course a desperate hope, but I -could not help but entertain it. If I could force myself to wait till -morning had surely come, till there was the stir and murmur of awakening -life, surely--oh, dear God!--surely, there might be one little hope of -life. I was young and strong and active. I must not die here in this -horrible wall. I must not bear the infamy of this woman's guilt. I must -not lie dead and unspeakably defiled in the sight of the man I loved. - -Paul Dabney's face, haggard, wistful, appeared before me, and my whole -heart cried out to its gray and doubting eyes for help, for pity, for -belief. - -Unluckily, the woman, sensitive as a cat, had become aware of the -changed current of my thought, of the changed direction of my look. She, -too, glanced at the candle and gave a little exclamation of dismay that -stabbed the silence like a suddenly bared knife. - -"Bah!" she said, "it must be daylight, and I have n't half confessed -myself. Pests on the time! We've been here four or five hours. Are you -cramped?" - -I was insufferably cramped. The pain of my arms and shoulders, the -cutting of the twine about my wrists, were torment. I was very thirsty, -too. But nothing was so cruel as the sinking of my heart which her words -caused me. - -"I suppose I shall have to cut it short," she said. "After all, you must -know it almost as well as I do, especially since you had the nerve to -play my part with Maida. The worst trick you put over on me was when you -pulled Dabney out of the mud--curse the mud, anyway; if it had been a -real quicksand he'd have been done for; but his getting back alive that -night certainly crossed me, and, as for Maida, she was in a devil's -rage. She could n't understand how he'd escaped. She cursed, and raved, -and threatened even me. It was all that Jaffrey and I could do to hold -her; she was for giving up the whole game and making a getaway before it -was too late. As a matter of fact, it was already too late for any one -but me. Hovey had you all just where he wanted you. At any instant he -could bag you all. I had known that for some time. If it had n't been -for your _beaux yeux_, Janice, and a little bit, perhaps, because of my -own pretty ways, all of you would be jailed by now. After you'd rescued -your Dabney, I had to play a bold, prompt game. I knew that the spell -could n't hold much longer. I could see by the strained look on that -boy's face that he was at the snapping point. I told Maida to search the -bookcase that night. Action of some kind was necessary to keep her in -hand. I did n't know that you had already taken away the paper. Gast had -told me about the paper when I was in New York, and the Baron had hinted -at its possible hiding-place. He came down here that day to tell me--I'd -bribed him for all I was worth. He was going to leave word with Maida. -Then, of course, he saw you and the poor fool thought I was playing -housekeeper, under 'Dabney's' very nose. - -"The night after Dabney's rescue, after you'd saved his life at the risk -of your own, I whistled him into the arbor under your window and kissed -him for you. Were your maiden dreams disturbed?--No, no, my girl, don't -try to get your hands free"--for in my anger at her words I had begun -to wrench at my bonds--"you'll just cut your wrists to the bone. Eh, -did n't I tell you?" I felt the blood run down my hands, and stopped, -gasping with pain. She went on as coolly as before. "I found out that -night, when Maida came to me in the wall with her bad news, that you'd -got ahead of us. I was n't so much scared as I might have been, for -I knew that Brane had had his directions translated into the Slavonic -tongue; I suppose the poor, cracked fool did it to protect his treasure -from accidental discovery. He was crazed by having all that money in his -possession, and not being bold enough to use it. All his actions prove -that his mind was quite unbalanced. He just spun a fantastic web of -mystery about the hidden stuff because he had n't the nerve to do -anything else. I imagine he meant to tell his wife, but he died suddenly -of paralysis, and was n't able to do so. He'd hired a priest to help him -with the paper, and Gast, shadowing my former lover, and knowing that he -had the robe and crown, managed to find out what he'd been doing. Gast -did n't get the substance of the paper, but he learned from the priest -that an eccentric Englishman, writing a story of adventure, had asked -him to translate a paragraph into Old Russian. Gast handed on this -information to me, and promised to translate the paragraph when I was -lucky enough to find it. - -"Janice, when I found out that I'd been fool enough to lose Gast's -letter, which he'd sent to me through Maida, and by losing it, had put -the means of getting a translation into your hands, I gnawed my fingers! -I was half mad then. When you made your first trip to Pine Cone, and -Dabney had you shadowed so closely that I could n't follow you myself--I -knew that you were sending Gast a letter. I was n't sure you'd dare -to meet him, though. I thought you might risk sending him the paper. I -risked my own life by bribing George to leave you in Pine Cone to foot -it home alone, and I risked it again by following you and laying that -trap for you in the woods. I risked it because I was certain that you -would have the translation hidden in your dress. I pushed the pine tree -over after George had passed; it needed only a push. _Nom de Dieu!_ You -cannot know what frenzy seized me when I found out that again you had -outwitted me. I wanted to kill you that day. I wanted to beat you to -death there, and leave you dead. But you were a little too valuable. I -decided to cripple you, to put you out of running for a few days while -I got hold of the fool priest myself. That was only yesterday, but it -seems an age. You must be made of iron, Janice! You came near defeating -me to-night--the insolence of it! You, a chit of a girl! - -"This morning I gave Maida a letter for Gast, and I thought it was to -mail it that she went out after supper to-night. When I found her note -under my plate I had a shock. I was sure she had found out something -important. I went down to the bridge. Yes. You may have the -satisfaction. Make the most of it. I did go down to the bridge, but I -did n't wait long. Ten minutes was enough. Do you suppose Maida would be -late for an appointment with me? Not if she was living. No, my girl, I -stood there and realized that you might have worked the trick, that you -might have sent Maida out of the way, might have decoyed me, might, even -at that instant, be on the track of my jewels. God! How I ran back to -the house! When I found the kitchen door locked--_I knew_. I went -round to the front door and rang the bell. I was n't going to lose time -snooping around for unfastened windows--not with Dabney in the house! I -suppose he was sleeping sound because he, too, thought you were safely -laid by the heels. Jaffrey answered the bell, and looked surprised, -confound him! I gave him some excuse, and went like the wind up to your -room. Sure enough, it was empty. I waited till Jaffrey had got back to -his bed, and then I hurried down to the kitchen. You know the rest. You -know it all now. To the end. But you don't quite know the end." - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII--THE LAST VICTIM - - -|I HAD listened to all this as though to voices in a fever. I had been -trying to get up my courage for a leap. It seemed to me now a desperate, -hopeless undertaking, but it was easier to die in a struggle than to lie -there in cold blood while she strangled me with those long, cold, iron -hands. She was not calm. I could see that her eyes were shifting, her -arms and legs twitched, her fingers moved restlessly. Black and hard as -her lost soul must be, it shrank a little from this killing. The murder -of her own child gave her a very ague of dread. It was partly, no doubt, -the desire to postpone the hideous act that had kept her spinning out -her tale so long. But the end had come now. It was--I knew it well--the -last moment of my life. I looked at the candle. - -At the same instant I heard a window open somewhere in the house. Thank -God! It was morning. The household was awake. The sound was all I needed -to fire my courage. I flung myself bodily upon the candle, rolled away, -scrambled to my feet, and fled along the passageway with the speed of my -despair. She was after me like a flash, but I had an instant's start. - -Down the inclined plane I slid. I leapt along the steps, and there at -the foot she fell upon me, and we lay panting within a stone's throw of -the closet wall. And I realized that our flight had been no more noisy -than the scuttling of rats. I gave myself up to death. - -Madame took me up in her arms as though I had been a little child, and, -soft-footed as a panther, carried me back to the side of the iron box. -There she laid me down and bound my ankles, not gently, so that the -blood flowed under the twine. - -Then, with steady hands, she relighted the candle. I saw her face, livid -with rage and fear, pitiless, glaring. She slid her hand into the pocket -of her dress, that gray dress which she had copied from mine. Again for -a fantastic, icy second I had that awful feeling that she was I, that I -was she, that we were of the same spirit and flesh. When her hand came -out it held a slender knife, fine and keen and delicate as a surgical -instrument. With her other hand she sought and found the beating of my -heart. - -I now knew the manner of my death. I shut my eyes, and prayed that it -would be over quickly. - -There was the faintest sound above my head, and I opened my eyes. Before -the woman saw my deliverance, I saw it. A beam that had made part of the -sill, that crossed the passageway above us, slid quietly from its place, -and into the opening a figure swung and dropped. - -Before even it could reach the ground, the woman had put out the light -and vanished like a ghost. I heard not so much as the rustle of her -dress. - -The figure from above landed lightly beside me, and flashed on an -electric lantern. It was Paul Dabney. He bent over me, and drew a quick, -sharp breath. I tried to cry out, "Follow the woman!" but my bound lips -moved soundlessly. - -"I have caught you," he said dully. "It is the end." - -For me it was indeed the end, a far more bitter one than a knife in my -heart. I should be taken. I should be tried for my life. Half a dozen -people would swear that I was Madame Trème. Who would believe my -incredible story? I was lost. I looked up at Paul Dabney with complete -despair. - -Footsteps came along the inclined plane, but Dabney did not turn around. -Evidently he expected them, and they did not interest him. He was -shaking, even his white lips were unsteady. I saw his hands open and -shut. The light of the electric lantern, and the light that fell through -the trapdoor which he had so mysteriously opened above our heads, made -him ghastly visible, made the whole passageway, with its rafters and its -red bricks, outlined with plaster, the iron box, the glimmer of jewels, -plain to my sight. I saw two men coming towards me. Between them, by her -arms, they held up Madame Trème. - -"We've got her, sir!" said one of them triumphantly. I recognized Mrs. -Brane's outdoors men, and thought confusedly that one of these was -Hovey, the detective. - -Paul Dabney looked slowly around. He looked and raised a shaking hand to -his eyes. He turned again towards me. Then, as though a current of life -had been flashed through his veins, he sprang to my side, untied my -bonds, tore off the silk handkerchief from my mouth. I was as helpless -as a babe, but he lifted me tenderly, and, kneeling, supported me in his -arms. - -"Janice," he said brokenly, "Janice, what does it mean?" - -My double laughed. "So now, Hovey, you cat, do you understand what a -fool my pretty daughter and I have made of you? You think yourself very -clever, no doubt. Your reputation is made, is n't it? Now that you've -nabbed the famous Madame of the red-gold strand. No, no, my friend, not -quite so fast." - -She moved her head from side to side, struggling with her captors. I saw -her bend her mouth to her shoulder, bite and tear at her dress. We all -looked at her in a ghastly sort of silence. I could feel Paul Dabney's -quivering muscles and his quick breathing. Then, for a second, I saw -a white pellet on the woman's tongue. It must have been sewed into the -seam of her dress there at the shoulder. She swallowed convulsively, and -stood still, her head thrust forward, staring in front of her with eyes -like stones. - -My face must have showed itself to her through the mists of death, for -she spoke once hoarsely: "The girl is quite innocent," she said; "she -wasn't trying for the jewels. Do you get that, Hovey? Keep your claws -off her." - -Then she gave a great shiver, her face turned blue. Her head dropped -forward, her legs gave way, and the two men held a dead body in their -arms. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX--SKANE'S CLEVEREST MAN - - -|WITH the death of Madame Trème, and the arrest of Jaffrey and of Maida, -the danger to "The Pines" was over. It was a long time, however, before -I was allowed to tell my story. I lay in a darkened room, waited upon -by Mary, and the least sound or word would send me into a paroxysm of -hysterical tears. The first person to whom I recounted my adventures was -the detective Hovey, a certain gray-eyed and demure young man whom I had -long known by another name. Our interview was very formal. I called him -Mr. Hovey, and met his cool and unembarrassed look as rarely as I -could. I was propped up in bed to make my statement. Dr. Haverstock was -present, his hand often stealing to my pulse, and Mary stood near with -a stimulant. She had made me as pretty as she could, the dear soul; had -arranged my hair, and chosen my dainty dressing-gown, but I must have -looked like a ghost; and it seemed to me that there lay a brand of shame -across my face. - -Mr. Hovey took down my statement and Dr. Haverstock witnessed it. I -was told that I should have to appear in court at the trial of Madame's -accomplices. At that, I shrank, and looked helplessly at Dr. Haverstock, -and my eyes, in spite of all I could do, filled with tears. - -"Oh, my dear," said the doctor kindly, "it will be a long time yet. You -will be strong enough to face anything." - -"There are some things," I murmured shakily, "that I shall never be -able to face." I covered my eyes with my hands, and turned against the -pillow. - -I heard Dr. Haverstock whisper something, and I knew that Hovey and he -had left the room. Paul had not said a word to me except the necessary -questions. His face had been expressionless and pale. What else could -I expect? How could any man act otherwise to the daughter of the famous -Madame Trème? - -The doctor, Mary, Mrs. Brane, were all wonderfully kind. I broke down -again under Mrs. Brane's kindness. - -"Oh, Janice, my poor child," she said to me when I was at last allowed -to see her, "why did n't you come to me? Why did you try to bear all -this terror and misery yourself?" - -I held her hand. "I wish I _had_ come to you, dear Mrs. Brane. I wish -for very many reasons that I had had the humility and good sense to do -so. What now is there, except that statement of my wretched mother, to -keep you, the whole world, every one, from thinking that I was a thief -myself? From putting that construction upon my insane behavior here?" - -"Well, Janice," she said indulgently, "there is one person to prevent -it. I, for one, would never have the courage to suggest such a theory in -Paul Hovey's presence. He has written up your rescue of him so movingly, -and told the story of it so appealingly, that I think you are rather in -danger of being a sort of national heroine. In the papers, my dear, you -are painted in the most glowing colors. I should n't wonder if there -would be a movie written about you." - -"Paul," I said,--"Paul has told it?" - -"Yes, Paul. And I think he owes you an _amende_. In fact, we all do. -I engaged a detective the day after Delia and Jane and Annie left, and -very well I knew, of course, that our young student visitor was Skane's -cleverest man. But I did not guess that from the first moment he -suspected you. Poor child! Poor Janice! What misery you have been -through all by your brave, desolate, little self!" - -"From the first moment!" I repeated blankly. "From the first moment Paul -thought that I was Madame Trème?" - -My mind ran back over that meeting in the bookroom. I remembered his -sharp, sudden speeches, the slight edge to his voice. I had thought him -a coward with that hand in his pocket, and he, meanwhile, had imagined -himself always under the eyes of the Red-Gold Strand. - -"Yes," said Mrs. Brane. "One of the force saw you get off the train at -Pine Cone, and was struck by your resemblance to the famous criminal." -(I remembered the man whose scrutiny had so annoyed me.) "He reported at -headquarters Madame's possible presence, and they realized at once that -if she was in it, the Pine Cone case was apt to be both dangerous and -interesting. There was big game somewhere. So, without telling me how -serious the situation might be, they chose Hovey, and sent him down here -as a student of Russian literature. They knew that Madame had never come -in contact with him. Paul Hovey has rather a remarkable history, Janice. -Would you care to hear it?" - -I bent my head. - -"He began life as a young man with great expectations, and a -super-excellent social position. But he was very careless in his choice -of companions. It was the love of adventure, I suppose, like Harry -Hotspur and his crew. At a house-party, not a very reputable one I am -afraid, on Long Island,--this was a good many years ago--he got mixed -up in a very tangled web, and disentangled himself with such cleverness -and resource, discovering the guilty man before the police had -even sniffed a trail, that Skane, half as a joke, urged him to turn -detective. Hovey, too, treated it as a joke, but, not long after, my -dear, the poor boy got himself into trouble--oh, nothing wicked! It was -a matter of holding his tongue and keeping other people safe, or telling -the truth and clearing himself of rather discreditable folly. He held -his tongue, and most people believed his innocence. I think every one -would have stood by him, for he was enormously popular, if the very -people from whom he had the best right to expect mercy and loyalty had -not turned against him--his uncle who had brought him up, and the girl -to whom he was engaged. He was disinherited and turned out of doors, and -the girl, a worldly little wretch, promptly threw him over. Hovey went -straight to Skane, who welcomed him like a long-lost child. Since then -Paul Hovey has become famous in his chosen line of work. Now you know -his history. I learned it--what was not already public property--from -a man, a friend of Paul's dead father, a man who loves Paul dearly, and -has known him all his life." - -I was not sorry--selfish as the feeling was--to learn that Paul, too, -had a grievance against the world; that he, too, was something of a waif -and stray, another bit of Fate's flotsam like myself. - -"And from the first moment he thought I was Madame Trème?" - -"Yes--and fell in love with you. A nice situation for a detective, was -n't it? Don't start! You know he did. But I must run away before I tell -you any more secrets. I must leave Paul Hovey to make his own apologies, -to plead his own cause. I am tiring you, as it is. You are getting much -too pink." - -"I will never give Mr. Hovey a chance to make his apologies," I said -sadly. "And I am certain, dear Mrs. Brane, that he will never try for -the chance. Who would? Who would want to--to love the daughter of--" - -It was here that I broke down, and she comforted me. "Janice, darling," -she said when I was a little quieter, "Love is a very mighty god, and -though they say he is blind, I believe that he sees like an immortal. -If Paul Hovey loved you in spite of his best will and judgment, against -every instinct of self-preservation, loved you to his own shame and -anguish when he thought you a woman dyed in crime, a woman who had -attempted his life, do you think he will stop loving you when he knows -your history and your innocence?" - -She left me before I could answer her question, but she left me without -a ray of hope. I had made up my mind that I would never marry any one. -And I was sure, with the memory of Paul's cold, questioning looks in our -recent interview, that he would never come to me again. - -But he did come. - -We met in the sunny bookroom where I had first led him so long--it -seemed very long--ago. I was sitting in the window seat trying -listlessly to read, and listening heartbrokenly to the gay music of a -mocking-bird in the tree outside, when his step sounded in the hall, -and, while I stood, half risen to fly, he came in quietly and stood -before me with his boyish and disarming smile. - -My knees gave way, and I dropped back into my place, the book falling to -the floor. I was trembling all over. - -"Don't say you won't let me talk to you, Janice," he pleaded, and his -face was white with earnestness. "Don't try to run away from me. You -must in all fairness hear me out." - -"There is nothing for me to listen to," I stammered; "I have nothing to -say to you." - -"Perhaps it is nothing to listen to," he said, "but it is the most -important thing to me in the world. It means my life--that's all." - -"To talk to me?" - -"Yes. For God's sake, let us play no tricks with each other now. There -has been too much disguise between us. I mistook you for a wicked -woman--yes--but you knew that I mistook you, you knew that I loved you -better than my own soul, you knew that I suffered damnably, and you did -not undeceive me. I kept a policeman's guard upon you--yes--I let you -find the paper, I let you get the translation, and, when I could force -my heart to give in to my sense of duty, I tracked you down, and -found you with the treasure. I saw your double go out through the -kitchen-garden that night, and I thought, as I had thought from the -beginning, that she was you. I followed her to the bridge. I followed -her back to the house. I let her go into her hiding-place, and I set two -men to watch that entrance while I went out to make sure of Maida and -Jaffrey. Long before that night I had discovered the other opening to -the passage--the opening in Robbie's window sill---and had fastened it -up so that none of the gang should light upon it. When I came back at -my leisure, thinking to find my quarry in the hands of my two men, they -told me that she had not come out, that they had waited according to -orders, and had heard a long murmur of voices in the wall. Then I betook -myself to the other opening, and dropped on you from above." Here, all -at once, his self-control broke down. He came and took my hands, drawing -them up against his heart so that I rose slowly to my feet in front of -him. "Do you know what it was like to me to feel that I was handing you -over to justice? Even then, I loved you. Even then your beauty and your -eyes--Oh, Janice, I can't think of the agony of it all. Don't make me go -over it, don't make me explain it in cold blood. In cold blood? There -is n't a drop of cold blood in my body when I hold your hands! Are you -going to forgive me? Are you going to let me begin again? May I have my -chance?" - -I laughed bitterly enough. "Your chance to win the daughter of Madame -Trème?" - -At that he gripped me in his arms and kissed me till in the tumult of my -heart I could not hear the music of the mocking-bird. - -"My heart has always known you for the lovely and holy thing you are," -he told me later; "it knew you in spite of my bewildered wits." - -"Did it know me that night in the arbor?" I asked him shakily. And he -was silent. I had to forgive him because he made no attempt to defend -himself. He sat there, miserable and silent, letting my hand go, till I -gave it back to him of my own free will, forgivingly. - -And what more is there to tell? - -Not long after the trial, Mrs. Brane left "The Pines" to marry Dr. -Haverstock, who, to my great surprise, had been her suitor all these -months. And as for Mary, she is living with Paul and me, and is the -happiest of faithful nurses to our child. Paul's and my daughter is a -little fairy, with demure gray eyes, and the blackest hair that I have -ever seen. - -And the treasure, the robe and crown which so bedazzled the weak head -of Theodore Brane, and which drew Madame across the ocean to her death, -they are again in the crypt of the cathedral at Moscow, where there -stands, glittering once more between her golden candlesticks, our Holy -and Beloved Lady of the Jewels. - - -THE END - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Red Lady, by Katharine Newlin Burt - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RED LADY *** - -***** This file should be named 50090-8.txt or 50090-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/0/9/50090/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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