II
A LAWYER'S ADVENTURE.
Supper that night did not bring to these two friends all the enjoymentwhich they had evidently anticipated. In the first place it wascontinually interrupted by greetings to the young physician whoseunexpected return to his native town had awakened in all classes adecided enthusiasm. Then Frank was moody, he who was usually gaietyitself. He wanted to talk about the beautiful and unfortunate MissCavanagh, and Edgar did not, and this created embarrassment betweenthem, an embarrassment all the more marked that there seemed to be someundefined reason for Edgar's reticence not to be explained by anyobvious cause. At length Frank broke out impetuously:
"If you won't tell me anything about this girl, I must look up some onewho will. Those cruel marks on her face have completed the charm of herbeauty, and not till I know something of their history and of her, willI go to sleep to-night. So much for the impression which a woman's facecan make upon an unsusceptible man."
"Frank," observed the other, coldly, "I should say that your time mightbe much better employed in relating to me the cause for your being inMarston."
The young lawyer started, shook himself, and laughed.
"Oh, true, I had forgotten," said he, and supper being now over he gotup and began pacing the floor. "Do you know any one here by the name ofHarriet Smith?"
"No," returned the other, "but I have been away a year, and many personsmay have come into town in that time."
"But I mean an old resident," Frank explained, "a lady of years,possibly a widow."
"I never heard of such a person," rejoined Edgar. "Are you sure there issuch a woman in town? I should be apt to know it if there were."
"I am not sure she is here now, or for that matter that she is living,but if she is not and I learn the names and whereabouts of any heirs shemay have left behind her, I shall be satisfied with the results of myjourney. Harriet Smith! Surely you have heard of her."
"No," Edgar protested, "I have not."
"It is odd," remarked Frank, wrinkling his brows in some perplexity. "Ithought I should have no trouble in tracing her. Not that I care," heavowed with brightening countenance. "On the contrary, I can scarcelyquarrel with a fact that promises to detain me in your company for a fewdays."
"No? Then your mind has suddenly changed in that regard," Edgar drylyinsinuated.
Frank blushed. "I think not," was his laughing reply. "But let me tellmy story. It may interest you in a pursuit that I begin to see is likelyto possess difficulties." And lighting a cigar, he sat down with hisfriend by the open window. "I do not suppose you know much aboutBrooklyn, or, if you do, that you are acquainted with that portion of itwhich is called Flatbush. I will therefore explain that this outlyingvillage is a very old one, antedating the Revolution. Though within ashort car-drive from the great city, it has not yet given up its life toit, but preserves in its one main street at least, a certainindividuality which still connects it with the past. My office, as youknow, is in New York, but I have several clients in Brooklyn and one ortwo in Flatbush, so I was not at all surprised, though considerably putout, when one evening, just as I was about to start for the theatre, atelegram was handed me by the janitor, enjoining me to come withoutdelay to Flatbush prepared to draw up the will of one, Cynthia Wakeham,lying, as the sender of the telegram declared, at the point of death.Though I knew neither this name, nor that of the man who signed it,which was Hiram Huckins, and had no particular desire to change theplace of my destination at that hour, I had really no good reason fordeclining the business thus offered me. So making a virtue of necessity,I gave up the theatre and started instead for Flatbush, which, from thehouse where I lodge in upper New York, is a good hour and a half's rideeven by the way of the bridge and the elevated roads. It was thereforewell on towards ten o'clock before I arrived in the shaded street whichin the daylight and in the full brightness of a summer's sun I hadusually found so attractive, but which at night and under thecircumstances which had brought me there looked both sombre andforbidding. However I had not come upon an errand of pleasure, so I didnot spend much time in contemplating my surroundings, but beckoning tothe conductor of the street-car on which I was riding, I asked him if heknew Mrs. Wakeham's house, and when he nodded, asked him to set me downbefore it. I thought he gave me a queer look, but as his attention wasat that moment diverted, I could not be sure of it, and before he camemy way again the car had stopped and he was motioning to me to alight.
"'That is the house,' said he, pointing to two huge gate-postsglimmering whitely in the light of a street-lamp opposite, and I was onthe sidewalk and in front of the two posts before I remembered that aman on the rear platform of the car had muttered as I stepped by him: 'Avisitor for Widow Wakeham, eh; she _must_ be sick, then!'
"The house stood back a short distance from the street, and as Ientered the gate, which by the way looked as if it would tumble down ifI touched it, I could see nothing but a gray mass with one twinklinglight in it. But as I drew nearer I became aware that it was not awell-kept and hospitable mansion towards which I was tending, howeverimposing might be its size and general structure. If only from thetangled growth of the shrubbery about me and the long dank stalks of theweeds that lay as if undisturbed by mortal feet upon the walk, I couldgather that whatever fortune Mrs. Wakeham might have to leave she hadnot expended much in the keeping of her home. But it was upon reachingthe house I experienced the greatest surprise. There were walls beforeme, no doubt, and a huge portico, but the latter was hanging as it wereby faith to supports so dilapidated that even the darkness of that latehour could not hide their ruin or the impending fall of the wholestructure. So old, so uncared-for, and so utterly out of keeping withthe errand upon which I had come looked the whole place that Iinstinctively drew back, assured that the conductor had made somemistake in directing me thither. But no sooner had I turned my back uponthe house, than a window was thrown up over my head and I heard thestrangely eager voice of a man say:
"'This is the place, sir. Wait, and I will open the door for you.'
"I did as he bade me, though not without some reluctance. The voice,for all its tone of anxiety, sounded at once false and harsh, and Iinstinctively associated with it a harsh and false face. The house, too,did not improve in appearance upon approach. The steps shook under mytread, and I could not but notice by the faint light sifting through thebushes from the lamp on the other side of the way, that the balustradeshad been pulled from their places, leaving only gaping holes to markwhere they had once been. The door was intact, but in running my handover it I discovered that the mouldings had been stripped from its face,and that the knocker, hanging as it did by one nail, was ready to fallat the first provocation. If Cynthia Wakeham lived here, it would beinteresting to know the extent of her wealth. As there seemed to be somedelay in the opening of the door, I had time to note that the grounds(all of these houses have grounds about them) were of some extent, but,as I have said, in a manifest condition of overgrowth and neglect. As Imused upon the contrast they must afford in the bright daylight to thewide and well-kept lawns of the more ambitious owners on either side, afootstep sounded on the loose boards which had evidently been flung downat one side of the house as a sort of protection to the foot from thedarkness and mud of the neglected path, and a woman's form swung dimlyinto view, laden with a great pile of what looked to me like brushwood.As she passed she seemed to become conscious of my presence, and,looking up, she let the huge bundle slip slowly from her shoulders tillit lay in the darkness at her feet.
"'Are you,' she whispered, coming close to the foot of the steps, 'goingin there?'
"'Yes,' I returned, struck by the mingled surprise and incredulity inher tone.
"She stood still a minute, then came up a step.
"'Are you a minister?' she asked.
"'No,' I laughed; 'why?'
"She seemed to reason with herself before saying: 'No one ever goes intothat house; I thought perhaps you did not know. They won't have any one.Would you mind telling
me,' she went on, in a hungry whisper almostthrilling to hear, coming as it did through the silence and darkness ofthe night, 'what you find in the house? I will be at the gate, sir,and----'
"She paused, probably awed by the force of my exclamation, and pickingup her bundle of wet boughs, slunk away, but not without turning morethan once before she reached the gate. Scarcely had she disappeared intothe street when a window went up in a neighboring house. At the samemoment, some one, I could not tell whether it was a man or a woman, cameup the path as far as the first trees and there paused, while a shrillvoice called out:
"'They never unlocks that door; visitors ain't wanted.'
"Evidently, if I were not admitted soon I should have the wholeneighborhood about me.
"I lifted the knocker, but it came off in my hand. Angry at themischance, and perhaps a little moved by the excitement of my position,I raised the broken piece of iron and gave a thundering knock on therotten panels before me. Instantly the door opened, creaking ominouslyas it did so, and a man stood in the gap with a wretched old kerosenelamp in his hand. The apologetic leer on his evil countenance did notfor a moment deceive me.
"'I beg your pardon,' he hurriedly exclaimed, and his voice showed hewas a man of education, notwithstanding his forlorn and wretchedappearance, 'but the old woman had a turn just as you came, and I couldnot leave her.'
"I looked at him, and instinct told me to quit the spot and not enter ahouse so vilely guarded. For the man was not only uncouth to the lastdegree in dress and aspect, but sinister in expression and servilelyeager in bearing.
"'Won't you come in?' he urged. 'The old woman is past talking, but shecan make signs; perhaps an hour from now she will not be able to do eventhat.'
"'Do you allude to the woman who wishes to make her will?' I asked.
"'Yes,' he answered, greedily, 'Cynthia Wakeham, my sister.' And hegently pushed the door in a way that forced me to enter or show myself acoward.
"I took heart and went in. What poverty I beheld before me in the lightof that solitary smoking lamp! If the exterior of the house bore themarks of devastation, what shall I say of the barren halls and denudedrooms which now opened before me? Not a chair greeted my eyes, though atoppling stool here and there showed that people sat in this place. Nordid I see a table, though somewhere in some remote region beyond thestaircase I heard the clatter of plates, as if eating were also known inthis home of almost ostentatious penury. Staircase I say, but I shouldhave said steps, for the balustrades were missing here just as they hadbeen missing without, and not even a rail remained to speak of old-timecomfort and prosperity.
"'I am very poor,' humbly remarked the man, answering my look ofperplexity. 'It is my sister who has the money.' And moving towards thestairs, he motioned me to ascend.
"Even then I recoiled, not knowing what to make of this adventure; buthearing a hollow groan from above, uttered in tones unmistakablyfeminine, I remembered my errand and went up, followed so closely by theman, that his breath, mingled with the smell of that vile lamp, seemedto pant on my shoulder. I shall never smell kerosene again withoutrecalling the sensations of that moment.
"Arriving at the top of the stair, up which my distorted shadow had gonebefore me, I saw an open door and went in. A woman was lying in onecorner on a hard and uncomfortable bed, a woman whose eyes drew me toher side before a word had been spoken.
"She was old and in the last gasp of some fatal disease. But it was notthis which impressed me most. It was the searching look with which shegreeted me,--a piteous, hunted look, like that of some wild animaldriven to bay and turning upon her conqueror for some signs of relentingor pity. It made the haggard face eloquent; it assured me without a wordthat some great wrong had been done or was about to be done, and that Imust show myself at once her friend if I would gain her confidence.
"Advancing to her side, I spoke to her kindly, asking if she wereCynthia Wakeham, and if she desired the services of a lawyer.
"She at once nodded painfully but unmistakably, and, lifting her hand,pointed to her lips and shook her head.
"'She means that she cannot speak', explained the man, in a pant, overmy shoulder.
"Moving a step aside in my disgust, I said to her, not to him:
"'But you can hear?'
"Her intelligent eye responded before her head could add its painfulacquiescence.
"'And you have property to leave?'
"'This house', answered the man.
"My eyes wandered mechanically to the empty cupboards about me fromwhich the doors had been wrenched and, as I now saw from the looks ofthe fireplace, burned.
"'The ground--the ground is worth something,' quoth the man.
"'The avidity with which he spoke satisfied me at least upon onepoint--_he_ was the expectant heir.
"'Your name?' I asked, turning sharply upon him.
"'Hiram Huckins.'
"It was the name attached to the telegram.
"'And you are the brother of this woman?'
"'Yes, yes.'
"I had addressed him, but I looked at her. She answered my look with asteadfast gaze, but there was no dissent in it, and I considered thatpoint settled.
"'She is a married woman, then?'
"'A widow; husband died long years ago.'
"'Any children?'
"'No.' And I saw in her face that he spoke the truth.
"'But you and she have brothers or sisters? You are not her onlyrelative?'
"'I am the only one who has stuck by her,' he sullenly answered. 'We didhave a sister, but she is gone; fled from home years ago; lost in thegreat world; dead, perhaps. _She_ don't care for her; ask her.'
"I did ask her, but the haggard face said nothing. The eyes burned, butthey had a waiting look.
"'To whom do you want to leave your property?' I inquired of herpointedly.
"Had she glanced at the man, had her face even changed, or so much as atremor shook her rigid form, I might have hesitated. But the quiet wayin which she lifted her hand and pointed with one finger in hisdirection while she looked straight at me, convinced me that whateverwas wrong, her mind was made up as to the disposal of her property. Sotaking out my papers, I sat down on the rude bench drawn up beside thebed and began to write.
"The man stood behind me with the lamp. He was so eager and bent overme so closely that the smell of the lamp and his nearness were more thanI could bear.
"'Set down the lamp,' I cried. 'Get a table--something--don't lean overme like that.'
"But there was nothing, actually nothing for him to put the lamp on, andI was forced to subdue my disgust and get used as best I could to hispresence and to his great shadow looming on the wall behind us. But Icould not get used to her eyes hurrying me, and my hand trembled as Iwrote.
"'Have you any name but Cynthia?' I inquired, looking up.
"She painfully shook her head.
"'You had better tell me what her husband's name was,' I suggested tothe brother.
"'John Lapham Wakeham,' was the quick reply.
"I wrote down both names. Then I said, looking intently at the dyingwidow:
"'As you cannot speak, you must make signs. Shake your hand when youwish to say no, and move it up and down when you wish to say yes. Do youunderstand?'
"She signalled somewhat impatiently that she did, and then, lifting herhand with a tremulous movement, pointed anxiously towards a large Dutchclock, which was the sole object of adornment in the room.
"'She urges you to hurry,' whispered the man. 'Make it short, make itshort. The doctor I called in this morning said she might die anyminute.'
"As from her appearance I judged this to be only too possible, I hastilywrote a few words more, and then asked:
"'Is this property all that you have to leave?'
"I had looked at her, though I knew it would be the man who wouldanswer.
"'Yes, yes, this house,' he cried. 'Put it strong; this house and allthere is in it.'
"I thought of its barren rooms and empty
cupboards, and a strange fancyseized me. Going straight to the woman, I leaned over her and said:
"'Is it your desire to leave all that you possess to this brother? Realproperty and personal, this house, and also everything it contains?'
"She did not answer, even by a sign, but pointed again to the clock.
"'She means that you are to go right on,' he cried. 'And indeed youmust,' he pursued, eagerly. 'She won't be able to sign her name if youwait much longer.'
"I felt the truth of this, and yet I hesitated.
"'Where are the witnesses?' I asked. 'She must have two witnesses to hersignature.'
"'Won't I do for one?' he inquired.
"'No,' I returned; 'the one benefited by a will is disqualified fromwitnessing it.'
"He looked confounded for a moment. Then he stepped to the door andshouted, 'Briggs! Briggs!'
"As if in answer there came a clatter as of falling dishes, and asproof of the slavery which this woman had evidently been under to hisavarice, she gave a start, dying as she was, and turned upon him with afrightened gaze, as if she expected from him an ebullition of wrath.
"'Briggs, is there a light in Mr. Thompson's house?'
"'Yes,' answered a gruff voice from the foot of the stairs.
"'Go then, and ask him or the first person you see there, if he willcome in here for a minute. Be very polite and don't swear, or I won'tpay you the money I promised you. Say that Mrs. Wakeham is dying, andthat the lawyer is drawing up her will. Get James Sotherby to come too,and if he won't do it, somebody else who is respectable. Everything mustbe very legal, sir,' he explained, turning to me, 'very legal.'
"Not knowing what to think of this man, but seeing only one thing todo, I nodded, and asked the woman whom I should name as executor. She atonce indicated her brother, and as I wrote in his name and concluded thewill, she watched me with an intentness that made my nerves creep,though I am usually anything but susceptible to such influences. Whenthe document was ready I rose and stood at her side in some doubt of thewhole transaction. Was it her will I had expressed in the paper I heldbefore me, or his? Had she been constrained by his influence to do whatshe was doing, or was her mind free to act and but obeying its naturalinstincts? I determined to make one effort at finding out. Turningtowards the man, I said firmly:
"'Before Mrs. Wakeham signs this will she must know exactly what itcontains. I can read it to her, but I prefer her to read the paper forherself. Get her glasses, then, if she needs them, and bring them hereat once, or I throw up this business and take the document away with meout of the house.'
"'But she has no glasses,' he protested; 'they were broken long ago.'
"'Get them,' I cried; 'or get yours,--she shall not sign that documenttill you do.'
"But he stood hesitating, loth, as I now believe, to leave us together,though that was exactly what I desired, which she, seeing, feverishlyclutched my sleeve, and, with a force of which I should not have thoughther capable, made wild gestures to the effect that I should not delayany longer, but read it to her myself.
"Seeing by this, as I thought, that her own feelings were,notwithstanding my doubts, really engaged in the same direction as his,I desisted from my efforts to separate the two, if it were only for amoment, and read the will aloud. It ran thus:
"The last will and testament of Cynthia Wakeham, widow of John Lapham Wakeham, of Flatbush, Kings County, New York.
"First: I direct all my just debts and funeral expenses to be paid.
"Second: I give, devise, and bequeath to my brother, Hiram Huckins, all the property, real and personal, which I own, or to which I may be entitled, at the time of my death, and I appoint him the sole executor of this my last will and testament.
"Witness my hand this fifth day of June, in the year eighteen hundred and eighty-eight.
"Signed, published, and declared by the } Testatrix to be her last will and testament, } in our presence who, at her request and } in her presence and in the presence of } each other, have subscribed our names } hereto as witnesses, on this 5th day of } June, 1888. }
"'Is that the expression of your wishes?' I asked, when I had finished.
"She nodded, and reached out her hand for the pen.
"'You must wait,' said I, 'for the witnesses.'
"But even as I spoke their approach was heard, and Huckins was forced togo to the door with the lamp, for the hall was pitch dark and the stairsdangerous. As he turned his back upon us, I thought Mrs. Wakeham movedand opened her lips, but I may have been mistaken, for his black andominous shadow lay over her face, and I could discern but little of itsexpression.
"'Is there anything you want?' I asked her, rising and going to thebedside.
"But Huckins was alert to all my movements, if he had stepped for amoment away.
"'Give her water,' he cried, wheeling sharply about. And pointing to abroken glass standing on the floor at her side, he watched me while Ihanded it to her.
"'She mus'n't give out now,' he pursued, with one eye on us and theother on the persons coming upstairs.
"'She will not,' I returned, seeing her face brighten at the sound ofapproaching steps.
"'It's Miss Thompson and Mr. Dickey,' now spoke up the gruff voice ofBriggs from the foot of the steps. 'No other folks was up, so I broughtthem along.'
"The young woman, who at this instant appeared in the doorway, blushedand cast a shy look over her shoulder at the fresh-faced man whofollowed her.
"'It's all right, Minnie,' immediately interposed that genial personage,with a cheerful smile; 'every one knows we are keeping company and meanto be married as soon as the times improve.'
"'Yes, every one knows,' she sighed, and stepped briskly into the room,her intelligent face and kindly expression diffusing a cheer about hersuch as the dismal spot had doubtless lacked for years.
"I heard afterward that this interesting couple had been waiting forthe times to improve, for the last fifteen years."