CHAPTER XXVII
The Curtain Lifts
For a moment I hesitated. Was it best to tell him? But a glance at hisdrawn face decided me.
"The search is over," I said. "Miss Lawrence is home again," and Ihanded him the message.
He read it at a glance, then started to his feet.
"Will you come with me, Mr. Lester?" he asked. "I know I've given you alot of trouble, but this will be the last, I think."
"You haven't given me a bit of trouble," I protested. "I'll be glad tocome."
"Thank you," he said simply, and held out his hand to Royce.
"You think it best to go?" the latter asked.
"Best? Oh, I'm not thinking of that! I'm going to her--I've got to seeher! I can't wait! I----"
He wrung our junior's hand without finishing the sentence; toooverwrought, indeed, to finish it--and strode from the room.
Mr. Royce held me back for a rapid word of warning.
"I'm glad you're going," he said. "He'll need some one. There's notelling what'll happen. Good luck!"
* * * * *
When we were in the train, with the lights of Jersey City flying pastus, I took occasion to examine Curtiss again. He was lying back in theseat with his eyes closed, and the posture made his face seem evenlanker and grimmer than it had at first appeared. I saw that I must keepmy wits about me. When he awoke to a full realisation of the trick fatehad played him, he might, in his desperation----
"But you said Mrs. Lawrence told you she knew why Marcia had run away."
The voice fairly made me jump, it came so suddenly, so unexpectedly.
"She did," I answered, turning to find his dark eyes open and strangelybright. "But of course she was mistaken. She fancied it was somethingelse, or she wouldn't have said what she did."
"What did she say? You've told me, but I've forgotten."
"She said that the marriage wasn't impossible--that the choice should beleft to you."
He pondered this a moment, then his lips curved into an ironical smile.
"No doubt another family secret!" he said. "One would think we were inCorsica or Sicily! Well, we'll try to bear it. By the way, who's thisfellow Godfrey, who sent you that message?"
"He's a newspaper-man, a friend of mine--a mighty clever fellow."
His face grew grimmer still.
"More food for the yellow press," he said, with a harsh laugh. "Theycertainly owe us a vote of thanks."
He was in a dangerous mood. I saw his face harden and darken as he gazedout through the window. His lips moved, but no sound came from them.Then they closed again, compressed and bloodless, and he settled back inhis seat as though he had taken a final resolution. I shuddered as Itried to guess what it was. I could imagine but one end for a drama sohideous as this.
And then, as I lay back in the seat, gazing at him, a sudden ray oflight flashed across my brain. That contour of the face--that poise ofthe head--where had I seen them? Where but in the portrait of RuthEndicott which hung upon the wall of the Kingdon cottage! Since heresembled his father, he would, of course, resemble her. Another link inthe chain, I told myself; and trembled to think how strong it was.
* * * * *
Nothing about the house had changed. As we drove up to the door, I sawthat the blinds were still drawn, as they had been at the time of myfirst visit, and no ray of light came through them. It seemed a house ofdeath, and a little shiver ran through me as Curtiss rang the bell.
There was a long delay; a delay that tortured me: for a dark visiondanced before me--the vision of a girl lying dead beneath the windows ofthe library, with a portrait pressed close against her heart. So vividwas it that I could not shake it off, and I nearly cried aloud as alight was switched on the hall, and the door suddenly opened. I lookedup expectantly--but it was not Lucy Kingdon; it was a servant whose faceI did not remember. She took our cards and showed us into the roomwhich, when I had seen it last, was gay with flowers. Then she left us.Not until she had gone did I remember that Lucy Kingdon was stillfighting a battle with death.
As moment followed moment, I found myself unconsciously gripping myhands tighter and tighter about the arms of my chair. There seemed to beabout the house an atmosphere of terror. I could guess what agony ofsuspense Curtiss was enduring and I saw him wipe the perspiration fromhis forehead once or twice with a hand anything but steady. Perhaps shewould not come. Perhaps she was not yet brave enough. Or perhaps shecould not come----
There was a step at the door; a woman entered----
It was Mrs. Lawrence. She came forward with a smile of welcome. Oneglance at her face told me that she did not yet suspect--that herdaughter had kept the secret.
"I knew you'd come," she said.
"Then she _is_ here?" asked Curtiss, gripping his hands behind him,devouring her face with his eyes; feeling, perhaps, for the first time,some instinct of sonship stirring within him.
"Yes, she's here," answered Mrs. Lawrence, still smiling at him. "Shecame only a few hours ago and is very tired--too tired to talk, even tome. She doesn't feel strong enough to come down to see you now."
What power was it drew my eyes to the tapestry at the inner door? I sawit swing aside, almost imperceptibly; I caught the glimpse of a face,white as marble, whose eyes dwelt upon Curtiss with a look of love, oflonging, that turned me a little giddy. She loved him yet! God pity themboth!
"But she told me," Mrs. Lawrence was saying, "that if you'll cometo-morrow morning, she'll see you. Oh, I can see how she's suffered! Toomuch, I think! And you've suffered, too," she added, and her eyesquestioned his.
"Yes," he said. "I've suffered too."
"Thank God it's past! You see, I don't doubt you. I know that when youhear the story----"
"I have heard it," Curtiss interrupted grimly, and I saw a spasm of painconvulse the face at the door.
But Mrs. Lawrence was looking up at him, her eyes alight.
"And it will make no difference!" she cried. "It _can_ make nodifference--for you love her--I know it--I can see it--you love her justas you always did!"
"Yes," said Curtiss hoarsely. "God help me, I love her just as I alwaysdid!"
"Then you can't give her up--you won't--that would be cruel--would killher, I think--for it's no fault of hers----"
"Give her up!" echoed Curtiss, seized suddenly with a terribletrembling. "No, I'll never give her up!"
"I knew it," she said triumphantly. "I knew I'd not misjudged you. Andthere need be no scandal. No one need ever know!"
What was she saying? What infamy was she proposing? But not with thejoy-illumined face! Ah, she did not understand, and we should have totell her!
"It was wrong, I know," she went on, more calmly. "But when the motherdied, he wanted to take the child to rear it as his own--I had not givenhim any--and since--since--there was a sorrow in my own life, I couldunderstand and forgive. It was a kind of penance--an atonement--and Iwelcomed it. Besides, he was not wholly to blame, for she--but I'llspeak no ill of her. And I grew to love the child for her own sake--Igrew to forget that she was not really mine----"
Curtiss was clutching blindly at a chair, his face ghastly, his eyesstaring.
"I--I don't think I quite understand," he faltered, "You--you'respeaking of Marcia?"
"Of Marcia, certainly. But you said you knew the story."
She was looking at him intently, her face suddenly pale.
"Was it something else?" she asked. "Something else? Was it the letter?Tell me!"
"No, no," he protested, and stopped, unable to go on.
"I don't think he heard it quite correctly, Mrs. Lawrence," I said,seeing that he needed saving. "Do I understand you to say Miss Lawrenceisn't your daughter?"
"She's Ruth Endicott's daughter. She was housekeeper here andshe--she--But no matter. No one knew except her cousins, the Kingdons.It was Harriet who took her away--to Florida--and she died there. Theypromised to keep the secret--it was to their inter
est--we did everythingwe could for them--I was kinder to them than they deserved. But I lovedthe child--I had none of my own--I wanted to protect my husband'smemory--Where was the sin in----"
"Where is she?" demanded Curtiss hoarsely, but with a great light in hiseyes. "Where is she?"
"Then you don't mind? You won't----"
"Mind!" cried Curtiss. "Mind! Where is she?"
The curtains at the door were swept aside, and a woman appeared betweenthem--a woman regal, with glowing eyes, with smiling, tremulous lips----
Fool that I had been not to guess--not to see! It was the Endicottstrain, first and last--dark, passionate, virile--and I had shut my eyesto it!
I saw him turn toward her, his face aflame with joy----
Then the hot tears blinded me, and I groped my way from the room, fromthe house, out into the silent night; and I looked up at the quietstars, with Pippa's song singing in my heart----
"God's in his heaven-- All's right with the world!"
THE END