CHAPTER XIII.
THE SHADOW ASSUMES SHAPE.
We now lighted our lamp, and, finding a light cane sofa in the hall,nearly opposite the locked door, we took seats, and kept ourselvesawake by talking. The storm had subsided into the monotonous patter ofa steady rain.
"I am surprised," said Mr. Burton, "that you did not at once comprehendthe secret of this house. The moment you spoke the word 'haunted,' Iknew how our investigations would end. It solved a mystery which hasbothered me for some time. I knew that Leesy Sullivan was here, in thisvicinity; the exact hiding-place was all I wanted to know; and when youmentioned Moreland villa, I said to myself, 'that's it!' All I was thenafraid of was, that she would again elude us, before we could lay handson her. And in fact," he added laughingly, "I hardly feel sure of hernow. She may sublime through the ceiling before morning."
"I did not think of her, Mr. Burton; I was quite sure some person wasplaying some game, either of mischief or worse, about the villa; buthow could I be certain, when two thorough daylight examinations failedto reveal any thing? There did not seem to be a place at which a personcould enter the house; and as for a woman and child being actualinmates, living and subsisting here for weeks--I think nothing butactual proof could have convinced me of the marvel. I am curious toknow how she managed it."
"I ought to have come right here at first," continued my friend,pursuing his train of thought. "Women are like mother-birds, when boysapproach the nest. They betray themselves and their cherished secret byfluttering about the spot. If this Miss Sullivan had been a man, shewould have been in Kansas or California by this time; being a woman, Iought to have looked for her in exactly the place it would seem naturalfor her to avoid. One thing is certain--she loved young Moreland withan intensity beyond the strength of most women. I have had to do withnatures like hers before--where a powerful brain is subservient to astill more powerful emotional force. She was proud, ambitious,discontented, with tastes and perceptions reaching up into a muchhigher sphere of life. Miss Sullivan would have made a magnificentheiress and pet daughter; yet in love she would be humble,self-abnegating--give all and count it nothing. It's a sad pity such acapacity for happiness should have brought only ruin."
"If she had loved Henry, how could she, under any impulse of jealousy,have injured him? She is terrible to me in any view of the case."
"I do not know that she did injure him, or cause him to be injured.Circumstances are against her. But I am far from believing her theguilty person. Yet I am exceedingly anxious to have a quiet interviewwith her. I must see her and talk with her alone. She is frightenednow, and defiant. I shall soothe her--magnetize her will, as itwere--and draw from her the truth. Every atom of knowledge which shehas, in any way connected with Henry Moreland, I shall draw from her,and consolidate into one mass, to be used for or against her. If youhave the reliance upon my judgment which I flatter myself you have,Richard, you will not object to my seeing Miss Sullivan alone, anddeciding, upon that interview, whether there are causes for her arrest,as a party to the murder."
"I shall not object. It is your privilege to see her alone; and I havethe utmost confidence in you. I suppose Mr. Argyll and Henry's fatherwould be the proper persons to decide upon the arrest and prosecution."
"Of course. And if, after I have talked with her, I can elicit no factsto warrant her being put on trial for her life, I shall not give herher liberty until I have consulted both families, laying all myevidence before them. They will be loth to begin a prosecution whichthey can not sustain, even if they have an _impression_ of guilt. Bythe way, Redfield, these _impressions_ are curious things! Supposing Ishould tell you there are persons who, without one particle of proof ofany kind, have an impression that _you_ are the guilty man."
I arose from the sofa, looking at him, not knowing whether or not toknock him down.
"Don't 'slay me with a look'," he said, laughing quietly. "I don't saythat _I_ have any such inner revelation. And I did not say this,either, to hurt your feelings. I did it to save them. For, if I mistakenot, the same person who confided his impressions to me, has recentlybeen gradually confiding them to others. The very thought, the verypossibility, once entertained, or half-entertained and driven awayagain, as an unwelcome guest, still has its injurious influence. Youare standing upon an earthquake, Richard--you may be swallowed up anyinstant."
"I?"
"Yes. I have detected the premonitory rumblings. I have said this onlyto warn you, that you may be ready for self-defense."
"I scorn to defend myself! Defend myself, forsooth! against what? Whohas dared to insinuate that thought against me which you have allowedyourself to echo? But I need not ask--it is my natural foe, JamesArgyll. He hates me as the rattlesnake hates the black-ash tree!"
"Well, the dislike is mutual. Will you deny that you, too, have had athought--mind, I say a mere, floating thought--that _he_ may haveinstigated the deed?"
My conscious eye sunk before the steel-blue glance which pierced me.God knows, such a fear, such a belief, at times vague and shadowy,again vivid but brief as lightning, had again and again troubled me. Ihave hinted at it once, when I said that I was glad that if James evertook money, unpermitted, from his uncle, he took it to waste at thegaming-table. Soon I raised my eyes.
"If I have had such a suspicion, I have struggled against it; I havenever breathed it into mortal ear. He has sought to injure me invarious ways; I have wished to win and conciliate him; to be friendlywith him, for the sake of my regard for his relatives. As to taking astep to fix a blasting stigma upon him, without giving him a chanceopenly to efface it, I am incapable of it. You are at liberty to judgebetween us, Mr. Burton."
"You know that I do not like him," answered my companion. "But noaversion which I may feel for him shall prevent my weighing all factswhich come under my observation, with the utmost impartiality. I am onthe right track, in this pursuit, and I shall follow it up to the darkend, though you, yourself, abandon it. Justice shall be meted out! Ifthe bolt strikes the loftiest head in all this aristocratic vicinity,it _shall_ fall where it belongs."
He left the sofa, walking up and down the corridor with a stern,thoughtful face. As for me, I sunk back on my seat, overwhelmed by theconfirmation of a thousand times more than my worst fears. _Suspicionof me_ was creeping like a shadow over the Argyll household. I had feltits approach long ago; now my whole being grew cold, freezing, exceptone burning spasm of indignation which throbbed in my breast.
As the gray dawn approached, the rain ceased. Morning was long incoming. As soon as it grew light enough to see, I heard the gardenercutting wood for the fire, and shortly after I walked over, at Mr.Burton's request, to ask for some breakfast for the woman and child. Iwill not describe the garrulous astonishment of the husband and wifeupon my announcement that the ghost was cornered, and proved to beLeesy Sullivan. Of course the evil omen of hearing children crying wasnow explained, as well as the disappearance of a considerable quantityof flour, condiments and apples, which Mrs. Scott had charged to therats.
It went sorely against the inclination of formal, correct Mrs. Scott,to furnish a comfortable breakfast to "such a jade as that seemedlikely to prove; behavin' in this style, which nobody on 'arth couldaccount for;" but the gratification of her feminine curiosity was somereward for the outrage to her sensibilities, and she went with greatexpedition to carry the desired refreshments to the prisoners.
When we entered the attic, in the light of the rising sun, MissSullivan was sitting quietly on the edge of the mattresses, curlinglittle Nora's flaxen hair around her fingers. An obstinate reticencemarked her looks and actions; she scarcely replied to any of Mrs.Scott's inquiries--only, when the comfort of the child was concerned.For _her_ she took some of the warm food and tea, quietly feeding theeager little girl, while we made a survey of her surroundings.
I now ascertained that a small sky-light, hidden from outside view bythe chimneys and ornamental work of the battlements, ha
d given egressto the mysterious brightness which had hovered so frequently over theroof. The tenant of this great house had evidently arranged herself forthe winter. She had chosen the attic as a place of greatest safety, inthe case of parties entering the deserted dwelling for any purpose;here she had brought a tiny charcoal-furnace, used in the basement insummer-time for the purpose of heating smoothing-irons, which shesupplied with fuel from the stock left over in the cellar. Theprovisions left in the house had served her wants equally well. It wasevident that by the exercise of extreme care and vigilance, leaving thehouse only in the darkness of the night, she might have remained herefor a considerable longer time undisturbed in her novel seclusion, hadnot the light, which she had never ventured to burn until all was darkand silent in the little cottage, by chance first attracted thecuriosity which led finally to discovery.
Mr. Burton took a cup of tea and a roll, brought to him there; andthen, at his request, he was left alone with the silent woman, who satthere with resolute brows and lips firmly closed, as if locked over herthoughts.
"It will require all his diplomacy to wile her into a communicativemood," was my decision, as I took a parting glance at her face. I waschilled with my night's watching, and chilled more utterly by the wordsthe detective had spoken to me as I watched; I returned to thecottage-fire, sitting there three hours, in a painful reverie,answering almost at random the remarks of the housekeeper.
At the close of the three hours, Mr. Burton came into the littledwelling, carrying Norah in his arms, who was stroking his cheek withher chubby hand, and followed by the sewing-girl, whose cheeks boretraces of tears, and whose hunted, defiant look had given place to adejected, gentle expression.
"Mrs. Scott, I want you to do me a kindness," he said, in hisauthoritative, persuasive manner, to which people seldom thought itworth while to object. "I want you to take care of Miss Sullivan andthis little cousin of hers, until I send them word they are wanted. Itmay be to-day, or not for a week. In the mean time, if you have anysewing to be done for yourself or little Johnny, she will be glad tohelp you."
"She's welcome to stay, I'm sure," said the woman, in a tone not quiteso sure.
"Thank you. I knew I could ask a favor of you. Johnny, come here, andmake Miss Nora's acquaintance. I'm ready, Richard, if you are, toreturn to the village. Lenore will wonder what has become of us.Good-morning, all."
We walked away.
"Are you not afraid to leave that girl unguarded, after all the troubleshe has given us?"
"She will stay there; she has promised me. If she chooses to run away,now, it is a matter of no consequence. I am perfectly, entirelyconvinced that she is innocent of any participation in the murder ofHenry Moreland; or any knowledge of the murder--except, upon one point,I could use her testimony. I shall give my opinion to Mr. Argyll, withmy grounds for it; if he chooses to arrest her, she will be there atthe cottage. Richard, this affair has gone as far as it can! I shalltell Mr. Argyll, to-day, that I have withdrawn from it--that I give itup. But I am willing _you_ should understand that I have not dropped itentirely--that I shall still retain my interest in it--still secretlypursue my investigations, which I believe I can carry on to the bestadvantage if all parties believe that I have given the matter up. Areyou satisfied?"
"If I am not, what difference does it make? It is not for me to dictateyour course. I believe that you think it is the best one."
"I do. So will you some day, if we live to see the termination of thisthing. In the mean time, I am your friend, Richard, whether I give anyoutward signs of friendship very soon or not. You are at liberty todevote yourself to the cause as ardently as ever--and if ever you wishto consult me, you will find me what you now know me."
I felt strangely as we walked along together. He talked as if hethought some change were coming--as if things were to assume newshapes--as if I were to need friendship, and yet as if he should becompelled to conceal his for me behind a mask of coldness. I did notunderstand it. I felt half offended with him, and wholly disheartened.
I dined with him at Mr. Argyll's. It was the last time I sat at thattable.
In the afternoon he had a private interview with the family, _fromwhich I was excluded_; and in the evening he returned to the city,taking with him Lenore, the last wave of whose hand was for James, herlast kiss for Miss Argyll.
The next morning Mr. Argyll informed me that he had resolved to makehis nephew his partner in the practice of the law, and that I was atliberty to take advantage of any other opportunity I might have forgoing into business for myself. His manner was cold; he expressed noregrets for my probable disappointment, caused by his own suggestions;I could feel myself dismissed from his friendship as well as hisoffice. I would not ask why. My tongue grew dry as ashes when I thoughtof attempting it. Mr. Burton had given me the clue to the feelingswhich prompted this rupture of a life-long friendship--it was such asto forbid any questions. No explanations could be made--nothing couldobliterate the memory of so deadly a wrong as they were committing uponme. The golden bowl of friendship was broken at the fountain--thewaters spilled upon the ground.
I told him that I had contemplated a visit to my mother, which I wouldtake this opportunity to make. I might find what I wished for, in theway of business, in the vicinity of my father's former home; when, withformal thanks for his past kindness (which I was mentally vowing Iwould find some means to repay), and begging him to trouble himself notat all about my fortunes, I bowed myself from the office where I hadspent so much of the last three years of my life.
Blind, dizzy, cold, I went to my boarding-house to pack my trunks.
Before I went to bed, my few arrangements were completed. My clothes,books, the few little articles of taste, or gifts of friends, allowablein one small rented room, were easily put away in their travelingreceptacle. But, as for the rest!--for the wealth which my heart hadsilently garnered during the golden harvest of youth--where was it?Swept away as by a mighty wind.
I slept some, for I was thoroughly worn out by my emotions, no lessthan by my recent vigils; but the earliest morning found me awake. Iwas to leave at noon; I had many pleasant acquaintances in the village,from whom I ought not to have parted without a farewell call; but allthese small pleasures and courtesies of life were swept aside, as sandupon my path. I had nothing to do, all the tedious morning, save topretend to eat my breakfast, until the hour which I had set in mythoughts for saying good-by to the girls.
I would not go away without seeing them; if there was any accusation intheir eyes I would confront it. And then, I did not believe thatEleanor would do me an injustice. Blue-eyed, just, gentle as was hercharacter, _she_, at least, was grieved for me--believed in me. I didnot admit to myself how much comfort I drew from this faith, until Iwas startled from it. My baggage was dispatched; my watch told eleven;I passed the house on the way to the cars, giving myself a few minutesfor this farewell. As I knocked at the door, one of the servants openedit. I sent her to ask Miss Argyll if she would come down to saygood-by, before I left on my visit to my mother; and Mary--I would liketo see her also.
While I waited for them, I stepped into the dear familiar parlors andlibrary, mutely taking my leave of them, with all their mingledassociations. Presently the messenger returned:
"Miss Argyll sent her farewell; she could not see Mr. Redfield thatmorning."
"Where is she?"
"In the breakfast-room, looking at her flowers."
I started for the room in a wild tumult of anger and passion, resolvedto make her confess the reason of this treatment. Surely, three yearsof an intimacy like ours, gave me the right. In three minutes Iconfronted her where she stood, in the door between the breakfast-roomand conservatory, like a statue draped in crape.
"Eleanor!"
She shrunk back; she held up her hands with an expression of horror. MyGod! that look in Eleanor's eyes was enough to kill me. I turned awayas hastily as I had come. As I stumbled along the passage, half blindwith the terrible surging and throbbing of the bl
ood through me, a softpair of arms fell about my neck, a cheek wet with tears was pressed tomine--it was Mary.
"Never mind what they say about you, Richard," she sobbed. "I don'tbelieve one word of it--not one word! I never shall. I am your friend.I love you; indeed I do. _I_ do not want you to go away," and shekissed me twice or thrice.
I took the sweet face in my cold hands, looked into the brimming eyes,hastily kissed the blushing cheek--"God bless you, Mary," said I, andwas gone.
END OF THE PART FIRST.
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THE DEAD LETTER.
PART II.
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