CHAPTER VIII.
THE HAUNTED GRAVE.
When I returned to my boarding-house that same evening, I found atelegram awaiting me from Mr. Burton, asking me to come down to thecity in the morning. I went down by the earliest train, and, soonafter, ringing the bell at the door of his private residence inTwenty-third street, a servant ushered me into the library, where Ifound the master of the house so absorbed in thought, as he sat beforethe grate with his eyes bent upon the glowing coals, that he did notobserve my entrance until I spoke his name. Springing to his feet, heshook me heartily by the hand; we had already become warm personalfriends.
"You are early," he said, "but so much the better. We will have themore time for business."
"Have you heard any thing?" was my first question.
"Well, no. Don't hope that I have called you here to satisfy you withany positive discoveries. The work goes on slowly. I was never sobaffled but once before; and then, as now, there was a woman in thecase. A cunning woman will elude the very Prince of Lies, himself, tosay nothing of honest men like us. She has been after the child."
"She has?"
"Yes. And has taken it away with her. And now I know no more of herwhereabouts than I did before. There! You must certainly feel liketrusting your case to some sharper person to work up"--he lookedmortified as he said it.
Before I go further I must explain to my reader just how far theinvestigation into the acts and hiding-place of Leesy Sullivan hadproceeded. Of course we had called upon her aunt in Blankville, andapproached the question of the child with all due caution. She hadanswered us frankly enough, at first--that Leesy had a cousin who livedin New York, whom she was much attached to, and who was dead, poorthing! But the moment we intruded the infant into the conversation, sheflew into a rage, asked if "we'd come there to insult a respectablewiddy, as wasn't responsible for what others did?" and wouldn't becoaxed or threatened into any further speech on the subject, fairlydriving us out of the room and (I regret to add) down the stairs withthe broomstick. As we could not summon her into court and compel her toanswer, at that time, we were compelled to "let her alone." One thing,however, became apparent at the interview--that there was shame orblame, or at least a family quarrel, connected with the child.
After that, in New York, Mr. Burton ascertained that there had been acousin, who had died, but whether she had been married, and left ababe, or not, was still a matter of some doubt.
He had spent over a week searching for Leesy Sullivan, in the vicinityof Blankville, at every intermediate station between that and New York,and throughout the city itself, assisted by scores of detectives, whoall of them had her photograph, taken from a likeness which Mr. Burtonhad found in her deserted room at her boarding-place. This picture musthave been taken more than a year previous, as it looked younger andhappier; the face was soft and round, the eyes melting with warmth andlight, and the rich, dark hair dressed with evident care. Still, Leesybore resemblance enough to her former self, to make her photograph anefficient aid. Yet not one trace of her had been chanced upon since I,myself, had seen her fly away at the mention of the word which I hadpurposely uttered, and disappear over the wooded hill. We had nearlymade up our minds that she had committed suicide; we had searched theshore for miles in the vicinity of Moreland villa, and had fired gunsover the water; but if she had hidden herself in those cold depths, shehad done it most effectually.
The gardener's wife, at the villa, had kept vigilant watch, as I hadrequested, but she had never any thing to report--the sewing-girl cameno more to haunt the piazza or the summer-house. Finally, Mr. Burtonhad given over active measures, relying simply upon the presence of thechild in New York, to bring back the protectress into his nets, ifindeed she was still upon earth. He said rightly, that if she wereconcealed and had any knowledge of the efforts made to discover her,the surest means of hastening her reaeppearance would be to apparentlyrelinquish all pursuit. He had a person hired to watch the premises ofthe nurse constantly; a person who took a room next to hers in thetenement-house where she resided, apparently employed in knittingchildren's fancy woolen garments, but really for the purpose of givingimmediate notification should the guardian of the infant appear uponthe scene. In the mean time he was kept informed of the sentiments ofthe nurse, who had avowed her intention of throwing the babe upon theauthorities, if its board was not paid at the end of the month. "Hardenough," she avowed it was, "to get the praties for the mouths of herown chilther; and the little girl was growing large now. The milkwouldn't do at all, at all, but she must have her praties and her bitbread wid the rest."
In answer to these complaints, the wool-knitter had professed such aninterest in the innocent little thing, that, sooner than allow it to goto the alms-house, or to the orphan-asylum, or any other such place,she would take it to her own room, and share her portion with it, whenthe nurse's month was up, until it was certain that the aunt was notcoming to see after it, she said.
With this understanding between them, the two women got along finelytogether; little Nora, just toddling about, was a pretty child, and heraunt had not spared stitches in making up her clothes, which were ofgood material, and ornamented with lavish tucks and embroidery. She wasoften, for half a day at a time, in the room with the new tenant, whenher nurse was out upon errands, or at work; and the former sometimestook her out in her arms for a breath of air upon the better streets.Mr. Burton had seen little Nora several times; he thought she resembledMiss Sullivan, though not strikingly. She had the same eyes, dark andbright.
Two days before Mr. Burton telegraphed for me to come down to New York,Mrs. Barber, the knitting detective, was playing with the child in herown room. It was growing toward night, and the nurse was out gettingher Saturday afternoon supplies at Washington Market; she did notexpect her back for at least an hour. Little Nora was in fine spirits,being delighted with a blue-and-white hood which her friend hadmanufactured for her curly head. As they frolicked together, the dooropened, a young woman came in, caught the child to her breast, kissedit, and cried. "An-nee--an-nee," lisped the baby--and Mrs. Barber,slipping out, with the excuse that she would go for the nurse, who wasat a neighbor's, jumped into a car, and rode up to Twenty-third street.In half an hour Mr. Burton was at the tenement-house; the nurse had notyet returned from market, and the bird had flown, carrying the babywith her. He was sufficiently annoyed at this _denouement_. In thearrangements made, the fact of the nurse being away had not beencontemplated; there was no one to keep on the track of the fugitivewhile the officer was notified. One of the children said that the ladyhad left some money for mother; there was, lying on the table, a sumwhich more than covered the arrears due, and a note of thanks. But thebaby, with its little cloak and its new blue hood, had vanished. Wordwas dispatched to the various offices, and the night spent in lookingfor the two; but there is no place like a great city for eludingpursuit; and up to the hour of my arrival at Mr. Burton's he hadlearned nothing.
All this had fretted the detective; I could see it, although he did notsay as much. He who had brought hundreds of accomplished rogues tojustice did not like to be foiled by a woman. Talking on the subjectwith me, as we sat before the fire in his library, with closed doors,he said the most terrible antagonist he had yet encountered had been awoman--that her will was a match for his own, yet he had broken withease the spirits of the boldest men.
"However," he added, "Miss Sullivan is not a woman of that stamp. If_she_ has committed a crime, she has done it in a moment of passion,and remorse will kill her, though the vengeance of the law should neverovertake her. But she is subtle and elusive. It is not reason thatmakes her cunning, but feeling. With man it would be reason; and as Icould follow the course of his argument, whichever path it took, Ishould soon overtake it. But a woman, working from a passion, either ofhate or love, will sometimes come to such novel conclusions as to defythe sharpest guesses of the intellect. I should like, above all things,a quiet conversation wit
h that girl. And I will have it, some day."
The determination with which he avowed himself, showed that he had noidea of giving up the case. A few other of his observations I willrepeat:
He said that the blow which killed Henry Moreland was given by aprofessional murderer, a man, without conscience or remorse, probably ahireling. A woman may have tempted, persuaded, or paid him to do thedeed; if so, the guilt rested upon her in its awful weight; but nowoman's hand, quivering with passion, had driven that steady andrelentless blow. It was not given by the hand of jealousy--it was toocoldly calculated, too firmly executed--no passion, no thrill offeeling about it.
"Then you think," said I, "that Leesy Sullivan robbed the family whosehappiness she was about to destroy, to pay some villain to commit themurder?"
"It looks like it," he answered, his eye dropping evasively.
I felt that I was not fully in the detective's confidence; there wassomething working powerfully in his mind, to which he gave me no clue;but I had so much faith in him that I was not offended by hisreticence. Anxious as I was, eager, curious--if it suits to call such adevouring fire of longing as I felt, curiosity--he must have known thatI perceived his reservations; if so, he had his own way of conductingmatters, from which he could not diverge for my passing benefit. Twelveo'clock came, as we sat talking before the fire, which gave a genialair to the room, though almost unnecessary, the "squaw winter" of theprevious morning being followed by another balmy and sunlit day. Mr.Burton rung for lunch to be brought in where we were; and while wesipped the strong coffee, and helped ourselves to the contents of thetray, the servant being dismissed, my host made a proposition which hadevidently been on his mind all the morning.
I was already so familiar with his personal surroundings, as to knowthat he was a widower, with two children; the eldest, a boy of fifteen,away at school; the second, a girl of eleven, of delicate health, andeducated at home, so far as she studied at all, by a day-governess. Ihad never seen this daughter--Lenore, he called her--but I could guess,without particular shrewdness, that his heart was wrapped up in her. Hecould not mention her name without a glow coming into his face; herfrail health appeared to be the anxiety of his life. I could hear her,now, taking a singing-lesson in a distant apartment, and as her purevoice rose clear and high, mounting and mounting with airy steps thedifficult scale, I listened delightedly, making a picture in my mind ofthe graceful little creature such a voice should belong to.
Her father was listening, too, with a smile in his eye, half forgetfulof his coffee. Presently he said, in a low voice, speaking at firstwith some reluctance,
"I sent for you to-day, more particularly to make you the confidentialwitness of an experiment than any thing else. You hear my Lenoresinging now--has she not a sweet voice? I have told you how delicateher health is. I discovered, by chance, some two or three years since,that she had peculiar attributes. She is an excellent clairvoyant. WhenI first discovered it, I made use of her rare faculty to assist me inmy more important labors; but I soon discovered that it told fearfullyupon her health. It seemed to drain the slender stream of vitalitynearly dry. Our physician told me that I must desist, entirely, allexperiments of the kind with her. He was peremptory about it, but hehad only need to caution me. I would sooner drop a year out of myshortening future than to take one grain from that increasing strengthwhich I watch from day to day with deep solicitude. She is my onlygirl, Mr. Redfield, and the image of her departed mother. You must notwonder if I am foolish about my Lenore. For eighteen months I have notexercised my power over her to place her in the trance state, orwhatever it is, in which, with the clue in her hand, she will unwindthe path to more perplexed labyrinths than those of the fair one'sbower. And I tell you, solemnly, that if, by so doing, she could pointout pots of gold, or the secrets of diamond mines, I would not risk herslightest welfare, by again exhausting her recruiting energies.Nevertheless, so deeply am I interested in the tragedy to which youhave called my attention--so certain am I that I am on the eve of thesolution of the mystery--and such an act of justice and righteousnessdo I deem it that it should be exposed in its naked truth before thosewho have suffered from the crime--that I have resolved to place Lenoreonce more in the clairvoyant state, for the purpose of ascertaining thehiding-place of Leesy Sullivan, and I have sent for you to witness theresult."
This announcement took away the remnant of my appetite. Mr. Burton rungto have the tray removed, and to bid the servant tell Miss Lenore, assoon as she had lunched, to come to the library. We had but a fewminutes to wait. Presently we heard a light step; her father cried,"Come in!" in answer to her knock, and a lovely child entered, greetingme with a mingled air of grace and timidity--a vision of sweetness andbeauty more perfect than I could have anticipated. Her golden hairwaved about her slender throat, in glistening tendrils. Seldom do wesee such hair, except upon the heads of infants--soft, lustrous, fine,floating at will, and curled at the end in little shining rings. Hereyes were a celestial blue--celestial, not only because of the pureheavenliness of their color, but because you could not look into themwithout thinking of angels. Her complexion was the most exquisitepossible, fair, with a flush as of sunset-light on the cheeks--tootransparent for perfect health, showing the wandering of the delicateveins in the temples. Her blue dress, with its fluttering sash, and thelittle jacket of white cashmere which shielded her neck and arms, wereall dainty, and in keeping with the wearer. She did not have the sereneair of a seraph, though she looked like one; nor the listless manner ofan invalid. She gave her father a most winning, childish smile, lookingfull of joy to think he was at home, and had sent for her. She was soevery way charming that I held out my arms to kiss her, and she, withthe instinct of children, who perceive who their real lovers are, gaveme a willing yet shy embrace. Mr. Burton looked pleased as he saw howsatisfactory was the impression made by his Lenore.
Placing her in a chair before him, he put a photograph of Miss Sullivanin her hand.
"Father wants to put his little girl to sleep again," he said, gently.
An expression of unwillingness just crossed her face; but she smiled,instantly, looking up at him with the faith of affection which wouldhave placed her life in his keeping, and said, "Yes, papa," in assent.
He made a few passes over her; when I saw their effect, I did notwonder that he shrunk from the experiment--my surprise was rather thathe could be induced to make it, under any circumstances. The lovelyface became distorted as with pain; the little hands twitched--so didthe lips and eyelids. I turned away, not having fortitude to witnessany thing so jarring to my sensibilities. When I looked again, hercountenance had recovered its tranquillity; the eyes were fast closed,but she appeared to ponder upon the picture which she held.
"Do you see the person now?"
"Yes, papa."
"In what kind of a place is she?"
"She is in a small room; it has two windows. There is no carpet on thefloor. There is a bed and a table, a stove and some chairs. It is inthe upper story of a large brick house, I do not know in what place."
"What is she doing?"
"She is sitting near the back window; it looks out on the roofs ofother houses; she is holding a pretty little child on her lap."
"She must be in the city," remarked Mr. Burton, aside; "the large houseand the congregated roofs would imply it. Can you not tell me the nameof the street?"
"No, I can not see it. I was never in this place before. I can seewater, as I look out of the window. It appears like the bay; and I seeplenty of ships, but there is some green land across the water, besidesdistant houses."
"It must be somewhere in the suburbs, or in Brooklyn. Are there nosigns on the shops, which you can read, as you look out?"
"No, papa."
"Well, go down the stairs, and out upon the street, and tell me thenumber of the house."
"It is No. --," she said, after a few moments' silence.
"Go along until you come to a corner, and read me the name of thestreet."
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bsp; "Court street," she answered, presently.
"It is in Brooklyn," exclaimed the detective, triumphantly. "There isnothing now to prevent us going straight to the spot. Lenore, go backnow, to the house; tell us on which floor is this room, and howsituated."
Again there was silence while she retraced her steps.
"It is on the fourth floor, the first door to the left, as you reachthe landing."
Lenore began to look weary and exhausted; the sweat broke out on herbrow, and she panted as if fatigued with climbing flights of stairs.Her father, with a regretful air, wiped her forehead, kissing ittenderly as he did so. A few more of those cabalistic touches, followedby the same painful contortions of those beautiful features, and Lenorewas herself again. But she was pale and languid; she drooped againsther father's breast, as he held her in his arms, the color faded fromher cheeks, too listless to smile in answer to his caresses. Placingher on the sofa, he took from a nook in his secretary a bottle of oldport, poured out a tiny glassful, and gave to her. The wine revived heralmost instantly; the smiles and bloom came back, though she stillseemed exceedingly weary.
"She will be like a person exhausted by a long journey, or great labor,for several days," said Mr. Burton, as I watched the child. "It cost mea pang to make such a demand upon her; I hope it will be the lasttime--at least until she is older and stronger than now."
"I should think the application of electricity would restore some ofthe vitality which has been taken from her," I suggested.
"I shall try it this evening," was his reply; "in the mean time, if weintend to benefit by the sacrifice of my little Lenore, let us lose notime. Something may occur to send the fugitive flying again. And now,my dear little girl, you must lie down a while this afternoon, and becareful of yourself. You shall dine with us to-night, if you are nottoo tired, and we shall bring you some flowers--a bouquet from oldJohn's conservatory, sure."
Committing his darling to the housekeeper's charge, with manyinstructions and warnings, and a lingering look which betrayed hisanxiety, Mr. Burton was soon ready, and we departed, taking a stage forFulton Ferry a little after one o'clock.
About an hour and a quarter brought us to the brick house on Courtstreet, far out toward the suburbs, which had the number indicated uponit. No one questioned our coming, it being a tenement-house, and weascended a long succession of stairs, until we came to the fourthfloor, and stood before the door on the left-hand side. I trembled alittle with excitement. My companion, laying his hand firmly on theknob, was arrested by finding the door locked. At this he knocked; butthere was no answer to his summons. Amid the assortment of keys whichhe carried with him, he found one to fit the lock; in a moment the doorstood open, and we entered to meet--blank solitude!
The room had evidently been deserted but a short time, and by some oneexpecting to return. There was a fire covered down in the stove, andthree or four potatoes in the oven to be baked for the humble supper.There was no trunk, no chest, no clothing in the room, only the scantfurniture which Lenore had described, a few dishes in the cupboard, andsome cooking utensils, which had been rented, probably, with the room.On the table were two things confirmatory of the occupants--a bowl,containing the remains of a child's dinner of bread-and-milk, and apiece of embroidery--a half-finished collar.
At Mr. Burton's request I went down to the shop on the first floor, andinquired in what direction the young woman with the child had gone, andhow long she had been out.
"She went, maybe, half an hour ago; she took the little girl out for awalk, I think. She told me she'd be back before supper, when shestopped to pay for a bit of coal, and to have it carried up."
I returned with this information.
"I'm sorry, now, that we inquired," said the detective; "that fellowwill be sure to see her first, and tell her that she has had callers;that will frighten her at once. I must go below, and keep my watch fromthere."
"If you do not care for a second person to watch with you, I believe Iwill go on to Greenwood. We are so near it, now, and I would like tovisit poor Henry's grave."
"I do not need you at all now; only, do not be absent too long. When Imeet this Leesy Sullivan, whom I have not yet seen, you remember, Iwant a long talk with her. The last object I have is to frighten her; Ishall seek to soothe her instead. If I can once meet her face to face,and voice to voice, I believe I can tame the antelope, or the lioness,whichever she turns out to be. I do not think I shall have to coerceher--not even if she is guilty. If she is guilty she will give herselfup. I may even take her home to dinner with us," he added, with asmile. "Don't shudder, Mr. Redfield; we often dine in company withmurderers--sometimes when we have only our friends and neighbors withus. I assure you I have often had that honor!"
His grim humor was melancholy to me--but who could wonder that a man ofMr. Burton's peculiar experience should be touched with cynicism?Besides, I felt that there was more in the inner meaning of his wordsthan appeared upon their outer surface. I left him, sitting in asheltered corner of the shop below, in a position where he couldcommand the street and the entrance-hall without being himselfobserved, and making himself friendly with the busy little man behindthe counter, of whom he had already purchased a pint of chestnuts. Itwould be as well that I should be out of the way. Miss Sullivan knewme, and might take alarm at some distant glimpse of me, while Mr.Burton's person must be unknown to her, unless she had been the betterdetective of the two, and marked him when he was ignorant of hervicinity.
Stepping into a passing car, in a few minutes I had gone from the cityof the living to the city of the dead. Beautiful and silent city! Therethe costly and gleaming portals, raised at the entrance of thosemansions, tell us the name and age of the inhabitants, but theinhabitants themselves we never behold. Knock as loud and long as wemay at those marble doors, cry, entreat, implore, they hold themselvesinvisible. Nevermore are they "at home" to us. We, who once were neverkept waiting, must go from the threshold now, without a word ofwelcome. City of the dead--to which that city of the living must soonremove--who is there that can walk thy silent streets without aprescience of the time when he, too, will take up his abode in thee forever? Strange city of solitude! where thousands whose homes are rangedside by side, know not one the other, and give no greeting to the palenew-comers.
With meditations like these, only far too solemn for words, I wanderedthrough the lovely place, where, still, summer seemed to linger, as ifloth to quit the graves she beautified. With Eleanor and Henry in myheart, I turned in the direction of the family burial-plot, wishingthat Eleanor were with me on that glorious day, that she might firstbehold his grave under such gentle auspices of light, foliage andflowers--for I knew that she contemplated a pilgrimage to this spot, assoon as her strength would warrant the attempt.
I approached the spot by a winding path; the soft plash of a fountainsounded through a little thicket of evergreens, and I saw the gleam ofthe wide basin into which it fell; a solitary bird poured forth amournful flood of lamentation from some high branch not far away. Itrequired but little aid of fancy to hear in that "melodious madness"the cry of some broken heart, haunting, in the form of this bird, theplace of the loved one's sleep.
There were other wanderers than myself in the cemetery; a funeral trainwas coming through the gate as I passed in, and I met another within afew steps; but in the secluded path where I now walked I was alone.With the slow steps of one who meditates sad things, I approachedHenry's grave. Gliding away by another devious path, I saw a femalefigure.
"It is some other mourner, whom I have disturbed from her vigil by someof these tombs," I thought--"or, perchance, one who was passing furtheron before reaching the goal of her grief,"--and with this I dismissedher from my mind, having had, at the best, only an indistinct glimpseof the woman, and the momentary flutter of her garments as she passedbeyond a group of tall shrubs and was lost to view.
The next moment I knelt by the sod which covered that young and nobleform. Do not think me extravagant in my emotions. I was
not so--onlyoverpowered, always, by intense sympathy with the sufferers by thatcalamity. I had so mused upon Eleanor's sorrow that I had, as it were,made it mine. I bowed my head, breathing a prayer for her, then leaningagainst the trunk of a tree whose leaves no longer afforded shade tothe carefully-cultivated family inclosure, my eyes fell upon the grave.There were beautiful flowers fading upon it, which some friendly handhad laid there within a week or two. Ten or fifteen minutes I may havepassed in reverie; then, as I arose to depart, I took up a fading budor two and a sprig of myrtle, placing them in my vest-pocket to giveEleanor on my return. As I stooped to gather them, I perceived theimprint of a child's foot, here and there, all about the grave--a tinyimprint, in the fresh mold, as of some toddling babe whose little feethad hardly learned to steady themselves.
There were one or two marks of a woman's slender shoe; but it was theinfant feet which impressed me. It flashed upon me what female figureit was which I had seen flitting away as I approached; now that Irecalled it, I even recognized the tall, slender form, with the slightstoop of the shoulders, of which I had obtained but a half-glance. Ihastily pursued the path she had taken; but my haste was behind hers byat least a quarter of an hour.
I realized that I would only lose time by looking for her in thosewinding avenues, every one of which might be taking me from instead oftoward the fugitives; so I turned back to the gate and questioned thekeeper if he had seen a tall young woman with a little child pass outin the last half-hour. He had seen several children and women go out inthat time; and as I could not tell how this particular one was dressed,I could not arouse his recollection to any certainty on the point.
"She was probably carrying the child," I said; "she had a consumptivelook, and was sad-looking, though her face was doubtless hidden in hervail."
"It's quite likely," he responded; "mostly the women that do come herelook sad, and many of them keep their vails down. However, it's myimpression there hasn't no child of that age been past here, lately. Inoticed one going in about two o'clock, and if it's _that_ one, shehasn't come out yet."
So while Mr. Burton sat in the shop in Court street keeping watch, Isat at the gates of Greenwood; but no Leesy Sullivan came forth; andwhen the gates were closed for the night, I was obliged to go awaydisappointed.
The girl began to grow some elusive phantom in my mind. I could almostdoubt that there was any such creature, with black, wild eyes andhectic cheeks, whom I was pursuing; whom I chanced upon in strangeplaces, at unexpected times, but could never find when I soughther--who seemed to blend herself in this unwarrantable way with thetragedy which wrung some other hearts. What had she to do with Henry'sgrave? A feeling of dislike, of mortal aversion, grew upon me--I couldnot pity her any more--this dark spirit who, having perchance wroughtthis irremediable woe, could not now sink into the depths where shebelonged, but must haunt and hover on the edges of my trouble, frettingme to follow her, only to mock and elude.
Before leaving the cemetery I offered two policemen a hundred dollarsif they should succeed in detaining the woman and child whosedescription I gave them, until word could be sent to the office of thedetective-police; and I left them, with another on guard at the gates,perambulating the grounds, peering into vaults and ghostly places insearch of her. When I got out at the house on Court street, I found myfriend quite tired of eating chestnuts and talking to the little manbehind the counter.
"Well," said he, "the potatoes will be roasted to death before theirowner returns. We have been led another wild-goose chase."
"I have seen her," I answered.
"What?"
"And lost her. I believe she is a little snaky, she has such a slipperyway with her."
"Tut! tut! so has a frightened deer! But how did it happen?"
I told him, and he was quite downcast at the unlucky fortune which hadsent me to the cemetery at that particular time. It was evident thatshe had seen me, and was afraid to return to this new retreat, for fearshe was again tracked.
"However," said he, "I'm confident we'll have her now before long. I_must_ go home to-night to see my Lenore; I promised her, and she willmake herself sick sitting up."
"Go; and let me remain here. I will stay until it is perfectly apparentthat she does not expect to return."
"It will spoil the dinner. But, now that we have sacrificed so much, afew hours more of inconvenience--"
"Will be willingly endured. I will get some bread and cheese and aglass of beer of your friend, the penny-grocer, and remain at my post."
"You need not stay later than twelve; which will bring you home abouttwo, at the slow rate of midnight travel. I shall sit up for you. _Aurevoir._"
I changed my mind about supping at the grocer's as the twilightdeepened into night. The dim light of the hall and staircase, part ofthem in total darkness, enabled me to steal up to the deserted roomunperceived by any one of the other inmates of the great building.
Here I put fresh coal on the fire, and by the faint glow which sooncame from the open front of the stove, I found a chair, and placing itso that it would be in the shadow upon the opening of the door, Iseated myself to await the return of the occupants. The odor ofroasting potatoes, given forth at the increased heat, admonished methat I had partaken of but a light lunch since an early and hastybreakfast; drawing forth one from the oven, I made a frugal meal uponit, and then ordered my soul to patience. I sat long in the twilight ofthe room; I could hear the bells of the city chiming the passing hours;the grocer and variety-storekeepers closing the shutters of theirshops; the shuffling feet of men coming home, to such homes as they hadin the dreary building, until nearly all the noises of the street andhouse died away.
Gazing on the fire, I wondered where that strange woman was keepingthat little child through those unwholesome hours. Did she carry it inher arms while she hovered, like a ghost, amid the awful quiet ofdrooping willows and gleaming tombstones? Did she rock it to sleep onher breast, in the fearful shadow of some vault, with a row of coffinsfor company? Or was she again fleeing over deserted fields, crouchingin lonely places, fatigued, distressed, panting under the weight of theinnocent babe who slumbered on a guilty bosom, but driven still, on,on, by the lash of a dreadful secret? I made wild pictures in thesinking embers, as I mused; were I an artist I would reproduce them inall their lurid light and somber shadow; but I am not. The close air ofthe place, increased in drowsiness by the gas from the open doors ofthe stove, the deep silence, and my own fatigue, after the varyingjourneys and excitements of the day, at last overcame me; I rememberhearing the town clock strike eleven, and after that I must haveslumbered.
As I slept, I continued my waking dreams; I thought myself still gazingin the smoldering fire; that the sewing-girl came in without noise, satdown before it, and silently wept over the child who lay in her arms;that Lenore came out of the golden embers, with wings tipped withineffable brightness, looking like an angel, and seemed to comfort themourner, and finally took her by the hand, and passing me, so that Ifelt the motion of the air swept by her wings and garments, led her outthrough the door, which closed with a slight noise.
At the noise made by the closing door, I awoke. As I gathered myconfused senses about me, I was not long in coming to the conclusionthat I had, indeed, heard a sound and felt the air from an opendoor--some one had been in the room. I looked at my watch by a matchwhich I struck, for the fire had now entirely expired. It was oneo'clock. Vexed beyond words that I had slumbered, I rushed out into theempty passages, where, standing silent, I listened for any footstep.There was not the echo of a sound abroad. The halls were wrapped indarkness. Quietly and swiftly I felt my way down to the street; not asoul to be seen in any direction. Yet I felt positive that LeesySullivan, creeping from her shelter, had returned to her room at thatmidnight hour, had found me there, _sleeping_, and had fled.
Soon a car, which now ran only at intervals of half an hour, camealong, and I gave up my watch for the night, mortified at the result.
It was three o'clock when I reache
d Mr. Burton's door. He opened itbefore I could ring the bell.
"No success? I was afraid of it. You see I have kept up for you; andnow, since the night is so far spent, if you are not too worn-out, Iwish you would come with me to a house not very far from here. I wantto show you how some of the fast young men of New York spend the hoursin which they ought to be in bed."
"I am wide awake, and full of curiosity; but how did you find yourlittle daughter?"
"Drooping a little, but persisting that she was not ill nor tired, anddelighted with the flowers."
"Then you did not forget the bouquet?"
"No, I never like to disappoint Lenore."
Locking the door behind us, we again descended to the deserted street.