CHAPTER II.
BURRITT.
All was quiet in the halls, but as I proceeded toward their room Iperceived a figure standing near the doorway, which, in another moment,I saw to be that of Burritt. He was trembling like a leaf, and was bentforward, listening.
"Hush!" he whispered; "they are talking. All seems to be right. I justheard him call her darling."
I drew the man away and took his place. Yes; they were talking insubdued but not unkindly tones. I heard him bid her be composed, andcaught, as I thought, a light reply that ought to have satisfied me thatMrs. Urquhart had simply suffered from some nightmare horror at whichshe was as ready to laugh now as he. But my nature is a contradictoryone, and I was not satisfied. The echo of her cry was still ringing inmy ears, and I felt as if I would give the world for a momentary peepinto their room. Influenced by this idea, I boldly knocked, and in aninstant--too soon for him not to have been standing near the door--Iheard his breath through the keyhole and the words:
"Who is there, and what do you want?"
"We heard a cry," was my response, "and I feared Mrs. Urquhart was illagain."
"Mrs. Urquhart is very well," came hastily, almost gayly, from within."She had a dream, and was willing that every one should know it. Is notthat all?" he said, seemingly addressing his wife.
There was a murmur within, and then I heard her voice. "It was only adream, dear Mrs. Truax," it said, and convinced against my will, I wasabout to return to my room, when I brushed against Burritt. He had notmoved, and did not look as if he intended to.
"Come," said I, "there is no use of our remaining here."
"Can't help it," was his whispered reply. "In this hall I stay tillmorning. When I see a lamb in the care of a wolf, I find it hard tosleep. There is a door between us, but please God there shan't beanything more."
And knowing Burritt, I did not try to argue, but went quietly andsomewhat thoughtfully to my room, vaguely relieved that I left himbehind, though convinced there would be no further need of his services.
And so it was. No more sounds disturbed the house, and when I came down,with the first streak of daylight, I found Burritt gone about his work.
Breakfast was served to the Urquharts in their own room. I had wished tocarry it in myself, but I found this inconvenient, and so I sent Hetty.When she came back I asked her how Mrs. Urquhart looked.
"Very well, ma'am," was the quick reply. "And see! I don't think she'sas unhappy as we all thought last night, or she wouldn't be giving me abright new crown."
I glanced at the girl's palm. There was indeed a bright new crown in it.
"Did she give you that?" I inquired.
"Yes, ma'am; she herself. And she laughed when she did it, and said itwas for the good breakfast I had brought her."
I was busy at the time, and could not stop to give the girl's words muchthought; but as soon as I had any leisure, I went to see for myself howMrs. Urquhart looked when she laughed.
I was five minutes too late. She had just donned her traveling bonnetand veil, and though I heard her laugh slightly once, I did not see herface.
I saw his, however, and was surprised at the good nature in it. He wasquite the gentleman, and if he had not been in such a hurry, would havedoubtless made, or endeavored to make, himself very agreeable. But hewas just watching his great box carried out to the wagon, and while hetook pains to talk to me--was it to keep me from talking to her?--he wasnaturally a little absentminded. He was in haste, too, and insisted uponplacing his wife in the carriage before all his baggage was taken fromthe room. And she seemed willing to go. I watched her on purpose to see,for I was not yet satisfied that she was not playing a part at hisdictation, but I could discover no hint of reluctance in her manner, butrather a quiet alacrity, as if she felt glad to quit a room to which shehad taken a dislike.
When I saw this, and noted the light step of her feet, I said to myselfthat I had been a fool, and lost a little of the interest I had felt forher. Nor did I regain it till after they had driven away, though sheshowed a consideration for me at the last which I had not expected,leaning from the carriage to give me a good-by pressure of the hand, andeven nodding again and again as they disappeared down the road. For thefear which could be dissipated in a night was not the fear with which Ihad credited her; and of ordinary excitements and commonplace natures Ihad seen enough in my long experience as landlady to make me unwillingto trouble myself with any more of them.
But when the carriage and its accompanying wagon had quite disappeared,and Mr. and Mrs. Urquhart were virtually as far beyond my reach as ifthey were already in New York, I became conscious of a great uneasiness.This was the more strange in that there seemed to be no especial causefor it. They had left my house in apparently better spirits than theyhad entered it, and there was no longer any reason why I should concernmyself about them. And yet I did concern myself, and came into the houseand into the room they had just vacated, with feelings so unusual that Iwas astonished at myself, and not a little provoked. I had a vaguefeeling that the woman who had just left was somehow different from theone I had seen the night before.
But I am a busy woman, and I do not think I should have let this troubleme long if it had not been for Burritt. But when he came into the roomafter me, and shut the door behind him and stood with his back againstit, looking at me, I knew I was not the only one who felt uncomfortableabout the Urquharts. Rising from the chair where I had beensitting, counting the cost of fitting up that room so as to make it lookhabitable, I went toward him and met his gaze pretty sharply.
"Well, what is it?" I asked.
"I don't know," was the somewhat sullen reply. "I don't feel right aboutthose folks, and yet--" He stopped and scratched his head--"I don't knowwhat I'm afraid of. Are you sure they left nothing behind them?"
The last words were uttered in such a tone I did not know for a minutewhat to say.
"Left anything behind them!" I replied. "They left their money, if thatis what you mean. I don't know what else they could have left."
Notwithstanding which assertion, I involuntarily glanced about the roomas if half expecting to see some one of their many belongings protrudingfrom a hitherto unsearched corner. His gaze followed mine, but presentlyreturned, and we stood again looking at each other.
"Nothing here," said I.
"Where is it, then?" he asked.
I frowned in displeasure.
"Where is what?" I demanded. "You speak like a fool. Explain yourself."
He took a step toward me and lowered his voice. Every one knows Burritt,so I need not describe him. You can all imagine how he looked when hesaid:
"Did you see me handling of the big box, ma'am?"
I nodded yes.
"Saw how I was the one to help carry it in, and also how I was the oneto first take hold on it when he wanted it carried out?" I again noddedyes.
"Well, ma'am, that box was a heavy load to lift into the wagon, but,ma'am"--here his voice became quite sepulchral--"it wasn't as heavy asit was when we lifted it out, and it hadn't the same feel either. Now,what had happened to it, and where is the stuff he took out of it?"
I own I had never in my life felt creepy before that minute. But withhis eyes staring at me so impressively, and his voice sunk to a depththat made me lean forward to hear what he had to say, I do declare Ifelt as if an icy breath had been blown across the roots of my hair.
"Burritt, you want to frighten me," I exclaimed, as soon as I could getmy voice. "The box seemed heavier to you than it did just now. Therewas no change in it, there could not be, or we should find somethinghere to account for it. Remember you did not sleep last night, and lackof rest makes one fanciful."
"It does not make a man feel stronger, though, and I tell you the boxwas not near so heavy to-day as yesterday. Besides, as I said before, itacted differently under the handling. There was something loose in itto-day. Yesterday it was packed tight."
I shook my head, and tried to throw off the oppression caused
by hismanner. But seeing his eyes travel to the window, I looked that way too.
"He didn't carry anything out of the door," declared Burritt, at thismoment, "because I watched it, and I know. But that window is only threefeet from the ground, and I remember now that at the instant I firstlaid my ear to the keyhole, I heard a strange, grating sound just likethat of a window being lowered by a very careful hand. Shall I lookoutside it, ma'am?"
I replied by going quickly to the window myself, lifting it, which I didwith very little trouble, and glancing out. The familiar garden, withits path to the river, lay before me; but though I allowed myself onequick look in its direction, it was to the ground immediately beneaththe window that I turned my attention, and it was here that I instantly,and to the satisfaction of both Burritt and myself, discoveredunmistakable signs of disturbance. Not only was there the impression ofa finely booted foot imprinted in the loose earth, but there was a largestone lying against the house which we were both confident had not beenthere the day before.
"He went roaming through the garden last night," cried Burritt, "and hebrought back that stone. Why?"
I shuddered instead of replying. Then remembering that I had seen theyoung wife well and happy only a few minutes before, felt confused andmystified beyond any power to express.
"I will have a look at that stone," continued Burritt; and withoutwaiting for my sanction, he vaulted out of the window and lifted thestone.
After a moment's consideration of it he declared:
"It came from the river bank; that is all I can make out of it."
And dropping the stone from his hand, he suddenly darted down the pathto the river.
He was not gone long. When he came back, he looked still more doubtfulthan before.
"If I know that bank," he declared, "there has been more than one stonetaken from it, and some dirt. Suppose we examine the floor, ma'am."
We did so, and just where the box had been placed we discovered someparticles of sand that were not brought in from the road.
"What does it mean?" I cried.
Burritt did not answer. He was looking out toward the river. Suddenly heturned his eyes upon me and said in his former suppressed tone:
"He filled the box with stone and earth, and these were what we carriedout and put into the wagon. But it was full when it came, and veryheavy. Now, what was it filled with, and what has become of the stuff?"
It was the question then; it is the question now.
Burritt hints at crime, and has gone so far as to spend all theafternoon searching the river banks. But he has discovered nothing, norcan he explain what it was he looked for or expected to find. Nor aremy own thoughts and feelings any clearer. I remember that the times areunsettled, that the spirit of revolution is in the air, and try to becharitable enough to suppose that it was treasure the young husbandbrought with him, and that all the perturbation and distress which Iimagine myself to have witnessed in his behavior and that of his wifewere owing to the purpose that they had formed of burying, in this spot,the silver and plate which they were perhaps unwilling to risk to thechances of war. But when I try to stifle my graver fears with thissurmise, I recall the fearful nature of the shriek which startled mefrom my sleep, and repeat, tremblingly, to myself:
"Some one was in mortal agony at the moment I heard that cry. Was it theyoung wife, or was it--"