CHAPTER XXVIII
SHORTER VISTAS
Larry had assembled his effects in the library, and tomy surprise, Stoddard appeared with his own hand-bag.
“I’m going to see Donovan well on his way,” said theclergyman.
“It’s a pity our party must break up,” exclaimed mygrandfather. “My obligations to Mr. Donovan are verygreat—and to you, too, Stoddard. Jack’s friends aremine hereafter, and when we get new doors for GlenarmHouse you shall honor me by accepting duplicatekeys.”
“Where’s Bates?” asked Larry, and the man came in,respectfully, inperturbably as always, and began gatheringup the bags.
“Stop—one moment! Mr. Glenarm,” said Larry.“Before I go I want to congratulate you on the splendidcourage of this man who has served you and your housewith so much faithfulness and tact. And I want to tellyou something else, that you probably would never learnfrom him—”
“Donovan!” There was a sharp cry in Bates’ voice,and he sprang forward with his hands outstretched entreatingly.But Larry did not heed him.
“The moment I set eyes on this man I recognizedhim. It’s not fair to you or to him that you should notknow him for what he is. Let me introduce an oldfriend, Walter Creighton; he was a student at Dublinwhen I was there,—I remember him as one of the bestfellows in the world.”
“For God’s sake—no!” pleaded Bates. He was deeplymoved and turned his face away from us.
“But, like me,” Larry went on, “he mixed in politics.One night in a riot at Dublin a constable was killed.No one knew who was guilty, but a youngster was suspected,—the son of one of the richest and best-knownmen in Ireland, who happened to get mixed in the row.To draw attention from the boy, Creighton let suspicionattach to his own name, and, to help the boy’s casefurther, ran away. I had not heard from or of him untilthe night I came here and found him the defender ofthis house. By God! that was no servant’s trick,—it wasthe act of a royal gentleman.”
They clasped hands; and with a new light in his face,with a new manner, as though he resumed, as a familiargarment, an old disused personality, Bates stood transfiguredin the twilight, a man and a gentleman. I thinkwe were all drawn to him; I know that a sob clutchedmy throat and tears filled my eyes as I grasped his hand.
“But what in the devil did you do it for?” blurtedmy grandfather, excitedly twirling his glasses.
Bates (I still call him Bates,—he insists on it)laughed. For the first time he thrust his hands into hispockets and stood at his ease, one of us.
“Larry, you remember I showed a fondness for thestage in our university days. When I got to America Ihad little money and found it necessary to find employmentwithout delay. I saw Mr. Glenarm’s advertisementfor a valet. Just as a lark I answered it to seewhat an American gentleman seeking a valet lookedlike. I fell in love with Mr. Glenarm at sight—”
“It was mutual!” declared my grandfather. “I neverbelieved your story at all,—you were too perfect in thepart!”
“Well, I didn’t greatly mind the valet business; ithelped to hide my identity; and I did like the humorand whims of Mr. Glenarm. The housekeeping, afterwe came out here, wasn’t so pleasant”—he looked at hishands ruefully—“but this joke of Mr. Glenarm’s makinga will and then going to Egypt to see what wouldhappen,—that was too good to miss. And when theheir arrived I found new opportunities of practisingamateur theatricals; and Pickering’s efforts to enlistme in his scheme for finding the money and making merich gave me still greater opportunities. There weretimes when I was strongly tempted to blurt the wholething; I got tired of being suspected, and of playingghost in the wall; and if Mr. Glenarm hadn’t got herejust as he did I should have stopped the fight andproclaimed the truth. I hope,” he said, turning tome, “you have no hard feelings, sir.” And he threwinto the “sir” just a touch of irony that made us allroar.
“I’m certainly glad I’m not dead,” declared my grandfather,staring at Bates. “Life is more fun than I everthought possible. Bless my soul!” he said, “if it isn’t ashame that Bates can never cook another omelette forme!”
We sent Bates back with my grandfather from theboat-house, and Stoddard, Larry and I started across theice; the light coating of snow made walking comparativelyeasy. We strode on silently, Stoddard leading.Their plan was to take an accommodation train at thefirst station beyond Annandale, leave it at a town fortymiles away, and then hurry east to an obscure place inthe mountains of Virginia, where a religious ordermaintained a house. There Stoddard promised Larryasylum and no questions asked.
We left the lake and struck inland over a rough countryroad to the station, where Stoddard purchased ticketsonly a few minutes before the train whistled.
We stood on the lonely platform, hands joined tohands, and I know not what thoughts in our minds andhearts.
“We’ve met and we’ve said good-by in many odd cornersof this strange old world,” said Larry, “and Godknows when we shall meet again.”
“But you must stay in America—there must be nosea between us!” I declared.
“Donovan’s sins don’t seem heinous to me! It’s simplythat they’ve got to find a scapegoat,”—and Stoddard’svoice was all sympathy and kindness. “It willblow over in time, and Donovan will become an enlightenedand peaceable American citizen.”
There was a constraint upon us all at this moment ofparting—so many things had happened that day—andwhen men have shared danger together they are boundby ties that death only can break. Larry’s effort atcheer struck a little hollowly upon us.
“Beware, lad, of women!” he importuned me.
“Humph! You still despise the sex on account ofthat affair with the colleen of the short upper lip.”
“Verily. And the eyes of that little lady, who guidedyour grandfather back from the other world, remindedme strongly of her! Bah, these women!”
“Precious little you know about them!” I retorted.
“The devil I don’t!”
“No,” said Stoddard, “invoke the angels, not thedevil!”
“Hear him! Hear him! A priest with no knowledgeof the world.”
“Alas, my cloth! And you fling it at me after I havegone through battle, murder and sudden death with yougentlemen!”
“We thank you, sir, for that last word,” said Larrymockingly. “I am reminded of the late Lord Alfred:
“I waited for the train at Coventry; I hung with grooms and porters on the bridge, To watch the three tall spires,—’ ”
he quoted, looking off through the twilight toward St.Agatha’s. “I can’t see a blooming spire!”
The train was now roaring down upon us and weclung to this light mood for our last words. Betweenmen, gratitude is a thing best understood in silence;and these good friends, I knew, felt what I could notsay.
“Before the year is out we shall all meet again,” criedStoddard hopefully, seizing the bags.
“Ah, if we could only be sure of that!” I replied. Andin a moment they were both waving their hands to mefrom the rear platform, and I strode back homewardover the lake.
A mood of depression was upon me; I had lost muchthat day, and what I had gained—my restoration to theregard of the kindly old man of my own blood, who hadappealed for my companionship in terms hard to deny—seemed trifling as I tramped over the ice. PerhapsPickering, after all, was the real gainer by the day’sevent. My grandfather had said nothing to allay mydoubts as to Marion Devereux’s strange conduct, andyet his confidence in her was apparently unshaken.
I tramped on, and leaving the lake, half-unconsciouslystruck into the wood beyond the dividing wall, wheresnow-covered leaves and twigs rattled and broke undermy tread. I came out into an open space beyond St.Agatha’s, found the walk and turned toward home.
As I neared the main entrance to the school the dooropened and a woman came out under the overhanginglamp. She carried a lantern, and turned with a handoutstretched to some one who followed her with carefulsteps.
“Ah, Marian,” cri
ed my grandfather, “it’s ever thetask of youth to light the way of age.”