CHAPTER III
THE HOUSE OF A THOUSAND CANDLES
Annandale derives its chief importance from the factthat two railway lines intersect there. The ChicagoExpress paused only for a moment while the porter depositedmy things beside me on the platform. Lightstreamed from the open door of the station; a fewidlers paced the platform, staring into the windows ofthe cars; the village hackman languidly solicited mybusiness. Suddenly out of the shadows came a tall,curious figure of a man clad in a long ulster. As Iwrite, it is with a quickening of the sensation I receivedon the occasion of my first meeting with Bates. Hislank gloomy figure rises before me now, and I hear hisdeep melancholy voice, as, touching his hat respectfully,be said:
“Beg pardon, sir; is this Mr. Glenarm? I am Batesfrom Glenarm House. Mr. Pickering wired me to meetyou, sir.”
“Yes; to be sure,” I said.
The hackman was already gathering up my traps,and I gave him my trunk-checks.
“How far is it?” I asked, my eyes resting, a little regretfully,I must confess, on the rear lights of the vanishingtrain.
“Two miles, sir,” Bates replied. “There’s no wayover but the hack in winter. In summer the steamercomes right into our dock.”
“My legs need stretching; I’ll walk,” I suggested,drawing the cool air into my lungs. It was a still, starryOctober night, and its freshness was grateful after thehot sleeper. Bates accepted the suggestion withoutcomment. We walked to the end of the platform, wherethe hackman was already tumbling my trunks about,and after we had seen them piled upon his nondescriptwagon, I followed Bates down through the broad quietstreet of the village. There was more of Annandalethan I had imagined, and several tall smoke-stacksloomed here and there in the thin starlight.
“Brick-yards, sir,” said Bates, waving his hand atthe stacks. “It’s a considerable center for that kind ofbusiness.”
“Bricks without straw?” I asked, as we passed aradiant saloon that blazed upon the board walk.
“Beg pardon, sir, but such places are the ruin ofmen,”—on which remark I based a mental note thatBates wished to impress me with his own rectitude.
He swung along beside me, answering questions withdogged brevity. Clearly, here was a man who had reducedhuman intercourse to a basis of necessity. I wasto be shut up with him for a year, and he was not likelyto prove a cheerful jailer. My feet struck upon a graveledhighway at the end of the village street, and Iheard suddenly the lapping of water.
“It’s the lake, sir. This road leads right out to thehouse,” Bates explained.
I was doomed to meditate pretty steadily, I imagined,on the beauty of the landscape in these parts, and Iwas rejoiced to know that it was not all cheerless prairieor gloomy woodland. The wind freshened cud blewsharply upon us off the water.
“The fishing’s quite good in season. Mr. Glenarmused to take great pleasure in it. Bass,—yes, sir. Mr.Glenarm held there was nothing quite equal to a blackbass.”
I liked the way the fellow spoke of my grandfather.He was evidently a loyal retainer. No doubt he couldsummon from the past many pictures of my grandfather,and I determined to encourage his confidence.
Any resentment I felt on first hearing the terms ofmy grandfather’s will had passed. He had treated meas well as I deserved, and the least I could do was toaccept the penalty he had laid upon me in a sane andamiable spirit. This train of thought occupied me aswe tramped along the highway. The road now led awayfrom the lake and through a heavy wood. Presently, onthe right loomed a dark barrier, and I put out my handand touched a wall of rough stone that rose to a heightof about eight feet.
“What is this, Bates?” I asked.
“This is Glenarm land, sir. The wall was one ofyour grandfather’s ideas. It’s a quarter of a mile longand cost him a pretty penny, I warrant you. The roadturns off from the lake now, but the Glenarm propertyis all lake front.”
So there was a wall about my prison house! I grinnedcheerfully to myself. When, a few moments later, myguide paused at an arched gateway in the long wall,drew from his overcoat a bunch of keys and fumbled atthe lock of an iron gate, I felt the spirit of adventurequicken within me.
The gate clicked behind us and Bates found a lanternand lighted it with the ease of custom.
“I use this gate because it’s nearer. The regular entranceis farther down the road. Keep close, sir, as thetimber isn’t much cleared.”
The undergrowth was indeed heavy, and I followedthe lantern of my guide with difficulty. In the darknessthe place seemed as wild and rough as a tropical wilderness.
“Only a little farther,” rose Bates’ voice ahead ofme; and then: “There’s the light, sir,”—and, liftingmy eyes, as I stumbled over the roots of a great tree, Isaw for the first time the dark outlines of GlenarmHouse.
“Here we are, sir!” exclaimed Bates, stamping hisfeet upon a walk. I followed him to what I assumed tobe the front door of the house, where a lamp shonebrightly at either side of a massive entrance. Batesflung it open without ado, and I stepped quickly intoa great hall that was lighted dimly by candles fastenedinto brackets on the walls.
“I hope you’ve not expected too much, Mr. Glenarm,”said Bates, with a tone of mild apology. “It’s very incompletefor living purposes.”
“Well, we’ve got to make the best of it,” I answered,though without much cheer. The sound of our stepsreverberated and echoed in the well of a great staircase.There was not, as far as I could see, a single article offurniture in the place.
“Here’s something you’ll like better, sir,”—and Batespaused far down the hall and opened a door.
A single candle made a little pool of light in what Ifelt to be a large room. I was prepared for a disclosureof barren ugliness, and waited, in heartsick foreboding,for the silent guide to reveal a dreary prison.
“Please sit here, sir,” said Bates, “while I make abetter light.”
He moved through the dark room with perfect ease,struck a match, lighted a taper and went swiftly andsoftly about. He touched the taper to one candle afteranother,—they seemed to be everywhere,—and wonfrom the dark a faint twilight, that yielded slowly to agrowing mellow splendor of light. I have often watchedthe acolytes in dim cathedrals of the Old World setcountless candles ablaze on magnificent altars,—alwayswith awe for the beauty of the spectacle; but in thisunknown house the austere serving-man summonedfrom the shadows a lovelier and more bewildering enchantment.Youth alone, of beautiful things, is lovelierthan light.
The lines of the walls receded as the light increased,and the raftered ceiling drew away, luring the eyes upward.I rose with a smothered exclamation on my lipsand stared about, snatching off my hat in reverence asthe spirit of the place wove its spell about me. Everywherethere were books; they covered the walls to theceiling, with only long French windows and an enormousfireplace breaking the line. Above the fireplace amassive dark oak chimney-breast further emphasizedthe grand scale of the room. From every conceivableplace—from shelves built for the purpose, from bracketsthat thrust out long arms among the books, from agreat crystal chandelier suspended from the ceiling, andfrom the breast of the chimney—innumerable candlesblazed with dazzling brilliancy. I exclaimed in wonderand pleasure as Bates paused, his sorcerer’s wand inhand.
“Mr. Glenarm was very fond of candle-light; heliked to gather up candlesticks, and his collection isvery fine. He called his place ‘The House of a ThousandCandles.’ There’s only about a hundred here;but it was one of his conceits that when the house wasfinished there would be a thousand lights, he had quitea joking way, your grandfather. It suited his humorto call it a thousand. He enjoyed his own pleasantries,sir.”
“I fancy he did,” I replied, staring in bewilderment.
“Oil lamps might be more suited to your own taste,sir. But your grandfather would not have them. Oldbrass and copper were specialties with him, and he hada particular taste, Mr. Glenarm had, in glass candlesticks.He held that the crystal was most effective ofall. I’ll go and let in the baggageman and the
n serveyou some supper.”
He went somberly out and I examined the room withamazed and delighted eyes. It was fifty feet long andhalf as wide. The hard-wood floor was covered withhandsome rugs; every piece of furniture was quaint orinteresting. Carved in the heavy oak paneling abovethe fireplace, in large Old English letters, was the inscription:
The Spirit of Man is the Candle of the Lord
and on either side great candelabra sent long armsacross the hearth. All the books seemed related to architecture;German and French works stood side by sideamong those by English and American authorities. Ifound archaeology represented in a division where allthe titles were Latin or Italian. I opened several cabinetsthat contained sketches and drawings, all in carefulorder; and in another I found an elaborate cardcatalogue, evidently the work of a practised hand. Theminute examination was too much for me; I threwmyself into a great chair that might have been spoilfrom a cathedral, satisfied to enjoy the general effect.To find an apartment so handsome and so marked bygood taste in the midst of an Indiana wood, staggeredme. To be sure, in approaching the house I had seenonly a dark bulk that conveyed no sense of its characteror proportions; and certainly the entrance hallhad not prepared me for the beauty of this room. I wasso lost in contemplation that I did not hear a door openbehind me. The respectful, mournful voice of Batesannounced:
“There’s a bite ready for you, sir.”
I followed him through the hall to a small high-wainscotedroom where a table was simply set.
“This is what Mr. Glenarm called the refectory. Thedining-room, on the other side of the house, is unfinished.He took his own meals here. The library was themain thing with him. He never lived to finish the house,—more’s the pity, sir. He would have made somethingvery handsome of it if he’d had a few years more. Buthe hoped, sir, that you’d see it completed. It was hiswish, sir.”
“Yes, to be sure,” I replied.
He brought cold fowl and a salad, and produced abit of Stilton of unmistakable authenticity.
“I trust the ale is cooled to your liking. It’s yourgrandfather’s favorite, if I may say it, sir.”
I liked the fellow’s humility. He served me with agrave deference and an accustomed hand. Candles incrystal holders shed an agreeable light upon the table;the room was snug and comfortable, and hickory logsin a small fireplace crackled cheerily. If my grandfatherhad designed to punish me, with loneliness ashis weapon, his shade, if it lurked near, must havebeen grievously disappointed. I had long been inuredto my own society. I had often eaten my bread alone,and I found a pleasure in the quiet of the strange unknownhouse. There stole over me, too, the satisfactionthat I was at last obeying a wish of my grandfather’s,that I was doing something he would have me do. Iwas touched by the traces everywhere of his interestin what was to him the art of arts; there was somethingquite fine in his devotion to it. The little refectoryhad its air of distinction, though it was withoutdecoration. There had been, we always said in thefamily, something whimsical or even morbid in mygrandsire’s devotion to architecture; but I felt that ithad really appealed to something dignified and noblein his own mind and character, and a gentler moodthan I had known in years possessed my heart. He hadasked little of me, and I determined that in that littleI would not fail.
Bates gave me my coffee, put matches within reachand left the room. I drew out my cigarette case andwas holding it half-opened, when the glass in the windowback of me cracked sharply, a bullet whistled overmy head, struck the opposite wall and fell, flattenedand marred, on the table under my hand.