I certainly had every right to conclude that this would end myadventures for the day. But I soon found that I was destined to have yetanother experience before returning to my home in New York.
The weather had changed during the last hour and at the moment I emergedfrom the shadows of the hedge-row into the open space fronting theOcumpaugh dock, a gleam of lightning shot across the west and by it Isaw what looked like the dusky figure of a man leaning against a pile atthe extreme end of the boat-house. Something in the immobilitymaintained by this figure in face of the quick flashes which from timeto time lit up the scene, reminded me of the presence I had come uponhours before in front of Mrs. Carew's house; and moved by the instinctof my calling, I took advantage of the few minutes yet remaining beforetrain time, to make my way in its direction, cautiously, of course, andwith due allowance for the possible illumination following those fitfulbursts of light which brought everything to view in one moment, only toplunge it all back into the profoundest obscurity the next.
I had two motives for my proceeding. One, as I say, sprang from thenatural instinct of investigation; the other was kindlier and lesspersonal.
I did not understand the meaning of the posture which this person hadnow assumed; nor did I like it. Why should this man--why should any manstand like this at the dead of night staring into waters, which, if theyhad their tale to tell, had not yet told it--unless his interest in thestory he read there was linked with emotions such as it was my businessto know? For those most openly concerned in Gwendolen's loss, the searchhad ceased; why, then, this lone and lingering watch on the part of onewho might, for all I knew, be some over-zealous detective, but who I wasrather inclined to believe was a person much more closely concerned inthe child's fate, viz: the next heir-in-law, Mr. Rathbone. If it werehe, his presence there savored of mystery or it savored of the tragic.The latter seemed the more likely hypothesis, judging from theexpression of his face, as seen by me under the lantern. It behooved methen to approach him, but to approach him in the shadow of theboat-house.
What passed in the next few minutes seemed to me unreal and dreamlike. Iwas tired, I suppose, and so more than usually susceptible. Night had nounfamiliar effects for me, even night on the borders of this greatriver; nor was my occupation a new one, or the expectation I felt, asfearful and absorbing as that with which an hour or two before I hadraised my lantern in that room in which the doleful mystery of half acentury back, trenched upon the still more moving mystery of to-day.Yet, that experience had the sharpness of fact; while this had only thevagueness of a phantasm.
I was very near him but the lightning had ceased to flash, and I foundit impossible to discern whether or not the form I had come there toidentify, yet lingered in its old position against the pile.
I therefore awaited the next gleam with great anxiety, an anxiety onlypartly alleviated by the certainty I felt of hearing the faint, scarcelyrecognizable sound of his breathing. Had the storm passed over? Would nomore flashes come? Ah, he is moving--that is a sigh I hear--nodetective's exclamation of impatience, but a sufferer's sigh ofdepression or remorse. What was in the man's mind?
A steamboat or some equally brilliantly illuminated craft was passing,far out in the channel; the shimmer of its lights gave sudden cheer tothe distant prospect; the churning of its paddles suggested life andaction and irresistibly drew my eyes that way. Would his follow? Would Ifind his attitude changed?
Ah! the long delayed flash has come and gone. He is standing there yet,but no longer in an attitude of contemplation. On the contrary, he isbending over the waters searching with eager aspect, where so many hadsearched before him, and, in the instant, as his face and form leapedinto sight, I beheld his clenched right hand fall on his breast andheard on his lips the one word--