XXIII
A CORAL BEAD
"What's that?"
It was Mr. Rathbone who first found voice.
"To what a state have I come when in every woman's face, even in herswho is dearest, I see expressions I no longer understand, and in everychild's voice catch the sound of Gwendolen's?"
"Harry's voice is not like Gwendolen's," came in desperate protest fromthe ready widow. A daring assertion for her to make to him who had oftenheld this child in his arms for hours together. "You are not yourself,Justin. I am sorry. I--I--" Almost she gave her promise, almost sherisked her future, possibly his, by saying, under the stress of herfears, what her heart did not prompt her to, when--
A quick move on her part, a low cry on his, and he came rushing up thesteps.
I had advanced at her hesitating words and shown myself.
When Mr. Rathbone was well up the terrace (he hardly honored me with alook as he went by), I slowly began my descent to where she stood withher back toward me and her arms thrown round the child she had evidentlycalled to her in her anxiety to conceal the little beaming face fromthis new intruder.
That she had not looked as high as my face I felt assured; that shewould not show me hers unless I forced her to seemed equally certain.Every step I took downward was consequently of moment to me. I wonderedhow I should come out of this; what she would do; what I myself shouldsay. The bold course commended itself to me. No more circumlocution; nomore doubtful playing of the game with this woman. I would take the bullby the horns and--
I had reached the step on which she crouched. I could catch sight of thechild's eyes over her shoulder, a shoulder that quivered--was it withthe storm of the last interview, or with her fear of this? I would see.
Pausing, I said to her with every appearance of respect, but in my mostmatter-of-fact tones:
"Mrs. Carew, may I request you to send Gwendolen down to the girl I seebelow there? I have something to say to you before you leave."
_Gwendolen!_
With a start which showed how completely she was taken by surprise, Mrs.Carew rose. She may have recognized my voice and she may not; it is hardto decide in such an actress. Whether she did or not, she turned with afrown, which gave way to a ravishing smile as her eyes met my face.
"You?" she said, and without any betrayal in voice or gesture that sherecognized that her hopes, and those of the friend to whose safety shehad already sacrificed so much, had just received their death-blow, shegave a quick order to the girl who, taking the child by the hand, satdown on the steps Mrs. Carew now quitted and laid herself out to beamusing.
Gravely Mrs. Carew confronted me on the terrace below.
"Explain," said she.
"I have just come from Mrs. Ocumpaugh," I replied.
The veiled head dropped a trifle.
"She could not sustain herself! So all is lost?"
"That depends. But I must request you not to leave the country till Mr.Ocumpaugh returns."
The flash of her eye startled me. "Who can detain me," she cried, "if Iwish to go?"
I did not answer in kind. I had no wish to rouse this woman'sopposition.
"I do not think you will want to go when you remember Mrs. Ocumpaugh'scondition. Would you leave her to bear the full burden of this deceptionalone? She is a broken woman. Her full story is known to me. I have theprofoundest sympathy for her. She has only three days in which to decideupon her course. I have advised her to tell the whole truth to herhusband."
"You!"
The word was but a breath, but I heard it. Yet I felt no resentmentagainst this woman. No one could, under the spell of so much spirit andgrace.
"Did I not advise her right?"
"Perhaps, but you must not detain _me_. You must do nothing to separateme from this child. I will not bear it. I have experienced for days nowwhat motherhood might be, and nothing on earth shall rob me of mypresent rights in this child." Then as she met my unmoved countenance:"If you know Mrs. Ocumpaugh's whole history, you know that neither shenor her husband has any real claim on the child."
"In that you are mistaken," I quickly protested. "Six years of care andaffection such as they have bestowed on Gwendolen, to say nothing of thesubstantial form which these have taken from the first, constitute aclaim which all the world must recognize, if you do not. Think of Mr.Ocumpaugh's belief in her relation to him! Think of the shock whichawaits him, when he learns that she is not of his blood and lineage!"
"I know, I know." Her fingers worked nervously; the woman was showingthrough the actress. "But I will not give up the child. Ask anything butthat."
"Madam, I have had the honor so far to make but one requirement--thatyou do not carry the child out of the country--yet."
As I uttered this ultimatum, some influence, acting equally upon both,caused us to turn in the direction of the river; possibly anapprehension lest some word of this conversation might be overheard bythe child or the nurse. A surprise awaited us which effectuallyprevented Mrs. Carew's reply. In the corner of the Ocumpaugh groundsstood a man staring with all his eyes at the so-called little Harry. Anexpression of doubt was on his face. I knew the minute to be criticaland was determined to make the most of it.
"Do you know that man?" I whispered to Mrs. Carew.
The answer was brief but suggestive of alarm.
"Yes, one of the gardeners over there--one of whom Gwendolen isespecially fond."
"She's the one to fear, then. Engage his attention while I divert hers."
All this in a whisper while the man was summoning up courage to speak.
"A pretty child," he stammered, as Mrs. Carew advanced toward himsmiling. "Is that your little nephew I've heard them tell about? Seemsto me he looks like our own little lost one; only darker and sturdier."
"Much sturdier," I heard her say as I made haste to accost the child.
"Harry," I cried, recalling my old address when I was in training for agentleman; "your aunt is in a hurry. The cars are coming; don't you hearthe whistle? Will you trust yourself to me? Let me carry you--I meanpick-a-back, while we run for the train."
The sweet eyes looked up--it was fortunate for Mrs. Carew that no onebut myself had ever got near enough to see those eyes or she couldhardly have kept her secret--and at first slowly, then with instinctivetrust, the little arms rose and I caught her to my breast, taking careas I did so to turn her quite away from the man whom Mrs. Carew wasabout leaving.
"Come!" I shouted back, "we shall be late!"--and made a dash for thegate.
Mrs. Carew joined me, and none of us said anything till we reached thestation platform. Then as I set the child down, I gave her one look. Shewas beaming with gratitude.
"That saved us, together with the few words I could edge in between hisloud regrets at my going and his exclamations of grief over Gwendolen'sloss. On the train I shall fear nothing. If you will lift him up I willwrap him in this shawl as if he were ill. Once in New York--are you notgoing to permit me?"
"To go to New York, yes; but not to the steamer."
She showed anger, but also an admirable self-control. Far off we couldcatch the sounding thrill of the approaching train.
"I yield," she announced suddenly. And opening the bag at her side, shefumbled in it for a card which she presently put in my hand. "I wasgoing there for lunch," she explained. "Now I will take a room andremain until I hear from you." Here she gave me a quick look. "You donot appear satisfied."
"Yes, yes," I stammered, as I looked at the card and saw her name overthat of an inconspicuous hotel in the down-town portion of New YorkCity. "I merely--"
The nearing of the train gave me the opportunity of cutting short thesentence I should have found it difficult to finish.
"Here is the child," I exclaimed, lifting the little one, whom sheimmediately enveloped in the light but ample wrap she had chosen as adisguise.
"Good-by--Harry."
"Good-by! I like you. Your arms are strong and you don't shake me whenyou run."
Mrs. Carew smiled. There was deep emotion in her face. "_Au revoir!_"she murmured in a tone implying promise. Happily I understood the Frenchphrase.
I bowed and drew back. Was I wrong in letting her slip from mysurveillance? The agitation I probably showed must have caused her somethought. But she would have been more than a diviner of mysteries tohave understood its cause. Her bag, when she had opened it before myeyes, had revealed among its contents a string of remarkable corals. Abead similar in shape, color and marking rested at that very moment overmy own heart. Was that necklace one bead short? With a start ofconviction I began to believe so and that I was the man who couldcomplete it. If that was so--why, then--then--
It isn't often that a detective's brain reels--but mine did then.
The train began to move--
This discovery, the greatest of all, if I were right, would--
I had no more time to think.
Instinctively, with a quick jump, I made my place good on the rear car.