The House of a Thousand Candles Part 14

Then, at the top of the stair, her height accented by her gown of white, stood Marian Devereux, hesitating an instant, as a bird pauses before taking wing, and then laughingly running between the lines to where Olivia faced her in mock abjection. To the charm of the girl in the woodland was added now the dignity of beautiful womanhood, and my heart leaped at the thought that I had ever spoken to her, that I was there because she had taunted me with the risk of coming.

[Ill.u.s.tration: At the top of the stair, her height accented by her gown of white, stood Marian Devereux.]

Above, on the stair landing, a deep-toned clock began to strike midnight and every one cried "Merry Christmas!" and "Olivia's won!" and there was more hand-clapping, in which I joined with good will.

Some one behind me was explaining what had just occurred. Olivia, the youngest daughter of the house, had been denied a glimpse of the ball; Miss Devereux had made a wager with her host that Olivia would appear before midnight; and Olivia had defeated the plot against her, and gained the main hall at the stroke of Christmas.

"Good night! Good night!" called Olivia--the real Olivia--in derision to the company, and turned and ran back through the applauding, laughing throng.

The spectacled gentleman was Olivia's father, and he mockingly rebuked Marian Devereux for having encouraged an infraction of parental discipline, while she was twitting him upon the loss of his wager. Then her eyes rested upon me for the first time. She smiled slightly, but continued talking placidly to her host. The situation did not please me; I had not traveled so far and burglariously entered Doctor Armstrong's house in quest of a girl with blue eyes merely to stand by while she talked to another man.

I drew nearer, impatiently; and was conscious that four other young men in white waistcoats and gloves quite as irreproachable as my own stood ready to claim her the instant she was free. I did not propose to be thwarted by the beaux of Cincinnati, so I stepped toward Doctor Armstrong.

"I beg your pardon, Doctor--," I said with an a.s.surance for which I blush to this hour.

"All right, my boy; I, too, have been in Arcady!" he exclaimed in cheerful apology, and she put her hand on my arm and I led her away.

"He called me 'my boy,' so I must be pa.s.sing muster," I remarked, not daring to look at her.

"He's afraid not to recognize you. His inability to remember faces is a town joke."

We reached a quiet corner of the great hall and I found a seat for her.

"You don't seem surprised to see me--you knew I would come. I should have come across the world for this--for just this."

Her eyes were grave at once.

"Why did you come? I did not think you were so foolish. This is all--so wretched--so unfortunate. You didn't know that Mr. Pickering--Mr. Pickering--"

She was greatly distressed and this name came from her chokingly.

"Yes; what of him?" I laughed. "He is well on his way to California--and without you!"

She spoke hurriedly, eagerly, bending toward me.

"No--you don't know--you don't understand--he's here; he abandoned his California trip at Chicago; he telegraphed me to expect him--here--to-night! You must go at once--at once!"

"Ah, but you can't frighten me," I said, trying to realize just what a meeting with Pickering in that house might mean.

"No,"--she looked anxiously about--"they were to arrive late, he and the Taylors; they know the Armstrongs quite well. They may come at any moment now. Please go!"

"But I have only a few minutes myself--you wouldn't have me sit them out in the station down town? There are some things I have come to say, and Arthur Pickering and I are not afraid of each other!"

"But you must not meet him here! Think what that would mean to me! You are very foolhardy, Mr. Glenarm. I had no idea you would come--"

"But you wished to try me--you challenged me."

"That wasn't me--it was Olivia," she laughed, more at ease, "I thought--"

"Yes, what did you think?" I asked. "That I was tied hand and foot by a dead man's money?"

"No, it wasn't that wretched fortune; but I enjoyed playing the child before you--I really love Olivia--and it seemed that the fairies were protecting me and that I could play being a child to the very end of the chapter without any real mischief coming of it. I wish I were Olivia!" she declared, her eyes away from me.

"That's rather idle. I'm not really sure yet what your name is, and I don't care. Let's imagine that we haven't any names--I'm sure my name isn't of any use, and I'll be glad to go nameless all my days if only--"

"If only--" she repeated idly, opening and closing her fan. It was a frail blue trifle, painted in golden b.u.t.terflies.

"There are so many 'if onlies' that I hesitate to choose; but I will venture one. If only you will come back to St. Agatha's! Not to-morrow, or the next day, but, say, with the first bluebirds. I believe they are the harbingers up there."

Her very ease was a balm to my spirit; she was now a veritable daughter of repose. One arm in its long white sheath lay quiet in her lap; her right hand held the golden b.u.t.terflies against the soft curve of her cheek. A collar of pearls clasped her throat and accented the clear girlish lines of her profile. I felt the appeal of her youth and purity. It was like a cry in my heart, and I forgot the dreary house by the lake, and Pickering and the weeks within the stone walls of my prison.

"The friends who know me best never expect me to promise to be anywhere at a given time. I can't tell; perhaps I shall follow the bluebirds to Indiana; but why should I, when I can't play being Olivia any more?"

"No! I am very dull. That note of apology you wrote from the school really fooled me. But I have seen the real Olivia now. I don't want you to go too far--not where I can't follow--this flight I shall hardly dare repeat."

Her lips closed--like a rose that had gone back to be a bud again--and she pondered a moment, slowly freeing and imprisoning the golden b.u.t.terflies.

"You have risked a fortune, Mr. Glenarm, very, very foolishly--and more--if you are found here. Why, Olivia must have recognized you! She must have seen you often across the wall."

"But I don't care--I'm not staying at that ruin up there for money. My grandfather meant more to me than that--"

"Yes; I believe that is so. He was a dear old gentleman; and he liked me because I thought his jokes adorable. My father and he had known each other. But there was--no expectation--no wish to profit by his friends.h.i.+p. My name in his will is a great embarra.s.sment, a source of real annoyance. The newspapers have printed dreadful pictures of me. That is why I say to you, quite frankly, that I wouldn't accept a cent of Mr. Glenarm's money if it were offered me; and that is why,"--and her smile was a flash of spring--"I want you to obey the terms of the will and earn your fortune."

She closed the fan sharply and lifted her eyes to mine.

"But there isn't any fortune! It's all a myth, a joke," I declared.

"Mr. Pickering doesn't seem to think so. He had every reason for believing that Mr. Glenarm was a very rich man. The property can't be found in the usual places--banks, safety vaults, and the like. Then where do you think it is--or better, where do you think Mr. Pickering thinks it is?"

"But a.s.suming that it's buried up there by the lake like a pirate's treasure, it isn't Pickering's if he finds it. There are laws to protect even the dead from robbery!" I concluded hotly.

"How difficult you are! Suppose you should fall from a boat, or be shot--accidentally--then I might have to take the fortune after all; and Mr. Pickering might think of an easier way of getting it than by--"

"Stealing it! Yes, but you wouldn't--!"

Half-past twelve struck on the stairway and I started to my feet.

"You wouldn't--" I repeated.

"I might, you know!"

"I must go--but not with that, not with any hint of that--please!"

"If you let him defeat you, if you fail to spend your year there--we'll overlook this one lapse,"--she looked me steadily in the eyes, wholly guiltless of coquetry but infinitely kind--"then--"

She paused, opened the fan, held it up to the light and studied the golden b.u.t.terflies.

"Yes--"

"Then--let me see--oh, I shall never chase another rabbit as long as I live! Now go--quickly--quickly!"

"But you haven't told me when and where it was we met the first time. Please!"

She laughed, but urged me away with her eyes.

"I shan't do it! It isn't proper for me to remember, if your memory is so poor. I wonder how it would seem for us to meet just once--and be introduced! Good night! You really came. You are a gentleman of your word, Squire Glenarm!"

She gave me the tips of her fingers without looking at me.

A servant came in hurriedly.

"Miss Devereux, Mr. and Mrs. Taylor and Mr. Pickering are in the drawing-room."

"Yes; very well; I will come at once."

Then to me: "They must not see you--there, that way!" and she stood in the door, facing me, her hands lightly touching the frame as though to secure my way.

I turned for a last look and saw her waiting--her eyes bent gravely upon me, her arms still half-raised, barring the door; then she turned swiftly away into the hall.

Outside I found my hat and coat, and wakened my sleeping driver. He drove like mad into the city, and I swung upon the north-bound sleeper just as it was drawing out of the station.

CHAPTER XIX.

I MEET AN OLD FRIEND.

When I reached the house I found, to my astonishment, that the window I had left open as I scrambled out the night before was closed. I dropped my bag and crept to the front door, thinking that if Bates had discovered my absence it was useless to attempt any further deception. I was amazed to find the great doors of the main entrance flung wide, and in real alarm I ran through the hall and back to the library.

The nearest door stood open, and, as I peered in, a curious scene disclosed itself. A few of the large cathedral candles still burned brightly in several places, their flame rising strangely in the gray morning light. Books had been taken from the shelves and scattered everywhere, and sharp implements had cut ugly gashes in the shelving. The drawers containing sketches and photographs had been pulled out and their contents thrown about and trampled under foot.

The house was as silent as a tomb, but as I stood on the threshold trying to realize what had happened, something stirred by the fireplace and I crept forward, listening, until I stood by the long table beneath the great chandelier. Again I heard a sound as of some animal waking and stretching, followed by a moan that was undoubtedly human. Then the hands of a man clutched the farther edge of the table, and slowly and evidently with infinite difficulty a figure rose and the dark face of Bates, with eyes blurred and staring strangely, confronted me.

He drew his body to its height, and leaned heavily upon the table. I s.n.a.t.c.hed a candle and bent toward him to make sure my eyes were not tricking me.

"Mr. Glenarm! Mr. Glenarm!" he exclaimed in broken whispers. "It is Bates, sir."

"What have you done; what has happened?" I demanded.

He put his hand to his head uncertainly and gaped as though trying to gather his wits.

He was evidently dazed by whatever had occurred, and I sprang around and helped him to a couch. He would not lie down but sat up, staring and pa.s.sing his hand over his head. It was rapidly growing lighter, and I saw a purple and black streak across his temple where a bludgeon of some sort had struck him.

"What does this mean, Bates? Who has been in the house?"

"I can't tell you, Mr. Glenarm."

"Can't tell me! You will tell me or go to jail! There's been mischief done here and I don't intend to have any nonsense about it from you. Well--?"

He was clearly suffering, but in my anger at the sight of the wreck of the room I grasped his shoulder and shook him roughly.

"It was early this morning," he faltered, "about two o'clock, I heard noises in the lower part of the house. I came down thinking likely it was you, and remembering that you had been sick yesterday--"

"Yes, go on."

The thought of my truancy was no balm to my conscience just then.

"As I came into the hall, I saw lights in the library. As you weren't down last night the room hadn't been lighted at all. I heard steps, and some one tapping with a hammer--"

"Yes; a hammer. Go on!"

It was, then, the same old story! The war had been carried openly into the house, but Bates--just why should any one connected with the conspiracy injure Bates, who stood so near to Pickering, its leader? The fellow was undoubtedly hurt--there was no mistaking the lump on his head. He spoke with a painful difficulty that was not a.s.sumed, I felt increasingly sure, as he went on.

"I saw a man pulling out the books and tapping the inside of the shelves. He was working very fast. And the next thing I knew he let in another man through one of the terrace doors--the one there that still stands a little open."

He flinched as be turned slightly to indicate it, and his face twitched with pain.

"Never mind that; tell the rest of your story."

"Then I ran in, grabbed one of the big candelabra from the table, and went for the nearest man. They were about to begin on the chimney-breast there--it was Mr. Glenarm's pride in all the house--and that accounts for my being there in front of the fireplace. They rather got the best of me, sir.

"Clearly; I see they did. You had a hand-to-hand fight with them, and being two to one--"

"No; there were two of us--don't you understand, two of us! There was another man who came running in from somewhere, and he took sides with me. I thought at first it was you. The robbers thought so, too, for one of them yelled, 'Great G.o.d; it's Glenarm!' just like that. But it wasn't you, but quite another person."

"That's a good story so far; and then what happened?"

"I don't remember much more, except that some one soused me with water that helped my head considerably, and the next thing I knew I was staring across the table there at you."

"Who were these men, Bates? Speak up quickly!"

My tone was peremptory. Here was, I felt, a crucial moment in our relations.

"Well," he began deliberately, "I dislike to make charges against a fellow man, but I strongly suspect one of the men of being--"

"Yes! Tell the whole truth or it will be the worse for you."

"I very much fear one of them was Ferguson, the gardener over the way. I'm disappointed in him, sir."

"Very good; and now for the other one."

"I didn't get my eyes on him. I had closed with Ferguson and we were having quite a lively time of it when the other one came in; then the man who came to my help mixed us all up--he was a very lively person-- and what became of Ferguson and the rest of it I don't know."