The Wall Between Part 37

"By and by you will understand," said Lucy gently. "It is all right. I want to go away."

"To go away from here?" gasped the lad.

Lucy nodded.

"Is it that you're lonely since Miss Ellen died?"

"I guess so."

Tony was thoughtful; then with sudden inspiration he ventured the remark:

"Mebbe you're afraid to stay alone by yourself in the house nights."

"Maybe."

"You ain't seen a ghost?" he whispered.

"I'm going away because of a ghost, yes," Lucy murmured half to herself.

"Then I don't blame you," exclaimed Tony vehemently. "You wouldn't ketch me stayin' in a house that was haunted by spirits. Where you goin'--back out West?"

"Perhaps so."

She helped him to carry the trunk out to the wagon and strap it in; then she got in herself.

As they drove in silence out of the yard, not a soul was in sight; nor was there any delay at the station to give rise to gossip. She had calculated with such nicety that the engine was puffing round the bend in the track when she alighted on the platform.

Hurriedly she bought her ticket, checked her trunk, and put her foot on the step as the train started.

Waving a good-by to the faithful servant, who still lingered, she pa.s.sed into the car and sank down into a seat. She watched the valley, beautiful in amethyst lights, flit past the window; then Sefton Falls, flanked by misty hills, came into sight and disappeared. At last all the familiar country of the moving panorama was blotted out by the darkness, and she was alone.

Her eyes dropped to the ticket in her lap. Why she had chosen that destination she could not have told. It would, however, serve as well as another. If in future she was to be forever cut off from all she loved on earth, what did it matter where she went?

CHAPTER XVII

THE GREAT ALTERNATIVE

After Lucy left the office, Mr. Benton sat for an interval thinking. Then he yawned, stretched his arms, went to his desk drawer, and took out the will which he slipped into his waistcoat pocket.

With hands behind him he took a turn or two across the room.

He was a man not lacking in feeling, and impulses of sympathy and mercy until now had deterred him from the execution of his legal duties. Since, however, it was Lucy Webster who had rung up the curtain on the drama in which an important part had been a.s.signed him, there was no need for him to postpone longer the playing of his role. He had received his cue.

His lines, he admitted, were not wholly to his liking--not, in fact, to his liking at all; he considered them cruel, unfair, vindictive.

Notwithstanding this, however, the plot was a novel one, and he was too human not to relish the fascinating uncertainties it presented. In all his professional career no case so remarkable had fallen to his lot before.

When as a young man he had attacked his calling, he had been thrilled with enthusiasm and hope. The law had seemed to him the n.o.blest of professions.

But the limitations of a small town had quickly dampened his ardor, and instead of righting the injustices of the world as he had once dreamed of doing, he had narrowed into a legal machine whose mechanism was never accelerated by anything more stirring than a round of petty will-makings, land-sellings, bill collections and mortgage foreclosures.

But at last here was something out of the ordinary, a refres.h.i.+ng and unique human comedy that would not only electrify the public but whose chief actors balked all speculation. He could not help owning that Ellen Webster's bequest, heartily as he disapproved of it, lent a welcome bit of color to the grayness of his days. Ever since he had drawn up the fantastic doc.u.ment it had furnished him with riddles so interesting and unsolvable that they rendered tales of Peter Featherstone and Martin Chuzzlewit tame reading. These worthies were only creations of paper and ink; but here was a living, breathing enigma,--the enigma of Martin Howe!

What would this hero of the present situation do? For undoubtedly it was Martin who was to be the chief actor of the coming drama.

The lawyer knocked the ashes from his pipe, thrust it into his pocket and, putting on his hat and coat, stepped into the hall, where he lingered only long enough to post on his office door the hastily scrawled announcement: "Will return to-morrow." Then he hurried across the town green to the shed behind the church where he always. .h.i.tched his horse. Backing the wagon out with care, he jumped into it and proceeded to drive off down the high road.

Martin Howe was in the field when Mr. Benton arrived. Under ordinary conditions the man would have joined him there, but to-day such a course seemed too informal, and instead he drew up his horse at the front door and sent Jane to summon her brother.

Fortunately Martin was no great distance away and soon entered, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.

The lawyer began with a leisurely introduction.

"I imagine, Howe, you are a trifle surprised to have a call from me," he said.

"Yes, I am a bit."

"I drove over on business," announced Mr. Benton.

Nevertheless, although he prefaced his revelation with this remark, he did not immediately enlighten his listener as to what the business was. In truth, now that the great moment for breaking silence had arrived, Mr.

Benton found himself obsessed with a desire to prolong its flavor of mystery. It was like rolling the honied tang of a cordial beneath his tongue. A few words and the secret would lay bare in the light of common day, its glamor rent to atoms.

Martin waited patiently.

"On business," repeated Mr. Benton at last, as if there had been no break in the conversation.

"I'm ready to hear it," Martin said, smiling.

"I came, in fact, to acquaint you with the contents of a will."

Yet again the lawyer's tongue, sphinxlike from habit, refused to utter the tidings it guarded.

"The will," he presently resumed, "of my client, Miss Ellen Webster."

He was rewarded by seeing a shock of surprise run through Martin's frame.

"I don't see how Miss Webster's will can be any concern of mine," Martin replied stiffly.

The attorney ignored the observation. Continuing with serenity, he observed:

"As I understand it, you and Miss Webster were not----" he coughed hesitatingly behind his hand.

"No, we weren't," cut in Martin. "She was a meddling, aggravating old harridan. I hated her, and I'm glad she's gone."

"That is an unfortunate sentiment," remarked Mr. Benton, "unfortunate and disconcerting, because, you see, Miss Ellen Webster has left you all her property."

"_Me_! Left _me_ her property!"