The House of a Thousand Candles Part 13

"Bully for you, John Marshall Glenarm!" I rose and bowed low to his photograph.

On top of my mail next morning lay a small envelope, unstamped, and addressed to me in a free running hand.

"Ferguson left it," explained Bates.

I opened and read: If convenient will Mr. Glenarm kindly look in at St. Agatha's some day this week at four o'clock. Sister Theresa wishes to see him.

I whistled softly. My feelings toward Sister Theresa had been those of utter repugnance and antagonism. I had been avoiding her studiously and was not a little surprised that she should seek an interview with me. Quite possibly she wished to inquire how soon I expected to abandon Glenarm House; or perhaps she wished to admonish me as to the perils of my soul. In any event I liked the quality of her note, and I was curious to know why she sent for me; moreover, Marian Devereux was her niece and that was wholly in the Sister's favor.

At four o'clock I pa.s.sed into St. Agatha territory and rang the bell at the door of the building where I had left Olivia the evening I found her in the chapel. A Sister admitted me, led the way to a small reception-room where, I imagined, the visiting parent was received, and left me. I felt a good deal like a school-boy who has been summoned before a severe master for discipline. I was idly beating my hat with my gloves when a quick step sounded in the hall and instantly a brown-clad figure appeared in the doorway.

"Mr. Glenarm?"

It was a deep, rich voice, a voice of a.s.surance, a voice, may I say? of the world--a voice, too, may I add? of a woman who is likely to say what she means without ado. The white band at her forehead brought into relief two wonderful gray eyes that were alight with kindliness. She surveyed me a moment, then her lips parted in a smile.

"This room is rather forbidding; if you will come with me--"

She turned with an air of authority that was a part of her undeniable distinction, and I was seated a moment later in a pretty sitting-room, whose windows gave a view of the dark wood and frozen lake beyond.

"I'm afraid, Mr. Glenarm, that you are not disposed to be neighborly, and you must pardon me if I seem to be pursuing you."

Her smile, her voice, her manner were charming. I had pictured her a sour old woman, who had hidden away from a world that had offered her no pleasure.

"The apologies must all be on my side, Sister Theresa. I have been greatly occupied since coming here-- distressed and perplexed even."

"Our young ladies treasure the illusion that there are ghosts at your house" she said, with a smile that disposed of the matter.

She folded her slim white hands on her knees and spoke with a simple directness.

"Mr. Glenarm, there is something I wish to say to you, but I can say it only if we are to be friends. I have feared you might look upon us here as enemies."

"That is a strong word," I replied evasively.

"Let me say to you that I hope very much that nothing will prevent your inheriting all that Mr. Glenarm wished you to have from him."

"Thank you; that is both kind and generous," I said with no little surprise.

"Not in the least. I should be disloyal to your grandfather, who was my friend and the friend of my family, if I did not feel kindly toward you and wish you well. And I must say for my niece--"

"Miss Devereux." I found a certain pleasure in p.r.o.nouncing her name.

"Miss Devereux is very greatly disturbed over the good intentions of your grandfather in placing her name in his will. You can doubtless understand how uncomfortable a person of any sensibility would be under the circ.u.mstances. I'm sorry you have never met her. She is a very charming young woman whose happiness does not, I may say, depend on other people's money."

She had never told, then! I smiled at the recollection of our interviews.

"I am sure that is true, Sister Theresa."

"Now I wish to speak to you about a matter of some delicacy. It is, I understand perfectly, no business of mine how much of a fortune Mr. Glenarm left. But this matter has been brought to my attention in a disagreeable way. Your grandfather established this school; he gave most of the money for these buildings. I had other friends who offered to contribute, but he insisted on doing it all. But now Mr. Pickering insists that the money--or part of it at least--was only a loan."

"Yes; I understand."

"Mr. Pickering tells me that he has no alternative in the matter; that the law requires him to collect this money as a debt due the estate."

"That is undoubtedly true, as a general proposition. He told me in New York that he had a claim against you for fifty thousand dollars."

"Yes; that is the amount. I wish to say to you, Mr. Glenarm, that if it is necessary I can pay that amount."

"Pray do not trouble about it, Sister Theresa. There are a good many things about my grandfather's affairs that I don't understand, but I'm not going to see an old friend of his swindled. There's more in all this than appears. My grandfather seems to have mislaid or lost most of his a.s.sets before he died. And yet he had the reputation of being a pretty cautious business man."

"The impression is abroad, as you must know, that your grandfather concealed his fortune before his death. The people hereabouts believe so; and Mr. Pickering, the executor, has been unable to trace it."

"Yes, I believe Mr. Pickering has not been able to solve the problem," I said and laughed.

"But, of course, you and he will cooperate in an effort to find the lost property."

She bent forward slightly; her eyes, as they met mine, examined me with a keen interest.

"Why shouldn't I be frank with you, Sister Theresa? I have every reason for believing Arthur Pickering a scoundrel. He does not care to cooperate with me in searching for this money. The fact is that he very much wishes to eliminate me as a factor in the settlement of the estate. I speak carefully; I know exactly what I am saying."

She bowed her head slightly and was silent for a moment. The silence was the more marked from the fact that the hood of her habit concealed her face.

"What you say is very serious."

"Yes, and his offense is equally serious. It may seem odd for me to be saying this to you when I am a stranger; when you may be pardoned for having no very high opinion of me."

She turned her face to me--it was singularly gentle and refined--not a face to a.s.sociate with an idea of self-seeking or duplicity.

"I sent for you, Mr. Glenarm, because I had a very good opinion of you; because, for one reason, you are the grandson of your grandfather,"--and the friendly light in her gray eyes drove away any lingering doubt I may have had as to her sincerity. "I wished to warn you to have a care for your own safety. I don't warn you against Arthur Pickering alone, but against the countryside. The idea of a hidden fortune is alluring; a mysterious house and a lost treasure make a very enticing combination. I fancy Mr. Glenarm did not realize that he was creating dangers for the people he wished to help."

She was silent again, her eyes bent meditatively upon me; then she spoke abruptly.

"Mr. Pickering wishes to marry my niece."

"Ah! I have been waiting to hear that. I am exceedingly glad to know that he has so n.o.ble an ambition. But Miss Devereux isn't encouraging him, as near as I can make out. She refused to go to California with his party--I happen to know that."

"That whole California episode would have been amusing if it had not been ridiculous. Marian never had the slightest idea of going with him; but she is sometimes a little--shall I say perverse?--"

"Please do! I like the word--and the quality!"

"--and Mr. Pickering's rather elaborate methods of wooing--"

"He's as heavy as lead!" I declared.

"--amuse Marian up to a certain point; then they annoy her. He has implied pretty strongly that the claim against me could be easily adjusted if Marian marries him. But she will never marry him, whether she benefits by your grandfather's will or however that may be!"

"I should say not," I declared with a warmth that caused Sister Theresa to sweep me warily with those wonderful gray eyes. "But first he expects to find this fortune and endow Miss Devereux with it. That is a part of the scheme. And my own interest in the estate must be eliminated before he can bring that condition about. But, Sister Theresa, I am not so easily got rid of as Arthur Pickering imagines. My staying qualities, which were always weak in the eyes of my family, have been braced up a trifle."

"Yes." I thought pleasure and hope were expressed in the monosyllable, and my heart warmed to her.

"Sister Theresa, you and I are understanding each other much better than I imagined we should,"--and we both laughed, feeling a real sympathy growing between us.

"Yes; I believe we are,"--and the smile lighted her face again.

"So I can tell you two things. The first is that Arthur Pickering will never find my grandfather's lost fortune, a.s.suming that any exists. The second is that in no event will he marry your niece."

"You speak with a good deal of confidence," she said, and laughed a low murmuring laugh. I thought there was relief in it. "But I didn't suppose Marian's affairs interested you."

"They don't, Sister Theresa. Her affairs are not of the slightest importance--but she is!"

There was frank inquiry in her eyes now.

"But you don't know her--you have missed your opportunity."

"To be sure, I don't know her; but I know Olivia Gladys Armstrong. She's a particular friend of mine, --we have chased rabbits together, and she told me a great deal. I have formed a very good opinion of Miss Devereux in that way. Oh, that note you wrote about Olivia's intrusions beyond the wall! I should thank you for it--but I really didn't mind."

"A note? I never wrote you a note until to-day!"

"Well, some one did!" I said; then she smiled.

"Oh, that must have been Marian. She was always Olivia's loyal friend!"

"I should say so!"

Sister Theresa laughed merrily.

"But you shouldn't have known Olivia--it is unpardonable! If she played tricks upon you, you should not have taken advantage of them to make her acquaintance. That wasn't fair to me!"

"I suppose not! But I protest against this deportation. The landscape hereabouts is only so much sky, snow and lumber without her."

"We miss her, too," replied Sister Theresa. "We have less to do!"

"And still I protest!" I declared, rising. "Sister Theresa, I thank you with all my heart for what you have said to me--for the disposition to say it! And this debt to the estate is something, I promise you, that shall not trouble you."

"Then there's a truce between us! We are not enemies at all now, are we?"

"No; for Olivia's sake, at least, we shall be friends."

I went home and studied the time-table.

CHAPTER XVIII.

GOLDEN b.u.t.tERFLIES.

If you are one of those captious people who must verify by the calendar every new moon you read of in a book, and if you are pained to discover the historian lifting anchor and spreading sail contrary to the reckonings of the nautical almanac, I beg to call your attention to these items from the time-table of the Mid-Western and Southern Railway for December, 1901.

The south-bound express pa.s.sed Annandale at exactly fifty-three minutes after four P. M. It was scheduled to reach Cincinnati at eleven o'clock sharp. These items are, I trust, sufficiently explicit.

To the student of morals and motives I will say a further word. I had resolved to practise deception in running away from Glenarm House to keep my promise to Marian Devereux. By leaving I should forfeit my right to any part of my grandfather's estate; I knew that and accepted the issue without regret; but I had no intention of surrendering Glenarm House to Arthur Pickering, particularly now that I realized how completely I had placed myself in his trap. I felt, moreover, a duty to my dead grandfather; and--not least--the attacks of Morgan and the strange ways of Bates had stirred whatever fighting blood there was in me. Pickering and I were engaged in a sharp contest, and I was beginning to enjoy it to the full, but I did not falter in my determination to visit Cincinnati, hoping to return without my absence being discovered; so the next afternoon I began preparing for my journey.

"Bates, I fear that I'm taking a severe cold and I'm going to dose myself with whisky and quinine and go to bed. I shan't want any dinner--nothing until you see me again."

I yawned and stretched myself with a groan.

"I'm very sorry, sir. Shan't I call a doctor?"

"Not a bit of it. I'll sleep it off and be as lively as a cricket in the morning."

At four o'clock I told him to carry some hot water and lemons to my room; bade him an emphatic good night and locked the door as he left. Then I packed my evening clothes in a suit-case. I threw the bag and a heavy ulster from a window, swung myself out upon the limb of a big maple and let it bend under me to its sharpest curve and then dropped lightly to the ground.

I pa.s.sed the gate and struck off toward the village with a joyful sense of freedom. When I reached the station I sought at once the south-bound platform, not wishing to be seen buying a ticket. A few other pa.s.sengers were a.s.sembling, but I saw no one I recognized. Number six, I heard the agent say, was on time; and in a few minutes it came roaring up. I bought a seat in the Washington sleeper and went into the dining-car for supper. The train was full of people hurrying to various ports for the holidays, but they had, I reflected, no advantage over me. I, too, was bound on a definite errand, though my journey was, I imagined, less commonplace in its character than the homing flight of most of my fellow travelers.

I made myself comfortable and dozed and dreamed as the train plunged through the dark. There was a wait, with much shifting of cars, where we crossed the Wabash, then we sped on. It grew warmer as we drew southward, and the conductor was confident we should reach Cincinnati on time. The through pa.s.sengers about me went to bed, and I was left sprawled out in my open section, lurking on the shadowy frontier between the known world and dreamland.

"We're running into Cincinnati--ten minutes late," said the porter's voice; and in a moment I was in the vestibule and out, hurrying to a hotel. At the St. Botolph I ordered a carriage and broke all records changing my clothes. The time-table informed me that the Northern express left at half-past one. There was no reason why I should not be safe at Glenarm House by my usual breakfast hour if all went well. To avoid loss of time in returning to the station I paid the hotel charge and carried my bag away with me.

"Doctor Armstrong's residence? Yes, sir; I've already taken one load there"

The carriage was soon climbing what seemed to be a mountain to the heights above Cincinnati. To this day I a.s.sociate Ohio's most interesting city with a lonely carriage ride that seemed to be chiefly uphill, through a region that was as strange to me as a trackless jungle in the wilds of Africa. And my heart began to perform strange tattoos on my ribs I was going to the house of a gentleman who did not know of my existence, to see a girl who was his guest, to whom I had never, as the conventions go, been presented. It did not seem half so easy, now that I was well launched upon the adventure.

I stopped the cabman just as he was about to enter an iron gateway whose posts bore two great lamps.

"That is all right, sir. I can drive right in."

"But you needn't," I said, jumping out. "Wait here."

Doctor Armstrong's residence was brilliantly lighted, and the strains of a waltz stole across the lawn cheerily. Several carriages swept past me as I followed the walk. I was arriving at a fashionable hour--it was nearly twelve--and just how to effect an entrance without being thrown out as an interloper was a formidable problem, now that I had reached the house. I must catch my train home, and this left no margin for explanation to an outraged host whose first impulse would very likely be to turn me over to the police.

I made a detour and studied the house, seeking a door by which I could enter without pa.s.sing the unfriendly Gibraltar of a host and hostess on guard to welcome belated guests.

A long conservatory filled with tropical plants gave me my opportunity. Promenaders went idly through and out into another part of the house by an exit I could not see. A handsome, spectacled gentleman opened a gla.s.s door within a yard of where I stood, sniffed the air, and said to his companion, as he turned back with a shrug into the conservatory: "There's no sign of snow. It isn't Christmas weather at all."

He strolled away through the palms, and I instantly threw off my ulster and hat, cast them behind some bushes, and boldly opened the door and entered.

The ball-room was on the third floor, but the guests were straggling down to supper, and I took my stand at the foot of the broad stairway and glanced up carelessly, as though waiting for some one. It was a large and brilliant company and many a lovely face pa.s.sed me as I stood waiting. The very size of the gathering gave me security, and I smoothed my gloves complacently.

The spectacled gentleman whose breath of night air had given me a valued hint of the open conservatory door came now and stood beside me. He even put his hand on my arm with intimate friendliness.

There was a sound of mirth and scampering feet in the hall above and then down the steps, between the lines of guests arrested in their descent, came a dark laughing girl in the garb of Little Red Riding Hood, amid general applause and laughter.

"It's Olivia! She's won the wager!" exclaimed the spectacled gentleman, and the girl, whose dark curls were shaken about her face, ran up to us and threw her arms about him and kissed him. It was a charming picture--the figures on the stairway, the pretty graceful child, the eager, happy faces all about. I was too much interested by this scene of the comedy to be uncomfortable.