The House of a Thousand Candles

Meredith Nicholson

The House of a Thousand Candles

ByMeredith NicholsonAuthor of The Main ChanceZelda Dameron, Etc. 

With Illustrations byHoward Chandler Christy

“So on the morn there fell new tidings and other adventures”Malory

1905

November

To Margaret My Sister

CONTENTS

CHAPTERI The Will of John Marshall GlenarmII A Face at Sherry’sIII The House of a Thousand CandlesIV A Voice From the LakeV A Red Tam-O’-ShanterVI The Girl and the CanoeVII The Man on the WallVIII A String of Gold BeadsIX The Girl and the RabbitX An Affair With the CaretakerXI I Receive a CallerXII I Explore a PassageXIII A Pair of EavesdroppersXIV The Girl in GrayXV I Make an EngagementXVI The Passing of OliviaXVII Sister TheresaXVIII Golden ButterfliesXIX I Meet an Old FriendXX A Triple AllianceXXI Pickering Serves NoticeXXII The Return of Marian DevereuxXXIII The Door of BewildermentXXIV A Prowler of The NightXXV BesiegedXXVI The Fight in the LibraryXXVII Changes and ChancesXXVIII Shorter VistasXXIX And So the Light Led Me

The House of a Thousand Candles

CHAPTER I

THE WILL OF JOHN MARSHALL GLENARM

Pickering’s letter bringing news of my grandfather’sdeath found me at Naples early in October. JohnMarshall Glenarm had died in June. He had left awill which gave me his property conditionally, Pickeringwrote, and it was necessary for me to return immediatelyto qualify as legatee. It was the merest luckthat the letter came to my hands at all, for it had beensent to Constantinople, in care of the consul-generalinstead of my banker there. It was not Pickering’sfault that the consul was a friend of mine who kepttrack of my wanderings and was able to hurry theexecutor’s letter after me to Italy, where I had gone tomeet an English financier who had, I was advised, unlimitedmoney to spend on African railways. I am anengineer, a graduate of an American institution familiarlyknown as “Tech, ” and as my funds were runninglow, I naturally turned to my profession for employment. 

But this letter changed my plans, and the followingday I cabled Pickering of my departure and was outwardbound on a steamer for New York. Fourteendays later I sat in Pickering’s office in the Alexis Buildingand listened intently while he read, with muchponderous emphasis, the provisions of my grandfather’swill. When he concluded, I laughed. Pickering was aserious man, and I was glad to see that my levity painedhim. I had, for that matter, always been a source ofannoyance to him, and his look of distrust and rebukedid not trouble me in the least. 

I reached across the table for the paper, and he gavethe sealed and beribboned copy of John Marshall Glenarm’swill into my hands. I read it through for myself, feeling conscious meanwhile that Pickering’s cool gazewas bent inquiringly upon me. These are the paragraphsthat interested me most:

I give and bequeath unto my said grandson, John Glenarm, sometime a resident of the City and State of NewYork, and later a vagabond of parts unknown, a certainproperty known as Glenarm House, with the land thereuntopertaining and hereinafter more particularly described, and all personal property of whatsoever kindthereunto belonging and attached thereto, —the said realtylying in the County of Wabana in the State of Indiana, —upon this condition, faithfully and honestly performed:

That said John Glenarm shall remain for the periodof one year an occupant of said Glenarm House and mylands attached thereto, demeaning himself meanwhile inan orderly and temperate manner. Should he fail at anytime during said year to comply with this provision, saidproperty shall revert to my general estate and become, without reservation, and without necessity for any processof law, the property, absolutely, of Marian Devereux, ofthe County and State of New York. 

“Well, ” he demanded, striking his hands upon thearms of his chair, “what do you think of it?”

For the life of me I could not help laughing again. There was, in the first place, a delicious irony in thefact that I should learn through him of my grandfather’swishes with respect to myself. Pickering andI had grown up in the same town in Vermont; we hadattended the same preparatory school, but there hadbeen from boyhood a certain antagonism between us. He had always succeeded where I had failed, which is tosay, I must admit, that he had succeeded pretty frequently. When I refused to settle down to my profession, but chose to see something of the world first, Pickering gave himself seriously to the law, and therewas, I knew from the beginning, no manner of chancethat he would fail. 

I am not more or less than human, and I rememberedwith joy that once I had thrashed him soundlyat the prep school for bullying a smaller boy; but ourscore from school-days was not without tallies on hisside. He was easily the better scholar—I grant himthat; and he was shrewd and plausible. You neverquite knew the extent of his powers and resources, andhe had, I always maintained, the most amazing goodluck, —as witness the fact that John Marshall Glenarmhad taken a friendly interest in him. It was whollylike my grandfather, who was a man of many whims, to give his affairs into Pickering’s keeping; and I couldnot complain, for I had missed my own chance withhim. It was, I knew readily enough, part of my punishmentfor having succeeded so signally in incurringmy grandfather’s displeasure that he had made it necessaryfor me to treat with Arthur Pickering in thismatter of the will; and Pickering was enjoying thesituation to the full. He sank back in his chair withan air of complacency that had always been insufferablein him. I was quite willing to be patronized by a manof years and experience; but Pickering was my ownage, and his experience of life seemed to me preposterouslyinadequate. To find him settled in New York, where he had been established through my grandfather’sgenerosity, and the executor of my grandfather’s estate, was hard to bear. 

But there was something not wholly honest in mymirth, for my conduct during the three preceding yearshad been reprehensible. I had used my grandfathershabbily. My parents died when I was a child, and hehad cared for me as far back as my memory ran. Hehad suffered me to spend without restraint the fortuneleft by my father; he had expected much of me, and Ihad grievously disappointed him. It was his hope thatI should devote myself to architecture, a profession forwhich he had the greatest admiration, whereas I hadinsisted on engineering. 

I am not writing an apology for my life, and I shallnot attempt to extenuate my conduct in going abroadat the end of my course at Tech and, when I madeLaurance Donovan’s acquaintance, in setting off withhim on a career of adventure. I do not regret, thoughpossibly it would be more to my credit if I did, themonths spent leisurely following the Danube east ofthe Iron Gate—Laurance Donovan always with me, while we urged the villagers and inn-loafers to all mannerof sedition, acquitting ourselves so well that, whenwe came out into the Black Sea for further pleasure, Russia did us the honor to keep a spy at our heels. Ishould like, for my own satisfaction, at least, to setdown an account of certain affairs in which we wereconcerned at Belgrad, but without Larry’s consent Iam not at liberty to do so. Nor shall I take time hereto describe our travels in Africa, though our study ofthe Atlas Mountain dwarfs won us honorable mentionby the British Ethnological Society. 

These were my yesterdays; but to-day I sat in ArthurPickering’s office in the towering Alexis Building, consciousof the muffled roar of Broadway, discussing theterms of my Grandfather Glenarm’s will with a manwhom I disliked as heartily as it is safe for one man todislike another. Pickering had asked me a question, and I was suddenly aware that his eyes were fixed uponme and that he awaited my answer. 

“What do I think of it?” I repeated. “I don’t knowthat it makes any difference what I think, but I’ll tellyou, if you want to know, that I call it infamous, outrageous, that a man should leave a ridiculous will ofthat sort behind him. All the old money-bags who pileup fortunes magnify the importance of their money. They imagine that every kindness, every ordinary courtesyshown them, is merely a bid for a slice of the cake. I’m disappointed in my grandfather. He was a splendidold man, though God knows he had his queer ways. I’ll bet a thousand dollars, if I have so much money inthe world, that this scheme is yours, Pickering, and nothis. It smacks of your ancient vindictiveness, and JohnMarshall Glenarm had none of that in his blood. Thatstipulation about my residence out there is fantastic. I don’t have to be a lawyer to know that; and no doubtI could break the will; I’ve a good notion to try it, anyhow. ”

“To be sure. You can tie up the estate for halfa dozen years if you like, ” he replied coolly. He didnot look upon me as likely to become a formidablelitigant. My staying qualities had been proved weaklong ago, as Pickering knew well enough. 

“No doubt you would like that, ” I answered. “ButI’m not going to give you the pleasure. I abide by theterms of the will. My grandfather was a fine old gentleman. I shan’t drag his name through the courts, not even to please you, Arthur Pickering, ” I declaredhotly. 

“The sentiment is worthy of a good man, Glenarm, ”he rejoined. 

“But this woman who is to succeed to my rights, —Idon’t seem to remember her. ”

“It is not surprising that you never heard of her. ”

“Then she’s not a connection of the family, —no long-lostcousin whom I ought to remember?”

“No; she was a late acquaintance of your grandfather’s. He met her through an old friend of his, —Miss Evans, known as Sister Theresa. Miss Devereuxis Sister Theresa’s niece. ”

I whistled. I had a dim recollection that during mygrandfather’s long widowerhood there were occasionalreports that he was about to marry. The name of MissEvans had been mentioned in this connection. I hadheard it spoken of in my family, and not, I remembered, with much kindness. Later, I heard of her joining aSisterhood, and opening a school somewhere in theWest. 

“And Miss Devereux, —is she an elderly nun, too?”

“I don’t know how elderly she is, but she isn’t a nunat present. Still, she’s almost alone in the world, andshe and Sister Theresa are very intimate. ”

“Pass the will again, Pickering, while I make sureI grasp these diverting ideas. Sister Theresa isn’t theone I mustn’t marry, is she? It’s the other ecclesiasticalembroidery artist, —the one with the x in hername, suggesting the algebra of my vanishing youth. ”

I read aloud this paragraph:

Provided, further, that in the event of the marriage ofsaid John Glenarm to the said Marian Devereux, or inthe event of any promise or contract of marriage betweensaid persons within five years from the date of said JohnGlenarm’s acceptance of the provisions of this will, thewhole estate shall become the property absolutely of St. Agatha’s School, at Annandale, Wabana County, Indiana, a corporation under the laws of said state. 

“For a touch of comedy commend me to my grandfather!Pickering, you always were a well-meaningfellow, —I’ll turn over to you all my right, interest andtitle in and to these angelic Sisters. Marry! I like theidea! I suppose some one will try to marry me for mymoney. Marriage, Pickering, is not embraced in myscheme of life!”

“I should hardly call you a marrying man, ” he observed. 

“Perfectly right, my friend! Sister Theresa was considereda possible match for my grandfather in myyouth. She and I are hardly contemporaries. And theother lady with the fascinating algebraic climax to hername, —she, too, is impossible; it seems that I can’t getthe money by marrying her. I’d better let her take it. She’s as poor as the devil, I dare say. ”

“I imagine not. The Evanses are a wealthy family, in spots, and she ought to have some money of her ownif her aunt doesn’t coax it out of her for educationalschemes. ”

“And where on the map are these lovely creatures tobe found?”

“Sister Theresa’s school adjoins your preserve; MissDevereux has I think some of your own weakness fortravel. Sister Theresa is her nearest relative, and sheoccasionally visits St. Agatha’s—that’s the school. ”

“I suppose they embroider altar-cloths together andotherwise labor valiantly to bring confusion upon Satanand his cohorts. Just the people to pull the wool overthe eyes of my grandfather!”

Pickering smiled at my resentment. 

“You’d better give them a wide berth; they mightcatch you in their net. Sister Theresa is said to havequite a winning way. She certainly plucked your grandfather. ”

“Nuns in spectacles, the gentle educators of youthand that sort of thing, with a good-natured old man fortheir prey. None of them for me!”

“I rather thought so, ” remarked Pickering, —and hepulled his watch from his pocket and turned the stemwith his heavy fingers. He was short, thick-set andsleek, with a square jaw, hair already thin and a close-clippedmustache. Age, I reflected, was not improvinghim. 

I had no intention of allowing him to see that I wasirritated. I drew out my cigarette case and passed itacross the table, “After you! They’re made quite specially for me inMadrid. ”

“You forget that I never use tobacco in any form. ”

“You always did miss a good deal of the joy of living, ”I observed, throwing my smoking match into hiswaste-paper basket, to his obvious annoyance. “Well, I’m the bad boy of the story-books; but I’m really sorrymy inheritance has a string tied to it. I’m about outof money. I suppose you wouldn’t advance me a fewthousands on my expectations—”

“Not a cent, ” he declared, with quite unnecessaryvigor; and I laughed again, remembering that in myold appraisement of him, generosity had not been representedin large figures. “It’s not in keeping withyour grandfather’s wishes that I should do so. Youmust have spent a good bit of money in your tiger-huntingexploits, ” he added. 

“I have spent all I had, ” I replied amiably. “ThankGod I’m not a clam! I’ve seen the world and paid forit. I don’t want anything from you. You undoubtedlyshare my grandfather’s idea of me that I’m a wild manwho can’t sit still or lead an orderly, decent life; butI’m going to give you a terrible disappointment. What’sthe size of the estate?”

Pickering eyed me—uneasily, I thought—and beganplaying with a pencil. I never liked Pickering’s hands;they were thick and white and better kept than I liketo see a man’s hands. 

“I fear it’s going to be disappointing. In his trust-companyboxes here I have been able to find only aboutten thousand dollars’ worth of securities. Possibly—quite possibly—we were all deceived in the amount ofhis fortune. Sister Theresa wheedled large sums out ofhim, and he spent, as you will see, a small fortune onthe house at Annandale without finishing it. It wasn’ta cheap proposition, and in its unfinished condition it ispractically valueless. You must know that Mr. Glenarmgave away a great deal of money in his lifetime. Moreover, he established your father. You know what heleft, —it was not a small fortune as those things arereckoned. ”

I was restless under this recital. My father’s estatehad been of respectable size, and I had dissipated thewhole of it. My conscience pricked me as I recalled anitem of forty thousand dollars that I had spent—somewhatgrandly—on an expedition that I led, with considerablesatisfaction to myself, at least, through theSudan. But Pickering’s words amazed me. 

“Let me understand you, ” I said, bending towardhim. “My grandfather was supposed to be rich, andyet you tell me you find little property. Sister Theresagot money from him to help build a school. How muchwas that?”

“Fifty thousand dollars. It was an open account. His books show the advances, but he took no notes. ”

“And that claim is worth—?”

“It is good as against her individually. But she contends—”

“Yes, go on!”

I had struck the right note. He was annoyed at mypersistence and his apparent discomfort pleased me. 

“She refuses to pay. She says Mr. Glenarm made hera gift of the money. ”

“That’s possible, isn’t it? He was for ever makinggifts to churches. Schools and theological seminarieswere a sort of weakness with him. ”

“That is quite true, but this account is among theassets of the estate. It’s my business as executor to collectit. ”

“We’ll pass that. If you get this money, the estate isworth sixty thousand dollars, plus the value of the landout there at Annandale, and Glenarm House is worth—”

“There you have me!”

It was the first lightness he had shown, and it put meon guard. 

“I should like an idea of its value. Even an unfinishedhouse is worth something. ”

“Land out there is worth from one hundred to onehundred and fifty dollars an acre. There’s an evenhundred acres. I’ll be glad to have your appraisementof the house when you get there. ”

“Humph! You flatter my judgment, Pickering. Theloose stuff there is worth how much?”

“It’s all in the library. Your grandfather’s weaknesswas architecture—”

“So I remember!” I interposed, recalling my stormyinterviews with John Marshall Glenarm over my choiceof a profession. 

“In his last years he turned more and more to hisbooks. He placed out there what is, I suppose, thefinest collection of books relating to architecture to befound in this country. That was his chief hobby, afterchurch affairs, as you may remember, and he rode ithard. But he derived a great deal of satisfaction fromhis studies. ”

I laughed again; it was better to laugh than to cryover the situation. 

“I suppose he wanted me to sit down there, surroundedby works on architecture, with the idea thata study of the subject would be my only resource. Thescheme is eminently Glenarmian! And all I get is aworthless house, a hundred acres of land, ten thousanddollars, and a doubtful claim against a Protestant nunwho hoodwinked my grandfather into setting up aschool for her. Bless your heart, man, so far as my inheritanceis concerned it would have been money in mypocket to have stayed in Africa. ”

“That’s about the size of it. ”

“But the personal property is all mine, —anythingthat’s loose on the place. Perhaps my grandfatherplanted old plate and government bonds just to piquethe curiosity of his heirs, successors and assigns. Itwould be in keeping!”

I had walked to the window and looked out acrossthe city. As I turned suddenly I found Pickering’seyes bent upon me with curious intentness. I had neverliked his eyes; they were too steady. When a man alwaysmeets your gaze tranquilly and readily, it is justas well to be wary of him. 

“Yes; no doubt you will find the place literallypacked with treasure, ” he said, and laughed. “Whenyou find anything you might wire me. ”

He smiled; the idea seemed to give him pleasure. 

“Are you sure there’s nothing else?” I asked. “Nosubstitute, —no codicil?”

“If you know of anything of the kind it’s your dutyto produce it. We have exhausted the possibilities. I’lladmit that the provisions of the will are unusual; yourgrandfather was a peculiar man in many respects; buthe was thoroughly sane and his faculties were all soundto the last. ”

“He treated me a lot better than I deserved, ” I said, with a heartache that I had not known often in myirresponsible life; but I could not afford to show feelingbefore Arthur Pickering. 

I picked up the copy of the will and examined it. It was undoubtedly authentic; it bore the certificate ofthe clerk of Wabana County, Indiana. The witnesseswere Thomas Bates and Arthur Pickering. 

“Who is Bates?” I asked, pointing to the man’s signature. 

“One of your grandfather’s discoveries. He’s incharge of the house out there, and a trustworthy fellow. He’s a fair cook, among other things. I don’t knowwhere Mr. Glenarm got Bates, but he had every confidencein him. The man was with him at the end. ”

A picture of my grandfather dying, alone with aservant, while I, his only kinsman, wandered in strangelands, was not one that I could contemplate with muchsatisfaction. My grandfather had been an odd littlefigure of a man, who always wore a long black coat and asilk hat, and carried a curious silver-headed staff, andsaid puzzling things at which everybody was afraid eitherto laugh or to cry. He refused to be thanked for favors, though he was generous and helpful and constantlyperforming kind deeds. His whimsical philanthropieswere often described in the newspapers. He had oncegiven a considerable sum of money to a fashionablechurch in Boston with the express stipulation, whichhe safeguarded legally, that if the congregation everintrusted its spiritual welfare to a minister namedReginald, Harold or Claude, an amount equal to hisgift, with interest, should be paid to the MassachusettsHumane Society. 

The thought of him touched me now. I was glad tofeel that his money had never been a lure to me; it didnot matter whether his estate was great or small, Icould, at least, ease my conscience by obeying the behestof the old man whose name I bore, and whose interest inthe finer things of life and art had given him an undeniabledistinction. 

“I should like to know something of Mr. Glenarm’slast days, ” I said abruptly. 

“He wished to visit the village where he was born, and Bates, his companion and servant, went to Vermontwith him. He died quite suddenly, and was buried besidehis father in the old village cemetery. I saw himlast early in the summer. I was away from home anddid not know of his death until it was all over. Batescame to report it to me, and to sign the necessary papersin probating the will. It had to be done in the place ofthe decedent’s residence, and we went together to Wabana, the seat of the county in which Annandale lies. ”

I was silent after this, looking out toward the seathat had lured me since my earliest dreams of the worldthat lay beyond it. 

“It’s a poor stake, Glenarm, ” remarked Pickeringconsolingly, and I wheeled upon him. 

“I suppose you think it a poor stake! I suppose youcan’t see anything in that old man’s life beyond hismoney; but I don’t care a curse what my inheritance is!I never obeyed any of my grandfather’s wishes in hislifetime, but now that he’s dead his last wish is mandatory. I’m going out there to spend a year if I diefor it. Do you get my idea?”

“Humph! You always were a stormy petrel, ” hesneered. “I fancy it will be safer to keep our mostagreeable acquaintance on a strictly business basis. Ifyou accept the terms of the will—”

“Of course I accept them! Do you think I am goingto make a row, refuse to fulfil that old man’s last wish!I gave him enough trouble in his life without disappointinghim in his grave. I suppose you’d like to haveme fight the will; but I’m going to disappoint you. ”

He said nothing, but played with his pencil. I hadnever disliked him so heartily; he was so smug andcomfortable. His office breathed the very spirit of prosperity. I wished to finish my business and get away. 

“I suppose the region out there has a high death-rate. How’s the malaria?”

“Not alarmingly prevalent, I understand. There’s asummer resort over on one side of Lake Annandale. The place is really supposed to be wholesome. I don’tbelieve your grandfather had homicide in mind in sendingyou there. ”

“No, he probably thought the rustication would makea man of me. Must I do my own victualing? I supposeI’ll be allowed to eat. ”

“Bates can cook for you. He’ll supply the necessities. I’ll instruct him to obey your orders. I assumeyou’ll not have many guests, —in fact, ”—he studied theback of his hand intently, —“while that isn’t stipulated, I doubt whether it was your grandfather’s intentionthat you should surround yourself—”

“With boisterous companions!” I supplied the wordsin my cheerfullest tone. “No; my conduct shall be exemplary, Mr. Pickering, ” I added, with affable irony. 

He picked up a single sheet of thin type-writtenpaper and passed it across the table. It was a formalacquiescence in the provisions of the will. Pickeringhad prepared it in advance of my coming, and this assumptionthat I would accept the terms irritated me. Assumptions as to what I should do under given conditionshad always irritated me, and accounted, in alarge measure, for my proneness to surprise and disappointpeople. Pickering summoned a clerk to witnessmy signature. 

“How soon shall you take possession?” he asked. “Ihave to make a record of that. ”

“I shall start for Indiana to-morrow, ” I answered. 

“You are prompt, ” he replied, deliberately folding inquarters the paper I had just signed. “I hoped youmight dine with me before going out; but I fancy NewYork is pretty tame after the cafés and bazaars of theEast. ”

His reference to my wanderings angered me again;for here was the point at which I was most sensitive. I was twenty-seven and had spent my patrimony; I hadtasted the bread of many lands, and I was doomed tospend a year qualifying myself for my grandfather’slegacy by settling down on an abandoned and lonelyIndiana farm that I had never seen and had no interestin whatever. 

As I rose to go Pickering said:

“It will be sufficient if you drop me a line, say oncea month, to let me know you are there. The post-officeis Annandale. ”

“I suppose I might file a supply of postal cards in thevillage and arrange for the mailing of one everymonth. ”

“It might be done that way, ” be answered evenly. 

“We may perhaps meet again, if I don’t die of starvationor ennui. Good-by. ”

We shook hands stiffly and I left him, going down inan elevator filled with eager-eyed, anxious men. I, atleast, had no cares of business. It made no differenceto me whether the market rose or fell. Something ofthe spirit of adventure that had been my curse quickenedin my heart as I walked through crowded Broadwaypast Trinity Church to a bank and drew the balanceremaining on my letter of credit. I received incurrency slightly less than one thousand dollars. 

As I turned from the teller’s window I ran into thearms of the last man in the world I expected to see. 

This, let it be remembered, was in October of theyear of our Lord, nineteen hundred and one. 

CHAPTER II

A FACE AT SHERRY’S

“Don’t mention my name an thou lovest me!” saidLaurance Donovan, and he drew me aside, ignored myhand and otherwise threw into our meeting a casualquality that was somewhat amazing in view of the factthat we had met last at Cairo. 

“Allah il Allah!”

It was undoubtedly Larry. I felt the heat of thedesert and heard the camel-drivers cursing and ourSudanese guides plotting mischief under a window faraway. 

“Well!” we both exclaimed interrogatively. 

He rocked gently back and forth, with his hands inhis pockets, on the tile floor of the banking-house. Ihad seen him stand thus once on a time when we hadeaten nothing in four days—it was in Abyssinia, andour guides had lost us in the worst possible place—withthe same untroubled look in his eyes. 

“Please don’t appear surprised, or scared or anything, Jack, ” he said, with his delicious intonation. “Isaw a fellow looking for me an hour or so ago. He’sbeen at it for several months; hence my presence onthese shores of the brave and the free. He’s probablystill looking, as he’s a persistent devil. I’m here, aswe may say, quite incog. Staying at an East-side lodging-house, where I shan’t invite you to call on me. But I must see you. ”

“Dine with me to-night, at Sherry’s—”

“Too big, too many people—”

“Therein lies security, if you’re in trouble. I’m aboutto go into exile, and I want to eat one more civilizeddinner before I go. ”

“Perhaps it’s just as well. Where are you off for, —not Africa again?”

“No. Just Indiana, —one of the sovereign Americanstates, as you ought to know. ”

“Indians?”

“No; warranted all dead. ”

“Pack-train—balloon—automobile—camels, —how doyou get there?”

“Varnished ears. It’s easy. It’s not the getting there;it’s the not dying of ennui after you’re on the spot. ”

“Humph! What hour did you say for the dinner?”

“Seven o’clock. Meet me at the entrance. ”

“If I’m at large! Allow me to precede you throughthe door, and don’t follow me on the street please!”

He walked away, his gloved hands clasped lazily behindhim, lounged out upon Broadway and turnedtoward the Battery. I waited until he disappeared, thentook an up-town car. 

My first meeting with Laurance Donovan was in Constantinople, at a café where I was dining. He got intoa row with an Englishman and knocked him down. Itwas not my affair, but I liked the ease and definitenesswith which Larry put his foe out of commission. Ilearned later that it was a way he had. The Englishmanmeant well enough, but he could not, of course, know the intensity of Larry’s feeling about the unhappylot of Ireland. In the beginning of my own acquaintancewith Donovan I sometimes argued with him, but Isoon learned better manners. He quite converted me tohis own notion of Irish affairs, and I was as hot anadvocate as he of head-smashing as a means of restoringIreland’s lost prestige. 

My friend, the American consul-general at Constantinople, was not without a sense of humor, and Ieasily enlisted him in Larry’s behalf. The Englishmanthirsted for vengeance and invoked all the powers. Heinsisted, with reason, that Larry was a British subjectand that the American consul had no right to give himasylum, —a point that was, I understand, thoroughlywell-grounded in law and fact. Larry maintained, onthe other hand, that he was not English but Irish, andthat, as his country maintained no representative inTurkey, it was his privilege to find refuge wherever itwas offered. Larry was always the most plausible ofhuman beings, and between us, —he, the American consuland I, —we made an impression, and got him off. 

I did not realize until later that the real joke lay inthe fact that Larry was English-born, and that his devotionto Ireland was purely sentimental and quixotic. His family had, to be sure, come out of Ireland sometime in the dim past, and settled in England; but whenLarry reached years of knowledge, if not of discretion, he cut Oxford and insisted on taking his degree atDublin. He even believed, —or thought he believed, —in banshees. He allied himself during his universitydays with the most radical and turbulent advocates ofa separate national existence for Ireland, and occasionallyspent a month in jail for rioting. But Larry’sinstincts were scholarly; he made a brilliant record atthe University; then, at twenty-two, he came forth tolook at the world, and liked it exceedingly well. Hisfather was a busy man, and he had other sons; hegranted Larry an allowance and told him to keep awayfrom home until he got ready to be respectable. So, from Constantinople, after a tour of Europe, we togethercrossed the Mediterranean in search of the flesh-potsof lost kingdoms, spending three years in the pursuit. We parted at Cairo on excellent terms. He returnedto England and later to his beloved Ireland, forhe had blithely sung the wildest Gaelic songs in thedarkest days of our adventures, and never lost his lovefor The Sod, as he apostrophized—and capitalized—hisadopted country. 

Larry had the habit of immaculateness. He emergedfrom his East-side lodging-house that night clothedproperly, and wearing the gentlemanly air of peace andreserve that is so wholly incompatible with his dispositionto breed discord and indulge in riot. When wesat down for a leisurely dinner at Sherry’s we were not, I modestly maintain, a forbidding pair. We—if I maydrag myself into the matter—are both a trifle underthe average height, sinewy, nervous, and, just then, trained fine. Our lean, clean-shaven faces were well-browned—mine wearing a fresh coat from my days onthe steamer’s deck. 

Larry had never been in America before, and thescene had for both of us the charm of a gay and novelspectacle. I have always maintained, in talking toLarry of nations and races, that the Americans are thehandsomest and best put-up people in the world, and Ibelieve he was persuaded of it that night as we gazedwith eyes long unaccustomed to splendor upon the greatcompany assembled in the restaurant. The lights, themusic, the variety and richness of the costumes of thewomen, the many unmistakably foreign faces, wroughta welcome spell on senses inured to hardship in thewaste and dreary places of earth. 

“Now tell me the story, ” I said. “Have you donemurder? Is the offense treasonable?”

“It was a tenants’ row in Galway, and I smashed aconstable. I smashed him pretty hard, I dare say, fromthe row they kicked up in the newspapers. I lay lowfor a couple of weeks, caught a boat to Queenstown, andhere I am, waiting for a chance to get back to The Sodwithout going in irons. ”

“You were certainly born to be hanged, Larry. You’dbetter stay in America. There’s more room here thananywhere else, and it’s not easy to kidnap a man inAmerica and carry him off. ”

“Possibly not; and yet the situation isn’t wholly tranquil, ”he said, transfixing a bit of pompano with hisfork. “Kindly note the florid gentleman at your right—at the table with four—he’s next the lady in pink. It may interest you to know that he’s the Britishconsul. ”

“Interesting, but not important. You don’t for amoment suppose—”

“That he’s looking for me? Not at all. But he undoubtedlyhas my name on his tablets. The detectivethat’s here following me around is pretty dull. He lostme this morning while I was talking to you in thebank. Later on I had the pleasure of trailing him foran hour or so until he finally brought up at the Britishconsul’s office. Thanks; no more of the fish. Let usbanish care. I wasn’t born to be hanged; and as I’m apolitical offender, I doubt whether I can be deported ifthey lay hands on me. ”

He watched the bubbles in his glass dreamily, holdingit up in his slim well-kept fingers. 

“Tell me something of your own immediate presentand future, ” he said. 

I made the story of my Grandfather Glenarm’s legacyas brief as possible, for brevity was a definite law of ourintercourse. 

“A year, you say, with nothing to do but fold yourhands and wait. It doesn’t sound awfully attractive tome. I’d rather do without the money. ”

“But I intend to do some work. I owe it to my grandfather’smemory to make good, if there’s any good inme. ”

“The sentiment is worthy of you, Glenarm, ” he saidmockingly. “What do you see—a ghost?”

I must have started slightly at espying suddenlyArthur Pickering not twenty feet away. A party ofhalf a dozen or more had risen, and Pickering and agirl were detached from the others for a moment. 

She was young, —quite the youngest in the groupabout Pickering’s table. A certain girlishness of heightand outline may have been emphasized by her juxtapositionto Pickering’s heavy figure. She was in black, with white showing at neck and wrists, —a somber contrastto the other women of the party, who were arrayedwith a degree of splendor. She had dropped her fan, and Pickering stooped to pick it up. In the second thatshe waited she turned carelessly toward me, and oureyes met for an instant. Very likely she was Pickering’ssister, and I tried to reconstruct his family, which I hadknown in my youth; but I could not place her. As shewalked out before him my eyes followed her, —the erectfigure, free and graceful, but with a charming dignityand poise, and the gold of her fair hair glinting underher black toque. 

Her eyes, as she turned them full upon me, were thesaddest, loveliest eyes I had ever seen, and even in thatbrilliant, crowded room I felt their spell. They werefixed in my memory indelibly, —mournful, dreamy andwistful. In my absorption I forgot Larry. 

“You’re taking unfair advantage, ” he observed quietly. “Friends of yours?”

“The big chap in the lead is my friend Pickering, ”I answered; and Larry turned his head slightly. 

“Yes, I supposed you weren’t looking at the women, ”he observed dryly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t see the objectof your interest. Bah! these men!”

I laughed carelessly enough, but I was already summoningfrom my memory the grave face of the girl inblack, —her mournful eyes, the glint of gold in her hair. Pickering was certainly finding the pleasant places inthis vale of tears, and I felt my heart hot against him. It hurts, this seeing a man you have never liked succeedingwhere you have failed!

“Why didn’t you present me? I’d like to make theacquaintance of a few representative Americans, —Imay need them to go bail for me. ”

“Pickering didn’t see me, for one thing; and foranother he wouldn’t go bail for you or me if he did. He isn’t built that way. ”

Larry smiled quizzically. 

“You needn’t explain further. The sight of the ladyhas shaken you. She reminds me of Tennyson:

 “ ‘The star-like sorrows of immortal eyes—’

and the rest of it ought to be a solemn warning to you, —many ‘drew swords and died, ’ and calamity followedin her train. Bah! these women! I thought you werepast all that!”

[Illustration: She turned carelessly toward me, and our eyes met for an instant. ]

“I don’t know why a man should be past it at twenty-seven!Besides, Pickering’s friends are strangers to me. But what became of that Irish colleen you used tomoon over? Her distinguishing feature, as I rememberher photograph, was a short upper lip. You usedto force her upon me frequently when we were inAfrica. ”

“Humph! When I got back to Dublin I found thatshe had married a brewer’s son, —think of it!”

“Put not your faith in a short upper lip! Her facenever inspired any confidence in me. ”

“That will do, thank you. I’ll have a bit more of thatmayonnaise if the waiter isn’t dead. I think you saidyour grandfather died in June. A letter advising youof the fact reached you at Naples in October. Has itoccurred to you that there was quite an interim there?What, may I ask, was the executor doing all that time?You may be sure he was taking advantage of the opportunityto look for the red, red gold. I suppose youdidn’t give him a sound drubbing for not keeping thecables hot with inquiries for you?”

He eyed me in that disdain for my stupidity whichI have never suffered from any other man. 

“Well, no; to tell the truth, I was thinking of otherthings during the interview. ”

“Your grandfather should have provided a guardianfor you, lad. You oughtn’t to be trusted with money. Is that bottle empty? Well, if that person with the fatneck was your friend Pickering, I’d have a care ofwhat’s coming to me. I’d be quite sure that Mr. Pickeringhadn’t made away with the old gentleman’sboodle, or that it didn’t get lost on the way from himto me. ”

“The time’s running now, and I’m in for the year. My grandfather was a fine old gentleman, and I treatedhim like a dog. I’m going to do what he directs in thatwill no matter what the size of the reward may be. ”

“Certainly; that’s the eminently proper thing foryou to do. But, —but keep your wits about you. If afellow with that neck can’t find money where moneyhas been known to exist, it must be buried pretty deep. Your grandfather was a trifle eccentric, I judge, butnot a fool by any manner of means. The situation appealsto my imagination, Jack. I like the idea of it, —the lost treasure and the whole business. Lord, what asalad that is! Cheer up, comrade! You’re as grim asan owl!”

Whereupon we fell to talking of people and places wehad known in other lands. 

We spent the next day together, and in the evening, at my hotel, he criticized my effects while I packed, inhis usual ironical vein. 

“You’re not going to take those things with you, Ihope!” He indicated the rifles and several revolverswhich I brought from the closet and threw upon thebed. “They make me homesick for the jungle. ”

He drew from its cover the heavy rifle I had usedlast on a leopard hunt and tested its weight. 

“Precious little use you’ll have for this! Better letme take it back to The Sod to use on the landlords. I say, Jack, are we never to seek our fortunes togetheragain? We hit it off pretty well, old man, come to thinkof it, —I don’t like to lose you. ”

He bent over the straps of the rifle-case with unnecessarycare, but there was a quaver in his voice that wasnot like Larry Donovan. 

“Come with me now!” I exclaimed, wheeling uponhim. 

“I’d rather be with you than with any other livingman, Jack Glenarm, but I can’t think of it. I have myown troubles; and, moreover, you’ve got to stick it outthere alone. It’s part of the game the old gentlemanset up for you, as I understand it. Go ahead, collectyour fortune, and then, if I haven’t been hanged in themeantime, we’ll join forces later. There’s no chap anywherewith a pleasanter knack at spending money thanyour old friend L. D. ”

He grinned, and I smiled ruefully, knowing that wemust soon part again, for Larry was one of the fewmen I had ever called friend, and this meeting had onlyquickened my old affection for him. 

“I suppose, ” he continued, “you accept as gospeltruth what that fellow tells you about the estate. Ishould be a little wary if I were you. Now, I’ve beenkicking around here for a couple of weeks, dodging thedetectives, and incidentally reading the newspapers. Perhaps you don’t understand that this estate of JohnMarshall Glenarm has been talked about a good bit. ”

“I didn’t know it, ” I admitted lamely. Larry hadalways been able to instruct me about most matters; itwas wholly possible that he could speak wisely about myinheritance. 

“You couldn’t know, when you were coming fromthe Mediterranean on a steamer. But the house outthere and the mysterious disappearance of the propertyhave been duly discussed. You’re evidently an objectof some public interest, ”—and he drew from his pocketa newspaper cutting. “Here’s a sample item. ” He read:

“John Glenarm, the grandson of John Marshall Glenarm, the eccentric millionaire who died suddenly in Vermontlast summer, arrived on the Maxinkuckee from Naplesyesterday. Under the terms of his grandfather’swill, Glenarm is required to reside for a year at a curioushouse established by John Marshall Glenarm near LakeAnnandale, Indiana. 

This provision was made, according to friends of thefamily, to test young Glenarm’s staying qualities, as hehas, since his graduation from the Massachusetts Instituteof Technology five years ago, distributed a considerablefortune left him by his father in contemplating thewonders of the old world. It is reported—”

“That will do! Signs and wonders I have certainlybeheld, and if I spent the money I submit that I gotmy money back. ”

I paid my bill and took a hansom for the ferry, —Larry with me, chaffing away drolly with his old zest. He crossed with me, and as the boat drew out into theriver a silence fell upon us, —the silence that is possibleonly between old friends. As I looked back at the lightsof the city, something beyond the sorrow at partingfrom a comrade touched me. A sense of foreboding, ofcoming danger, crept into my heart. But I was goingupon the tamest possible excursion; for the first timein my life I was submitting to the direction of another, —albeit one who lay in the grave. How like my grandfatherit was, to die leaving this compulsion upon me!My mood changed suddenly, and as the boat bumped atthe pier I laughed. 

“Bah! these men!” ejaculated Larry. 

“What men?” I demanded, giving my bags to aporter. 

“These men who are in love, ” he said. “I know thesigns, —mooning, silence, sudden inexplicable laughter!I hope I’ll not be in jail when you’re married. ”

“You’ll be in a long time if they hold you for that. Here’s my train. ”

We talked of old times, and of future meetings, duringthe few minutes that remained. 

“You can write me at my place of rustication, ” Isaid, scribbling “Annandale, Wabana County, Indiana, ”on a card. “Now if you need me at any time I’ll cometo you wherever you are. You understand that, old man. Good-by. ”

“Write me, care of my father—he’ll have my address, though this last row of mine made him pretty hot. ”

I passed through the gate and down the long trainto my sleeper. Turning, with my foot on the step, Iwaved a farewell to Larry, who stood outside watchingme. 

In a moment the heavy train was moving slowly outinto the night upon its westward journey. 

CHAPTER III

THE HOUSE OF A THOUSAND CANDLES

Annandale derives its chief importance from the factthat two railway lines intersect there. The ChicagoExpress paused only for a moment while the porter depositedmy things beside me on the platform. Lightstreamed from the open door of the station; a fewidlers paced the platform, staring into the windows ofthe cars; the village hackman languidly solicited mybusiness. Suddenly out of the shadows came a tall, curious figure of a man clad in a long ulster. As Iwrite, it is with a quickening of the sensation I receivedon the occasion of my first meeting with Bates. Hislank gloomy figure rises before me now, and I hear hisdeep melancholy voice, as, touching his hat respectfully, be said:

“Beg pardon, sir; is this Mr. Glenarm? I am Batesfrom Glenarm House. Mr. Pickering wired me to meetyou, sir. ”

“Yes; to be sure, ” I said. 

The hackman was already gathering up my traps, and I gave him my trunk-checks. 

“How far is it?” I asked, my eyes resting, a little regretfully, I must confess, on the rear lights of the vanishingtrain. 

“Two miles, sir, ” Bates replied. “There’s no wayover but the hack in winter. In summer the steamercomes right into our dock. ”

“My legs need stretching; I’ll walk, ” I suggested, drawing the cool air into my lungs. It was a still, starryOctober night, and its freshness was grateful after thehot sleeper. Bates accepted the suggestion withoutcomment. We walked to the end of the platform, wherethe hackman was already tumbling my trunks about, and after we had seen them piled upon his nondescriptwagon, I followed Bates down through the broad quietstreet of the village. There was more of Annandalethan I had imagined, and several tall smoke-stacksloomed here and there in the thin starlight. 

“Brick-yards, sir, ” said Bates, waving his hand atthe stacks. “It’s a considerable center for that kind ofbusiness. ”

“Bricks without straw?” I asked, as we passed aradiant saloon that blazed upon the board walk. 

“Beg pardon, sir, but such places are the ruin ofmen, ”—on which remark I based a mental note thatBates wished to impress me with his own rectitude. 

He swung along beside me, answering questions withdogged brevity. Clearly, here was a man who had reducedhuman intercourse to a basis of necessity. I wasto be shut up with him for a year, and he was not likelyto prove a cheerful jailer. My feet struck upon a graveledhighway at the end of the village street, and Iheard suddenly the lapping of water. 

“It’s the lake, sir. This road leads right out to thehouse, ” Bates explained. 

I was doomed to meditate pretty steadily, I imagined, on the beauty of the landscape in these parts, and Iwas rejoiced to know that it was not all cheerless prairieor gloomy woodland. The wind freshened cud blewsharply upon us off the water. 

“The fishing’s quite good in season. Mr. Glenarmused to take great pleasure in it. Bass, —yes, sir. Mr. Glenarm held there was nothing quite equal to a blackbass. ”

I liked the way the fellow spoke of my grandfather. He was evidently a loyal retainer. No doubt he couldsummon from the past many pictures of my grandfather, and I determined to encourage his confidence. 

Any resentment I felt on first hearing the terms ofmy grandfather’s will had passed. He had treated meas well as I deserved, and the least I could do was toaccept the penalty he had laid upon me in a sane andamiable spirit. This train of thought occupied me aswe tramped along the highway. The road now led awayfrom the lake and through a heavy wood. Presently, onthe right loomed a dark barrier, and I put out my handand touched a wall of rough stone that rose to a heightof about eight feet. 

“What is this, Bates?” I asked. 

“This is Glenarm land, sir. The wall was one ofyour grandfather’s ideas. It’s a quarter of a mile longand cost him a pretty penny, I warrant you. The roadturns off from the lake now, but the Glenarm propertyis all lake front. ”

So there was a wall about my prison house! I grinnedcheerfully to myself. When, a few moments later, myguide paused at an arched gateway in the long wall, drew from his overcoat a bunch of keys and fumbled atthe lock of an iron gate, I felt the spirit of adventurequicken within me. 

The gate clicked behind us and Bates found a lanternand lighted it with the ease of custom. 

“I use this gate because it’s nearer. The regular entranceis farther down the road. Keep close, sir, as thetimber isn’t much cleared. ”

The undergrowth was indeed heavy, and I followedthe lantern of my guide with difficulty. In the darknessthe place seemed as wild and rough as a tropical wilderness. 

“Only a little farther, ” rose Bates’ voice ahead ofme; and then: “There’s the light, sir, ”—and, liftingmy eyes, as I stumbled over the roots of a great tree, Isaw for the first time the dark outlines of GlenarmHouse. 

“Here we are, sir!” exclaimed Bates, stamping hisfeet upon a walk. I followed him to what I assumed tobe the front door of the house, where a lamp shonebrightly at either side of a massive entrance. Batesflung it open without ado, and I stepped quickly intoa great hall that was lighted dimly by candles fastenedinto brackets on the walls. 

“I hope you’ve not expected too much, Mr. Glenarm, ”said Bates, with a tone of mild apology. “It’s very incompletefor living purposes. ”

“Well, we’ve got to make the best of it, ” I answered, though without much cheer. The sound of our stepsreverberated and echoed in the well of a great staircase. There was not, as far as I could see, a single article offurniture in the place. 

“Here’s something you’ll like better, sir, ”—and Batespaused far down the ball and opened a door. 

A single candle made a little pool of light in what Ifelt to be a large room. I was prepared for a disclosureof barren ugliness, and waited, in heartsick foreboding, for the silent guide to reveal a dreary prison. 

“Please sit here, sir, ” said Bates, “while I make abetter light. ”

He moved through the dark room with perfect ease, struck a match, lighted a taper and went swiftly andsoftly about. He touched the taper to one candle afteranother, —they seemed to be everywhere, —and wonfrom the dark a faint twilight, that yielded slowly to agrowing mellow splendor of light. I have often watchedthe acolytes in dim cathedrals of the Old World setcountless candles ablaze on magnificent altars, —alwayswith awe for the beauty of the spectacle; but in thisunknown house the austere serving-man summonedfrom the shadows a lovelier and more bewildering enchantment. Youth alone, of beautiful things, is lovelierthan light. 

The lines of the walls receded as the light increased, and the raftered ceiling drew away, luring the eyes upward. I rose with a smothered exclamation on my lipsand stared about, snatching off my hat in reverence asthe spirit of the place wove its spell about me. Everywherethere were books; they covered the walls to theceiling, with only long French windows and an enormousfireplace breaking the line. Above the fireplace amassive dark oak chimney-breast further emphasizedthe grand scale of the room. From every conceivableplace—from shelves built for the purpose, from bracketsthat thrust out long arms among the books, from agreat crystal chandelier suspended from the ceiling, andfrom the breast of the chimney—innumerable candlesblazed with dazzling brilliancy. I exclaimed in wonderand pleasure as Bates paused, his sorcerer’s wand inhand. 

“Mr. Glenarm was very fond of candle-light; heliked to gather up candlesticks, and his collection isvery fine. He called his place ‘The House of a ThousandCandles. ’ There’s only about a hundred here;but it was one of his conceits that when the house wasfinished there would be a thousand lights, he had quitea joking way, your grandfather. It suited his humorto call it a thousand. He enjoyed his own pleasantries, sir. ”

“I fancy he did, ” I replied, staring in bewilderment. 

“Oil lamps might be more suited to your own taste, sir. But your grandfather would not have them. Oldbrass and copper were specialties with him, and he hada particular taste, Mr. Glenarm had, in glass candlesticks. He held that the crystal was most effective ofall. I’ll go and let in the baggageman and then serveyou some supper. ”

He went somberly out and I examined the room withamazed and delighted eyes. It was fifty feet long andhalf as wide. The hard-wood floor was covered withhandsome rugs; every piece of furniture was quaint orinteresting. Carved in the heavy oak paneling abovethe fireplace, in large Old English letters, was the inscription:

 The Spirit of Man is the Candle of the Lord

and on either side great candelabra sent long armsacross the hearth. All the books seemed related to architecture;German and French works stood side by sideamong those by English and American authorities. Ifound archaeology represented in a division where allthe titles were Latin or Italian. I opened several cabinetsthat contained sketches and drawings, all in carefulorder; and in another I found an elaborate cardcatalogue, evidently the work of a practised hand. Theminute examination was too much for me; I threwmyself into a great chair that might have been spoilfrom a cathedral, satisfied to enjoy the general effect. To find an apartment so handsome and so marked bygood taste in the midst of an Indiana wood, staggeredme. To be sure, in approaching the house I had seenonly a dark bulk that conveyed no sense of its characteror proportions; and certainly the entrance hallhad not prepared me for the beauty of this room. I wasso lost in contemplation that I did not hear a door openbehind me. The respectful, mournful voice of Batesannounced:

“There’s a bite ready for you, sir. ”

I followed him through the hall to a small high-wainscotedroom where a table was simply set. 

“This is what Mr. Glenarm called the refectory. Thedining-room, on the other side of the house, is unfinished. He took his own meals here. The library was themain thing with him. He never lived to finish the house, —more’s the pity, sir. He would have made somethingvery handsome of it if he’d had a few years more. Buthe hoped, sir, that you’d see it completed. It was hiswish, sir. ”

“Yes, to be sure, ” I replied. 

He brought cold fowl and a salad, and produced abit of Stilton of unmistakable authenticity. 

“I trust the ale is cooled to your liking. It’s yourgrandfather’s favorite, if I may say it, sir. ”

I liked the fellow’s humility. He served me with agrave deference and an accustomed hand. Candles incrystal holders shed an agreeable light upon the table;the room was snug and comfortable, and hickory logsin a small fireplace crackled cheerily. If my grandfatherhad designed to punish me, with loneliness ashis weapon, his shade, if it lurked near, must havebeen grievously disappointed. I had long been inuredto my own society. I had often eaten my bread alone, and I found a pleasure in the quiet of the strange unknownhouse. There stole over me, too, the satisfactionthat I was at last obeying a wish of my grandfather’s, that I was doing something he would have me do. Iwas touched by the traces everywhere of his interestin what was to him the art of arts; there was somethingquite fine in his devotion to it. The little refectoryhad its air of distinction, though it was withoutdecoration. There had been, we always said in thefamily, something whimsical or even morbid in mygrandsire’s devotion to architecture; but I felt that ithad really appealed to something dignified and noblein his own mind and character, and a gentler moodthan I had known in years possessed my heart. He hadasked little of me, and I determined that in that littleI would not fail. 

Bates gave me my coffee, put matches within reachand left the room. I drew out my cigarette case andwas holding it half-opened, when the glass in the windowback of me cracked sharply, a bullet whistled overmy head, struck the opposite wall and fell, flattenedand marred, on the table under my hand. 

CHAPTER IV

A VOICE FROM THE LAKE

I ran to the window and peered out into the night. The wood through which we had approached the houseseemed to encompass it. The branches of a great treebrushed the panes. I was tugging at the fastening ofthe window when I became aware of Bates at my elbow. 

“Did something happen, sir?”

His unbroken calm angered me. Some one had firedat me through a window and I had narrowly escapedbeing shot. I resented the unconcern with which thisservant accepted the situation. 

“Nothing worth mentioning. Somebody tried to assassinateme, that’s all, ” I said, in a voice that failedto be calmly ironical. I was still fumbling at the catchof the window. 

“Allow me, sir, ”—and he threw up the sash with anease that increased my irritation. 

I leaned out and tried to find some clue to my assailant. Bates opened another window and surveyed thedark landscape with me. 

“It was a shot from without, was it, sir?”

“Of course it was; you didn’t suppose I shot at myself, did you?”

He examined the broken pane and picked up the bulletfrom the table. 

“It’s a rifle-ball, I should say. ”

The bullet was half-flattened by its contact with thewall. It was a cartridge ball of large caliber and mighthave been fired from either rifle or pistol. 

“It’s very unusual, sir!” I wheeled upon him angrilyand found him fumbling with the bit of metal, atroubled look in his face. He at once continued, asthough anxious to allay my fears. “Quite accidental, most likely. Probably boys on the lake are shooting atducks. ”

I laughed out so suddenly that Bates started back inalarm. 

“You idiot!” I roared, seizing him by the collar withboth hands and shaking him fiercely. “You fool! Do thepeople around here shoot ducks at night? Do theyshoot water-fowl with elephant guns and fire at peoplethrough windows just for fun?”

I threw him back against the table so that it leapedaway from him, and he fell prone on the floor. 

“Get up!” I commanded, “and fetch a lantern. ”

He said nothing, but did as I bade him. We traversedthe long cheerless hall to the front door, and I sent himbefore me into the woodland. My notions of the geographyof the region were the vaguest, but I wished toexamine for myself the premises that evidently containeda dangerous prowler. I was very angry and myrage increased as I followed Bates, who had suddenlyretired within himself. We stood soon beneath thelights of the refectory window. 

The ground was covered with leaves which brokecrisply under our feet. 

“What lies beyond here?” I demanded. 

“About a quarter of mile of woods, sir, and then thelake. ”

“Go ahead, ” I ordered, “straight to the lake. ”

I was soon stumbling through rough underbrush similarto that through which we had approached the house. Bates swung along confidently enough ahead of me, pausing occasionally to hold back the branches. I beganto feel, as my rage abated, that I had set out on a foolishundertaking. I was utterly at sea as to the character ofthe grounds; I was following a man whom I had notseen until two hours before, and whom I began to suspectof all manner of designs upon me. It was whollyunlikely that the person who had fired into the windowswould lurk about, and, moreover, the light of the lantern, the crack of the leaves and the breaking of theboughs advertised our approach loudly. I am, however, a person given to steadfastness in error, if nothing else, and I plunged along behind my guide with a grim determinationto reach the margin of the lake, if for noother reason than to exercise my authority over thecustodian of this strange estate. 

A bush slapped me sharply and I stopped to rub thesting from my face. 

“Are you hurt, sir?” asked Bates solicitously, turningwith the lantern. 

“Of course not, ” I snapped. “I’m having the timeof my life. Are there no paths in this jungle?”

“Not through here, sir. It was Mr. Glenarm’s ideanot to disturb the wood at all. He was very fond ofwalking through the timber. ”

“Not at night, I hope! Where are we now?”

“Quite near the lake, sir. ”

“Then go on. ”

I was out of patience with Bates, with the pathlesswoodland, and, I must confess, with the spirit of JohnMarshall Glenarm, my grandfather. 

We came out presently upon a gravelly beach, andBates stamped suddenly on planking. 

“This is the Glenarm dock, sir; and that’s the boat-house. ”

He waved his lantern toward a low structure that rosedark beside us. As we stood silent, peering out into thestarlight, I heard distinctly the dip of a paddle and thesoft gliding motion of a canoe. 

“It’s a boat, sir, ” whispered Bates, hiding the lanternunder his coat. 

I brushed past him and crept to the end of the dock. The paddle dipped on silently and evenly in the stillwater, but the sound grew fainter. A canoe is the mostgraceful, the most sensitive, the most inexplicable contrivanceof man. With its paddle you may dip up starsalong quiet shores or steal into the very harbor ofdreams. I knew that furtive splash instantly, and knewthat a trained hand wielded the paddle. My boyhoodsummers in the Maine woods were not, I frequentlyfind, wholly wasted. 

The owner of the canoe had evidently stolen close tothe Glenarm dock, and had made off when alarmed bythe noise of our approach through the wood. 

“Have you a boat here?”

“The boat-house is locked and I haven’t the key withme, sir, ” he replied without excitement. 

“Of course you haven’t it, ” I snapped, full of angerat his tone of irreproachable respect, and at my ownhelplessness. I had not even seen the place by daylight, and the woodland behind me and the lake at my feetwere things of shadow and mystery. In my rage Istamped my foot. 

“Lead the way back, ” I roared. 

I had turned toward the woodland when suddenlythere stole across the water a voice, —a woman’s voice, deep, musical and deliberate. 

“Really, I shouldn’t be so angry if I were you!” itsaid, with a lingering note on the word angry. 

“Who are you? What are you doing there?” I bawled. 

“Just enjoying a little tranquil thought!” was thedrawling, mocking reply. 

Far out upon the water I heard the dip and glide ofthe canoe, and saw faintly its outline for a moment;then it was gone. The lake, the surrounding wood, werean unknown world, —the canoe, a boat of dreams. Thenagain came the voice:

“Good night, merry gentlemen!”

“It was a lady, sir, ” remarked Bates, after we hadwaited silently for a full minute. 

“How clever you are!” I sneered. “I suppose ladiesprowl about here at night, shooting ducks or into people’shouses. ”

“It would seem quite likely, sir. ”

I should have liked to cast him into the lake, but bewas already moving away, the lantern swinging at hisside. I followed him, back through the woodland to thehouse. 

My spirits quickly responded to the cheering influenceof the great library. I stirred the fire on thehearth into life and sat down before it, tired from mytramp. I was mystified and perplexed by the incidentthat had already marked my coming. It was possible, to be sure, that the bullet which narrowly missed myhead in the little dining-room had been a wild shot thatcarried no evil intent. I dismissed at once the idea thatit might have been fired from the lake; it had crashedthrough the glass with too much force to have come sofar; and, moreover, I could hardly imagine even a rifle-ball’sfinding an unimpeded right of way through sodense a strip of wood. I found it difficult to get rid ofthe idea that some one had taken a pot-shot at me. 

The woman’s mocking voice from the lake added tomy perplexity. It was not, I reflected, such a voice asone might expect to hear from a country girl; nor couldI imagine any errand that would excuse a woman’spresence abroad on an October night whose cool air inspiredfirst confidences with fire and lamp. There wassomething haunting in that last cry across the water;it kept repeating itself over and over in my ears. Itwas a voice of quality, of breeding and charm. 

“Good night, merry gentlemen!”

In Indiana, I reflected, rustics, young or old, men orwomen, were probably not greatly given to salutationsof just this temper. 

Bates now appeared. 

“Beg pardon, sir; but your room’s ready wheneveryou wish to retire. ”

I looked about in search of a clock. 

“There are no timepieces in the house, Mr. Glenarm. Your grandfather was quite opposed to them. He hada theory, sir, that they were conducive, as he said, toidleness. He considered that a man should work by hisconscience, sir, and not by the clock, —the one beingmore exacting than the other. ”

I smiled as I drew out my watch, —as much at Bates’solemn tones and grim lean visage as at his quotationfrom my grandsire. But the fellow puzzled and annoyedme. His unobtrusive black clothes, his smoothly-brushedhair, his shaven face, awakened an antagonismin me. 

“Bates, if you didn’t fire that shot through the window, who did—will you answer me that?”

“Yes, sir; if I didn’t do it, it’s quite a large questionwho did. I’ll grant you that, sir. ”

I stared at him. He met my gaze directly withoutflinching; nor was there anything insolent in his toneor attitude. He continued:

“I didn’t do it, sir. I was in the pantry when I heardthe crash in the refectory window. The bullet camefrom out of doors, as I should judge, sir. ”

The facts and conclusions were undoubtedly withBates, and I felt that I had not acquitted myself creditablyin my effort to fix the crime on him. My abuse ofhim had been tactless, to say the least, and I now triedanother line of attack. 

“Of course, Bates, I was merely joking. What’s yourown theory of the matter?”

“I have no theory, sir. Mr. Glenarm always warnedme against theories. He said—if you will pardon me—there was great danger in the speculative mind. ”

The man spoke with a slight Irish accent, which initself puzzled me. I have always been attentive to thepeculiarities of speech, and his was not the brogue ofthe Irish servant class. Larry Donovan, who was English-born, used on occasions an exaggerated Irish dialectthat was wholly different from the smooth liquid tones ofBates. But more things than his speech were to puzzleme in this man. 

“The person in the canoe? How do you account forher?” I asked. 

“I haven’t accounted for her, sir. There’s no womenon these grounds, or any sort of person except ourselves. ”

“But there are neighbors, —farmers, people of somekind must live along the lake. ”

“A few, sir; and then there’s the school quite a bitbeyond your own west wall. ”

His slight reference to my proprietorship, my ownwall, as he put it, pleased me. 

“Oh, yes; there is a school—girls?—yes; Mr. Pickeringmentioned it. But the girls hardly paddle on thelake at night, at this season—hunting ducks—shouldyou say, Bates?”

“I don’t believe they do any shooting, Mr. Glenarm. It’s a pretty strict school, I judge, sir, from all accounts. ”

“And the teachers—they are all women?”

“They’re the Sisters of St. Agatha, I believe they callthem. I sometimes see them walking abroad. They’revery quiet neighbors, and they go away in the summerusually, except Sister Theresa. The school’s her regularhome, sir. And there’s the little chapel quite near thewall; the young minister lives there; and the gardener’sthe only other man on the grounds. ”

So my immediate neighbors were Protestant nunsand school-girls, with a chaplain and gardener thrownin for variety. Still, the chaplain might be a social resource. There was nothing in the terms of my grandfather’swill to prevent my cultivating the acquaintanceof a clergyman. It even occurred to me that this mightbe a part of the game: my soul was to be watched overby a rural priest, while, there being nothing else to do, I was to give my attention to the study of architecture. Bates, my guard and housekeeper, was brushing thehearth with deliberate care. 

“Show me my cell, ” I said, rising, “and I’ll go tobed. ”

He brought from somewhere a great brass candelabrumthat held a dozen lights, and explained:

“This was Mr. Glenarm’s habit. He always used thisone to go to bed with. I’m sure he’d wish you to haveit, sir. ”

I thought I detected something like a quaver in theman’s voice. My grandfather’s memory was dear to him. I reflected, and I was moved to compassion for him. 

“How long were you with Mr. Glenarm, Bates?” Iinquired, as I followed him into the hall. 

“Five years, sir. He employed me the year you wentabroad. I remember very well his speaking of it. Hegreatly admired you, sir. ”

He led the way, holding the cluster of lights high formy guidance up the broad stairway. 

The hall above shared the generous lines of the wholehouse, but the walls were white and hard to the eye. Rough planks had been laid down for a floor, and beyondthe light of the candles lay a dark region that gaveout ghostly echoes as the loose boards rattled under ourfeet. 

“I hope you’ll not be too much disappointed, sir, ”said Bates, pausing a moment before opening a door. “It’s all quite unfinished, but comfortable, I should say, quite comfortable. ”

“Open the door!”

He was not my host and I did not relish his apology. I walked past him into a small sitting-room that was, in a way, a miniature of the great library below. Openshelves filled with books lined the apartment to theceiling on every hand, save where a small fireplace, acabinet and table were built into the walls. In thecenter of the room was a long table with writing materialsset in nice order. I opened a handsome case andfound that it contained a set of draftsman’s instruments. 

I groaned aloud. 

“Mr. Glenarm preferred this room for working. Thetools were his very own, sir. ”

“The devil they were!” I exclaimed irascibly. Isnatched a book from the nearest shelf and threw itopen on the table. It was The Tower: Its Early Usefor Purposes of Defense. London: 1816. 

I closed it with a slam. 

“The sleeping-room is beyond, sir. I hope—”

“Don’t you hope any more!” I growled; “and itdoesn’t make any difference whether I’m disappointedor not. ”

“Certainly not, sir!” he replied in a tone that mademe ashamed of myself. 

The adjoining bedroom was small and meagerly furnished. The walls were untinted and were relieved onlyby prints of English cathedrals, French chateaux, andlike suggestions of the best things known to architecture. The bed was the commonest iron type; and theother articles of furniture were chosen with a strict regardfor utility. My trunks and bags had been carriedin, and Bates asked from the door f or my commands. 

“Mr. Glenarm always breakfasted at seven-thirty, sir, as near as he could hit it without a timepiece, and hewas quite punctual. His ways were a little odd, sir. Heused to prowl about at night a good deal, and there wasno following him. ”

“I fancy I shan’t do much prowling, ” I declared. “And my grandfather’s breakfast hour will suit me exactly, Bates. ”

“If there’s nothing further, sir—”

“That’s all;—and Bates—”

“Yes, Mr. Glenarm. ”

“Of course you understand that I didn’t really meanto imply that you had fired that shot at me?”

“I beg you not to mention it, Mr. Glenarm. ”

“But it was a little queer. If you should gain anylight on the subject, let me know. ”

“Certainly, sir. ”

“But I believe, Bates, that we’d better keep the shadesdown at night. These duck hunters hereabouts are apparentlyreckless. And you might attend to these now, —and every evening hereafter. ”

I wound my watch as he obeyed. I admit that in myheart I still half-suspected the fellow of complicity withthe person who had fired at me through the dining-roomwindow. It was rather odd, I reflected, that the shadesshould have been open, though I might account for thisby the fact that this curious unfinished establishmentwas not subject to the usual laws governing orderlyhousekeeping. Bates was evidently aware of my suspicions, and he remarked, drawing down the last of theplain green shades:

“Mr. Glenarm never drew them, sir. It was a sayingof his, if I may repeat his words, that he liked the open. These are eastern windows, and he took a quiet pleasurein letting the light waken him. It was one of his oddities, sir. ”

“To be sure. That’s all, Bates. ”

He gravely bade me good night, and I followed himto the outer door and watched his departing figure, lighted by a single candle that he had produced fromhis pocket. 

I stood for several minutes listening to his step, tracingit through the hall below—as far as my knowledgeof the house would permit. Then, in unknown regions, I could hear the closing of doors and drawing of bolts. Verily, my jailer was a person of painstaking habits. 

I opened my traveling-case and distributed its contentson the dressing-table. I had carried through allmy adventures a folding leather photograph-holder, containingportraits of my father and mother and of JohnMarshall Glenarm, my grandfather, and this I set upon the mantel in the little sitting-room. I felt to-nightas never before how alone I was in the world, and aneed for companionship and sympathy stirred in me. It was with a new and curious interest that I peeredinto my grandfather’s shrewd old eyes. He used to comeand go fitfully at my father’s house; but my father haddispleased him in various ways that I need not recite, and my father’s death had left me with an estrangementwhich I had widened by my own acts. 

Now that I had reached Glenarm, my mind revertedto Pickering’s estimate of the value of my grandfather’sestate. Although John Marshall Glenarm was an eccentricman, he had been able to accumulate a large fortune;and yet I had allowed the executor to tell me thathe had died comparatively poor. In so readily acceptingthe terms of the will and burying myself in a region ofwhich I knew nothing, I had cut myself off from theusual channels of counsel. If I left the place to returnto New York I should simply disinherit myself. AtGlenarm I was, and there I must remain to the end ofthe year; I grew bitter against Pickering as I reflectedupon the ease with which he had got rid of me. I hadalways satisfied myself that my wits were as keen as his, but I wondered now whether I had not stupidly put myselfin his power. 

CHAPTER V

A RED TAM-O’-SHANTER

I looked out on the bright October morning with arenewed sense of isolation. Trees crowded about mywindows, many of them still wearing their festal colors, scarlet and brown and gold, with the bright green ofsome sulking companion standing out here and therewith startling vividness. I put on an old corduroy outingsuit and heavy shoes, ready for a tramp abroad, andwent below. 

The great library seemed larger than ever when I beheldit in the morning light. I opened one of theFrench windows and stepped out on a stone terrace, where I gained a fair view of the exterior of the house, which proved to be a modified Tudor, with battlementsand two towers. One of the latter was only half-finished, and to it and to other parts of the house the workmen’sscaffolding still clung. Heaps of stone and piles of lumberwere scattered about in great disorder. The houseextended partly along the edge of a ravine, throughwhich a slender creek ran toward the lake. The terracebecame a broad balcony immediately outside the library, and beneath it the water bubbled pleasantly aroundheavy stone pillars. Two pretty rustic bridges spannedthe ravine, one near the front entrance, the other at therear. My grandfather had begun his house on a generousplan, but, buried as it was among the trees, it sufferedfrom lack of perspective. However, on one side towardthe lake was a fair meadow, broken by a water-tower, and just beyond the west dividing wall I saw a littlechapel; and still farther, in the same direction, the outlinesof the buildings of St. Agatha’s were vaguely perceptiblein another strip of woodland. 

The thought of gentle nuns and school-girls as neighborsamused me. All I asked was that they should keepto their own side of the wall. 

I heard behind me the careful step of Bates. 

“Good morning, Mr. Glenarm. I trust you restedquite well, sir. ”

His figure was as austere, his tone as respectful andcolorless as by night. The morning light gave him apallid cast. He suffered my examination coolly enough;his eyes were, indeed, the best thing about him. 

“This is what Mr. Glenarm called the platform. Ibelieve it’s in Hamlet, sir. ”

I laughed aloud. “Elsinore: A Platform Before theCastle. ”

“It was one of Mr. Glenarm’s little fancies, you mightcall it, sir. ”

“And the ghost, —where does the murdered majesty ofDenmark lie by day?”

“I fear it wasn’t provided, sir! As you see, Mr. Glenarm, the house is quite incomplete. My late master hadnot carried out all his plans. ”

Bates did not smile. I fancied he never smiled, andI wondered whether John Marshall Glenarm had playedupon the man’s lack of humor. My grandfather hadbeen possessed of a certain grim, ironical gift at jesting, and quite likely he had amused himself by experimentingupon his serving man. 

“You may breakfast when you like, sir, ”—and thusadmonished I went into the refectory. 

A newspaper lay at my plate; it was the morning’sissue of a Chicago daily. I was, then, not wholly out ofthe world, I reflected, scanning the head-lines. 

“Your grandfather rarely examined the paper. Mr. Glenarm was more particularly interested in the oldtimes. He wasn’t what you might call up to date, —ifyou will pardon the expression, sir. ”

“You are quite right about that, Bates. He was amedievalist in his sympathies. ”

“Thank you for that word, sir; I’ve frequently heardhim apply it to himself. The plain omelette was a greatfavorite with your grandfather. I hope it is to your liking, sir. ”

“It’s excellent, Bates. And your coffee is beyondpraise. ”

“Thank you, Mr. Glenarm. One does what one can, sir. ”

He had placed me so that I faced the windows, anattention to my comfort and safety which I appreciated. The broken pane told the tale of the shot that had sonarrowly missed me the night before. 

“I’ll repair that to-day, sir, ” Bates remarked, seeingmy eyes upon the window. 

“You know that I’m to spend a year on this place;I assume that you understand the circumstances, ” Isaid, feeling it wise that we should understand eachother. 

“Quite so, Mr. Glenarm. ”

“I’m a student, you know, and all I want is to be leftalone. ”

This I threw in to reassure myself rather than forhis information. It was just as well, I reflected, to asserta little authority, even though the fellow undoubtedlyrepresented Pickering and received orders fromhim. 

“In a day or two, or as soon as I have got used to theplace, I shall settle down to work in the library. Youmay give me breakfast at seven-thirty; luncheon at one-thirtyand dinner at seven. ”

“Those were my late master’s hours, sir. ”

“Very good. And I’ll eat anything you please, exceptmutton broth, meat pie and canned strawberries. Strawberries in tins, Bates, are not well calculated tolift the spirit of man. ”

“I quite agree with you, sir, if you will pardon myopinion. ”

“And the bills—”

“They are provided for by Mr. Pickering. He sendsme an allowance for the household expenses. ”

“So you are to report to him, are you, as heretofore?”

I blew out a match with which I had lighted a cigarand watched the smoking end intently. 

“I believe that’s the idea, sir. ”

It is not pleasant to be under compulsion, —to feelyour freedom curtailed, to be conscious of espionage. Irose without a word and went into the hall. 

“You may like to have the keys, ” said Bates, followingme. “There’s two for the gates in the outer walland one for the St. Agatha’s gate; they’re marked, asyou see. And here’s the hall-door key and the boat-housekey that you asked for last night. ”

After an hour spent in unpacking I went out into thegrounds. I had thought it well to wire Pickering ofmy arrival, and I set out for Annandale to send him atelegram. My spirit lightened under the influences ofthe crisp air and cheering sunshine. What had seemedstrange and shadowy at night was clear enough byday. 

I found the gate through which we had entered thegrounds the night before without difficulty. The stonewall was assuredly no flimsy thing. It was built in athoroughly workmanlike manner, and I mentally computedits probable cost with amazement. There were, I reflected, much more satisfactory ways of spendingmoney than in building walls around Indiana forests. But the place was mine, or as good as mine, and therewas no manner of use in quarreling with the whims ofmy dead grandfather. At the expiration of a year Icould tear down the wall if I pleased; and as to the incompletehouse, that I should sell or remodel to myliking. 

On the whole, I settled into an amiable state of mind;my perplexity over the shot of the night before was passingaway under the benign influences of blue sky andwarm sunshine. A few farm-folk passed me in thehighway and gave me good morning in the fashion ofthe country, inspecting my knickerbockers at the sametime with frank disapproval. I reached the lake andgazed out upon its quiet waters with satisfaction. Atthe foot of Annandale’s main street was a dock whereseveral small steam-craft and a number of catboats werebeing dismantled for the winter. As I passed, a manapproached the dock in a skiff, landed and tied his boat. He started toward the village at a quick pace, but turnedand eyed me with rustic directness. 

“Good morning!” I said. “Any ducks about?”

He paused, nodded and fell into step with me. 

“No, —not enough to pay for the trouble. ”

“I’m sorry for that. I’d hoped to pick up a few. ”

“I guess you’re a stranger in these parts, ” he remarked, eying me again, —my knickerbockers no doubtmarking me as an alien. 

“Quite so. My name is Glenarm, and I’ve just come. ”

“I thought you might be him. We’ve rather been expectingyou here in the village. I’m John Morgan, caretakerof the resorters’ houses up the lake. ”

“I suppose you all knew my grandfather hereabouts. ”

“Well, yes; you might say as we did, or you mightsay as we didn’t. He wasn’t just the sort that you gotnext to in a hurry. He kept pretty much to himself. He built a wall there to keep us out, but he needn’t havetroubled himself. We’re not the kind around here tomeddle, and you may be sure the summer people neverbothered him. ”

There was a tone of resentment in his voice, and Ihastened to say:

“I’m sure you’re mistaken about the purposes of thatwall. My grandfather was a student of architecture. Itwas a hobby of his. The house and wall were in the lineof his experiments, and to please his whims. I hope thepeople of the village won’t hold any hard feelingsagainst his memory or against me. Why, the labor theremust have been a good thing for the people hereabouts. ”

“It ought to have been, ” said the man gruffly; “butthat’s where the trouble comes in. He brought a lot ofqueer fellows here under contract to work for him, Italians, or Greeks, or some sort of foreigners. Theybuilt the wall, and he had them at work inside for halfa year. He didn’t even let them out for air; and whenthey finished his job he loaded ’em on to a train oneday and hauled ’em away. ”

“That was quite like him, I’m sure, ” I said, rememberingwith amusement my grandfather’s secretiveways. 

“I guess he was a crank all right, ” said the man conclusively. 

It was evident that he did not care to establish friendlyrelations with the resident of Glenarm. He was aboutforty, light, with a yellow beard and pale blue eyes. Hewas dressed roughly and wore a shabby soft hat. 

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to assume responsibilityfor him and his acts, ” I remarked, piqued by the fellow’ssurliness. 

We had reached the center of the village, and he leftme abruptly, crossing the street to one of the shops. Icontinued on to the railway station, where I wrote andpaid for my message. The station-master inspected mecarefully as I searched my pockets for change. 

“You want your telegrams delivered at the house?”he asked. 

“Yes, please, ” I answered, and he turned away tohis desk of clicking instruments without looking at meagain. 

It seemed wise to establish relations with the post-office, so I made myself known to the girl who stood atthe delivery window. 

“You already have a box, ” she advised me. “There’sa boy carries the mail to your house; Mr. Bates hireshim. ”

Bates had himself given me this information, but thegirl seemed to find pleasure in imparting it with a certainseverity. I then bought a cake of soap at the principaldrug store and purchased a package of smoking-tobacco, which I did not need, at a grocery. 

News of my arrival had evidently reached the villagers;I was conceited enough to imagine that my presencewas probably of interest to them; but the station-master, the girl at the post-office and the clerks in theshops treated me with an unmistakable cold reserve. There was a certain evenness of the chill which theyvisited upon me, as though a particular degree of frigidityhad been determined in advance. 

I shrugged my shoulders and turned toward Glenarm. My grandfather had left me a cheerful legacy ofdistrust among my neighbors, the result, probably, ofimporting foreign labor to work on his house. The surlyMorgan had intimated as much; but it did not greatlymatter. I had not come to Glenarm to cultivate therustics, but to fulfil certain obligations laid down inmy grandfather’s will. I was, so to speak, on duty, andI much preferred that the villagers should let me alone. Comforting myself with these reflections I reached thewharf, where I saw Morgan sitting with his feet danglingover the water, smoking a pipe. 

I nodded in his direction, but he feigned not to seeme. A moment later he jumped into his boat and rowedout into the lake. 

When I returned to the house Bates was at work inthe kitchen. This was a large square room with heavytimbers showing in the walls and low ceiling. Therewas a great fireplace having an enormous chimney andfitted with a crane and bobs, but for practical purposesa small range was provided. 

Bates received me placidly. 

“Yes; it’s an unusual kitchen, sir. Mr. Glenarmcopied it from an old kitchen in England. He tookquite a pride in it. It’s a pleasant place to sit in theevening, sir. ”

He showed me the way below, where I found that thecellar extended under every part of the house, and wasdivided into large chambers. The door of one of themwas of heavy oak, bound in iron, with a barred openingat the top. A great iron hasp with a heavy padlock andgrilled area windows gave further the impression of acell, and I fear that at this, as at many other things inthe curious house, I swore—if I did not laugh—thinkingof the money my grandfather had expended in realizinghis whims. The room was used, I noted with pleasure, as a depository for potatoes. I asked Bates whetherhe knew my grandfather’s purpose in providing a cell inhis house. 

“That, sir, was another of the dead master’s ideas. He remarked to me once that it was just as well to havea dungeon in a well-appointed house, —his humor again, sir! And it comes in quite handy for the potatoes. ”

In another room I found a curious collection of lanternsof every conceivable description, grouped onshelves, and next door to this was a store-room filledwith brass candlesticks of many odd designs. I shall notundertake to describe my sensations as, peering aboutwith a candle in my hand, the vagaries of John MarshallGlenarm’s mind were further disclosed to me. It wasalmost beyond belief that any man with such whimsshould ever have had the money to gratify them. 

I returned to the main floor and studied the titles ofthe books in the library, finally smoking a pipe over avery tedious chapter in an exceedingly dull work onNorman Revivals and Influences. Then I went out, assuringmyself that I should get steadily to work in a dayor two. It was not yet eleven o’clock, and time was sureto move deliberately within the stone walls of myprison. The long winter lay before me in which I muststudy perforce, and just now it was pleasant to view thelandscape in all its autumn splendor. 

Bates was soberly chopping wood at a rough pile oftimber at the rear of the house. His industry had alreadyimpressed me. He had the quiet ways of an idealserving man. 

“Well, Bates, you don’t intend to let me freeze todeath, do you? There must be enough in the pile thereto last all winter. ”

“Yes, sir; I am just cutting a little more of the hickory, sir. Mr. Glenarm always preferred it to beech ormaple. We only take out the old timber. The summerstorms eat into the wood pretty bad, sir. ”

“Oh, hickory, to be sure! I’ve heard it’s the best firewood. That’s very thoughtful of you. ”

I turned next to the unfinished tower in the meadow, from which a windmill pumped water to the house. Theiron frame was not wholly covered with stone, but materialfor the remainder of the work lay scattered at thebase. I went on through the wood to the lake and inspectedthe boat-house. It was far more pretentiousthan I had imagined from my visit in the dark. It wasof two stories, the upper half being a cozy lounging-room, with wide windows and a fine outlook over thewater. The unplastered walls were hung with Indianblankets; lounging-chairs and a broad seat under thewindows, colored matting on the floor and a few printspinned upon the Navajoes gave further color to theplace. 

I followed the pebbly shore to the stone wall whereit marked the line of the school-grounds. The wall, Iobserved, was of the same solid character here as alongthe road. I tramped beside it, reflecting that my grandfather’sestate, in the heart of the Republic, would someday give the lie to foreign complaints that we have noruins in America. 

I had assumed that there was no opening in the wall, but half-way to the road I found an iron gate, fastenedwith chain and padlock, by means of which I climbedto the top. The pillars at either side of the gate were ofhuge dimensions and were higher than I could reach. An intelligent forester had cleared the wood in theschool-grounds, which were of the same general characteras the Glenarm estate. The little Gothic churchnear at hand was built of stone similar to that used inGlenarm House. As I surveyed the scene a number ofyoung women came from one of the school-buildingsand, forming in twos and fours, walked back and forthin a rough path that led to the chapel. A Sister clad in abrown habit lingered near or walked first with one andthen another of the students. It was all very pretty andinteresting and not at all the ugly school for paupers Ihad expected to find. The students were not the charitychildren I had carelessly pictured; they were not soyoung, for one thing, and they seemed to be appareleddecently enough. 

I smiled to find myself adjusting my scarf andstraightening my collar as I beheld my neighbors forthe first time. 

As I sat thus on the wall I heard the sound of angryvoices back of me on the Glenarm side, and a crash ofunderbrush marked a flight and pursuit. I croucheddown on the wall and waited. In a moment a manplunged through the wood and stumbled over a low-hangingvine and fell, not ten yards from where I lay. To my great surprise it was Morgan, my acquaintanceof the morning. He rose, cursed his ill luck and, huggingthe wall close, ran toward the lake. Instantly thepursuer broke into view. It was Bates, evidently muchexcited and with an ugly cut across his forehead. Hecarried a heavy club, and, after listening for a momentfor sounds of the enemy, he hurried after the caretaker. 

It was not my row, though I must say it quickenedmy curiosity. I straightened myself out, threw my legsover the school side of the wall and lighted a cigar, feeling cheered by the opportunity the stone barricadeoffered for observing the world. 

As I looked off toward the little church I found twoother actors appearing on the scene. A girl stood in alittle opening of the wood, talking to a man. Her handswere thrust into the pockets of her covert coat; she worea red tam-o’-shanter, that made a bright bit of color inthe wood. They were not more than twenty feet away, but a wild growth of young maples lay between us, screening the wall. Their profiles were toward me, andthe tones of the girl’s voice reached me clearly, as sheaddressed her companion. He wore a clergyman’s highwaistcoat, and I assumed that he was the chaplain whomBates had mentioned. I am not by nature an eavesdropper, but the girl was clearly making a plea of somekind, and the chaplain’s stalwart figure awoke in me anantagonism that held me to the wall. 

“If he comes here I shall go away, so you may as wellunderstand it and tell him. I shan’t see him under anycircumstances, and I’m not going to Florida or Californiaor anywhere else in a private car, no matter whochaperones it. ”

“Certainly not, unless you want to—certainly not, ”said the chaplain. “You understand that I’m only givingyou his message. He thought it best—”

“Not to write to me or to Sister Theresa!” interruptedthe girl contemptuously. “What a clever manhe is!”

“And how unclever I am!” said the clergyman, laughing. “Well, I thank you for giving me the opportunityto present his message. ”

She smiled, nodded and turned swiftly toward theschool. The chaplain looked after her for a few moments, then walked away soberly toward the lake. Hewas a young fellow, clean-shaven and dark, and with apair of shoulders that gave me a twinge of envy. I couldnot guess how great a factor that vigorous figure was tobe in my own affairs. As I swung down from the walland walked toward Glenarm House, my thoughts werenot with the athletic chaplain, but with the girl, whoseyouth was, I reflected, marked by her short skirt, the unconcernwith which her hands were thrust into thepockets of her coat, and the irresponsible tilt of the tam-o’-shanter. There is something jaunty, a suggestion ofspirit and independence in a tam-o’-shanter, particularlya red one. If the red tam-o’-shanter expressed, so tospeak, the key-note of St. Agatha’s, the proximity of theschool was not so bad a thing after all. 

In high good-humor and with a sharp appetite I wentin to luncheon. 

CHAPTER VI

THE GIRL AND THE CANOE

“The persimmons are off the place, sir. Mr. Glenarmwas very fond of the fruit. ”

I had never seen a persimmon before, but I was in amood for experiment. The frost-broken rind was certainlyforbidding, but the rich pulp brought a surpriseof joy to my palate. Bates watched me with respectfulsatisfaction. His gravity was in no degree diminishedby the presence of a neat strip of flesh-colored court-plasterover his right eye. A faint suggestion of arnicahung in the air. 

“This is a quiet life, ” I remarked, wishing to givehim an opportunity to explain his encounter of themorning. 

“You are quite right, sir. As your grandfather usedto say, it’s a place of peace. ”

“When nobody shoots at you through a window, ” Isuggested. 

“Such a thing is likely to happen to any gentleman, ”he replied, “but not likely to happen more than once, ifyou’ll allow the philosophy. ”

He did not refer to his encounter with the caretaker, and I resolved to keep my knowledge of it to myself. Ialways prefer to let a rascal hang himself, and here wasa case, I reasoned, where, if Bates were disloyal to theduties Pickering had imposed upon him, the fact of hisperfidy was bound to disclose itself eventually. Glancingaround at him when he was off guard I surpriseda look of utter dejection upon his face as he stood withfolded arms behind my chair. 

He flushed and started, then put his hand to his forehead. 

“I met with a slight accident this morning, sir. Thehickory’s very tough, sir. A piece of wood flew up andstruck me. ”

“Too bad!” I said with sympathy. “You’d betterrest a bit this afternoon. ”

“Thank you, sir; but it’s a small matter, —only, youmight think it a trifle disfiguring. ”

He struck a match for my cigarette, and I left withoutlooking at him again. But as I crossed the thresholdof the library I formulated this note: “Bates is aliar, for one thing, and a person with active enemies foranother; watch him. ”

All things considered, the day was passing wellenough. I picked up a book, and threw myself on a comfortabledivan to smoke and reflect before continuing myexplorations. As I lay there, Bates brought me a telegram, a reply to my message to Pickering. It read:

“Yours announcing arrival received and filed. ”

It was certainly a queer business, my errand to Glenarm. I lay for a couple of hours dreaming, and countedthe candles in the great crystal chandelier until my eyesached. Then I rose, took my cap, and was soon trampingoff toward the lake. 

There were several small boats and a naphtha launchin the boat-house. I dropped a canoe into the water andpaddled off toward the summer colony, whose gables andchimneys were plainly visible from the Glenarm shore. 

I landed and roamed idly over leaf-strewn walks pastnearly a hundred cottages, to whose windows and verandasthe winter blinds gave a dreary and inhospitableair. There was, at one point, a casino, whose broad verandahung over the edge of the lake, while beneath, onthe water-side, was a boat-house. I had from this pointa fine view of the lake, and I took advantage of it tofix in my mind the topography of the region. I couldsee the bold outlines of Glenarm House and its red-tileroofs; and the gray tower of the little chapel beyondthe wall rose above the wood with a placid dignity. Above the trees everywhere hung the shadowy smoke ofautumn. 

I walked back to the wharf, where I had left mycanoe, and was about to step into it when I saw, rockingat a similar landing-place near-by, another slightcraft of the same type as my own, but painted darkmaroon. I was sure the canoe had not been there whenI landed. Possibly it belonged to Morgan, the caretaker. I walked over and examined it. I even lifted itslightly in the water to test its weight. The paddle layon the dock beside me and it, too, I weighed critically, deciding that it was a trifle light for my own taste. 

“Please—if you don’t mind—”

I turned to stand face to face with the girl in the redtam-o’-shanter. 

“I beg your pardon, ” I said, stepping away from thecanoe. 

She did not wear the covert coat of the morning, buta red knit jacket, buttoned tight about her. She wasyoung with every emphasis of youth. A pair of darkblue eyes examined me with good-humored curiosity. She was on good terms with the sun—I rejoiced in thebrown of her cheeks, so eloquent of companionship withthe outdoor world—a certificate indeed of the favor ofHeaven. Show me, in October, a girl with a face oftan, whose hands have plied a paddle or driven a golf-ballor cast a fly beneath the blue arches of summer, and I will suffer her scorn in joy. She may vote medull and refute my wisest word with laughter, for hersare the privileges of the sisterhood of Diana; and thatsoft bronze, those daring fugitive freckles beneath hereyes, link her to times when Pan whistled upon his reedand all the days were long. 

She had approached silently and was enjoying, I feltsure, my discomfiture at being taken unawares. 

I had snatched off my cap and stood waiting besidethe canoe, feeling, I must admit, a trifle guilty at beingcaught in the unwarrantable inspection of another person’sproperty—particularly a person so wholly pleasingto the eye. 

“Really, if you don’t need that paddle any more—”

I looked down and found to my annoyance that I heldit in my hand, —was in fact leaning upon it with a coolair of proprietorship. 

“Again, I beg your pardon, ” I said. “I hadn’t expected—”

She eyed me calmly with the stare of the child thatarrives at a drawing-room door by mistake and scrutinizesthe guests without awe. I didn’t know what I hadexpected or had not expected, and she manifested nointention of helping me to explain. Her short skirtsuggested fifteen or sixteen—not more—and such beingthe case there was no reason why I should not be masterof the situation. As I fumbled my pipe the hot coalsof tobacco burned my hand and I cast the thing fromme. 

She laughed a little and watched the pipe bound fromthe dock into the water. 

“Too bad!” she said, her eyes upon it; “but if youhurry you may get it before it floats away. ”

“Thank you for the suggestion, ” I said. But I didnot relish the idea of kneeling on the dock to fish for apipe before a strange school-girl who was, I felt sure, anxious to laugh at me. 

She took a step toward the line by which her boat wasfastened. 

“Allow me. ”

“If you think you can, —safely, ” she said; and thelaughter that lurked in her eyes annoyed me. 

“The feminine knot is designed for the confusion ofman, ” I observed, twitching vainly at the rope, whichwas tied securely in unfamiliar loops. 

She was singularly unresponsive. The thought thatshe was probably laughing at my clumsiness did notmake my fingers more nimble. 

“The nautical instructor at St. Agatha’s is undoubtedlya woman. This knot must come in the post-graduatecourse. But my gallantry is equal, I trust, to yourpatience. ”

The maid in the red tam-o’-shanter continued silent. The wet rope was obdurate, the knot more and morehopeless, and my efforts to make light of the situationawakened no response in the girl. I tugged away at therope, attacking its tangle on various theories. 

“A case for surgery, I’m afraid. A truly Gordian knot, but I haven’t my knife. ”

“Oh, but you wouldn’t!” she exclaimed. “I think Ican manage. ”

She bent down—I was aware that the sleeve of herjacket brushed my shoulder—seized an end that I hadignored, gave it a sharp tug with a slim brown hand andpulled the knot free. 

“There!” she exclaimed with a little laugh; “I mighthave saved you all the bother. ”

“How dull of me! But I didn’t have the combination, ”I said, steadying the canoe carefully to mitigate theignominy of my failure. 

She scorned the hand I extended, but embarked withlight confident step and took the paddle. It was growinglate. The shadows in the wood were deepening; achill crept over the water, and, beyond the tower of thechapel, the sky was bright with the splendor of sunset. 

With a few skilful strokes she brought her little craftbeside my pipe, picked it up and tossed it to the wharf. 

“Perhaps you can pipe a tune upon it, ” she said, dippingthe paddle tentatively. 

“You put me under great obligations, ” I declared. “Are all the girls at St. Agatha’s as amiable?”

“I should say not! I’m a great exception, —and—Ireally shouldn’t be talking to you at all! It’s againstthe rules! And we don’t encourage smoking. ”

“The chaplain doesn’t smoke, I suppose. ”

“Not in chapel; I believe it isn’t done! And werarely see him elsewhere. ”

She had idled with the paddle so far, but now liftedher eyes and drew back the blade for a long stroke. 

“But in the wood—this morning—by the wall!”

I hate myself to this day for having so startled her. The poised blade dropped into the water with a splash;she brought the canoe a trifle nearer to the wharf withan almost imperceptible stroke, and turned toward mewith wonder and dismay in her eyes. 

“So you are an eavesdropper and detective, are you?I beg that you will give your master my compliments!I really owe you an apology; I thought you were a gentleman!”she exclaimed with withering emphasis, anddipped her blade deep in flight. 

I called, stammering incoherently, after her, but herlight argosy skimmed the water steadily. The paddlerose and fell with trained precision, making scarcely aripple as she stole softly away toward the fairy towersof the sunset. I stood looking after her, goaded withself-contempt. A glory of yellow and red filled the west. Suddenly the wind moaned in the wood behind the lineof cottages, swept over me and rippled the surface of thelake. I watched its flight until it caught her canoe andI marked the flimsy craft’s quick response, as the shakenwaters bore her alert figure upward on the swell, herblade still maintaining its regular dip, until she disappearedbehind a little peninsula that made a harbor nearthe school grounds. 

The red tam-o’-shanter seemed at last to merge in thered sky, and I turned to my canoe and paddled cheerlesslyhome. 

CHAPTER VII

THE MAN ON THE WALL

I was so thoroughly angry with myself that afteridling along the shores for an hour I lost my way in thedark wood when I landed and brought up at the reardoor used by Bates for communication with the villagerswho supplied us with provender. I readily foundmy way to the kitchen and to a flight of stairs beyond, which connected the first and second floors. The housewas dark, and my good spirits were not increased as Istumbled up the unfamiliar way in the dark, with, Ifear, a malediction upon my grandfather, who had builtand left incomplete a house so utterly preposterous. Myunpardonable fling at the girl still rankled; and I wascold from the quick descent of the night chill on thewater and anxious to get into more comfortable clothes. Once on the second floor I felt that I knew the way tomy room, and I was feeling my way toward it over therough floor when I heard low voices rising apparentlyfrom my sitting-room. 

It was pitch dark in the hall. I stopped short andlistened. The door of my room was open and a faintlight flashed once into the hall and disappeared. I heardnow a sound as of a hammer tapping upon wood-work. 

Then it ceased, and a voice whispered:

“He’ll kill me if he finds me here. I’ll try again to-morrow. I swear to God I’ll help you, but no morenow—”

Then the sound of a scuffle and again the tapping ofthe hammer. After several minutes more of this therewas a whispered dialogue which I could not hear. 

Whatever was occurring, two or three points struckme on the instant. One of the conspirators was an unwillingparty to an act as yet unknown; second, theyhad been unsuccessful and must wait for another opportunity;and third, the business, whatever it was, wasclearly of some importance to myself, as my own apartmentsin my grandfather’s strange house had beenchosen for the investigation. 

Clearly, I was not prepared to close the incident, butthe idea of frightening my visitors appealed to my senseof humor. I tiptoed to the front stairway, ran lightlydown, found the front door, and, from the inside, opened and slammed it. I heard instantly a hurriedscamper above, and the heavy fall of one who had stumbledin the dark. I grinned with real pleasure at thesound of this mishap, hurried into the great library, which was as dark as a well, and, opening one of the longwindows, stepped out on the balcony. At once from therear of the house came the sound of a stealthy step, which increased to a run at the ravine bridge. I listenedto the flight of the fugitive through the wood until thesounds died away toward the lake. 

Then, turning to the library windows, I saw Bates, with a candle held above his head, peering about. 

“Hello, Bates, ” I called cheerfully. “I just got homeand stepped out to see if the moon had risen. I don’tbelieve I know where to look for it in this country. ”

He began lighting the tapers with his usual deliberation. 

“It’s a trifle early, I think, sir. About seven o’clock, I should say, was the hour, Mr. Glenarm. ”

There was, of course, no doubt whatever that Bateshad been one of the men I heard in my room. It waswholly possible that he had been compelled to assist insome lawless act against his will; but why, if he hadbeen forced into aiding a criminal, should he not invokemy own aid to protect himself? I kicked the logs in thefireplace impatiently in my uncertainty. The man slowlylighted the many candles in the great apartment. He was certainly a deep one, and his case grew morepuzzling as I studied it in relation to the rifle-shot ofthe night before, his collision with Morgan in the wood, which I had witnessed; and now the house itself hadbeen invaded by some one with his connivance. Theshot through the refectory window might have been innocentenough; but these other matters in connectionwith it could hardly be brushed aside. 

Bates lighted me to the stairway, and said as I passedhim:

“There’s a baked ham for dinner. I should call it extradelicate, Mr. Glenarm. I suppose there’s no changein the dinner hour, sir?”

“Certainly not, ” I said with asperity; for I am not aperson to inaugurate a dinner hour one day and changeit the next. Bates wished to make conversation, —thesure sign of a guilty conscience in a servant, —and I wasnot disposed to encourage him. 

I closed the doors carefully and began a thoroughexamination of both the sitting-room and the little bed-chamber. I was quite sure that my own effects couldnot have attracted the two men who had taken advantageof my absence to visit my quarters. Bates hadhelped unpack my trunk and undoubtedly knew everyitem of my simple wardrobe. I threw open the doorsof the three closets in the rooms and found them all inthe good order established by Bates. He had carried mytrunks and bags to a store-room, so that everything Iowned must have passed under his eye. My money even, the remnant of my fortune that I had drawn from theNew York bank, I had placed carelessly enough in thedrawer of a chiffonnier otherwise piled with collars. Ittook but a moment to satisfy myself that this had notbeen touched. And, to be sure, a hammer was not necessaryto open a drawer that had, from its appearance, never been locked. The game was deeper than I hadimagined; I had scratched the crust without result, andmy wits were busy with speculations as I changed myclothes, pausing frequently to examine the furniture, even the bricks on the hearth. 

One thing only I found—the slight scar of a hammer-headon the oak paneling that ran around the bedroom. The wood had been struck near the base and at the topof every panel, for though the mark was not perceptibleon all, a test had evidently been made systematically. With this as a beginning, I found a moment later a spotof tallow under a heavy table in one corner. Evidentlythe furniture had been moved to permit of the closestscrutiny of the paneling. Even behind the bed I foundthe same impress of the hammer-head; the test had undoubtedlybeen thorough, for a pretty smart tap on oakis necessary to leave an impression. My visitors hadundoubtedly been making soundings in search of a recessof some kind in the wall, and as they had failed oftheir purpose they were likely, I assumed, to pursuetheir researches further. 

I pondered these things with a thoroughly-awakenedinterest in life. Glenarm House really promised to proveexciting. I took from a drawer a small revolver, filledits chambers with cartridges and thrust it into my hippocket, whistling meanwhile Larry Donovan’s favoriteair, the Marche Funèbre d’une Marionnette. My heartwent out to Larry as I scented adventure, and I wishedhim with me; but speculations as to Larry’s whereaboutswere always profitless, and quite likely he was in jailsomewhere. 

The ham of whose excellence Bates had hinted was nodisappointment. There is, I have always held, nothingbetter in this world than a baked ham, and the specimenBates placed before me was a delight to the eye, —soadorned was it with spices, so crisply brown its outercoat; and a taste—that first tentative taste, before thesauce was added—was like a dream of Lucullus cometrue. I could forgive a good deal in a cook with thattouch, —anything short of arson and assassination!

“Bates, ” I said, as he stood forth where I could seehim, “you cook amazingly well. Where did you learnthe business?”

“Your grandfather grew very captious, Mr. Glenarm. I had to learn to satisfy him, and I believe I did it, sir, if you’ll pardon the conceit. ”

“He didn’t die of gout, did he? I can readily imagineit. ”

“No, Mr. Glenarm. It was his heart. He had hiswarning of it. ”

“Ah, yes; to be sure. The heart or the stomach, —onemay as well fail as the other. I believe I prefer to keepmy digestion going as long as possible. Those grilledsweet potatoes again, if you please, Bates. ”

The game that he and I were playing appealed to mestrongly. It was altogether worth while, and as I ateguava jelly with cheese and toasted crackers, and thenlighted one of my own cigars over a cup of Bates’ unfailingcoffee, my spirit was livelier than at any timesince a certain evening on which Larry and I hadescaped from Tangier with our lives and the curses ofthe police. It is a melancholy commentary on life thatcontentment comes more easily through the stomachthan along any other avenue. In the great library, withits rich store of books and its eternal candles, I sprawledupon a divan before the fire and smoked and indulgedin pleasant speculations. The day had offered muchmaterial for fireside reflection, and I reviewed its historycalmly. 

There was, however, one incident that I found unpleasantin the retrospect. I had been guilty of mostunchivalrous conduct toward one of the girls of St. Agatha’s. It had certainly been unbecoming in me tosit on the wall, however unwillingly, and listen to thewords—few though they were—that passed between herand the chaplain. I forgot the shot through the window;I forgot Bates and the interest my room possessed forhim and his unknown accomplice; but the sudden distrustand contempt I had awakened in the girl by myclownish behavior annoyed me increasingly. 

I rose presently, found my cap in a closet under thestairs, and went out into the moon-flooded wood towardthe lake. The tangle was not so great when you knewthe way, and there was indeed, as I had found, the faintsuggestion of a path. The moon glorified a broad highwayacross the water; the air was sharp and still. Thehouses in the summer colony were vaguely defined, butthe sight of them gave me no cheer. The tilt of hertam-o’-shanter as she paddled away into the sunset hadconveyed an impression of spirit and dignity that I couldnot adjust to any imaginable expiation. 

These reflections carried me to the borders of St. Agatha’s, and I followed the wall to the gate, climbedup, and sat down in the shadow of the pillar farthestfrom the lake. Lights shone scatteringly in the buildingsof St. Agatha’s, but the place was wholly silent. I drew out a cigarette and was about to light it whenI heard a sound as of a tread on stone. There was, Iknew, no stone pavement at hand, but peering towardthe lake I saw a man walking boldly along the top of thewall toward me. The moonlight threw his figure intoclear relief. Several times he paused, bent down andrapped upon the wall with an object he carried in hishand. 

Only a few hours before I had heard a similar soundrising from the wainscoting of my own room in GlenarmHouse. Evidently the stone wall, too, was undersuspicion!

Tap, tap, tap! The man with the hammer was examiningthe farther side of the gate, and very likely hewould carry his investigations beyond it. I drew up mylegs and crouched in the shadow of the pillar, revolverin hand. I was not anxious for an encounter; I muchpreferred to wait for a disclosure of the purpose that laybehind this mysterious tapping upon walls on my grandfather’sestate. 

But the matter was taken out of my own hands beforeI had a chance to debate it. The man dropped to theground, sounded the stone base under the gate, likewisethe pillars, evidently without results, struck a spitefulcrack upon the iron bars, then stood up abruptly andlooked me straight in the eyes. It was Morgan, thecaretaker of the summer colony. 

“Good evening, Mr. Morgan, ” I said, settling the revolverinto my hand. 

There was no doubt about his surprise; he fell back, staring at me hard, and instinctively drawing the hammerover his shoulder as though to fling it at me. 

“Just stay where you are a moment, Morgan, ” I saidpleasantly, and dropped to a sitting position on the wallfor greater ease in talking to him. 

He stood sullenly, the hammer dangling at arm’slength, while my revolver covered his head. 

“Now, if you please, I’d like to know what you meanby prowling about here and rummaging my house!”

“Oh, it’s you, is it, Mr. Glenarm? Well, you certainlygave me a bad scare. ”

His air was one of relief and his teeth showed pleasantlythrough his beard. 

“It certainly is I. But you haven’t answered my question. What were you doing in my house to-day?”

He smiled again, shaking his head. 

“You’re really fooling, Mr. Glenarm. I wasn’t inyour house to-day; I never was in it in my life!”

His white teeth gleamed in his light beard; his hatwas pushed back from his forehead so that I saw hiseyes, and he wore unmistakably the air of a man whoseconscience is perfectly clear. I was confident that helied, but without appealing to Bates I was not preparedto prove it. 

“But you can’t deny that you’re on my grounds now, can you?” I had dropped the revolver to my knee, butI raised it again. 

“Certainly not, Mr. Glenarm. If you’ll allow me toexplain—”

“That’s precisely what I want you to do. ”

“Well, it may seem strange, ”—he laughed, and I feltthe least bit foolish to be pointing a pistol at the headof a fellow of so amiable a spirit. 

“Hurry, ” I commanded. 

“Well, as I was saying, it may seem strange; but Iwas just examining the wall to determine the characterof the work. One of the cottagers on the lake left mewith the job of building a fence on his place, and I’vebeen expecting to come over to look at this all fall. You see, Mr. Glenarm, your honored grandfather wasa master in such matters, as you may know, and I didn’tsee any harm in getting the benefit—to put it so—of hisexperience. ”

I laughed. He had denied having entered the housewith so much assurance that I had been prepared forsome really plausible explanation of his interest in thewall. 

“Morgan—you said it was Morgan, didn’t you?—youare undoubtedly a scoundrel of the first water. I makethe remark with pleasure. ”

“Men have been killed for saying less, ” he said. 

“And for doing less than firing through windows at aman’s head. It wasn’t friendly of you. ”

“I don’t see why you center all your suspicions onme. You exaggerate my importance, Mr. Glenarm. I’monly the man-of-all-work at a summer resort. ”

“I wouldn’t believe you, Morgan, if you swore on astack of Bibles as high as this wall. ”

“Thanks!” he ejaculated mockingly. 

Like a flash he swung the hammer over his head anddrove it at me, and at the same moment I fired. Thehammer-head struck the pillar near the outer edge andin such a manner that the handle flew around andsmote me smartly in the face. By the time I reachedthe ground the man was already running rapidlythrough the park, darting in and out among the trees, and I made after him at hot speed. 

[Illustration: Like a flash he swung the hammer, and at the same moment I fired. ]

The hammer-handle had struck slantingly across myforehead, and my head ached from the blow. I abusedmyself roundly for managing the encounter so stupidly, and in my rage fired twice with no aim whatever afterthe flying figure of the caretaker. He clearly had theadvantage of familiarity with the wood, striking offboldly into the heart of it, and quickly widening thedistance between us; but I kept on, even after I ceasedto hear him threshing through the undergrowth, andcame out presently at the margin of the lake about fiftyfeet from the boat-house. I waited in the shadow forsome time, expecting to see the fellow again, but he didnot appear. 

I found the wall with difficulty and followed it backto the gate. It would be just as well, I thought, topossess myself of the hammer; and I dropped down onthe St. Agatha side of the wall and groped about amongthe leaves until I found it. 

Then I walked home, went into the library, alightwith its many candles just as I had left it, and satdown before the fire to meditate. I had been absentfrom the house only forty-five minutes. 

CHAPTER VIII

A STRING OF GOLD BEADS

A moment later Bates entered with a fresh supply ofwood. I watched him narrowly for some sign of perturbation, but he was not to be caught off guard. Possiblyhe had not heard the shots in the wood; at anyrate, he tended the fire with his usual gravity, and afterbrushing the hearth paused respectfully. 

“Is there anything further, sir?”

“I believe not, Bates. Oh! here’s a hammer I pickedup out in the grounds a bit ago. I wish you’d see if itbelongs to the house. ”

He examined the implement with care and shook hishead. 

“It doesn’t belong here, I think, sir. But we sometimesfind tools left by the carpenters that worked onthe house. Shall I put this in the tool-chest, sir?”

“Never mind. I need such a thing now and then andI’ll keep it handy. ”

“Very good, Mr. Glenarm. It’s a bit sharper to-night, but we’re likely to have sudden changes at this season. ”

“I dare say. ”

We were not getting anywhere; the fellow was certainlyan incomparable actor. 

“You must find it pretty lonely here, Bates. Don’thesitate to go to the village when you like. ”

“I thank you, Mr. Glenarm; but I am not much foridling. I keep a few books by me for the evenings. Annandaleis not what you would exactly call a divertingvillage. ”

“I fancy not. But the caretaker over at the summerresort has even a lonelier time, I suppose. That’s whatI’d call a pretty cheerless job, —watching summer cottagesin the winter. ”

“That’s Morgan, sir. I meet him occasionally whenI go to the village; a very worthy person, I should callhim, on slight acquaintance. ”

“No doubt of it, Bates. Any time through the winteryou want to have him in for a social glass, it’s allright with me. ”

He met my gaze without flinching, and lighted meto the stair with our established ceremony. I voted himan interesting knave and really admired the cool wayin which he carried off difficult situations. I had nointention of being killed, and now that I had due warningof danger, I resolved to protect myself from foeswithout and within. Both Bates and Morgan, the caretaker, were liars of high attainment. Morgan was, moreover, a cheerful scoundrel, and experience taughtme long ago that a knave with humor is doubly dangerous. 

Before going to bed I wrote a long letter to LarryDonovan, giving him a full account of my arrival atGlenarm House. The thought of Larry always cheeredme, and as the pages slipped from my pen I could feelhis sympathy and hear him chuckling over the lively beginningof my year at Glenarm. The idea of being firedupon by an unseen foe would, I knew, give Larry a reallift of the spirit. 

The next morning I walked into the village, mailedmy letter, visited the railway station with true rusticinstinct and watched the cutting out of a freight car forAnnandale with a pleasure I had not before taken inthat proceeding. The villagers stared at me blankly ason my first visit. A group of idle laborers stopped talkingto watch me; and when I was a few yards past themthey laughed at a remark by one of the number whichI could not overhear. But I am not a particularly sensitiveperson; I did not care what my Hoosier neighborssaid of me; all I asked was that they should refrainfrom shooting at the back of my head through the windowsof my own house. 

On this day I really began to work. I mapped outa course of reading, set up a draftsman’s table I foundput away in a closet, and convinced myself that I wasbeginning a year of devotion to architecture. Such was, I felt, the only honest course. I should work every dayfrom eight until one, and my leisure I should give torecreation and a search for the motives that lay behindthe crafts and assaults of my enemies. 

When I plunged into the wood in the middle of theafternoon it was with the definite purpose of returningto the upper end of the lake for an interview with Morgan, who had, so Bates informed me, a small house backof the cottages. 

I took the canoe I had chosen for my own use fromthe boat-house and paddled up the lake. The air wasstill warm, but the wind that blew out of the southtasted of rain. I scanned the water and the borders ofthe lake for signs of life, —more particularly, I may aswell admit, for a certain maroon-colored canoe and agirl in a red tam-o’-shanter, but lake and summer cottageswere mine alone. I landed and began at once mysearch for Morgan. There were many paths throughthe woods back of the cottages, and I followed severalfutilely before I at last found a small house snuglybid away in a thicket of young maples. 

The man I was looking for came to the door quicklyin response to my knock. 

“Good afternoon, Morgan. ”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Glenarm, ” he said, taking thepipe from his mouth the better to grin at me. Heshowed no sign of surprise, and I was nettled by his coolreception. There was, perhaps, a certain element ofrecklessness in my visit to the house of a man who hadshown so singular an interest in my affairs, and his coolgreeting vexed me. 

“Morgan—” I began. 

“Won’t you come in and rest yourself, Mr. Glenarm?”he interrupted. “I reckon you’re tired from your tripover—”

“Thank you, no, ” I snapped. 

“Suit yourself, Mr. Glenarm. ” He seemed to like myname and gave it a disagreeable drawling emphasis. 

“Morgan, you are an infernal blackguard. You havetried twice to kill me—”

“We’ll call it that, if you like, ”—and he grinned. “But you’d better cut off one for this. ”

He lifted the gray fedora hat from his head, andpoked his finger through a hole in the top. 

“You’re a pretty fair shot, Mr. Glenarm. The factabout me is, ”—and he winked, —”the honest truth is, I’m all out of practice. Why, sir, when I saw you paddlingout on the lake this afternoon I sighted you fromthe casino half a dozen times with my gun, but I wasafraid to risk it. ” He seemed to be shaken with innermirth. “If I’d missed, I wasn’t sure you’d be scared todeath!”

For a novel diversion I heartily recommend a meetingwith the assassin who has, only a few days or hoursbefore, tried to murder you. I know of nothing in theway of social adventure that is quite equal to it. Morganwas a fellow of intelligence and, whatever lay backof his designs against me, he was clearly a foe to reckonwith. He stood in the doorway calmly awaiting mynext move. I struck a match on my box and lighted acigarette. 

“Morgan, I hope you understand that I am not responsiblefor any injury my grandfather may have inflictedon you. I hadn’t seen him for several years beforehe died. I was never at Glenarm before in mylife, so it’s a little rough for you to visit your displeasureon me. ”

He smiled tolerantly as I spoke. I knew—and heknew that I did—that no ill feeling against my grandfatherlay back of his interest in my affairs. 

“You’re not quite the man your grandfather was, Mr. Glenarm. You’ll excuse my bluntness, but I take itthat you’re a frank man. He was a very keen person, and, I’m afraid, ”—he chuckled with evident satisfactionto himself, —”I’m really afraid, Mr. Glenarm, thatyou’re not!”

“There you have it, Morgan! I fully agree with you!I’m as dull as an oyster; that’s the reason I’ve called onyou for enlightenment. Consider that I’m here under aflag of truce, and let’s see if we can’t come to an agreement. ”

“It’s too late, Mr. Glenarm; too late. There was atime when we might have done some business; but that’spast now. You seem like a pretty decent fellow, too, and I’m sorry I didn’t see you sooner; but better lucknext time. ”

He stroked his yellow beard reflectively and shook hishead a little sadly. He was not a bad-looking fellow;and he expressed himself well enough with a broad westernaccent. 

“Well, ” I said, seeing that I should only make myselfridiculous by trying to learn anything from him, “Ihope our little spats through windows and on walls won’tinterfere with our pleasant social relations. And I don’thesitate to tell you, ”—I was exerting myself to keepdown my anger, —”that if I catch you on my groundsagain I’ll fill you with lead and sink you in the lake. ”

“Thank you, sir, ” he said, with so perfect an imitationof Bates’ voice and manner that I smiled in spiteof myself. 

“And now, if you’ll promise not to fire into my backI’ll wish you good day. Otherwise—”

He snatched off his hat and bowed profoundly. “It’llsuit me much better to continue handling the case onyour grounds, ” he said, as though he referred to abusiness matter. “Killing a man on your own propertyrequires some explaining—you may have noticed it?”

“Yes; I commit most of my murders away fromhome, ” I said. “I formed the habit early in life. Goodday, Morgan. ”

As I turned away he closed his door with a slam, —adelicate way of assuring me that he was acting in goodfaith, and not preparing to puncture my back with arifle-ball. I regained the lake-shore, feeling no greatdiscouragement over the lean results of my interview, but rather a fresh zest for the game, whatever thegame might be. Morgan was not an enemy to triflewith; he was, on the other hand, a clever and daringfoe; and the promptness with which he began war onme the night of my arrival at Glenarm House, indicatedthat there was method in his hostility. 

The sun was going his ruddy way beyond St. Agatha’sas I drove my canoe into a little cove near which thegirl in the tam-o’-shanter had disappeared the day before. The shore was high here and at the crest was along curved bench of stone reached by half a dozensteps, from which one might enjoy a wide view of thecountry, both across the lake and directly inland. Thebench was a pretty bit of work, boldly reminiscential ofAlma Tadema, and as clearly the creation of JohnMarshall Glenarm as though his name had been carvedupon it. 

It was assuredly a spot for a pipe and a mood, andas the shadows crept through the wood before me andthe water, stirred by the rising wind, began to beat below, I invoked the one and yielded to the other. Somethingin the withered grass at my feet caught my eye. I bent and picked up a string of gold beads, droppedthere, no doubt, by some girl from the school or a carelessmember of the summer colony. I counted the separatebeads—they were round and there were fifty ofthem. The proper length for one turn about a girl’sthroat, perhaps; not more than that! I lifted my eyesand looked off toward St. Agatha’s. 

“Child of the red tam-o’-shanter, I’m very sorry Iwas rude to you yesterday, for I liked your steady strokewith the paddle; and I admired, even more, the way youspurned me when you saw that among all the cads inthe world I am number one in Class A. And thesegolden bubbles (O girl of the red tam-o’-shanter!), ifthey are not yours you shall help me find the owner, forwe are neighbors, you and I, and there must be peacebetween our houses. ”

With this foolishness I rose, thrust the beads into mypocket, and paddled home in the waning glory of thesunset. 

That night, as I was going quite late to bed, bearinga candle to light me through the dark hall to my room, I heard a curious sound, as of some one walking stealthilythrough the house. At first I thought Bates was stillabroad, but I waited, listening for several minutes, withoutbeing able to mark the exact direction of the soundor to identify it with him. I went on to the door of myroom, and still a muffled step seemed to follow me, —firstit had come from below, then it was much like some onegoing up stairs, —but where? In my own room I stillheard steps, light, slow, but distinct. Again there was astumble and a hurried recovery, —ghosts, I reflected, donot fall down stairs!

The sound died away, seemingly in some remote partof the house, and though I prowled about for an hourit did not recur that night. 

CHAPTER IX

THE GIRL AND THE RABBIT

Wind and rain rioted in the wood, and occasionallyboth fell upon the library windows with a howl and asplash. The tempest had wakened me; it seemed thatevery chimney in the house held a screaming demon. We were now well-launched upon December, and I wasgrowing used to my surroundings. I had offered myselffrequently as a target by land and water; I had saton the wall and tempted fate; and I had roamed thehouse constantly expecting to surprise Bates in some actof treachery; but the days were passing monotonously. I saw nothing of Morgan—he had gone to Chicago onsome errand, so Bates reported—but I continued to walkabroad every day, and often at night, alert for a reopeningof hostilities. Twice I had seen the red tam-o’-shanterfar through the wood, and once I had passed myyoung acquaintance with another girl, a dark, laughingyoungster, walking in the highway, and she had bowedto me coldly. Even the ghost in the wall proved inconstant, but I had twice heard the steps without being ableto account for them. 

Memory kept plucking my sleeve with reminders ofmy grandfather. I was touched at finding constantlyhis marginal notes in the books he had collected with somuch intelligence and loving care. It occurred to methat some memorial, a tablet attached to the outer wall, or perhaps, more properly placed in the chapel, wouldbe fitting; and I experimented with designs for it, coveringmany sheets of drawing-paper in an effort to setforth in a few words some hint of his character. On thisgray morning I produced this:

 1835 The life of John Marshall Glenarm was a testimony to the virtue of generosity, forbearance and gentleness The Beautiful things he loved were not nobler than his own days His grandson (who served him ill) writes this of him 1901

I had drawn these words on a piece of cardboard andwas studying them critically when Bates came in withwood. 

“Those are unmistakable snowflakes, sir, ” said Batesfrom the window. “We’re in for winter now. ”

It was undeniably snow; great lazy flakes of it werecrowding down upon the wood. 

Bates had not mentioned Morgan or referred even remotelyto the pistol-shot of my first night, and he hadcertainly conducted himself as a model servant. Theman-of-all-work at St. Agatha’s, a Scotchman namedFerguson, had visited him several times, and I had surprisedthem once innocently enjoying their pipes andwhisky and water in the kitchen. 

“They are having trouble at the school, sir, ” saidBates from the hearth. 

“The young ladies running a little wild, eh?”

“Sister Theresa’s ill, sir. Ferguson told me lastnight!”

“No doubt Ferguson knows, ” I declared, moving thepapers about on my desk, conscious, and not ashamed ofit, that I enjoyed these dialogues with Bates. I occasionallyentertained the idea that he would some daybrain me as I sat dining upon the viands which he preparedwith so much skill; or perhaps he would poisonme, that being rather more in his line of business andperfectly easy of accomplishment; but the house wasbare and lonely and he was a resource. 

“So Sister Theresa’s ill!” I began, seeing that Bateshad nearly finished, and glancing with something akinto terror upon the open pages of a dreary work on Englishcathedrals that had put me to sleep the day before. 

“She’s been quite uncomfortable, sir; but they hopeto see her out in a few days!”

“That’s good; I’m glad to hear it. ”

“Yes, sir. I think we naturally feel interested, beingneighbors. And Ferguson says that Miss Devereux’s devotionto her aunt is quite touching. ”

I stood up straight and stared at Bates’ back—he wastrying to stop the rattle which the wind had set up inone of the windows. 

“Miss Devereux!” I laughed outright. 

“That’s the name, sir, —rather odd, I should call it. ”

“Yes, it is rather odd, ” I said, composed again, butnot referring to the name. My mind was busy with acertain paragraph in my grandfather’s will:

Should he fail to comply with this provision, said propertyshall revert to my general estate, and become, withoutreservation, and without necessity for any process oflaw, the property, absolutely, of Marian Devereux, of theCounty and State of New York. 

“Your grandfather was very fond of her, sir. Sheand Sister Theresa were abroad at the time he died. Itwas my sorrowful duty to tell them the sad news in NewYork, sir, when they landed. ”

“The devil it was!” It irritated me to remember thatBates probably knew exactly the nature of my grandfather’swill; and the terms of it were not in the leastcreditable to me. Sister Theresa and her niece weredoubtless calmly awaiting my failure to remain atGlenarm House during the disciplinary year, —SisterTheresa, a Protestant nun, and the niece who probablytaught drawing in the school for her keep! I was sureit was drawing; nothing else would, I felt, have broughtthe woman within the pale of my grandfather’s beneficence. 

I had given no thought to Sister Theresa since comingto Glenarm. She had derived her knowledge of mefrom my grandfather, and, such being the case, shewould naturally look upon me as a blackguard and amenace to the peace of the neighborhood. I had, therefore, kept rigidly to my own side of the stone wall. Asuspicion crossed my mind, marshaling a host of doubtsand questions that had lurked there since my first nightat Glenarm. 

“Bates!”

He was moving toward the door with his characteristicslow step. 

“If your friend Morgan, or any one else, should shootme, or if I should tumble into the lake, or otherwise endmy earthly career—Bates!”

His eyes had slipped from mine to the window and Ispoke his name sharply. 

“Yes, Mr. Glenarm. ”

“Then Sister Theresa’s niece would get this propertyand everything else that belonged to Mr. Glenarm. ”

“That’s my understanding of the matter, sir. ”

“Morgan, the caretaker, has tried to kill me twicesince I came here. He fired at me through the windowthe night I came, —Bates!”

I waited for his eyes to meet mine again. His handsopened and shut several times, and alarm and fear convulsedhis face for a moment. 

“Bates, I’m trying my best to think well of you; butI want you to understand”—I smote the table with myclenched hand—“that if these women, or your employer, Mr. Pickering, or that damned hound, Morgan, or you—damn you, I don’t know who or what you are!—thinkyou can scare me away from here, you’ve waked up thewrong man, and I’ll tell you another thing, —and youmay repeat it to your school-teachers and to Mr. Pickering, who pays you, and to Morgan, whom somebody hashired to kill me, —that I’m going to keep faith with mydead grandfather, and that when I’ve spent my yearhere and done what that old man wished me to do, I’llgive them this house and every acre of ground and everydamned dollar the estate carries with it. And now oneother thing! I suppose there’s a sheriff or some kind ofa constable with jurisdiction over this place, and I couldhave the whole lot of you put into jail for conspiracy, but I’m going to stand out against you alone, —do youunderstand me, you hypocrite, you stupid, slinking spy?Answer me, quick, before I throw you out of the room!”

I had worked myself into a great passion and fairlyroared my challenge, pounding the table in my rage. 

“Yes, sir; I quite understand you, sir. But I’mafraid, sir—”

“Of course you’re afraid!” I shouted, enraged anewby his halting speech. “You have every reason in theworld to be afraid. You’ve probably heard that I’m abad lot and a worthless adventurer; but you can tellSister Theresa or Pickering or anybody you please thatI’m ten times as bad as I’ve ever been painted. Nowclear out of here!”

He left the room without looking at me again. Duringthe morning I strolled through the house severaltimes to make sure he had not left it to communicatewith some of his fellow plotters, but I was, I admit, disappointedto find him in every instance busy at somewholly proper task. Once, indeed, I found him cleaningmy storm boots! To find him thus humbly devotedto my service after the raking I had given him dulledthe edge of my anger. I went back to the library andplanned a cathedral in seven styles of architecture, allunrelated and impossible, and when this began to boreme I designed a crypt in which the wicked should beburied standing on their heads and only the very goodmight lie and sleep in peace. These diversions and severalblack cigars won me to a more amiable mood. Ifelt better, on the whole, for having announced myselfto the delectable Bates, who gave me for luncheon abrace of quails, done in a manner that stripped criticismof all weapons. 

We did not exchange a word, and after knockingabout in the library for several hours I went out for atramp. Winter had indeed come and possessed theearth, and it had given me a new landscape. The snowcontinued to fall in great, heavy flakes, and the groundwas whitening fast. 

A rabbit’s track caught my eye and I followed it, hardly conscious that I did so. Then the clear print oftwo small shoes mingled with the rabbit’s trail. A fewmoments later I picked up an overshoe, evidently lostin the chase by one of Sister Theresa’s girls, I reflected. I remembered that while at Tech I had collected diversememorabilia from school-girl acquaintances, and here Iwas beginning a new series with a string of beads and anovershoe!

A rabbit is always an attractive quarry. Few thingsbesides riches are so elusive, and the little fellows have, I am sure, a shrewd humor peculiar to themselves. Irather envied the school-girl who had ventured forth fora run in the first snow-storm of the season. I recalledAldrich’s turn on Gautier’s lines as I followed thedouble trail:

 “Howe’er you tread, a tiny mould Betrays that light foot all the same; Upon this glistening, snowy fold At every step it signs your name. ”

A pretty autograph, indeed! The snow fell steadilyand I tramped on over the joint signature of the girland the rabbit. Near the lake they parted company, therabbit leading off at a tangent, on a line parallel withthe lake, while his pursuer’s steps pointed toward theboat-house. 

There was, so far as I knew, only one student of adventurousblood at St. Agatha’s, and I was not in theleast surprised to see, on the little sheltered balcony ofthe boat-house, the red tam-o’-shanter. She wore, too, the covert coat I remembered from the day I saw herfirst from the wall. Her back was toward me as I drewnear; her hands were thrust into her pockets. She wasevidently enjoying the soft mingling of the snow withthe still, blue waters of the lake, and a girl and a snow-stormare, if you ask my opinion, a pretty combination. The fact of a girl’s facing a winter storm arguesmightily in her favor, —testifies, if you will allow me, to a serene and dauntless spirit, for one thing, and asound constitution, for another. 

I ran up the steps, my cap in one hand, her overshoein the other. She drew back a trifle, just enough tobring my conscience to its knees. 

“I didn’t mean to listen that day. I just happenedto be on the wall and it was a thoroughly underbredtrick—my twitting you about it—and I should have toldyou before if I’d known how to see you—”

“May I trouble you for that shoe?” she said with agreat deal of dignity. 

They taught that cold disdain of man, I supposed, asa required study at St. Agatha’s. 

“Oh, certainly! Won’t you allow me?”

“Thank you, no!”

I was relieved, to tell the truth, for I had been out ofthe world for most of that period in which a youngsterperfects himself in such graces as the putting on of agirl’s overshoes. She took the damp bit of rubber—awet overshoe, even if small and hallowed by associations, isn’t pretty—as Venus might have received a soft-shellcrab from the hand of a fresh young merman. I wasbetween her and the steps to which her eyes turned longingly. 

“Of course, if you won’t accept my apology I can’tdo anything about it; but I hope you understand thatI’m sincere and humble, and anxious to be forgiven. ”

“You seem to be making a good deal of a small matter—”

“I wasn’t referring to the overshoe!” I said. 

She did not relent. 

“If you’ll only go away—”

She rested one hand against the corner of the boat-housewhile she put on the overshoe. She wore, I noticed, brown gloves with cuffs. 

“How can I go away! You children are always leavingthings about for me to pick up. I’m perfectly wornout carrying some girl’s beads about with me; and Ispoiled a good glove on your overshoe. ”

“I’ll relieve you of the beads, too, if you please. ”And her tone measurably reduced my stature. 

She thrust her hands into the pockets of her coat andshook the tam-o’-shanter slightly, to establish it in amore comfortable spot on her head. The beads had beenin my corduroy coat since I found them. I drew themout and gave them to her. 

“Thank you; thank you very much. ”

“Of course they are yours, Miss—”

She thrust them into her pocket. 

“Of course they’re mine, ” she said indignantly, andturned to go. 

“We’ll waive proof of property and that sort of thing, ”I remarked, with, I fear, the hope of detaining her. “I’m sorry not to establish a more neighborly feelingwith St. Agatha’s. The stone wall may seem formidable, but it’s not of my building. I must open the gate. That wall’s a trifle steep for climbing. ”

I was amusing myself with the idea that my identitywas a dark mystery to her. I had read English novelsin which the young lord of the manor is always mistakenfor the game-keeper’s son by the pretty daughterof the curate who has come home from school to be thebelle of the county. But my lady of the red tam-o’-shanterwas not a creature of illusions. 

“It serves a very good purpose—the wall, I mean—Mr. Glenarm. ”

She was walking down the steps and I followed. Iam not a man to suffer a lost school-girl to cross mylands unattended in a snow-storm; and the piazza of aboat-house is not, I submit, a pleasant loafing-place ona winter day. She marched before me, her hands in herpockets—I liked her particularly that way—with aneasy swing and a light and certain step. Her remarkabout the wall did not encourage further conversationand I fell back upon the poets. 

 “Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage, ”

I quoted. Quoting poetry in a snow-storm while youstumble through a woodland behind a girl who showsno interest in either your prose or your rhymes has itsembarrassments, particularly when you are breathing atrifle hard from the swift pace your auditor is leadingyou. 

“I have heard that before, ” she said, half-turning herface, then laughing as she hastened on. 

Her brilliant cheeks were a delight to the eye. Thesnow swirled about her, whitened the crown of her redcap and clung to her shoulders. Have you ever seensnow-crystals gleam, break, dissolve in fair, soft, storm-blownhair? Do you know how a man will pledge hissoul that a particular flake will never fade, never ceaseto rest upon a certain flying strand over a girlish temple?And he loses—his heart and his wager—in abreath! If you fail to understand these things, and arefurthermore unfamiliar with the fact that the color inthe cheeks of a girl who walks abroad in a driving snow-stormmarks the favor of Heaven itself, then I wastetime, and you will do well to rap at the door of anotherinn. 

“I’d rather missed you, ” I said; “and, really, I shouldhave been over to apologize if I hadn’t been afraid. ”

“Sister Theresa is rather fierce, ” she declared. “Andwe’re not allowed to receive gentlemen callers, —it saysso in the catalogue. ”

“So I imagined. I trust Sister Theresa is improving. ”

[Illustration: She marched before me, her hands in her pockets. ]

“Yes; thank you. ”

“And Miss Devereux, —she is quite well, I hope?”

She turned her head as though to listen more carefully, and her step slackened for a moment; then shehurried blithely forward. 

“Oh, she’s always well, I believe. ”

“You know her, of course. ”

“Oh, rather! She gives us music lessons. ”

“So Miss Devereux is the music-teacher, is she?Should you call her a popular teacher?”

“The girls call her”—she seemed moved to mirth bythe recollection—“Miss Prim and Prosy. ”

“Ugh!” I exclaimed sympathetically. “Tall and hungry-looking, with long talons that pound the keys withgrim delight. I know the sort. ”

“She’s a sight!“—and my guide laughed approvingly. “But we have to take her; she’s part of the treatment. ”

“You speak of St. Agatha’s as though it were a sanatorium. ”

“Oh, it’s not so bad! I’ve seen worse. ”

“Where do most of the students come from, —all whatyou call Hoosiers?”

“Oh, no! They’re from all over—Cincinnati, Chicago, Cleveland, Indianapolis. ”

“What the magazines call the Middle West. ”

“I believe that is so. The bishop addressed us onceas the flower of the Middle West, and made us reallywish he’d come again. ”

We were approaching the gate. Her indifference tothe storm delighted me. Here, I thought in my admiration, is a real product of the western world. I felt thatwe had made strides toward such a comradeship as it isproper should exist between a school-girl in her teensand a male neighbor of twenty-seven. I was—goingback to English fiction—the young squire walking homewith the curate’s pretty young daughter and conversingwith fine condescension. 

“We girls all wish we could come over and help huntthe lost treasure. It must be simply splendid to live ina house where there’s a mystery, —secret passages andchests of doubloons and all that sort of thing! My!Squire Glenarm, I suppose you spend all your nights exploringsecret passages. ”

This free expression of opinion startled me, thoughshe seemed wholly innocent of impertinence. 

“Who says there’s any secret about the house?” I demanded. 

“Oh, Ferguson, the gardener, and all the girls!”

“I fear Ferguson is drawing on his imagination. ”

“Well, all the people in the village think so. I’veheard the candy-shop woman speak of it often. ”

“She’d better attend to her taffy, ” I retorted. 

“Oh, you mustn’t be sensitive about it! All us girlsthink it ever so romantic, and we call you sometimes thelord of the realm, and when we see you walking throughthe darkling wood at evenfall we say, ‘My lord is broodingupon the treasure chests. ’ ”

This, delivered in the stilted tone of one who is half-quotingand half-improvising, was irresistibly funny, and I laughed with good will. 

“I hope you’ve forgiven me—” I began, kicking thegate to knock off the snow, and taking the key from mypocket. 

“But I haven’t, Mr. Glenarm. Your assumption is, to say the least, unwarranted, —I got that from a book!”

“It isn’t fair for you to know my name and for me notto know yours, ” I said leadingly. 

“You are perfectly right. You are Mr. John Glenarm—the gardener told me—and I am just Olivia. They don’t allow me to be called Miss yet. I’m veryyoung, sir!”

“You’ve only told me half, ”—and I kept my hand onthe closed gate. The snow still fell steadily and theshort afternoon was nearing its close. I did not like tolose her, —the life, the youth, the mirth for which shestood. The thought of Glenarm House amid the snow-hungwood and of the long winter evening that I mustspend alone moved me to delay. Lights already gleamedin the school-buildings straight before us and the sightof them smote me with loneliness. 

“Olivia Gladys Armstrong, ” she said, laughing, brushed past me through the gate and ran lightly overthe snow toward St. Agatha’s. 

CHAPTER X

AN AFFAIR WITH THE CARETAKER

I read in the library until late, hearing the howl ofthe wind outside with satisfaction in the warmth andcomfort of the great room. Bates brought in some sandwichesand a bottle of ale at midnight. 

“If there’s nothing more, sir—”

“That is all, Bates. ” And he went off sedately to hisown quarters. 

I was restless and in no mood for bed and mournedthe lack of variety in my grandfather’s library. I movedabout from shelf to shelf, taking down one book afteranother, and while thus engaged came upon a series oflarge volumes extra-illustrated in water-colors of unusualbeauty. They occupied a lower shelf, and Isprawled on the floor, like a boy with a new picture-book, in my absorption, piling the great volumes about me. They were on related subjects pertaining to the Frenchchateaux. 

In the last volume I found a sheet of white note-paperno larger than my hand, a forgotten book-mark, I assumed, and half-crumpled it in my fingers before Inoticed the lines of a pencil sketch on one side of it. Icarried it to the table and spread it out. 

It was not the bit of idle penciling it had appearedto be at first sight. A scale had evidently been followedand the lines drawn with a ruler. With such trifles mygrandfather had no doubt amused himself. There wasa long corridor indicated, but of this I could make nothing. I studied it for several minutes, thinking it mighthave been a tentative sketch of some part of the house. In turning it about under the candelabrum I saw thatin several places the glaze had been rubbed from thepaper by an eraser, and this piqued my curiosity. Ibrought a magnifying glass to bear upon the sketch. The drawing had been made with a hard pencil and theeraser had removed the lead, but a well-defined imprintremained. 

I was able to make out the letters N. W. 3/4 to C. —a reference clearly enough to points of the compass anda distance. The word ravine was scrawled over a roughoutline of a doorway or opening of some sort, and thenthe phrase:

 THE DOOR OF BEWILDERMENT

Now I am rather an imaginative person; that is whyengineering captured my fancy. It was through his tryingto make an architect (a person who quarrels withwomen about their kitchen sinks!) of a boy who wantedto be an engineer that my grandfather and I failed to hitit off. From boyhood I have never seen a great bridge orwatched a locomotive climb a difficult hillside withouta thrill; and a lighthouse still seems to me quite thefinest monument a man can build for himself. Mygrandfather’s devotion to old churches and medievalhouses always struck me as trifling and unworthy of agrown man. And fate was busy with my affairs thatnight, for, instead of lighting my pipe with the littlesketch, I was strangely impelled to study it seriously. 

I drew for myself rough outlines of the interior ofGlenarm House as it had appeared to me, and then Itried to reconcile the little sketch with every part ofit. 

“The Door of Bewilderment” was the charm that heldme. The phrase was in itself a lure. The man who hadbuilt a preposterous house in the woods of Indiana andcalled it “The House of a Thousand Candles” was quitecapable of other whims; and as I bent over this scrap ofpaper in the candle-lighted library it occurred to methat possibly I had not done justice to my grandfather’sgenius. My curiosity was thoroughly aroused as to thehidden corners of the queer old house, round which thewind shrieked tormentingly. 

I went to my room, put on my corduroy coat for itsgreater warmth in going through the cold halls, took acandle and went below. One o’clock in the morning isnot the most cheering hour for exploring the dark recessesof a strange house, but I had resolved to have alook at the ravine-opening and determine, if possible, whether it bore any relation to “The Door of Bewilderment. ”

All was quiet in the great cellar; only here and therean area window rattled dolorously. I carried a tape-linewith me and made measurements of the length anddepth of the corridor and of the chambers that were setoff from it. These figures I entered in my note-book forfurther use, and sat down on an empty nail-keg to reflect. The place was certainly substantial; the candleat my feet burned steadily with no hint of a draft; butI saw no solution of my problem. All the doors alongthe corridor were open, or yielded readily to my hand. I was losing sleep for nothing; my grandfather’s sketchwas meaningless, and I rose and picked up my candle, yawning. 

Then a curious thing happened. The candle, whosethin flame had risen unwaveringly, sputtered and wentout as a sudden gust swept the corridor. 

I had left nothing open behind me, and the outerdoors of the house were always locked and barred. Butsome one had gained ingress to the cellar by an openingof which I knew nothing. 

I faced the stairway that led up to the back hall of thehouse, when to my astonishment, steps sounded behindme and, turning, I saw, coming toward me, a man carryinga lantern. I marked his careless step; he was undoubtedlyon familiar ground. As I watched him hepaused, lifted the lantern to a level with his eyes andbegan sounding the wall with a hammer. 

Here, undoubtedly, was my friend Morgan, —again!There was the same periodicity in the beat on the wallthat I had heard in my own rooms. He began at thetop and went methodically to the floor. I leanedagainst the wall where I stood and watched the lanternslowly coming toward me. The small revolver withwhich I had fired at his flying figure in the wood was inmy pocket. It was just as well to have it out with thefellow now. My chances were as good as his, though Iconfess I did not relish the thought of being found deadthe next morning in the cellar of my own house. Itpleased my humor to let him approach in this way, unconsciousthat he was watched, until I should thrust mypistol into his face. 

His arms grew tired when he was about ten feet fromme and he dropped the lantern and hammer to his side, and swore under his breath impatiently. 

Then he began again, with greater zeal. As he camenearer I studied his face in the lantern’s light with interest. His hat was thrust back, and I could see his jawhard-set under his blond beard. 

He took a step nearer, ran his eyes over the wall andresumed his tapping. The ceiling was something lessthan eight feet, and he began at the top. In settlinghimself for the new series of strokes he swayed towardme slightly, and I could hear his hard breathing. I wasdeliberating how best to throw myself upon him, but asI wavered he stepped back, swore at his ill-luck andflung the hammer to the ground. 

“Thanks!” I shouted, leaping forward and snatchingthe lantern. “Stand just where you are!”

With the revolver in my right hand and the lanternheld high in my left, I enjoyed his utter consternation, as my voice roared in the corridor. 

“It’s too bad we meet under such strange circumstances, Morgan, ” I said. “I’d begun to miss you; butI suppose you’ve been sleeping in the daytime to gatherstrength for your night prowling. ”

“You’re a fool, ” he growled. He was recovering fromhis fright, —I knew it by the gleam of his teeth in hisyellow beard. His eyes, too, were moving restlesslyabout. He undoubtedly knew the house better than Idid, and was considering the best means of escape. Idid not know what to do with him now that I had himat the point of a pistol; and in my ignorance of his motivesand my vague surmise as to the agency back ofhim, I was filled with uncertainty. 

“You needn’t hold that thing quite so near, ” he said, staring at me coolly. 

“I’m glad it annoys you, Morgan, ” I said. “It mayhelp you to answer some questions I’m going to put toyou. ”

“So you want information, do you, Mr. Glenarm? Ishould think it would be beneath the dignity of a greatman like you to ask a poor devil like me for help. ”

“We’re not talking of dignity, ” I said. “I want youto tell me how you got in here. ”

He laughed. 

“You’re a very shrewd one, Mr. Glenarm. I came inby the kitchen window, if you must know. I got in beforeyour solemn jack-of-all-trades locked up, and Iwalked down to the end of the passage there”—he indicatedthe direction with a slight jerk of his head—“and slept until it was time to go to work. You cansee how easy it was!”

I laughed now at the sheer assurance of the fellow. 

“If you can’t lie better than that you needn’t tryagain. Face about now, and march!”

I put new energy into my tone, and he turned andwalked before me down the corridor in the directionfrom which he had come. We were, I dare say, a prettypair, —he tramping doggedly before me, I following athis heels with his lantern and my pistol. The situationhad played prettily into my hands, and I had every intentionof wresting from him the reason for his interestin Glenarm House and my affairs. 

“Not so fast, ” I admonished sharply. 

“Excuse me, ” he replied mockingly. 

He was no common rogue; I felt the quality in himwith a certain admiration for his scoundrelly talents—a fellow, I reflected, who was best studied at the pointof a pistol. 

I continued at his heels, and poked the muzzle of therevolver against his back from time to time to keep himassured of my presence, —a device that I was to regret asecond later. 

We were about ten yards from the end of the corridorwhen he flung himself backward upon me, threw hisarms over his head and seized me about the neck, turninghimself lithely until his fingers clasped my throat. 

I fired blindly once, and felt the smoke of the revolverhot in my own nostrils. The lantern fell frommy hand, and one or the other of us smashed it with ourfeet. 

A wrestling match in that dark hole was not to myliking. I still held on to the revolver, waiting for achance to use it, and meanwhile he tried to throw me, forcing me back against one side and then the other ofthe passage. 

With a quick rush he flung me away, and in the samesecond I fired. The roar of the shot in the narrow corridorseemed interminable. I flung myself on the floor, expecting a return shot, and quickly enough a flash brokeupon the darkness dead ahead, and I rose to my feet, fired again and leaped to the opposite side of the corridorand crouched there. We had adopted the same tactics, firing and dodging to avoid the target made by the flashof our pistols, and watching and listening after the roarof the explosions. It was a very pretty game, but destinednot to last long. He was slowly retreating towardthe end of the passage, where there was, I remembered, a dead wall. His only chance was to crawl through anarea window I knew to be there, and this would, I feltsure, give him into my hands. 

After five shots apiece there was a truce. The pungentsmoke of the powder caused me to cough, and helaughed. 

“Have you swallowed a bullet, Mr. Glenarm?” hecalled. 

I could hear his feet scraping on the cement floor;he was moving away from me, doubtless intending tofire when he reached the area window and escape beforeI could reach him. I crept warily after him, ready tofire on the instant, but not wishing to throw away mylast cartridge. That I resolved to keep for close quartersat the window. 

He was now very near the end of the corridor; Iheard his feet strike some boards that I rememberedlay on the floor there, and I was nerved for a shot anda hand-to-hand struggle, if it came to that. 

I was sure that he sought the window; I heard hishands on the wall as he felt for it. Then a breath ofcold air swept the passage, and I knew he must bedrawing himself up to the opening. I fired and droppedto the floor. With the roar of the explosion I heardhim yell, but the expected return shot did not follow. 

The pounding of my heart seemed to mark the passingof hours. I feared that my foe was playing sometrick, creeping toward me, perhaps, to fire at closerange, or to grapple with me in the dark. The cold airstill whistled into the corridor, and I began to feel thechill of it. Being fired upon is disagreeable enough, but waiting in the dark for the shot is worse. 

I rose and walked toward the end of the passage. 

Then his revolver flashed and roared directly ahead, the flame of it so near that it blinded me. I fell forwardconfused and stunned, but shook myself togetherin a moment and got upon my feet. The draft of airno longer blew into the passage. Morgan had takenhimself off through the window and closed it after him. I made sure of this by going to the window and feelingof it with my hands. 

I went back and groped about for my candle, whichI found without difficulty and lighted. I then returnedto the window to examine the catch. To my utter astonishmentit was fastened with staples, driven deepinto the sash, in such way that it could not possiblyhave been opened without the aid of tools. I tried itat every point. Not only was it securely fastened, butit could not possibly be opened without an expenditureof time and labor. 

There was no doubt whatever that Morgan knewmore about Glenarm House than I did. It was possible, but not likely, that he had crept past me in the corridorand gone out through the house, or by some othercellar window. My eyes were smarting from the smokeof the last shot, and my cheek stung where the burntpowder had struck my face. I was alive, but in my vexationand perplexity not, I fear, grateful for my safety. It was, however, some consolation to feel sure I hadwinged the enemy. 

I gathered up the fragments of Morgan’s lantern andwent back to the library. The lights in half the candlestickshad sputtered out. I extinguished the remainderand started to my room. 

Then, in the great dark hall, I heard a muffled treadas of some one following me, —not on the great staircase, nor in any place I could identify, —yet unmistakablyon steps of some sort beneath or above me. Mynerves were already keyed to a breaking pitch, and theghost-like tread in the hall angered me—Morgan, or hisally, Bates, I reflected, at some new trick. I ran into myroom, found a heavy walking-stick and set off for Bates’room on the third floor. It was always easy to attributeany sort of mischief to the fellow, and undoubtedly hewas crawling through the house somewhere on an errandthat boded no good to me. 

It was now past two o’clock and he should have beenasleep and out of the way long ago. I crept to his roomand threw open the door without, I must say, the slightestidea of finding him there. But Bates, the enigma, Bates, the incomparable cook, the perfect servant, sat ata table, the light of several candles falling on a bookover which he was bent with that maddening gravityhe had never yet in my presence thrown off. 

He rose at once, stood at attention, inclining his headslightly. 

“Yes, Mr. Glenarm. ”

“Yes, the devil!” I roared at him, astonished atfinding him, —sorry, I must say, that he was there. Thestick fell from my hands. I did not doubt he knewperfectly well that I had some purpose in breaking inupon him. I was baffled and in my rage flounderedfor words to explain myself. 

“I thought I heard some one in the house. I don’twant you prowling about in the night, do you hear?”

“Certainly not, sir, ” he replied in a grieved tone. 

I glanced at the book he had been reading. It was avolume of Shakespeare’s comedies, open at the firstscene of the last act of The Winter’s Tale. 

“Quite a pretty bit of work that, I should say, ” heremarked. “It was one of my late master’s favorites. ”

“Go to the devil!” I bawled at him, and went downto my room and slammed the door in rage and chagrin. 

CHAPTER XI

I RECEIVE A CALLER

Going to bed at three o’clock on a winter morning ina house whose ways are disquieting, after a duel inwhich you escaped whole only by sheer good luck, doesnot fit one for sleep. When I finally drew the coversover me it was to lie and speculate upon the events ofthe night in connection with the history of the fewweeks I had spent at Glenarm. Larry had suggestedin New York that Pickering was playing some deepgame, and I, myself, could not accept Pickering’s statementthat my grandfather’s large fortune had provedto be a myth. If Pickering had not stolen or dissipatedit, where was it concealed? Morgan was undoubtedlylooking for something of value or he would not riskhis life in the business; and it was quite possible that hewas employed by Pickering to search for hidden property. This idea took strong hold of me, the more readily, I fear, since I had always been anxious to see evilin Pickering. There was, to be sure, the unknown alternativeheir, but neither she nor Sister Theresa was, I imagined, a person capable of hiring an assassin tokill me. 

On reflection I dismissed the idea of appealing tothe county authorities, and I never regretted that resolution. The seat of Wabana County was twenty milesaway, the processes of law were unfamiliar, and Iwished to avoid publicity. Morgan might, of course, have been easily disposed of by an appeal to the Annandaleconstable, but now that I suspected Pickering oftreachery the caretaker’s importance dwindled. I hadwaited all my life f or a chance at Arthur Pickering, and in this affair I hoped to draw him into the openand settle with him. 

I slept presently, but woke at my usual hour, andafter a tub felt ready for another day. Bates servedme, as usual, a breakfast that gave a fair aspect to themorning. I was alert for any sign of perturbation inhim; but I had already decided that I might as welllook for emotion in a stone wall as in this placid, colorlessserving man. I had no reason to suspect him ofcomplicity in the night’s affair, but I had no faith inhim, and merely waited until he should throw himselfmore boldly into the game. 

By my plate next morning I found this note, writtenin a clear, bold, woman’s hand:

The Sisters of St. Agatha trust that the intrusion uponhis grounds by Miss Armstrong, one of their students, hascaused Mr. Glenarm no annoyance. The Sisters beg thatthis infraction of their discipline will be overlooked, andthey assure Mr. Glenarm that it will not recur. 

An unnecessary apology! The note-paper was of thebest quality. At the head of the page “St. Agatha’s, Annandale” was embossed in purple. It was the firstnote I had received from a woman for a long time, andit gave me a pleasant emotion. One of the Sisters I hadseen beyond the wall undoubtedly wrote it—possiblySister Theresa herself. A clever woman, that! Thoroughlycapable of plucking money from guileless oldgentlemen! Poor Olivia! born for freedom, but doomedto a pent-up existence with a lot of nuns! I resolved tosend her a box of candy sometime, just to annoy hergrim guardians. Then my own affairs claimed attention. 

“Bates, ” I asked, “do you know what Mr. Glenarmdid with the plans for the house?”

He started slightly. I should not have noticed it ifI had not been keen for his answer. 

“No, sir. I can’t put my hand upon them, sir. ”

“That’s all very well, Bates, but you didn’t answermy question. Do you know where they are? I’ll putmy hand on them if you will kindly tell me wherethey’re kept. ”

“Mr. Glenarm, I fear very much that they have beendestroyed. I tried to find them before you came, to tellyou the whole truth, sir; but they must have been made’way with. ”

“That’s very interesting, Bates. Will you kindlytell me whom you suspect of destroying them? Thetoast again, please. ”

His hand shook as he passed the plate. 

“I hardly like to say, sir, when it’s only a suspicion. ”

“Of course I shouldn’t ask you to incriminate yourself, but I’ll have to insist on my question. It mayhave occurred to you, Bates, that I’m in a sense—in asense, mind you—the master here. ”

“Well, I should say, if you press me, that I fearMr. Glenarm, your grandfather, burned the plans whenhe left here the last time. I hope you will pardon me, sir, for seeming to reflect upon him. ”

“Reflect upon the devil! What was his idea, do yousuppose?”

“I think, sir, if you will pardon—”

“Don’t be so fussy!” I snapped. “Damn your pardon, and go on!”

“He wanted you to study out the place for yourself, sir. It was dear to his heart, this house. He set hisheart upon having you enjoy it—”

“I like the word—go ahead. ”

“And I suppose there are things about it that hewished you to learn for yourself. ”

“You know them, of course, and are watching me tosee when I’m hot or cold, like kids playing hide thehandkerchief. ”

The fellow turned and faced me across the table. 

“Mr. Glenarm, as I hope God may be merciful to mein the last judgment, I don’t know any more than youdo. ”

“You were here with Mr. Glenarm all the time he wasbuilding the house, but you never saw walls built thatweren’t what they appeared to be, or doors made thatdidn’t lead anywhere. ”

I summoned all my irony and contempt for this arraignment. He lifted his hand, as though makingoath. 

“As God sees me, that is all true. I was here to carefor the dead master’s comfort and not to spy on him. ”

“And Morgan, your friend, what about him?”

“I wish I knew, sir. ”

“I wish to the devil you did, ” I said, and flung outof the room and into the library. 

At eleven o’clock I heard a pounding at the greatfront door and Bates came to announce a caller, whowas now audibly knocking the snow from his shoes inthe outer hall. 

“The Reverend Paul Stoddard, sir. ”

The chaplain of St. Agatha’s was a big fellow, as Ihad remarked on the occasion of his interview withOlivia Gladys Armstrong by the wall. His light brownhair was close-cut; his smooth-shaven face was brightwith the freshness of youth. Here was a sturdy youngapostle without frills, but with a vigorous grip that leftmy hand tingling. His voice was deep and musical, —avoice that suggested sincerity and inspired confidence. 

“I’m afraid I haven’t been neighborly, Mr. Glenarm. I was called away from home a few days after I heardof your arrival, and I have just got back. I blew inyesterday with the snow-storm. ”

He folded his arms easily and looked at me withcheerful directness, as though politely interested in whatmanner of man I might be. 

“It was a fine storm; I got a great day out of it, ” Isaid. “An Indiana snow-storm is something I havenever experienced before. ”

“This is my second winter. I came out here becauseI wished to do some reading, and thought I’d rather doit alone than in a university. ”

“Studious habits are rather forced on one out here, I should say. In my own case my course of readingis all cut out for me. ”

He ran his eyes over the room. 

“The Glenarm collection is famous, —the best in thecountry, easily. Mr. Glenarm, your grandfather, wascertainly an enthusiast. I met him several times; hewas a trifle hard to meet, ”—and the clergyman smiled. 

I felt rather uncomfortable, assuming that he probablyknew I was undergoing discipline, and why mygrandfather had so ordained it. The Reverend PaulStoddard was so simple, unaffected and manly a fellowthat I shrank from the thought that I must appear tohim an ungrateful blackguard whom my grandfatherhad marked with obloquy. 

“My grandfather had his whims; but he was a fine, generous-hearted old gentleman, ” I said. 

“Yes; in my few interviews with him he surprisedme by the range of his knowledge. He was quite ableto instruct me in certain curious branches of churchhistory that had appealed to him. ”

“You were here when he built the house, I suppose?”

My visitor laughed cheerfully. 

“I was on my side of the barricade for a part of thetime. You know there was a great deal of mysteryabout the building of this house. The country-folkhereabouts can’t quite get over it. They have a superstitionthat there’s treasure buried somewhere on theplace. You see, Mr. Glenarm wouldn’t employ any locallabor. The work was done by men he brought fromafar, —none of them, the villagers say, could speak English. They were all Greeks or Italians. ”

“I have heard something of the kind, ” I remarked, feeling that here was a man who with a little cultivatingmight help me to solve some of my riddles. 

“You haven’t been on our side of the wall yet? Well, I promise not to molest your hidden treasure if you’llbe neighborly. ”

“I fear there’s a big joke involved in the hiddentreasure, ” I replied. “I’m so busy staying at home toguard it that I have no time for social recreation. ”

He looked at me quickly to see whether I was joking. His eyes were steady and earnest. The Reverend PaulStoddard impressed me more and more agreeably. There was a suggestion of a quiet strength about himthat drew me to him. 

“I suppose every one around here thinks of nothingbut that I’m at Glenarm to earn my inheritance. Myresidence here must look pretty sordid from the outside. ”

“Mr. Glenarm’s will is a matter of record in thecounty, of course. But you are too hard on yourself. It’s nobody’s business if your grandfather wished tovisit his whims on you. I should say, in my own case, that I don’t consider it any of my business what youare here for. I didn’t come over to annoy you or topry into your affairs. I get lonely now and then, andthought I’d like to establish neighborly relations. ”

“Thank you; I appreciate your coming very much, ”—and my heart warmed under the manifest kindnessof the man. 

“And I hope”—he spoke for the first time with restraint—“I hope nothing may prevent your knowingSister Theresa and Miss Devereux. They are interestingand charming—the only women about here of yourown social status. ”

My liking for him abated slightly. He might be adetective, representing the alternative heir, for all Iknew, and possibly Sister Theresa was a party to theconspiracy. 

“In time, no doubt, in time, I shall know them, ” Ianswered evasively. 

“Oh, quite as you like!”—and he changed the subject. We talked of many things, —of outdoor sports, with which he showed great familiarity, of universities, of travel and adventure. He was a Columbia man andhad spent two years at Oxford. 

“Well, ” he exclaimed, “this has been very pleasant, but I must run. I have just been over to see Morgan, the caretaker at the resort village. The poor fellow accidentallyshot himself yesterday, cleaning his gun orsomething of that sort, and he has an ugly hole in hisarm that will shut him in for a month or worse. Hegave me an errand to do for him. He’s a conscientiousfellow and wished me to wire for him to Mr. Pickeringthat he’d been hurt, but was attending to his duties. Pickering owns a cottage over there, and Morgan hascharge of it. You know Pickering, of course?”

I looked my clerical neighbor straight in the eye, atrifle coldly perhaps. I was wondering why Morgan, with whom I had enjoyed a duel in my own cellar onlya few hours before, should be reporting his injury toArthur Pickering. 

“I think I have seen Morgan about here, ” I said. 

“Oh, yes! He’s a woodsman and a hunter—our Nimrodof the lake. ”

“A good sort, very likely!”

“I dare say. He has sometimes brought me ducksduring the season. ”

“To be sure! They shoot ducks at night, —theseHoosier hunters, —so I hear!”

He laughed as he shook himself into his greatcoat. 

“That’s possible, though unsportsmanlike. But wedon’t have to look a gift mallard in the eye. ”

We laughed together. I found that it was easy tolaugh with him. 

“By the way, I forgot to get Pickering’s address fromMorgan. If you happen to have it—”

“With pleasure, ” I said. “Alexis Building, Broadway, New York. ”

“Good! That’s easy to remember, ” he said, smilingand turning up his coat collar. “Don’t forget me;I’m quartered in a hermit’s cell back of the chapel, andI believe we can find many matters of interest to talkabout. ”

“I’m confident of it, ” I said, glad of the sympathyand cheer that seemed to emanate from his stalwartfigure. 

I threw on my overcoat and walked to the gate withhim, and saw him hurry toward the village with longstrides. 

CHAPTER XII

I EXPLORE A PASSAGE

“Bates!”—I found him busy replenishing the candlesticksin the library, —it seemed to me that he was alwayspoking about with an armful of candles, —“thereare a good many queer things in this world, but I guessyou’re one of the queerest. I don’t mind telling youthat there are times when I think you a thoroughly badlot, and then again I question my judgment and don’tgive you credit for being much more than a dodderingfool. ”

He was standing on a ladder beneath the great crystalchandelier that hung from the center of the ceiling, and looked down upon me with that patient injurythat is so appealing in a dog—in, say, the eyes of anIrish setter, when you accidentally step on his tail. That look is heartbreaking in a setter, but, seen in aman, it arouses the direst homicidal feelings of whichI am capable. 

“Yes, Mr. Glenarm, ” he replied humbly. 

“Now, I want you to grasp this idea that I’m goingto dig into this old shell top and bottom; I’m goingto blow it up with dynamite, if I please; and if I catchyou spying on me or reporting my doings to my enemies, or engaging in any questionable performanceswhatever, I’ll hang you between the posts out there inthe school-wall—do you understand?—so that the sweetSisters of St. Agatha and the dear little school-girlsand the chaplain and all the rest will shudder throughall their lives at the very thought of you. ”

“Certainly, Mr. Glenarm, ”—and his tone was thesame he would have used if I had asked him to passme the matches, and under my breath I consigned himto the harshest tortures of the fiery pit. 

“Now, as to Morgan—”

“Yes, sir. ”

“What possible business do you suppose he has withMr. Pickering?” I demanded. 

“Why, sir, that’s clear enough. Mr. Pickering ownsa house up the lake, —he got it through your grandfather. Morgan has the care of it, sir. ”

“Very plausible, indeed!”—and I sent him off to hiswork. 

After luncheon I went below and directly to the endof the corridor, and began to sound the walls. To theeye they were all alike, being of cement, and substantialenough. Through the area window I saw the solid earthand snow; surely there was little here to base hope upon, and my wonder grew at the ease with which Morganhad vanished through a barred window and into frozenground. 

The walls at the end of the passage were as solid asrock, and they responded dully to the stroke of thehammer. I sounded them on both sides, retracing mysteps to the stairway, becoming more and more impatientat my ill-luck or stupidity. There was every reasonwhy I should know my own house, and yet a strangerand an outlaw ran through it with amazing daring. 

After an hour’s idle search I returned to the end ofthe corridor, repeated all my previous soundings, and, I fear, indulged in language unbecoming a gentleman. Then, in my blind anger, I found what patient searchhad not disclosed. 

I threw the hammer from me in a fit of temper; itstruck upon a large square in the cement floor whichgave forth a hollow sound. I was on my knees in aninstant, my fingers searching the cracks, and drawingdown close I could feel a current of air, slight but unmistakable, against my face. 

The cement square, though exactly like the others inthe cellar floor, was evidently only a wooden imitation, covering an opening beneath. 

The block was fitted into its place with a nicety thatcertified to the skill of the hand that had adjusted it. I broke a blade of my pocket-knife trying to pry itup, but in a moment I succeeded, and found it to bein reality a trap-door, hinged to the substantial partof the floor. 

A current of cool fresh air, the same that had surprisedme in the night, struck my face as I lay flat andpeered into the opening. The lower passage was as blackas pitch, and I lighted a lantern I had brought with me, found that wooden steps gave safe conduct below andwent down. 

I stood erect in the passage and had several inchesto spare. It extended both ways, running back underthe foundations of the house. This lower passage cutsquarely under the park before the house and towardthe school wall. No wonder my grandfather hadbrought foreign laborers who could speak no Englishto work on his house! There was something delightfulin the largeness of his scheme, and I hurried throughthe tunnel with a hundred questions tormenting mybrain. 

The air grew steadily fresher, until, after I had goneabout two hundred yards, I reached a point where thewind seemed to beat down on me from above. I putup my hands and found two openings about two yardsapart, through which the air sucked steadily. I movedout of the current with a chuckle in my throat and agrin on my face. I had passed under the gate in theschool-wall, and I knew now why the piers that held ithad been built so high, —they were hollow and were themeans of sending fresh air into the tunnel. 

I had traversed about twenty yards more when I felta slight vibration accompanied by a muffled roar, andalmost immediately came to a short wooden stair thatmarked the end of the passage. I had no means ofjudging directions, but I assumed I was somewhere nearthe chapel in the school-grounds. 

I climbed the steps, noting still the vibration, andfound a door that yielded readily to pressure. In amoment I stood blinking, lantern in hand, in a well-lighted, floored room. Overhead the tumult and thunderof an organ explained the tremor and roar I had heardbelow. I was in the crypt of St. Agatha’s chapel. Theinside of the door by which I had entered was a part ofthe wainscoting of the room, and the opening was whollycovered with a map of the Holy Land. 

In my absorption I had lost the sense of time, and Iwas amazed to find that it was five o’clock, but I resolvedto go into the chapel before going home. 

The way up was clear enough, and I was soon in thevestibule. I opened the door, expecting to find a servicein progress; but the little church was empty save where, at the right of the chancel, an organist was filling thechurch with the notes of a triumphant march. Cap inhand I stole forward and sank down in one of thepews. 

A lamp over the organ keyboard gave the only lightin the chapel, and made an aureole about her head, —about the uncovered head of Olivia Gladys Armstrong!I smiled as I recognized her and smiled, too, as I rememberedher name. But the joy she brought to themusic, the happiness in her face as she raised it in theminor harmonies, her isolation, marked by the little isleof light against the dark background of the choir, —these things touched and moved me, and I bent forward, my arms upon the pew in front of me, watching andlistening with a kind of awed wonder. Here was arefuge of peace and lulling harmony after the disturbedlife at Glenarm, and I yielded myself to its solace withan inclination my life had rarely known. 

There was no pause in the outpouring of the melody. She changed stops and manuals with swift fingers andpassed from one composition to another; now it was anaugust hymn, now a theme from Wagner, and finallyMendelssohn’s Spring Song leaped forth exultant in thedark chapel. 

She ceased suddenly with a little sigh and struckher hands together, for the place was cold. As shereached up to put out the lights I stepped forward tothe chancel steps. 

“Please allow me to do that for you?”

She turned toward me, gathering a cape about her. 

“Oh, it’s you, is it?” she asked, looking about quickly. “I don’t remember—I don’t seem to remember—thatyou were invited. ”

“I didn’t know I was coming myself, ” I remarkedtruthfully, lifting my hand to the lamp. 

“That is my opinion of you, —that you’re a rather unexpectedperson. But thank you, very much. ”

She showed no disposition to prolong the interview, but hurried toward the door, and reached the vestibulebefore I came up with her. 

“You can’t go any further, Mr. Glenarm, ” she said, and waited as though to make sure I understood. Straight before us through the wood and beyond theschool-buildings the sunset faded sullenly. The nightwas following fast upon the gray twilight and alreadythe bolder planets were aflame in the sky. The pathled straight ahead beneath the black boughs. 

“I might perhaps walk to the dormitory, or whateveryou call it, ” I said. 

“Thank you, no! I’m late and haven’t time tobother with you. It’s against the rules, you know, forus to receive visitors. ”

She stepped out into the path. 

“But I’m not a caller. I’m just a neighbor. And Iowe you several calls, anyhow. ”

She laughed, but did not pause, and I followed apace behind her. 

“I hope you don’t think for a minute that I chaseda rabbit on your side of the fence just to meet you; doyou, Mr. Glenarm?”

“Be it far from me! I’m glad I came, though, for Iliked your music immensely. I’m in earnest; I thinkit quite wonderful, Miss Armstrong. ”

She paid no heed to me. 

“And I hope I may promise myself the pleasure ofhearing you often. ”

“You are positively flattering, Mr. Glenarm; but asI’m going away—”

I felt my heart sink at the thought of her goingaway. She was the only amusing person I had met atGlenarm, and the idea of losing her gave a darker noteto the bleak landscape. 

“That’s really too bad! And just when we were gettingacquainted! And I was coming to church everySunday to hear you play and to pray for snow, so you’dcome over often to chase rabbits!”

This, I thought, softened her heart. At any rate hertone changed. 

“I don’t play for services; they’re afraid to let mefor fear I’d run comic-opera tunes into the Te Deum!”

“How shocking!”

“Do you know, Mr. Glenarm, ”—her tone became confidentialand her pace slackened, —“we call you thesquire, at St. Agatha’s, and the lord of the manor, andnames like that! All the girls are perfectly crazy aboutyou. They’d be wild if they thought I talked with you, clandestinely, —is that the way you pronounce it?”

“Anything you say and any way you say it satisfiesme, ” I replied. 

“That’s ever so nice of you, ” she said, mockinglyagain. 

I felt foolish and guilty. She would probably getroundly scolded if the grave Sisters learned of her talkswith me, and very likely I should win their hearty contempt. But I did not turn back. 

“I hope the reason you’re leaving isn’t—” I hesitated. 

“Ill conduct? Oh, yes; I’m terribly wicked, SquireGlenarm! They’re sending me off. ”

“But I suppose they’re awfully strict, the Sisters. ”

“They’re hideous, —perfectly hideous. ”

“Where is your home?” I demanded. “Chicago, Indianapolis, Cincinnati, perhaps?”

“Humph, you are dull! You ought to know from myaccent that I’m not from Chicago. And I hope I haven’ta Kentucky girl’s air of waiting to be flattered to death. And no Indianapolis girl would talk to a strange man atthe edge of a deep wood in the gray twilight of a winterday, —that’s from a book; and the Cincinnati girl iswithout my élan, esprit, —whatever you please to call it. She has more Teutonic repose, —more of Gretchen-of-the-Rhine-Valleyabout her. Don’t you adore French, Squire Glenarm?” she concluded breathlessly, and withno pause in her quick step. 

“I adore yours, Miss Armstrong, ” I asserted, yieldingmyself further to the joy of idiocy, and delighting inthe mockery and changing moods of her talk. I didnot make her out; indeed, I preferred not to! I wasnot then, —and I am not now, thank God, —of an analyticalturn of mind. And as I grow older I prefer, even after many a blow, to take my fellow human beingsa good deal as I find them. And as for women, oldor young, I envy no man his gift of resolving them intoelements. As well carry a spray of arbutus to the laboratoryor subject the enchantment of moonlight uponrunning water to the flame and blow-pipe as try toanalyze the heart of a girl, —particularly a girl whopaddles a canoe with a sure stroke and puts up a goodrace with a rabbit. 

A lamp shone ahead of us at the entrance of one ofthe houses, and lights appeared in all the buildings. 

“If I knew your window I should certainly sing underit, —except that you’re going home! You didn’t tellme why they were deporting you. ”

“I’m really ashamed to! You would never—”

“Oh, yes, I would; I’m really an old friend!” I insisted, feeling more like an idiot every minute. 

“Well, don’t tell! But they caught me flirting—withthe grocery boy! Now aren’t you disgusted?”

“Thoroughly! I can’t believe it! Why, you’d a lotbetter flirt with me, ” I suggested boldly. 

“Well, I’m to be sent away for good at Christmas. Imay come back then if I can square myself. My!That’s slang, —isn’t it horrid?”

“The Sisters don’t like slang, I suppose?”

“They loathe it! Miss Devereux—you know who sheis!—she spies on us and tells. ”

“You don’t say so; but I’m not surprised at her. I’veheard about her!” I declared bitterly. 

We had reached the door, and I expected her to fly;but she lingered a moment. 

“Oh, if you know her! Perhaps you’re a spy, too!It’s just as well we should never meet again, Mr. Glenarm, ”she declared haughtily. 

“The memory of these few meetings will always lingerwith me, Miss Armstrong, ” I returned in an imitationof her own tone. 

“I shall scorn to remember you!”—and she foldedher arms under the cloak tragically. 

“Our meetings have been all too few, Miss Armstrong. Three, exactly, I believe!”

“I see you prefer to ignore the first time I ever sawyou, ” she said, her hand on the door. 

“Out there in your canoe? Never! And you’ve forgivenme for overhearing you and the chaplain on thewall—please!”

She grasped the knob of the door and paused an instantas though pondering. 

“I make it four times, not counting once in the roadand other times when you didn’t know, Squire Glenarm!I’m a foolish little girl to have remembered the first. Isee now how b-l-i-n-d I have been. ”

She opened and closed the door softly, and I heardher running up the steps within. 

I ran back to the chapel, roundly abusing myself forhaving neglected my more serious affairs for a bit ofsilly talk with a school-girl, fearful lest the openingsI had left at both ends of the passage should have beendiscovered. The tunnel added a new and puzzling factorto the problem already before me, and I was eagerfor an opportunity to sit down in peace and comfort tostudy the situation. 

[Illustration: “I shall scorn to remember you!”—and she folded her arms underthe cloak tragically. ]

At the chapel I narrowly escaped running into Stoddard, but I slipped past him, pulled the hidden doorinto place, traversed the tunnel without incident, andsoon climbed through the hatchway and slammed thefalse block securely into the opening. 

CHAPTER XIII

A PAIR OF EAVESDROPPERS

When I came down after dressing for dinner, Batescalled my attention to a belated mail. I pounced eagerlyupon a letter in Laurance Donovan’s well-knownhand, bearing, to my surprise, an American stamp andpostmarked New Orleans. It was dated, however, atVera Cruz, Mexico, December fifteenth, 1901. 

DEAR OLD MAN: I have had a merry time since I saw youin New York. Couldn’t get away for a European portas I hoped when I left you, as the authorities seemed tobe taking my case seriously, and I was lucky to get offas a deck-hand on a south-bound boat. I expected to get aslice of English prodigal veal at Christmas, but as thingsstand now, I am grateful to be loose even in this God-forsakenhole. The British bulldog is eager to insert itsteeth in my trousers, and I was flattered to see my picturebulletined in a conspicuous place the day I struck VeraCruz. You see, they’re badgering the Government athome because I’m not apprehended, and they’ve got tocatch and hang me to show that they’ve really got theirhands on the Irish situation. I am not afraid of theGreasers—no people who gorge themselves with bananasand red peppers can be dangerous—but the British consulhere has a bad eye and even as I write I am dimly consciousthat a sleek person, who is ostensibly engaged inliterary work at the next table, is really killing time whilehe waits for me to finish this screed. 

No doubt you are peacefully settled on your ancestralestate with only a few months and a little patience betweenyou and your grandfather’s shier. You always werea lucky brute. People die just to leave you money, whereasI’ll have to die to get out of jail. 

I hope to land under the Stars and Stripes within a fewdays, either across country through El Paso or via NewOrleans—preferably the former, as a man’s social positionis rated high in Texas in proportion to the amount of rewardthat’s out for him. They’d probably give me thefreedom of the state if they knew my crimes had been thesubject of debate in the House of Commons. 

But the man across the table is casually looking overhere for a glimpse of my signature, so I must give hima good one just for fun. With best wishes always, Faithfully yours, GEORGE WASHINGTON SMITH. 

P. S—I shan’t mail this here, but give it to a red-hairedIrishman on a steamer that sails north to-night. Pleasant, I must say, this eternal dodging! Wish I could share yourrural paradise for the length of a pipe and a bottle! Haveforgotten whether you said Indian Territory or Indiana, but will take chances on the latter as more remotely suggestingthe aborigines. 

Bates gave me my coffee in the library, as I wishedto settle down to an evening of reflection without delay. Larry’s report of himself was not reassuring. I knewthat if he had any idea of trying to reach me he wouldnot mention it in a letter which might fall into thehands of the authorities, and the hope that he mightjoin me grew. I was not, perhaps, entitled to a companionat Glenarm under the terms of my exile, but asa matter of protection in the existing condition of affairsthere could be no legal or moral reason why Ishould not defend myself against my foes, and Larrywas an ally worth having. 

In all my hours of questioning and anxiety at GlenarmI never doubted the amiable intentions of mygrandfather. His device for compelling my residenceat his absurd house was in keeping with his character, and it was all equitable enough. But his dead hand hadno control over the strange issue, and I felt justified ininterpreting the will in the light of my experiences. Icertainly did not intend to appeal to the local police authorities, at least not until the animus of the attack onme was determined. 

My neighbor, the chaplain, had inadvertently givenme a bit of important news; and my mind kept revertingto the fact that Morgan was reporting his injury tothe executor of my grandfather’s estate in New York. Everything else that had happened was tame and unimportantcompared with this. Why had John MarshallGlenarm made Arthur Pickering the executor of hisestate? He knew that I detested him, that Pickering’snoble aims and high ambitions had been praised by myfamily until his very name sickened me; and yet myown grandfather had thought it wise to intrust his fortuneand my future to the man of all men who wasmost repugnant to me. I rose and paced the floor inanger. 

Instead of accepting Pickering’s word for it that thewill was all straight, I should have employed counseland taken legal advice before suffering myself to berushed away into a part of the world I had never visitedbefore, and cooped up in a dreary house under the eyeof a somber scoundrel who might poison me any day, ifhe did not prefer to shoot me in my sleep. My ragemust fasten upon some one, and Bates was the nearesttarget for it. I went to the kitchen, where he usuallyspent his evenings, to vent my feelings upon him, onlyto find him gone. I climbed to his room and found itempty. Very likely he was off condoling with his friendand fellow conspirator, the caretaker, and I fumed withrage and disappointment. I was thoroughly tired, astired as on days when I had beaten my way throughtropical jungles without food or water; but I wished, in my impotent anger against I knew not what agencies, to punish myself, to induce an utter weariness thatwould drag me exhausted to bed. 

The snow in the highway was well beaten down andI swung off countryward past St. Agatha’s. A graymist hung over the fields in whirling clouds, breakingaway occasionally and showing the throbbing winterstars. The walk, and my interest in the alternation ofstar-lighted and mist-wrapped landscape won me to abetter state of mind, and after tramping a couple ofmiles, I set out for home. Several times on my trampI had caught myself whistling the air of a majesticold hymn, and smiled, remembering my young friendOlivia, and her playing in the chapel. She was anamusing child; the thought of her further lifted myspirit; and I turned into the school park as I passedthe outer gate with a half-recognized wish to pass nearthe barracks where she spent her days. 

At the school-gate the lamps of a carriage suddenlyblurred in the mist. Carriages were not common in thisregion, and I was not surprised to find that this was thefamiliar village hack that met trains day and night atGlenarm station. Some parent, I conjectured, paying avisit to St. Agatha’s; perhaps the father of Miss OliviaGladys Armstrong had come to carry her home for astricter discipline than Sister Theresa’s school afforded. 

The driver sat asleep on his box, and I passed himand went on into the grounds. A whim seized me tovisit the crypt of the chapel and examine the openingto the tunnel. As I passed the little group of school-buildingsa man came hurriedly from one of them andturned toward the chapel. 

I first thought it was Stoddard, but I could not makehim out in the mist and I waited for him to put twentypaces between us before I followed along the path thatled from the school to the chapel. 

He strode into the chapel porch with an air of assurance, and I heard him address some one who had beenwaiting. The mist was now so heavy that I could notsee my hand before my face, and I stole forward untilI could hear the voices of the two men distinctly. 

“Bates!”

“Yes, sir. ”

I heard feet scraping on the stone floor of the porch. 

“This is a devil of a place to talk in but it’s the bestwe can do. Did the young man know I sent for you?”

“No, sir. He was quite busy with his books and papers. ”

“Humph! We can never be sure of him. ”

“I suppose that is correct, sir. ”

“Well, you and Morgan are a fine pair, I must say!I thought he had some sense, and that you’d see to itthat he didn’t make a mess of this thing. He’s in bednow with a hole in his arm and you’ve got to go onalone. ”

“I’ll do my best, Mr. Pickering. ”

“Don’t call me by name, you idiot. We’re not advertisingour business from the housetops. ”

“Certainly not, ” replied Bates humbly. 

The blood was roaring through my head, and myhands were clenched as I stood there listening to thiscolloquy. 

Pickering’s voice was—and is—unmistakable. Therewas always a purring softness in it. He used to remindme at school of a sleek, complacent cat, and I hate catswith particular loathing. 

“Is Morgan lying or not when he says he shot himselfaccidentally?” demanded Pickering petulantly. 

“I only know what I heard from the gardener here atthe school. You’ll understand, I hope, that I can’t beseen going to Morgan’s house. ”

“Of course not. But he says you haven’t played fairwith him, that you even attacked him a few days afterGlenarm came. ”

“Yes, and he hit me over the head with a club. Itwas his indiscretion, sir. He wanted to go through thelibrary in broad daylight, and it wasn’t any use, anyhow. There’s nothing there. ”

“But I don’t like the looks of this shooting. Morgan’ssick and out of his head. But a fellow like Morganisn’t likely to shoot himself accidentally, and nowthat it’s done the work’s stopped and the time is runningon. What do you think Glenarm suspects?”

“I can’t tell, sir, but mighty little, I should say. Theshot through the window the first night he was hereseemed to shake him a trifle, but he’s quite settled downnow, I should say, sir. ”

“He probably doesn’t spend much time on this sideof the fence—doesn’t haunt the chapel, I fancy?”

“Lord, no, sir! I hardly suspect the young gentlemanof being a praying man. ”

“You haven’t seen him prowling about analyzing thearchitecture—”

“Not a bit of it, sir. He hasn’t, I should say, whathis revered grandfather called the analytical mind. ”

Hearing yourself discussed in this frank fashion byyour own servant is, I suppose, a wholesome thing forthe spirit. The man who stands behind your chair mayacquire, in time, some special knowledge of your mentalprocesses by a diligent study of the back of yourhead. But I was not half so angry with these conspiratorsas with myself, for ever having entertained a singlegenerous thought toward Bates. It was, however, consolingto know that Morgan was lying to Pickering, andthat my own exploits in the house were unknown to theexecutor. 

Pickering stamped his feet upon the paved porchfloor in a way that I remembered of old. It marked aconclusion, and preluded serious statements. 

“Now, Bates, ” he said, with a ring of authority andspeaking in a louder key than he had yet used, “it’syour duty under all the circumstances to help discoverthe hidden assets of the estate. We’ve got to pluck themystery from that architectural monster over there, andthe time for doing it is short enough. Mr. Glenarm wasa rich man. To my own knowledge he had a couple ofmillions, and he couldn’t have spent it all on that house. He reduced his bank account to a few thousand dollarsand swept out his safety-vault boxes with a broom beforehis last trip into Vermont. He didn’t die with thestuff in his clothes, did he?”

“Lord bless me, no, sir! There was little enoughcash to bury him, with you out of the country and mealone with him. ”

“He was a crank and I suppose he got a lot of satisfactionout of concealing his money. But this hunt for itisn’t funny. I supposed, of course, we’d dig it up beforeGlenarm got here or I shouldn’t have been in sucha hurry to send for him. But it’s over there somewhere, or in the grounds. There must he a plan of the housethat would help. I’ll give you a thousand dollars theday you wire me you have found any sort of clue. ”

“Thank you, sir. ”

“I don’t want thanks, I want the money or securitiesor whatever it is. I’ve got to go back to my car now, and you’d better skip home. You needn’t tell youryoung master that I’ve been here. ”

I was trying hard to believe, as I stood there withclenched hands outside the chapel porch, that ArthurPickering’s name was written in the list of directors ofone of the greatest trust companies in America, andthat he belonged to the most exclusive clubs in NewYork. I had run out for a walk with only an invernessover my dinner-jacket, and I was thoroughly chilled bythe cold mist. I was experiencing, too, an inner cold asI reflected upon the greed and perfidy of man. 

“Keep an eye on Morgan, ” said Pickering. 

“Certainly, sir. ”

“And be careful what you write or wire. ”

“I’ll mind those points, sir. But I’d suggest, if youplease, sir—”

“Well?” demanded Pickering impatiently. 

“That you should call at the house. It would lookrather strange to the young gentleman if you’d comehere and not see him. ”

“I haven’t the slightest errand with him. And besides, I haven’t time. If he learns that I’ve been hereyou may say that my business was with Sister Theresaand that I regretted very much not having an opportunityto call on him. ”

The irony of this was not lost on Bates, who chuckledsoftly. He came out into the open and turned away towardthe Glenarm gate. Pickering passed me, so nearthat I might have put out my hand and touched him, and in a moment I heard the carriage drive off rapidlytoward the village. 

I heard Bates running home over the snow and listenedto the clatter of the village hack as it bore Pickeringback to Annandale. 

Then out of the depths of the chapel porch—out ofthe depths of time and space, it seemed, so dazed I stood—some one came swiftly toward me, some one, light offoot like a woman, ran down the walk a little way intothe fog and paused. 

An exclamation broke from me. 

“Eavesdropping for two!”—it was the voice of Olivia. “I’d take pretty good care of myself if I were you, Squire Glenarm. Good night!”

“Good-by!” I faltered, as she sped away into the misttoward the school. 

CHAPTER XIV

THE GIRL IN GRAY

My first thought was to find the crypt door and returnthrough the tunnel before Bates reached the house. The chapel was open, and by lighting matches I foundmy way to the map and panel. I slipped through andclosed the opening; then ran through the passage withgratitude for the generous builder who had given it aclear floor and an ample roof. In my haste I miscalculatedits length and pitched into the steps under thetrap at a speed that sent me sprawling. In a momentmore I had jammed the trap into place and was runningup the cellar steps, breathless, with my capsmashed down over my eyes. 

I heard Bates at the rear of the house and knew I hadwon the race by a scratch. There was but a moment inwhich to throw my coat and cap under the divan, slapthe dust from my clothes and seat myself at the greattable, where the candles blazed tranquilly. 

Bates’ step was as steady as ever—there was not theslightest hint of excitement in it—as he came and stoodwithin the door. 

“Beg pardon, Mr. Glenarm, did you wish anything, sir?”

“Oh, no, thank you, Bates. ”

“I had stepped down to the village, sir, to speak tothe grocer. The eggs he sent this morning were notquite up to the mark. I have warned him not to sendany of the storage article to this house. ”

“That’s right, Bates. ” I folded my arms to hide myhands, which were black from contact with the passage, and faced my man servant. My respect for his rascallypowers had increased immensely since he gave me mycoffee. A contest with so clever a rogue was worthwhile. 

“I’m grateful for your good care of me, Bates. I hadexpected to perish of discomfort out here, but you aretreating me like a lord. ”

“Thank you, Mr. Glenarm. I do what I can, sir. ”

He brought fresh candles for the table candelabra, going about with his accustomed noiseless step. I felta cold chill creep down my spine as he passed behindme on these errands. His transition from the rôle ofconspirator to that of my flawless servant was almosttoo abrupt. 

I dismissed him as quickly as possible, and listenedto his step through the halls as he went about lockingthe doors. This was a regular incident, but I was awareto-night that he exercised what seemed to me a particularcare in settling the bolts. The locking-up processhad rather bored me before; to-night the snapping ofbolts was particularly trying. 

When I heard Bates climbing to his own quarters Iquietly went the rounds on my own account and foundeverything as tight as a drum. 

In the cellar I took occasion to roll some barrels ofcement into the end of the corridor, to cover and blockthe trap door. Bates had no manner of business in thatpart of the house, as the heating apparatus was underthe kitchen and accessible by an independent stairway. I had no immediate use for the hidden passage to thechapel—and I did not intend that my enemies shouldavail themselves of it. Morgan, at least, knew of it and, while he was not likely to trouble me at once, I had resolvedto guard every point in our pleasant game. 

I was tired enough to sleep when I went to my room, and after an eventless night, woke to a clear day andkeener air. 

“I’m going to take a little run into the village, Bates, ”I remarked at breakfast. 

“Very good, sir. The weather’s quite cleared. ”

“If any one should call I’ll be back in an hour or so. ”

“Yes, sir. ”

He turned his impenetrable face toward me as I rose. There was, of course, no chance whatever that any onewould call to see me; the Reverend Paul Stoddard wasthe only human being, except Bates, Morgan and theman who brought up my baggage, who had crossed thethreshold since my arrival. 

I really had an errand in the village. I wished tovisit the hardware store and buy some cartridges, butPickering’s presence in the community was a disturbingfactor in my mind. I wished to get sight of him, —to meet him, if possible, and see how a man, whoseschemes were so deep, looked in the light of day. 

As I left the grounds and gained the highway Stoddardfell in with me. 

“Well, Mr. Glenarm, I’m glad to see you abroad soearly. With that library of yours the temptation mustbe strong to stay within doors. But a man’s got to subjecthimself to the sun and wind. Even a good wettingnow and then is salutary. ”

“I try to get out every day, ” I answered. “But I’vechiefly limited myself to the grounds. ”

“Well, it’s a fine estate. The lake is altogethercharming in summer. I quite envy you your fortune. ”

He walked with a long swinging stride, his handsthrust deep into his overcoat pockets. It was difficultto accept the idea of so much physical strength beingwasted in the mere business of saying prayers in a girls’school. Here was a fellow who should have been captainof a ship or a soldier, a leader of forlorn hopes. Ifelt sure there must be a weakness of some sort in him. Quite possibly it would prove to be a mild estheticismthat delighted in the savor of incense and the mournfulcadence of choral vespers. He declined a cigar and thisrather increased my suspicions. 

The village hack, filled with young women, passed ata gallop, bound for the station, and we took off our hats. 

“Christmas holidays, ” explained the chaplain. “Practicallyall the students go home. ”

“Lucky kids, to have a Christmas to go home to!”

“I suppose Mr. Pickering got away last night?” heobserved, and my pulse quickened at the name. 

“I haven’t seen him yet, ” I answered guardedly. 

“Then of course he hasn’t gone!” and these words, uttered in the big clergyman’s deep tones, seemed whollyplausible. There was, to be sure, nothing so unlikely asthat Arthur Pickering, executor of my grandfather’sestate, would come to Glenarm without seeing me. 

“Sister Theresa told me this morning he was here. He called on her and Miss Devereux last night. Ihaven’t seen him myself. I thought possibly I mightrun into him in the village. His car’s very likely on thestation switch. ”

“No doubt we shall find him there, ” I answered easily. 

The Annandale station presented an appearance ofunusual gaiety when we reached the main street of thevillage. There, to be sure, lay a private car on thesiding, and on the platform was a group of twenty ormore girls, with several of the brown-habited Sisters ofSt. Agatha. There was something a little foreign inthe picture; the girls in their bright colors talkinggaily, the Sisters in their somber garb hovering about, suggesting France or Italy rather than Indiana. 

“I came here with the idea that St. Agatha’s was acharity school, ” I remarked to the chaplain. 

“Not a bit of it! Sister Theresa is really a swell, youknow, and her school is hard to get into. ”

“I’m glad you warned me in time. I had thought ofsending over a sack of flour occasionally, or a few boltsof calico to help on the good work. You’ve saved mylife. ”

“I probably have. I might mention your good intentionsto Sister Theresa. ”

“Pray don’t. If there’s any danger of meeting heron that platform—”

“No; she isn’t coming down, I’m sure. But youought to know her, —if you will pardon me. And MissDevereux is charming, —but really I don’t mean to beannoying. ”

“Not in the least. But under the circumstances, —the will and my probationary year, —you can understand—”

“Certainly. A man’s affairs are his own, Mr. Glenarm. ”

We stepped upon the platform. The private car wason the opposite side of the station and had beenswitched into a siding of the east and west road. Pickeringwas certainly getting on. The private car, evenmore than the yacht, is the symbol of plutocracy, andgaping rustics were evidently impressed by its grandeur. As I lounged across the platform with Stoddard, Pickeringcame out into the vestibule of his car, followed bytwo ladies and an elderly gentleman. They all descendedand began a promenade of the plank walk. 

Pickering saw me an instant later and came up hurriedly, with outstretched hand. 

“This is indeed good fortune! We dropped off herelast night rather unexpectedly to rest a hot-box andshould have been picked up by the midnight express forChicago; but there was a miscarriage of orders somewhereand we now have to wait for the nine o’clock, andit’s late. If I’d known how much behind it was Ishould have run out to see you. How are things going?”

“As smooth as a whistle! It really isn’t so bad whenyou face it. And the fact is I’m actually at work. ”

“That’s splendid. The year will go fast enough, never fear. I suppose you pine for a little human societynow and then. A man can never strike the rightmedium in such things. In New York we are all rushedto death. I sometimes feel that I’d like a little rusticationmyself. I get nervous, and working for corporationsis wearing. The old gentleman there is Taylor, president of the Interstate and Western. The ladiesare his wife and her sister. I’d like to introduceyou. ” He ran his eyes over my corduroys and leggingsamiably. He had not in years addressed me so pleasantly. 

Stoddard had left me to go to the other end of theplatform to speak to some of the students. I followedPickering rather loathly to where the companions ofhis travels were pacing to and fro in the crisp morningair. 

I laugh still whenever I remember that morning atAnnandale station. As soon as Pickering had got mewell under way in conversation with Taylor, he excusedhimself hurriedly and went off, as I assumed, to be surethe station agent had received orders for attaching theprivate car to the Chicago express. Taylor proved to bea supercilious person, —I believe they call him ChillyBilly at the Metropolitan Club, —and our efforts to conversewere pathetically unfruitful. He asked me thevalue of land in my county, and as my ignorance on thissubject was vast and illimitable, I could see that he wasforming a low opinion of my character and intelligence. The two ladies stood by, making no concealment of theirimpatience. Their eyes were upon the girls from St. Agatha’s on the other platform, whom they could seebeyond me. I had jumped the conversation from Indianafarm-lands to the recent disorders in Bulgaria, which interested me more, when Mrs. Taylor spokeabruptly to her sister. 

“That’s she—the one in the gray coat, talking to theclergyman. She came a moment ago in the carriage. ”

“The one with the umbrella? I thought you said—”

Mrs. Taylor glanced at her sister warningly, andthey both looked at me. Then they sought to detachthemselves and moved away. There was some one onthe farther side of the platform whom they wished to see, and Taylor, not understanding their manoeuver—he wasreally anxious, I think, not to be left alone with me—started down the platform after them, I following. Mrs. Taylor and her sister walked to the end of the platformand looked across, a biscuit-toss away, to where Stoddardstood talking to the girl I had already heard describedas wearing a gray coat and carrying an umbrella. 

The girl in gray crossed the track quickly and addressedthe two women cordially. Taylor’s back was toher and he was growing eloquent in a mild well-bredway over the dullness of our statesmen in not seeing theadvantages that would accrue to the United States infostering our shipping industry. His wife, her sisterand the girl in gray were so near that I could hearplainly what they were saying. They were referringapparently to the girl’s refusal of an invitation to accompanythem to California. 

“So you can’t go—it’s too bad! We had hoped thatwhen you really saw us on the way you would relent, ”said Mrs. Taylor. 

“But there are many reasons; and above all SisterTheresa needs me. ”

It was the voice of Olivia, a little lower, a little morerestrained than I had known it. 

“But think of the rose gardens that are waiting forus out there!” said the other lady. They were showingher the deference that elderly women always have forpretty girls. 

“Alas, and again alas!” exclaimed Olivia. “Pleasedon’t make it harder for me than necessary. But I gavemy promise a year ago to spend these holidays in Cincinnati. ”

She ignored me wholly, and after shaking hands withthe ladies returned to the other platform. I wonderedwhether she was overlooking Taylor on purpose to cutme. 

Taylor was still at his lecture on the needs of ourAmerican merchant marine when Pickering passed hurriedly, crossed the track and began speaking earnestlyto the girl in gray. 

“The American flag should command the seas. Whatwe need is not more battle-ships but more freight carriers—”Taylor was saying. 

But I was watching Olivia Gladys Armstrong. In along skirt, with her hair caught up under a gray toquethat matched her coat perfectly, she was not my Oliviaof the tam-o’-shanter, who had pursued the rabbit; noryet the unsophisticated school-girl, who had suffered myidiotic babble; nor, again, the dreamy rapt organist ofthe chapel. She was a grown woman with at leasttwenty summers to her credit, and there was about heran air of knowing the world, and of not being at all aperson one would make foolish speeches to. She spoketo Pickering gravely. Once she smiled dolefully andshook her head, and I vaguely strove to remember whereI had seen that look in her eyes before. Her gold beads, which I had once carried in my pocket, were claspedtight about the close collar of her dress; and I was glad, very glad, that I had ever touched anything that belongedto her. 

“As the years go by we are going to dominate trademore and more. Our manufactures already lead theworld, and what we make we’ve got to sell, haven’t we?”demanded Taylor. 

“Certainly, sir, ” I answered warmly. 

Who was Olivia Gladys Armstrong and what wasArthur Pickering’s business with her? And what wasit she had said to me that evening when I had found herplaying on the chapel organ? So much happened thatday that I had almost forgotten, and, indeed, I hadtried to forget I had made a fool of myself for the edificationof an amusing little school-girl. “I see youprefer to ignore the first time I ever saw you, ” she hadsaid; but if I had thought of this at all it had beenwith righteous self-contempt. Or, I may have flatteredmy vanity with the reflection that she had eyed me—her hero, perhaps—with wistful admiration across thewall. 

Meanwhile the Chicago express roared into Annandaleand the private car was attached. Taylor watchedthe trainmen with the cool interest of a man for whomthe proceeding had no novelty, while he continued todilate upon the nation’s commercial opportunities. Iturned perforce, and walked with him back toward thestation, where Mrs. Taylor and her sister were talkingto the conductor. 

Pickering came running across the platform with severaltelegrams in his hand. The express had picked upthe car and was ready to continue its westward journey. 

“I’m awfully sorry, Glenarm, that our stop’s soshort, ”—and Pickering’s face wore a worried look as headdressed me, his eyes on the conductor. 

“How far do you go?” I asked. 

“California. We have interests out there and I haveto attend some stock-holders’ meetings in Colorado inJanuary. ”

“Ah, you business men! You business men!” I saidreproachfully. I wished to call him a blackguard thenand there, and it was on my tongue to do so, but I concludedthat to wait until he had shown his hand fullywas the better game. 

The ladies entered the car and I shook hands withTaylor, who threatened to send me his pamphlet onThe Needs of American Shipping, when he got back toNew York. 

“It’s too bad she wouldn’t go with us. Poor girl!this must be a dreary hole for her; she deserves widerhorizons, ” he said to Pickering, who helped him uponthe platform of the car with what seemed to be unnecessaryprecipitation. 

“You little know us, ” I declared, for Pickering’sbenefit. “Life at Annandale is nothing if not exciting. The people here are indifferent marksmen or there’d bemurders galore. ”

“Mr. Glenarm is a good deal of a wag, ” explainedPickering dryly, swinging himself aboard as the trainstarted. 

“Yes; it’s my humor that keeps me alive, ” I responded, and taking off my hat, I saluted Arthur Pickeringwith my broadest salaam. 

CHAPTER XV

I MAKE AN ENGAGEMENT

The south-bound train had not arrived and as Iturned away the station-agent again changed its timeon the bulletin board. It was now due in ten minutes. A few students had boarded the Chicago train, but agreater number still waited on the farther platform. The girl in gray was surrounded by half a dozen students, all talking animatedly. As I walked toward themI could not justify my stupidity in mistaking a grownwoman for a school-girl of fifteen or sixteen; but is wasthe tam-o’-shanter, the short skirt, the youthful joy inthe outdoor world that had disguised her as effectuallyas Rosalind to the eyes of Orlando in the forest of Arden. She was probably a teacher, —quite likely theteacher of music, I argued, who had amused herselfat my expense. 

It had seemed the easiest thing in the world to approachher with an apology or a farewell, but those fewinches added to her skirt and that pretty gray toquesubstituted for the tam-o’-shanter set up a barrier thatdid not yield at all as I drew nearer. At the last moment, as I crossed the track and stepped upon the otherplatform, it occurred to me that while I might havesome claim upon the attention of Olivia Gladys Armstrong, a wayward school-girl of athletic tastes, I hadnone whatever upon a person whom it was proper toaddress as Miss Armstrong, —who was, I felt sure, quitecapable of snubbing me if snubbing fell in with hermood. 

She glanced toward me and bowed instantly. Heryoung companions withdrew to a conservative distance;and I will say this for the St. Agatha girls: their mannersare beyond criticism, and an affable discretion isone of their most admirable traits. 

“I didn’t know they ever grew up so fast, —in a dayand a night!”

I was glad I remembered the number of beads in herchain; the item seemed at once to become important. 

“It’s the air, I suppose. It’s praised by excellentcritics, as you may learn from the catalogue. ”

“But you are going to an ampler ether, a diviner air. You have attained the beatific state and at once takeflight. If they confer perfection like an academic degreeat St. Agatha’s, then—”

I had never felt so stupidly helpless in my life. There were a thousand things I wished to say to her;there were countless questions I wished to ask; but hercalmness and poise were disconcerting. She had not, apparently, the slightest curiosity about me; and therewas no reason why she should have—I knew that wellenough! Her eyes met mine easily; their azure depthspuzzled me. She was almost, but not quite, some one Ihad seen before, and it was not my woodland Olivia. Her eyes, the soft curve of her cheek, the light inher hair, —but the memory of another time, anotherplace, another girl, lured only to baffle me. 

She laughed, —a little murmuring laugh. 

“I’ll never tell if you won’t, ” she said. 

“But I don’t see how that helps me with you?”

“It certainly does not! That is a much more seriousmatter, Mr. Glenarm. ”

“And the worst of it is that I haven’t a single thingto say for myself. It wasn’t the not knowing that wasso utterly stupid—”

“Certainly not! It was talking that ridiculous twaddle. It was trying to flirt with a silly school-girl. Whatwill do for fifteen is somewhat vacuous for—”

She paused abruptly, colored and laughed. 

“I am twenty-seven!”

“And I am just the usual age, ” she said. 

“Ages don’t count, but time is important. There aremany things I wish you’d tell me, —you who hold thekey of the gate of mystery. ”

“Then you’ll have to pick the lock!”

She laughed lightly. The somber Sisters patrollingthe platform with their charges heeded us little. 

“I had no idea you knew Arthur Pickering—whenyou were just Olivia in the tam-o’-shanter. ”

“Maybe you think he wouldn’t have cared for myacquaintance—as Olivia in the tam-o’-shanter. Menare very queer!”

“But Arthur Pickering is an old friend of mine. ”

“So he told me. ”

“We were neighbors in our youth. ”

“I believe I have heard him mention it. ”

“And we did our prep school together, and thenparted!”

“You tell exactly the same story, so it must be true. He went to college and you went to Tech. ”

“And you knew him—?” I began, my curiosity thoroughlyaroused. 

“Not at college, any more than I knew you at Tech. ”

“The train’s coming, ” I said earnestly, “and I wishyou would tell me—when I shall see you again!”

“Before we part for ever?” There was a mischievoushint of the Olivia in short skirts in her tone. 

“Please don’t suggest it! Our times have beenstrange and few. There was that first night, when youcalled to me from the lake. ”

“How impertinent! How dare you—remember that?”

“And there was that other encounter at the chapelporch. Neither you nor I had the slightest businessthere. I admit my own culpability. ”

She colored again. 

“But you spoke as though you understood what youmust have heard there. It is important for me to know. I have a right to know just what you meant by thatwarning. ”

Real distress showed in her face for an instant. Theagent and his helpers rushed the last baggage down theplatform, and the rails hummed their warning of theapproaching train. 

“I was eavesdropping on my own account, ” she saidhurriedly and with a note of finality. “I was there byintention, and”—there was another hint of the tam-o’-shanterin the mirth that seemed to bubble for a momentin her throat—“it’s too bad you didn’t see me, forI had on my prettiest gown, and the fog wasn’t good forit. But you know as much of what was said there as Ido. You are a man, and I have heard that you have hadsome experience in taking care of yourself, Mr. Glenarm. ”

“To be sure; but there are times—”

“Yes, there are times when the odds seem ratherheavy. I have noticed that myself. ”

She smiled, but for an instant the sad look came intoher eyes, —a look that vaguely but insistently suggestedanother time and place. 

“I want you to come back, ” I said boldly, for thetrain was very near, and I felt that the eyes of the Sisterswere upon us. “You can not go away where I shallnot find you!”

I did not know who this girl was, her home, or herrelation to the school, but I knew that her life andmine had touched strangely; that her eyes were blue, and that her voice had called to me twice through thedark, in mockery once and in warning another time, and that the sense of having known her before, of havinglooked into her eyes, haunted me. The youth inher was so luring; she was at once so frank and soguarded, —breeding and the taste and training of anampler world than that of Annandale were so evidencedin the witchery of her voice, in the grace and ease thatmarked her every motion, in the soft gray tone of hat, dress and gloves, that a new mood, a new hope andfaith sang in my pulses. There, on that platform, I feltagain the sweet heartache I had known as a boy, whenspring first warmed the Vermont hillsides and themountains sent the last snows singing in joy of theirrelease down through the brook-beds and into the wakenedheart of youth. 

She met my eyes steadily. 

“If I thought there was the slightest chance of myever seeing you again I shouldn’t be talking to youhere. But I thought, I thought it would be good funto see how you really talked to a grown-up. So I amrisking the displeasure of these good Sisters just to testyour conversational powers, Mr. Glenarm. You see howperfectly frank I am. ”

“But you forget that I can follow you; I don’t intendto sit down in this hole and dream about you. Youcan’t go anywhere but I shall follow and find you. ”

“That is finely spoken, Squire Glenarm! But I imagineyou are hardly likely to go far from Glenarmvery soon. It isn’t, of course, any of my affair; and yetI don’t hesitate to say that I feel perfectly safe frompursuit!”—and she laughed her little low laugh thatwas delicious in its mockery. 

I felt the blood mounting to my cheek. She knew, then, that I was virtually a prisoner at Glenarm, andfor once in my life, at least, I was ashamed of my follythat had caused my grandfather to hold and check mefrom the grave, as he had never been able to control mein his life. The whole countryside knew why I was atGlenarm, and that did not matter; but my heart rebelledat the thought that this girl knew and mocked me withher knowledge. 

“I shall see you Christmas Eve, ” I said, “whereveryou may be. ”

“In three days? Then you will come to my ChristmasEve party. I shall be delighted to see you, —andflattered! Just think of throwing away a fortune tosatisfy one’s curiosity! I’m surprised at you, but gratified, on the whole, Mr. Glenarm!”

“I shall give more than a fortune, I shall give thehonor I have pledged to my grandfather’s memory tohear your voice again. ”

“That is a great deal, —for so small a voice; butmoney, fortune! A man will risk his honor readilyenough, but his fortune is a more serious matter. I’msorry we shall not meet again. It would be pleasant todiscuss the subject further. It interests me particularly. ”

“In three days I shall see you, ” I said. 

She was instantly grave. 

“No! Please do not try. It would be a great mistake. And, anyhow, you can hardly come to my partywithout being invited. ”

“That matter is closed. Wherever you are on ChristmasEve I shall find you, ” I said, and felt my heartleap, knowing that I meant what I said. 

“Good-by, ” she said, turning away. “I’m sorry Ishan’t ever chase rabbits at Glenarm any more. ”

“Or paddle a canoe, or play wonderful celestial musicon the organ. ”

“Or be an eavesdropper or hear pleasant words fromthe master of Glenarm—”

“But I don’t know where you are going—you haven’ttold me anything—you are slipping out into theworld—”

She did not hear or would not answer. She turnedaway, and was at once surrounded by a laughing throngthat crowded about the train. Two brown-robed Sistersstood like sentinels, one at either side, as she steppedinto the car. I was conscious of a feeling that from thedepths of their hoods they regarded me with un-Christiandisdain. Through the windows I could see thestudents fluttering to seats, and the girl in gray seemedto be marshaling them. The gray hat appeared at awindow for an instant, and a smiling face gladdened, Iam sure, the guardians of the peace at St. Agatha’s, forwhom it was intended. 

The last trunk crashed into the baggage car, everywindow framed for a moment a girl’s face, and thetrain was gone. 

CHAPTER XVI

THE PASSING OF OLIVIA

Bates brought a great log and rolled it upon exactlythe right spot on the andirons, and a great constellationof sparks thronged up the chimney. The old relic of ahouse—I called the establishment by many names, butthis was, I think, my favorite—could be heated in allits habitable parts, as Bates had demonstrated. Thehalls were of glacial temperature these cold days, butmy room above, the dining-room and the great librarywere comfortable enough. I threw down a book andknocked the ashes from my pipe. 

“Bates!”

“Yes, sir. ”

“I think my spiritual welfare is in jeopardy. I needcounsel, —a spiritual adviser. ”

“I’m afraid that’s beyond me, sir. ”

“I’d like to invite Mr. Stoddard to dinner so I maydiscuss my soul’s health with him at leisure. ”

“Certainly, Mr. Glenarm. ”

“But it occurs to me that probably the terms of Mr. Glenarm’s will point to my complete sequestration here. In other words, I may forfeit my rights by asking aguest to dinner. ”

He pondered the matter for a moment, then replied:

“I should think, sir, —as you ask my opinion, —thatin the case of a gentleman in holy orders there wouldbe no impropriety. Mr. Stoddard is a fine gentleman;I heard your late grandfather speak of him veryhighly. ”

“That, I imagine, is hardly conclusive in the matter. There is the executor—”

“To be sure; I hadn’t considered him. ”

“Well, you’d better consider him. He’s the court oflast resort, isn’t he?”

“Well, of course, that’s one way of looking at it, sir. 

“I suppose there’s no chance of Mr. Pickering’s droppingin on us now and then. ”

He gazed at me steadily, unblinkingly and with entirerespect. 

“He’s a good deal of a traveler, Mr. Pickering is. Hepassed through only this morning, so the mail-boy toldme. You may have met him at the station. ”

“Oh, yes; to be sure; so I did I” I replied. I was notas good a liar as Bates; and there was nothing to begained by denying that I had met the executor in thevillage. “I had a very pleasant talk with him. He wason the way to California with several friends. ”

“That is quite his way, I understand, —private carsand long journeys about the country. A very successfulman is Mr. Pickering. Your grandfather had greatconfidence in him, did Mr. Glenarm. ”

“Ah, yes! A fine judge of character my grandfatherwas! I guess John Marshall Glenarm could spot a rascalabout as far as any man in his day. ”

I felt like letting myself go before this masked scoundrel. The density of his mask was an increasing wonderto me. Bates was the most incomprehensible humanbeing I had ever known. I had been torn with athousand conflicting emotions since I overheard him discussingthe state of affairs at Glenarm House withPickering in the chapel porch; and Pickering’s acquaintancewith the girl in gray brought new elementsinto the affair that added to my uneasiness. But herewas a treasonable dog on whom the stress of conspiracyhad no outward effect whatever. 

It was an amazing situation, but it called for calmnessand eternal vigilance. With every hour my resolutiongrew to stand fast and fight it out on my own accountwithout outside help. A thousand times duringthe afternoon I had heard the voice of the girl in graysaying to me: “You are a man, and I have heard thatyou have had some experience in taking care of yourself, Mr. Glenarm. ”

It was both a warning and a challenge, and the memoryof the words was at once sobering and cheering. 

Bates waited. Of him, certainly, I should ask noquestions touching Olivia Armstrong. To discuss herwith a blackguard servant even to gain answers to bafflingquestions about her was not to my liking. And, thank God! I taught myself one thing, if nothingmore, in those days at Glenarm House: I learned tobide my time. 

“I’ll give you a note to Mr. Stoddard in the morning. You may go now. ”

“Yes, sir. ”

The note was written and despatched. The chaplainwas not at his lodgings, and Bates reported that he hadleft the message. The answer came presently by thehand of the Scotch gardener, Ferguson, a short, wiry, raw-boned specimen. I happened to open the door myself, and brought him into the library until I could readStoddard’s reply. Ferguson had, I thought, an uneasyeye, and his hair, of an ugly carrot color, annoyed me. 

Mr. Paul Stoddard presented his compliments andwould be delighted to dine with me. He wrote a largeeven hand, as frank and open as himself. 

“That is all, Ferguson. ” And the gardener took himselfoff. 

Thus it came about that Stoddard and I faced eachother across the table in the refectory that same eveningunder the lights of a great candelabrum whichBates had produced from the store-room below. AndI may say here, that while there was a slight hitch sometimesin the delivery of supplies from the village;while the fish which Bates caused to be shipped fromChicago for delivery every Friday morning failed onceor twice, and while the grape-fruit for breakfastwas not always what it should have been, —the supplyof candles seemed inexhaustible. They were producedin every shade and size. There were enormousones, such as I had never seen outside of a Russianchurch, —and one of the rooms in the cellar was filledwith boxes of them. The House of a Thousand Candlesdeserved and proved its name. 

Bates had certainly risen to the occasion. Silver andcrystal of which I had not known before glistened onthe table, and on the sideboard two huge candelabraadded to the festival air of the little room. 

Stoddard laughed as he glanced about. 

“Here I have been feeling sorry for you, and yet youare living like a prince. I didn’t know there was somuch splendor in all Wabana County. ”

“I’m a trifle dazzled myself. Bates has tapped a newcellar somewhere. I’m afraid I’m not a good housekeeper, to speak truthfully. There are times when Ihate the house; when it seems wholly ridiculous, thewhim of an eccentric old man; and then again I’m actuallyafraid that I like its seclusion. ”

“Your seclusion is better than mine. You know mylittle two-room affair behind the chapel, —only a few, books and a punching bag. That chapel also is one ofyour grandfather’s whims. He provided that all theoffices of the church must be said there daily or theendowment is stopped. Mr. Glenarm lived in the past, or liked to think he did. I suppose you know—or maybeyou don’t know—how I came to have this appointment?”

“Indeed, I should like to know. ”

We had reached the soup, and Bates was changingour plates with his accustomed light hand. 

“It was my name that did the business, —Paul. Abishop had recommended a man whose given name wasEthelbert, —a decent enough name and one that youmight imagine would appeal to Mr. Glenarm; but herejected him because the name might too easily be cutdown to Ethel, a name which, he said, was very distastefulto him. ”

“That is characteristic. The dear old gentleman!” Iexclaimed with real feeling. 

“But he reckoned without his host, ” Stoddard continued. “The young ladies, I have lately learned, callme Pauline, as a mark of regard or otherwise, —probablyotherwise. I give two lectures a week on churchhistory, and I fear my course isn’t popular. ”

“But it is something, on the other hand, to be in touchwith such an institution. They are a very sightly company, those girls. I enjoy watching them across thegarden wall. And I had a closer view of them at thestation this morning, when you ran off and desertedme. ”

He laughed, —his big wholesome cheering laugh. 

“I take good care not to see much of them socially. ”

“Afraid of the eternal feminine?”

“Yes, I suppose I am. I’m preparing to go into aBrotherhood, as you probably don’t know. And girlsare distracting. ”

I glanced at my companion with a new inquiry andinterest. 

“I didn’t know, ” I said. 

“Yes; I’m spending my year in studies that I maynever have a chance for hereafter. I’m going into anorder whose members work hard. ”

He spoke as though he were planning a summer outing. I had not sat at meat with a clergyman since thedeath of my parents broke up our old home in Vermont, and my attitude toward the cloth was, I fear, one ofantagonism dating from those days. 

“Well, I saw Pickering after all, ” I remarked. 

“Yes, I saw him, too. What is it in his case, geniusor good luck?”

“I’m not a competent witness, ” I answered. “I’ll befrank with you: I don’t like him; I don’t believe inhim. ”

“Oh! I beg your pardon. I didn’t know, of course. ”

“The subject is not painful to me, ” I hastened toadd, “though he was always rather thrust before me asan ideal back in my youth, and you know how fatal thatis. And then the gods of success have opened all thegates for him. ”

“Yes, —and yet—”

“And yet—” I repeated. Stoddard lifted a glass ofsherry to the light and studied it for a moment. He didnot drink wine, but was not, I found, afraid to lookat it. 

“And yet, ” he said, putting down the glass and speakingslowly, “when the gates of good fortune open tooreadily and smoothly, they may close sometimes rathertoo quickly and snap a man’s coat-tails. Please don’tthink I’m going to afflict you with shavings of wisdomfrom the shop-floor, but life wasn’t intended to be tooeasy. The spirit of man needs arresting and chastening. It doesn’t flourish under too much fostering ortoo much of what we call good luck. I’m disposed tobe afraid of good luck. ”

“I’ve never tried it, ” I said laughingly. 

“I am not looking for it, ” and he spoke soberly. 

I could not talk of Pickering with Bates—the maskedbeggar!—in the room, so I changed the subject. 

“I suppose you impose penances, prescribe disciplinefor the girls at St. Agatha’s, —an agreeable exercise ofthe priestly office, I should say!”

His laugh was pleasant and rang true. I was likinghim better the more I saw of him. 

“Bless you, no! I am not venerable enough. TheSisters attend to all that, —and a fine company ofwomen they are!”

“But there must be obstinate cases. One of theyoung ladies confided to me—I tell you this in cloistralconfidence—that she was being deported for insubordination. ”

“Ah, that must be Olivia! Well, her case is different. She is not one girl, —she is many kinds of a girlin one. I fear Sister Theresa lost her patience andhardened her heart. ”

“I should like to intercede for Miss Armstrong, ” Ideclared. 

The surprise showed in his face, and I added:

“Pray don’t misunderstand me. We met underrather curious circumstances, Miss Armstrong and I. ”

“She is usually met under rather unconventional circumstances, I believe, ” he remarked dryly. “My introductionto her came through the kitten she smuggledinto the alms box of the chapel. It took me two daysto find it. ”

He smiled ruefully at the recollection. 

“She’s a young woman of spirit, ” I declared defensively. “She simply must find an outlet for the joy ofyouth, —paddling a canoe, chasing rabbits through thesnow, placing kittens in durance vile. But she’s demureenough when she pleases, —and a satisfaction tothe eye. ”

My heart warmed at the memory of Olivia. Verilythe chaplain was right—she was many girls in one!

Stoddard dropped a lump of sugar into his coffee. 

“Miss Devereux begged hard for her, but Sister Theresacouldn’t afford to keep her. Her influence on theother girls was bad. ”

“That’s to Miss Devereux’s credit, ” I replied. “Youneedn’t wait, Bates. ”

“Olivia was too popular. All the other girls indulgedher. And I’ll concede that she’s pretty. That gipsyface of hers bodes ill to the hearts of men—if she evergrows up. ”

“I shouldn’t exactly call it a gipsy face; and howmuch more should you expect her to grow? At twentya woman’s grown, isn’t she?”

He looked at me quizzically. 

“Fifteen, you mean! Olivia Armstrong—that littlewitch—the kid that has kept the school in turmoil allthe fall?”

There was decided emphasis in his interrogations. 

“I’m glad your glasses are full, or I should say—”

There was, I think, a little heat for a moment on bothsides. 

“The wires are evidently crossed somewhere, ” he saidcalmly. “My Olivia Armstrong is a droll child fromCincinnati, whose escapades caused her to be sent homefor discipline to-day. She’s a little mite who just aboutcomes to the lapel of your coat, her eyes are as blackas midnight—”

“Then she didn’t talk to Pickering and his friendsat the station this morning—the prettiest girl in theworld—gray hat, gray coat, blue eyes? You can haveyour Olivia; but who, will you tell me, is mine?”

I pounded with my clenched hand on the table untilthe candles rattled and sputtered. 

Stoddard stared at me for a moment as though hethought I had lost my wits. Then he lay back in hischair and roared. I rose, bending across the table towardhim in my eagerness. A suspicion had leaped intomy mind, and my heart was pounding as it roused athousand questions. 

“The blue-eyed young woman in gray? Bless yourheart, man, Olivia is a child; I talked to her myself onthe platform. You were talking to Miss Devereux. She isn’t Olivia, she’s Marian!”

“Then, who is Marian Devereux—where does shelive—what is she doing here—?”

“Well, ” he laughed, “to answer your questions in order, she’s a young woman; her home is New York;she has no near kinfolk except Sister Theresa, so shespends some of her time here. ”

“Teaches—music—”

“Not that I ever heard of! She does a lot of thingswell, —takes cups in golf tournaments and is the nimblesthand at tennis you ever saw. Also, she’s a finemusician and plays the organ tremendously. ”

“Well, she told me she was Olivia!” I said. 

“I should think she would, when you refused to meether; when you had ignored her and Sister Theresa, —both of them among your grandfather’s best friends, and your nearest neighbors here!”

“My grandfather be hanged! Of course I couldn’tknow her! We can’t live on the same earth. I’m inher way, hanging on to this property here just to defeather, when she’s the finest girl alive!”

He nodded gravely, his eyes bent upon me with sympathyand kindness. The past events at Glenarmswept through my mind in kinetoscopic flashes, but thegirl in gray talking to Arthur Pickering and hisfriends at the Annandale station, the girl in gray whohad been an eavesdropper at the chapel, —the girl ingray with the eyes of blue! It seemed that a year passedbefore I broke the silence. 

“Where has she gone?” I demanded. 

He smiled, and I was cheered by the mirth thatshowed in his face. 

“Why, she’s gone to Cincinnati, with Olivia GladysArmstrong, ” he said. “They’re great chums, youknow!”

CHAPTER XVII

SISTER THERESA

There was further information I wished to obtain, and I did not blush to pluck it from Stoddard beforeI let him go that night. Olivia Gladys Armstrong livedin Cincinnati; her father was a wealthy physician atWalnut Hills. Stoddard knew the family, and I askedquestions about them, their antecedents and place ofresidence that were not perhaps impertinent in view ofthe fact that I had never consciously set eyes on theirdaughter in my life. As I look back upon it now myinformation secured at that time, touching the historyand social position of the Armstrongs of Walnut Hills, Cincinnati, seems excessive, but the curiosity which theReverend Paul Stoddard satisfied with so little troubleto himself was of immediate interest and importance. As to the girl in gray I found him far more difficult. She was Marian Devereux; she was a niece of SisterTheresa; her home was in New York, with anotheraunt, her parents being dead; and she was a frequentvisitor at St. Agatha’s. 

The wayward Olivia and she were on excellent terms, and when it seemed wisest for that vivacious youngsterto retire from school at the mid-year recess Miss Devereuxhad accompanied her home, ostensibly for a visit, but really to break the force of the blow. It was a prettystory, and enhanced my already high opinion of MissDevereux, while at the same time I admired the unknownOlivia Gladys none the less. 

When Stoddard left me I dug out of a drawer mycopy of John Marshall Glenarm’s will and re-read it forthe first time since Pickering gave it to me in NewYork. There was one provision to which I had notgiven a single thought, and when I had smoothed thethin type-written sheets upon the table in my room Iread it over and over again, construing it in a new lightwith every reading. 

Provided, further, that in the event of the marriage ofsaid John Glenarm to the said Marian Devereux, or in theevent of any promise or contract of marriage between saidpersons within five years from the date of said John Glenarm’sacceptance of the provisions of this will, the wholeestate shall become the property absolutely of St. Agatha’sSchool at Annandale, Wabana County, Indiana, a corporationunder the laws of said state. 

“Bully for the old boy!” I muttered finally, foldingthe copy with something akin to reverence for mygrandfather’s shrewdness in closing so many doors uponhis heirs. It required no lawyer to interpret thisparagraph. If I could not secure his estate by settlingat Glenarm for a year I was not to gain it by marryingthe alternative heir. Here, clearly, was not one of thosesituations so often contrived by novelists, in which theluckless heir presumptive, cut off without a cent, wedsthe pretty cousin who gets the fortune and they livehappily together ever afterward. John Marshall Glenarmhad explicitly provided against any such frustrationof his plans. 

“Bully for you, John Marshall Glenarm!” I roseand 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 Theresawishes to see him. 

I whistled softly. My feelings toward Sister Theresahad been those of utter repugnance and antagonism. Ihad been avoiding her studiously and was not a littlesurprised that she should seek an interview with me. Quite possibly she wished to inquire how soon I expectedto abandon Glenarm House; or perhaps she wished toadmonish me as to the perils of my soul. In any eventI liked the quality of her note, and I was curious toknow why she sent for me; moreover, Marian Devereuxwas her niece and that was wholly in the Sister’s favor. 

At four o’clock I passed into St. Agatha territoryand rang the bell at the door of the building where Ihad left Olivia the evening I found her in the chapel. A Sister admitted me, led the way to a small reception-roomwhere, I imagined, the visiting parent was received, and left me. I felt a good deal like a school-boywho has been summoned before a severe master fordiscipline. I was idly beating my hat with my gloveswhen a quick step sounded in the hall and instantly abrown-clad figure appeared in the doorway. 

“Mr. Glenarm?”

It was a deep, rich voice, a voice of assurance, avoice, may I say? of the world, —a voice, too, may Iadd? of a woman who is likely to say what she meanswithout ado. The white band at her forehead broughtinto relief two wonderful gray eyes that were alightwith kindliness. She surveyed me a moment, then herlips parted in a smile. 

“This room is rather forbidding; if you will comewith me—”

She turned with an air of authority that was a partof her undeniable distinction, and I was seated a momentlater in a pretty sitting-room, whose windowsgave a view of the dark wood and frozen lake beyond. 

“I’m afraid, Mr. Glenarm, that you are not disposedto be neighborly, and you must pardon me if I seem tobe pursuing you. ”

Her smile, her voice, her manner were charming. Ihad pictured her a sour old woman, who had hiddenaway 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 thereare ghosts at your house” she said, with a smile thatdisposed of the matter. 

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

“Mr. Glenarm, there is something I wish to say toyou, but I can say it only if we are to be friends. Ihave 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 nothingwill prevent your inheriting all that Mr. Glenarmwished you to have from him. ”

“Thank you; that is both kind and generous, ” I saidwith 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 pronouncingher name. 

“Miss Devereux is very greatly disturbed over thegood intentions of your grandfather in placing her namein his will. You can doubtless understand how uncomfortablea person of any sensibility would be under thecircumstances. I’m sorry you have never met her. Sheis a very charming young woman whose happiness doesnot, I may say, depend on other people’s money. ”

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

“I am sure that is true, Sister Theresa. ”

“Now I wish to speak to you about a matter of somedelicacy. It is, I understand perfectly, no business ofmine how much of a fortune Mr. Glenarm left. Butthis matter has been brought to my attention in a disagreeableway. Your grandfather established thisschool; he gave most of the money for these buildings. I had other friends who offered to contribute, but he insistedon doing it all. But now Mr. Pickering insiststhat the money—or part of it at least—was only a loan. ”

“Yes; I understand. ”

“Mr. Pickering tells me that he has no alternative inthe matter; that the law requires him to collect thismoney 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 againstyou 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. Thereare a good many things about my grandfather’s affairsthat I don’t understand, but I’m not going to see anold friend of his swindled. There’s more in all thisthan appears. My grandfather seems to have mislaidor lost most of his assets before he died. And yet hehad the reputation of being a pretty cautious businessman. ”

“The impression is abroad, as you must know, thatyour grandfather concealed his fortune before hisdeath. 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 tosolve the problem, ” I said and laughed. 

“But, of course, you and he will coöperate in an effortto find the lost property. ”

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

“Why shouldn’t I be frank with you, Sister Theresa?I have every reason for believing Arthur Pickering ascoundrel. He does not care to coöperate with me insearching for this money. The fact is that he verymuch wishes to eliminate me as a factor in the settlementof the estate. I speak carefully; I know exactlywhat I am saying. ”

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

“What you say is very serious. ”

“Yes, and his offense is equally serious. It mayseem odd for me to be saying this to you when I am astranger; when you may be pardoned for having novery high opinion of me. ”

She turned her face to me, —it was singularly gentleand refined, —not a face to associate with an idea ofself-seeking or duplicity. 

“I sent for you, Mr. Glenarm, because I had a verygood opinion of you; because, for one reason, you arethe grandson of your grandfather, ”—and the friendlylight in her gray eyes drove away any lingering doubtI may have had as to her sincerity. “I wished to warnyou to have a care for your own safety. I don’t warnyou against Arthur Pickering alone, but against thecountryside. The idea of a hidden fortune is alluring;a mysterious house and a lost treasure make a very enticingcombination. I fancy Mr. Glenarm did not realizethat he was creating dangers for the people hewished to help. ”

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

“Mr. Pickering wishes to marry my niece. ”

“Ah! I have been waiting to hear that. I am exceedinglyglad to know that he has so noble an ambition. But Miss Devereux isn’t encouraging him, as near asI can make out. She refused to go to California withhis party—I happen to know that. ”

“That whole California episode would have beenamusing if it had not been ridiculous. Marian neverhad the slightest idea of going with him; but she issometimes a little—shall I say perverse?—”

“Please do! I like the word—and the quality!”

“—and Mr. Pickering’s rather elaborate methods ofwooing—”

“He’s as heavy as lead!” I declared. 

“—amuse Marian up to a certain point; then they annoyher. He has implied pretty strongly that the claimagainst me could be easily adjusted if Marian marrieshim. But she will never marry him, whether she benefitsby your grandfather’s will or however that may be!”

“I should say not, ” I declared with a warmth thatcaused Sister Theresa to sweep me warily with thosewonderful gray eyes. “But first he expects to find thisfortune and endow Miss Devereux with it. That is apart of the scheme. And my own interest in the estatemust be eliminated before he can bring that conditionabout. But, Sister Theresa, I am not so easily got ridof as Arthur Pickering imagines. My staying qualities, which were always weak in the eyes of my family, havebeen braced up a trifle. ”

“Yes. ” I thought pleasure and hope were expressedin the monosyllable, and my heart warmed to her. 

“Sister Theresa, you and I are understanding eachother much better than I imagined we should, ”—andwe both laughed, feeling a real sympathy growing betweenus. 

“Yes; I believe we are, ”—and the smile lighted herface again. 

“So I can tell you two things. The first is that ArthurPickering will never find my grandfather’s lostfortune, assuming that any exists. The second is thatin 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 therewas relief in it. “But I didn’t suppose Marian’s affairsinterested you. ”

“They don’t, Sister Theresa. Her affairs are not ofthe slightest importance, —but she is!”

There was frank inquiry in her eyes now. 

“But you don’t know her, —you have missed youropportunity. ”

“To be sure, I don’t know her; but I know OliviaGladys Armstrong. She’s a particular friend of mine, —we have chased rabbits together, and she told me agreat deal. I have formed a very good opinion of MissDevereux in that way. Oh, that note you wrote aboutOlivia’s intrusions beyond the wall! I should thankyou 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 alwaysOlivia’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 nothave 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 haveless to do!”

“And still I protest!” I declared, rising. “SisterTheresa, I thank you with all my heart for what youhave said to me, —for the disposition to say it! Andthis debt to the estate is something, I promise you, thatshall not trouble you. ”

“Then there’s a truce between us! We are not enemiesat 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 BUTTERFLIES

If you are one of those captious people who mustverify by the calendar every new moon you read of ina book, and if you are pained to discover the historianlifting anchor and spreading sail contrary to the reckoningsof the nautical almanac, I beg to call your attentionto these items from the time-table of the Mid-Westernand Southern Railway for December, 1901. 

The south-bound express passed Annandale at exactlyfifty-three minutes after four P. M. It was scheduledto reach Cincinnati at eleven o’clock sharp. Theseitems are, I trust, sufficiently explicit. 

To the student of morals and motives I will say afurther word. I had resolved to practise deception inrunning away from Glenarm House to keep my promiseto Marian Devereux. By leaving I should forfeitmy right to any part of my grandfather’s estate; Iknew that and accepted the issue without regret; but Ihad no intention of surrendering Glenarm House toArthur Pickering, particularly now that I realized howcompletely I had placed myself in his trap. I felt, moreover, a duty to my dead grandfather; and—notleast—the attacks of Morgan and the strange ways ofBates had stirred whatever fighting blood there was inme. Pickering and I were engaged in a sharp contest, and I was beginning to enjoy it to the full, but I did notfalter in my determination to visit Cincinnati, hopingto return without my absence being discovered; so thenext afternoon I began preparing for my journey. 

“Bates, I fear that I’m taking a severe cold and I’mgoing to dose myself with whisky and quinine and goto bed. I shan’t want any dinner, —nothing until yousee 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 asa cricket in the morning. ”

At four o’clock I told him to carry some hot waterand lemons to my room; bade him an emphatic goodnight and locked the door as he left. Then I packedmy evening clothes in a suit-case. I threw the bag anda heavy ulster from a window, swung myself out uponthe limb of a big maple and let it bend under me to itssharpest curve and then dropped lightly to the ground. 

I passed the gate and struck off toward the villagewith a joyful sense of freedom. When I reached thestation I sought at once the south-bound platform, notwishing to be seen buying a ticket. A few other passengerswere assembling, but I saw no one I recognized. Number six, I heard the agent say, was on time; andin a few minutes it came roaring up. I bought a seatin the Washington sleeper and went into the dining-carfor supper. The train was full of people hurrying tovarious ports for the holidays, but they had, I reflected, no advantage over me. I, too, was bound on a definiteerrand, though my journey was, I imagined, less commonplacein its character than the homing flight ofmost of my fellow travelers. 

I made myself comfortable and dozed and dreamed asthe 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 drewsouthward, and the conductor was confident we shouldreach Cincinnati on time. The through passengers aboutme went to bed, and I was left sprawled out in my opensection, lurking on the shadowy frontier between theknown world and dreamland. 

“We’re running into Cincinnati—ten minutes late, ”said the porter’s voice; and in a moment I was in thevestibule and out, hurrying to a hotel. At the St. Botolph I ordered a carriage and broke all recordschanging my clothes. The time-table informed me thatthe Northern express left at half-past one. There wasno reason why I should not be safe at Glenarm Houseby my usual breakfast hour if all went well. To avoidloss of time in returning to the station I paid the hotelcharge and carried my bag away with me. 

“Doctor Armstrong’s residence? Yes, sir; I’ve alreadytaken one load there”

The carriage was soon climbing what seemed to be amountain to the heights above Cincinnati. To this dayI associate Ohio’s most interesting city with a lonelycarriage ride that seemed to be chiefly uphill, througha region that was as strange to me as a trackless junglein the wilds of Africa. And my heart began to performstrange tattoos on my ribs I was going to the houseof a gentleman who did not know of my existence, tosee a girl who was his guest, to whom I had never, asthe conventions go, been presented. It did not seemhalf so easy, now that I was well launched upon the adventure. 

I stopped the cabman just as he was about to enteran 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 nearlytwelve—and just how to effect an entrance without beingthrown out as an interloper was a formidable problem, now that I had reached the house. I must catchmy train home, and this left no margin for explanationto an outraged host whose first impulse would verylikely be to turn me over to the police. 

I made a detour and studied the house, seeking adoor by which I could enter without passing the unfriendlyGibraltar of a host and hostess on guard towelcome belated guests. 

A long conservatory filled with tropical plants gaveme my opportunity. Promenaders went idly throughand out into another part of the house by an exit Icould not see. A handsome, spectacled gentlemanopened a glass door within a yard of where I stood, sniffed the air, and said to his companion, as he turnedback with a shrug into the conservatory:

“There’s no sign of snow. It isn’t Christmas weatherat all. ”

He strolled away through the palms, and I instantlythrew off my ulster and hat, cast them behind somebushes, and boldly opened the door and entered. 

The ball-room was on the third floor, but the guestswere straggling down to supper, and I took my standat the foot of the broad stairway and glanced up carelessly, as though waiting for some one. It was a largeand brilliant company and many a lovely face passedme as I stood waiting. The very size of the gatheringgave me security, and I smoothed my gloves complacently. 

The spectacled gentleman whose breath of night airhad given me a valued hint of the open conservatorydoor came now and stood beside me. He even put hishand on my arm with intimate friendliness. 

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

“It’s Olivia! She’s won the wager!” exclaimed thespectacled gentleman, and the girl, whose dark curlswere shaken about her face, ran up to us and threwher arms about him and kissed him. It was a charmingpicture, —the figures on the stairway, the pretty gracefulchild, the eager, happy faces all about. I was toomuch interested by this scene of the comedy to be uncomfortable. 

Then, at the top of the stair, her height accented byher gown of white, stood Marian Devereux, hesitatingan instant, as a bird pauses before taking wing, and thenlaughingly running between the lines to where Oliviafaced her in mock abjection. To the charm of the girlin the woodland was added now the dignity of beautifulwomanhood, and my heart leaped at the thoughtthat I had ever spoken to her, that I was there becauseshe had taunted me with the risk of coming. 

[Illustration: 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 beganto 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 justoccurred. Olivia, the youngest daughter of the house, had been denied a glimpse of the ball; Miss Devereuxhad made a wager with her host that Olivia would appearbefore midnight; and Olivia had defeated the plotagainst her, and gained the main hall at the stroke ofChristmas. 

“Good night! Good night!” called Olivia—the realOlivia—in derision to the company, and turned and ranback through the applauding, laughing throng. 

The spectacled gentleman was Olivia’s father, and hemockingly rebuked Marian Devereux for having encouragedan infraction of parental discipline, while shewas twitting him upon the loss of his wager. Then hereyes rested upon me for the first time. She smiledslightly, but continued talking placidly to her host. The situation did not please me; I had not traveled sofar and burglariously entered Doctor Armstrong’s housein quest of a girl with blue eyes merely to stand by whileshe talked to another man. 

I drew nearer, impatiently; and was conscious thatfour other young men in white waistcoats and glovesquite as irreproachable as my own stood ready to claimher the instant she was free. I did not propose to bethwarted by the beaux of Cincinnati, so I stepped towardDoctor Armstrong. 

“I beg your pardon, Doctor—, ” I said with an assurancefor which I blush to this hour. 

“All right, my boy; I, too, have been in Arcady!” heexclaimed in cheerful apology, and she put her handon my arm and I led her away. 

“He called me ‘my boy, ’ so I must be passing muster, ”I remarked, not daring to look at her. 

“He’s afraid not to recognize you. His inability toremember faces is a town joke. ”

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

“You don’t seem surprised to see me, —you knew Iwould come. I should have come across the world forthis, —for just this. ”

Her eyes were grave at once. 

“Why did you come? I did not think you were sofoolish. This is all—so wretched, —so unfortunate. Youdidn’t know that Mr. Pickering—Mr. Pickering—”

She was greatly distressed and this name came fromher chokingly. 

“Yes; what of him?” I laughed. “He is well on hisway to California, —and without you!”

She spoke hurriedly, eagerly, bending toward me. 

“No—you don’t know—you don’t understand—he’shere; he abandoned his California trip at Chicago; hetelegraphed me to expect him—here—to-night! Youmust go at once, —at once!”

“Ah, but you can’t frighten me, ” I said, trying torealize just what a meeting with Pickering in that housemight mean. 

“No, ”—she looked anxiously about, —”they were toarrive late, he and the Taylors; they know the Armstrongsquite well. They may come at any momentnow. Please go!”

“But I have only a few minutes myself, —youwouldn’t have me sit them out in the station downtown? There are some things I have come to say, andArthur Pickering and I are not afraid of each other!”

“But you must not meet him here! Think what thatwould 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, moreat ease, “I thought—”

“Yes, what did you think?” I asked. “That I wastied hand and foot by a dead man’s money?”

“No, it wasn’t that wretched fortune; but I enjoyedplaying the child before you—I really love Olivia—andit seemed that the fairies were protecting me and thatI could play being a child to the very end of the chapterwithout any real mischief coming of it. I wishI were Olivia!” she declared, her eyes away from me. 

“That’s rather idle. I’m not really sure yet whatyour name is, and I don’t care. Let’s imagine that wehaven’t any names, —I’m sure my name isn’t of anyuse, and I’ll be glad to go nameless all my days ifonly—”

“If only—” she repeated idly, opening and closingher fan. It was a frail blue trifle, painted in goldenbutterflies. 

“There are so many ‘if onlies’ that I hesitate tochoose; but I will venture one. If only you will comeback to St. Agatha’s! Not to-morrow, or the next day, but, say, with the first bluebirds. I believe they arethe harbingers up there. ”

Her very ease was a balm to my spirit; she was nowa veritable daughter of repose. One arm in its longwhite sheath lay quiet in her lap; her right hand heldthe golden butterflies against the soft curve of her cheek. A collar of pearls clasped her throat and accented theclear girlish lines of her profile. I felt the appeal ofher youth and purity. It was like a cry in my heart, and I forgot the dreary house by the lake, and Pickeringand the weeks within the stone walls of my prison. 

“The friends who know me best never expect me topromise to be anywhere at a given time. I can’t tell;perhaps I shall follow the bluebirds to Indiana; butwhy should I, when I can’t play being Olivia anymore?”

“No! I am very dull. That note of apology youwrote from the school really fooled me. But I haveseen the real Olivia now. I don’t want you to go toofar—not where I can’t follow—this flight I shall hardlydare repeat. ”

Her lips closed—like a rose that had gone back to bea bud again—and she pondered a moment, slowly freeingand imprisoning the golden butterflies. 

“You have risked a fortune, Mr. Glenarm, very, veryfoolishly, —and more—if you are found here. Why, Olivia must have recognized you! She must have seenyou often across the wall. ”

“But I don’t care—I’m not staying at that ruin upthere for money. My grandfather meant more to methan 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. Butthere was—no expectation—no wish to profit by hisfriendship. My name in his will is a great embarrassment, a source of real annoyance. The newspapershave printed dreadful pictures of me. That is why Isay to you, quite frankly, that I wouldn’t accept a centof Mr. Glenarm’s money if it were offered me; andthat is why, ”—and her smile was a flash of spring, —“Iwant you to obey the terms of the will and earn yourfortune. ”

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 hadevery reason for believing that Mr. Glenarm was a veryrich man. The property can’t be found in the usualplaces, —banks, safety vaults, and the like. Then wheredo you think it is, —or better, where do you thinkMr. Pickering thinks it is?”

“But assuming that it’s buried up there by the lakelike a pirate’s treasure, it isn’t Pickering’s if he findsit. There are laws to protect even the dead from robbery!”I concluded hotly. 

“How difficult you are! Suppose you should fallfrom a boat, or be shot—accidentally—then I mighthave to take the fortune after all; and Mr. Pickeringmight 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 startedto my feet. 

“You wouldn’t—” I repeated. 

“I might, you know!”

“I must go, —but not with that, not with any hint ofthat, —please!”

“If you let him defeat you, if you fail to spend youryear there, —we’ll overlook this one lapse, ”—she lookedme steadily in the eyes, wholly guiltless of coquetry butinfinitely kind, —“then, —”

She paused, opened the fan, held it up to the lightand studied the golden butterflies. 

“Yes—”

“Then—let me see—oh, I shall never chase anotherrabbit as long as I live! Now go—quickly—quickly!”

“But you haven’t told me when and where it was wemet 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 seemfor us to meet just once—and be introduced! Goodnight! You really came. You are a gentleman of yourword, Squire Glenarm!”

She gave me the tips of her fingers without lookingat me. 

A servant came in hurriedly. 

“Miss Devereux, Mr. And Mrs. Taylor and Mr. Pickeringare in the drawing-room. ”

“Yes; very well; I will come at once. ”

Then to me:

“They must not see you—there, that way!” and shestood in the door, facing me, her hands lightly touchingthe frame as though to secure my way. 

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

Outside I found my hat and coat, and wakened mysleeping driver. He drove like mad into the city, andI swung upon the north-bound sleeper just as it wasdrawing 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 scrambledout the night before was closed. I dropped my bag andcrept to the front door, thinking that if Bates had discoveredmy absence it was useless to attempt any furtherdeception. I was amazed to find the great doorsof the main entrance flung wide, and in real alarm Iran through the hall and back to the library. 

The nearest door stood open, and, as I peered in, acurious scene disclosed itself. A few of the large cathedralcandles still burned brightly in several places, their flame rising strangely in the gray morning light. Books had been taken from the shelves and scatteredeverywhere, and sharp implements had cut ugly gashesin the shelving. The drawers containing sketches andphotographs had been pulled out and their contentsthrown about and trampled under foot. 

The house was as silent as a tomb, but as I stood onthe threshold trying to realize what had happened, somethingstirred by the fireplace and I crept forward, listening, until I stood by the long table beneath the greatchandelier. Again I heard a sound as of some animalwaking and stretching, followed by a moan that wasundoubtedly human. Then the hands of a man clutchedthe farther edge of the table, and slowly and evidentlywith infinite difficulty a figure rose and the dark faceof Bates, with eyes blurred and staring strangely, confrontedme. 

He drew his body to its height, and leaned heavilyupon the table. I snatched a candle and bent towardhim to make sure my eyes were not tricking me. 

“Mr. Glenarm! Mr. Glenarm!” he exclaimed inbroken whispers. “It is Bates, sir. ”

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

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

He was evidently dazed by whatever had occurred, and I sprang around and helped him to a couch. Hewould not lie down but sat up, staring and passing hishand over his head. It was rapidly growing lighter, and I saw a purple and black streak across his templewhere a bludgeon of some sort had struck him. 

“What does this mean, Bates? Who has been in thehouse?”

“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 tohave any nonsense about it from you. Well—?”

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

“It was early this morning, ” he faltered, “about twoo’clock, I heard noises in the lower part of the house. I came down thinking likely it was you, and rememberingthat you had been sick yesterday—”

“Yes, go on. ”

The thought of my truancy was no balm to my consciencejust then. 

“As I came into the hall, I saw lights in the library. As you weren’t down last night the room hadn’t beenlighted at all. I heard steps, and some one tapping witha hammer—”

“Yes; a hammer. Go on!”

It was, then, the same old story! The war had beencarried openly into the house, but Bates, —just whyshould any one connected with the conspiracy injureBates, who stood so near to Pickering, its leader? Thefellow was undoubtedly hurt, —there was no mistakingthe lump on his head. He spoke with a painful difficultythat was not assumed, I felt increasingly sure, ashe went on. 

“I saw a man pulling out the books and tapping theinside of the shelves. He was working very fast. Andthe next thing I knew he let in another man throughone of the terrace doors, —the one there that still standsa little open. ”

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

“Never mind that; tell the rest of your story. ”

“Then I ran in, grabbed one of the big candelabrafrom the table, and went for the nearest man. Theywere about to begin on the chimney-breast there, —itwas Mr. Glenarm’s pride in all the house, —and thataccounts 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-handfight 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 runningin from somewhere, and he took sides with me. Ithought at first it was you. The robbers thought so, too, for one of them yelled, ‘Great God; 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 onesoused me with water that helped my head considerably, and the next thing I knew I was staring across the tablethere at you. ”

“Who were these men, Bates? Speak up quickly!”

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

“Well, ” he began deliberately, “I dislike to makecharges against a fellow man, but I strongly suspect oneof the men of being—”

“Yes! Tell the whole truth or it will be the worsefor you. ”

“I very much fear one of them was Ferguson, thegardener 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 withFerguson and we were having quite a lively time of itwhen the other one came in; then the man who came tomy help mixed us all up, —he was a very lively person, —and what became of Ferguson and the rest of it I don’tknow. ”

There was food for thought in what he said. He hadtaken punishment in defense of my property—the crackon his head was undeniable—and I could not abusehim or question his veracity with any grace; not, atleast, without time for investigation and study. However, I ventured to ask him one question. 

“If you were guessing, shouldn’t you think it quitelikely that Morgan was the other man?”

He met my gaze squarely. 

“I think it wholly possible, Mr. Glenarm. ”

“And the man who helped you—who in the devil washe?”

“Bless me, I don’t know. He disappeared. I’d likemightily to see him again. ”

“Humph! Now you’d better do something for yourhead. I’ll summon the village doctor if you say so. ”

“No; thank you, sir. I’ll take care of it myself. ”

“And now we’ll keep quiet about this. Don’t mentionit or discuss it with any one. ”

“Certainly not, sir. ”

He rose, and staggered a little, but crossed to thebroad mantel-shelf in the great chimney-breast, restedhis arm upon it for a moment, passed his hand over thedark wood with a sort of caress, then bent his eyes uponthe floor littered with books and drawings and paperstorn from the cabinets and all splashed with tallow andwax from the candles. The daylight had increased untilthe havoc wrought by the night’s visitors was fully apparent. The marauders had made a sorry mess of theroom, and I thought Bates’ lip quivered as he saw thewreck. 

“It would have been a blow to Mr. Glenarm; the roomwas his pride, —his pride, sir. ”

He went out toward the kitchen, and I ran up stairsto my own room. I cursed the folly that had led me toleave my window open, for undoubtedly Morgan andhis new ally, St. Agatha’s gardener, had taken advantageof it to enter the house. Quite likely, too, they hadobserved my absence, and this would undoubtedly becommunicated to Pickering. I threw open my doorand started back with an exclamation of amazement. 

Standing at my chiffonnier, between two windows, was a man, clad in a bath-gown—my own, I saw withfury—his back to me, the razor at his face, placidlyshaving himself. 

Without turning he addressed me, quite coolly andcasually, as though his being there was the most naturalthing in the world. 

“Good morning, Mr. Glenarm! Rather damagingevidence, that costume. I suppose it’s the custom of thecountry for gentlemen in evening clothes to go out bythe window and return by the door. You might thinkthe other way round preferable. ”

“Larry!” I shouted. 

“Jack!”

“Kick that door shut and lock it, ” he commanded, ina sharp, severe tone that I remembered well—and justnow welcomed—in him. 

“How, why and when—?”

“Never mind about me. I’m here—thrown the enemyoff for a few days; and you give me lessons in currenthistory first, while I climb into my armor. Pray pardonthe informality—”

He seized a broom and began work upon a pair oftrousers to which mud and briers clung tenaciously. His coat and hat lay on a chair, they, too, much theworse for rough wear. 

There was never any use in refusing to obey Larry’sorders, and as he got into his clothes I gave him in asfew words as possible the chief incidents that hadmarked my stay at Glenarm House. He continued dressingwith care, helping himself to a shirt and collar frommy chiffonnier and choosing with unfailing eye thebest tie in my collection. Now and then he asked aquestion tersely, or, again, he laughed or swore direly inGaelic. When I had concluded the story of Pickering’svisit, and of the conversation I overheard between theexecutor and Bates in the church porch, Larry wheeledround with the scarf half-tied in his fingers and surveyedme commiseratingly. 

“And you didn’t rush them both on the spot and haveit out?”

“No. I was too much taken aback, for one thing—”

“I dare say you were!”

“And for another I didn’t think the time ripe. I’mgoing to beat that fellow, Larry, but I want him toshow his hand fully before we come to a smash-up. Iknow as much about the house and its secrets as he does, —that’s one consolation. Sometimes I don’t believethere’s a shilling here, and again I’m sure there’s a bigstake in it. The fact that Pickering is risking so muchto find what’s supposed to be hidden here is pretty fairevidence that something’s buried on the place. ”

“Possibly, but they’re giving you a lively boycott. Now where in the devil have you been?”

“Well, —” I began and hesitated. I had not mentionedMarian Devereux and this did not seem the timefor confidences of that sort. 

He took a cigarette from his pocket and lighted it. 

“Bah, these women! Under the terms of your reveredgrandfather’s will you have thrown away all your rights. It looks to me, as a member of the Irish bar in badstanding, as though you had delivered yourself up tothe enemy, so far as the legal situation is concerned. How does it strike you?”

“Of course I’ve forfeited my rights. But I don’tmean that any one shall know it yet a while. ”

“My lad, don’t deceive yourself. Everybody roundhere will know it before night. You ran off, left yourwindow open invitingly, and two gentlemen who meditatedbreaking in found that they needn’t take the trouble. One came in through your own room, noting, ofcourse, your absence, let in his friend below, and toreup the place regrettably. ”

“Yes, but how did you get here?—if you don’t mindtelling. ”

“It’s a short story. That little chap from ScotlandYard, who annoyed me so much in New York and droveme to Mexico—for which may he dwell for ever in fierytorment—has never given up. I shook him off, though, at Indianapolis three days ago. I bought a ticket forPittsburg with him at my elbow. I suppose he thoughtthe chase was growing tame, and that the farther easthe could arrest me the nearer I should be to a Britishconsul and tide-water. I went ahead of him into thestation and out to the Pittsburg sleeper. I dropped mybag into my section—if that’s what they call it in youratrocious American language—looked out and saw himcoming along the platform. Just then the car began tomove, —they were shunting it about to attach a sleeperthat had been brought in from Louisville and my carriage, or whatever you call it, went skimming out ofthe sheds into a yard where everything seemed to bemost noisy and complex. I dropped off in the darkjust before they began to haul the carriage back. Along train of empty goods wagons was just pullingout and I threw my bag into a wagon and climbed afterit. We kept going for an hour or so until I was thoroughlylost, then I took advantage of a stop at a placethat seemed to be the end of terrestrial things, got outand started across country. I expressed my bag to youthe other day from a town that rejoiced in the cheeringname of Kokomo, just to get rid of it. I walked intoAnnandale about midnight, found this medieval marvelthrough the kindness of the station-master and was reconnoiteringwith my usual caution when I saw a gentlemanromantically entering through an open window. ”

Larry paused to light a fresh cigarette. 

“You always did have a way of arriving opportunely. Go on!”

“It pleased my fancy to follow him; and by the timeI had studied your diggings here a trifle, things beganto happen below. It sounded like a St. Patrick’sDay celebration in an Irish village, and I went down ata gallop to see if there was any chance of breaking in. Have you seen the room? Well, ”—he gave severalturns to his right wrist, as though to test it, —“we allhad a jolly time there by the fireplace. Another chaphad got in somewhere, so there were two of them. Yourman—I suppose it’s your man—was defending himselfgallantly with a large thing of brass that looked likethe pipes of a grand organ—and I sailed in with a chair. My presence seemed to surprise the attacking party, who evidently thought I was you, —flattering, I mustsay, to me!”

“You undoubtedly saved Bates’ life and prevented therifling of the house. And after you had poured wateron Bates, —he’s the servant, —you came up here—”

“That’s the way of it. ”

“You’re a brick, Larry Donovan. There’s only one ofyou; and now—”

“And now, John Glenarm, we’ve got to get down tobusiness, —or you must. As for me, after a few hoursof your enlivening society—”

“You don’t go a step until we go together, —no, bythe beard of the prophet! I’ve a fight on here and I’mgoing to win if I die in the struggle, and you’ve got tostay with me to the end. ”

“But under the will you dare not take a boarder. ”

“Of course I dare! That will’s as though it hadnever been as far as I’m concerned. My grandfathernever expected me to sit here alone and be murdered. John Marshall Glenarm wasn’t a fool exactly!”

“No, but a trifle queer, I should say. I don’t haveto tell you, old man, that this situation appeals to me. It’s my kind of a job. If it weren’t that the hounds areat my heels I’d like to stay with you, but you haveenough trouble on hands without opening the house toan attack by my enemies. ”

“Stop talking about it. I don’t propose to be desertedby the only friend I have in the world when I’m upto my eyes in trouble. Let’s go down and get somecoffee. ”

We found Bates trying to remove the evidences of thenight’s struggle. He had fastened a cold pack about hishead and limped slightly; otherwise he was the same—silent and inexplicable. 

Daylight had not improved the appearance of theroom. Several hundred books lay scattered over thefloor, and the shelves which had held them were hackedand broken. 

“Bates, if you can give us some coffee—? Let theroom go for the present. ”

‘‘Yes, sir. ”

“And Bates—”

He paused and Larry’s keen eyes were bent sharplyupon him. 

“Mr. Donovan is a friend who will be with me forsome time. We’ll fix up his room later in the day”

He limped out, Larry’s eyes following him. 

“What do you think of that fellow?” I asked. 

Larry’s face wore a puzzled look. 

“What do you call him, —Bates? He’s a plucky fellow. ”

Larry picked up from the hearth the big candelabrumwith which Bates had defended himself. Itwas badly bent and twisted, and Larry grinned. 

“The fellow who went out through the front doorprobably isn’t feeling very well to-day. Your man wasswinging this thing like a windmill. ”

“I can’t understand it, ” I muttered. “I can’t, forthe life of me, see why he should have given battle tothe enemy. They all belong to Pickering, and Bates isthe biggest rascal of the bunch. ”

“Humph! we’ll consider that later. And would youmind telling me what kind of a tallow foundry this is?I never saw so many candlesticks in my life. I seemto taste tallow. I had no letters from you, and I supposedyou were loafing quietly in a grim farm-house, dying of ennui, and here you are in an establishmentthat ought to be the imperial residence of an Eskimochief. Possibly you have crude petroleum for soup andwhipped salad-oil for dessert. I declare, a man livinghere ought to attain a high candle-power of luminosity. It’s perfectly immense. ” He stared and laughed. “Andhidden treasure, and night attacks, and young virginsin the middle distance, —yes, I’d really like to stay awhile. ”

As we ate breakfast I filled in gaps I had left in myhurried narrative, with relief that I can not describe fillingmy heart as I leaned again upon the sympathy ofan old and trusted friend. 

As Bates came and went I marked Larry’s scrutiny ofthe man. I dismissed him as soon as possible that wemight talk freely. 

“Take it up and down and all around, what do youthink of all this?” I asked. 

Larry was silent for a moment; he was not given tocareless speech in personal matters. 

“There’s more to it than frightening you off or gettingyour grandfather’s money. It’s my guess thatthere’s something in this house that somebody—Pickeringsupposedly—is very anxious to find. ”

“Yes; I begin to think so. He could come in herelegally if it were merely a matter of searching for lostassets. ”

“Yes; and whatever it is it must be well hidden. AsI remember, your grandfather died in June. You gota letter calling you home in October. ”

“It was sent out blindly, with not one chance in ahundred that it would ever reach me. ”

“To be sure. You were a wanderer on the face of theearth, and there was nobody in America to look afteryour interests. You may be sure that the place wasthoroughly ransacked while you were sailing home. I’llwager you the best dinner you ever ate that there’s moreat stake than your grandfather’s money. The situationis inspiring. I grow interested. I’m almost persuadedto linger. ”

CHAPTER XX

A TRIPLE ALLIANCE

Larry refused to share my quarters and chose a roomfor himself, which Bates fitted, up out of the housestores. I did not know what Bates might surmise aboutLarry, but he accepted my friend in good part, as aguest who would remain indefinitely. He seemed to interestLarry, whose eyes followed the man inquiringly. When we went into Bates’ room on our tour of thehouse, Larry scanned the books on a little shelf withsomething more than a casual eye. There were exactlyfour volumes, —Shakespeare’s Comedies, The FaerieQueen, Sterne’s Sentimental Journey and Yeats’ Landof Heart’s Desire. 

“A queer customer, Larry. Nobody but my grandfathercould ever have discovered him—he found himup in Vermont. ”

“I suppose his being a bloomin’ Yankee naturally accountsfor this, ” remarked Larry, taking from under thepillow of the narrow iron bed a copy of the DublinFreeman’s Journal. 

“It is a little odd, ” I said. “But if you found a Yiddishnewspaper or an Egyptian papyrus under his pillowI should not be surprised. ”

“Nor I, ” said Larry. “I’ll wager that not anothershelf in this part of the world contains exactly that collectionof books, and nothing else. You will notice thatthere was once a book-plate in each of these volumes andthat it’s been scratched out with care. ”

On a small table were pen and ink and a curiousmuch-worn portfolio. 

“He always gets the mail first, doesn’t he?” askedLarry. 

“Yes, I believe he does. ”

“I thought so; and I’ll swear he never got a letterfrom Vermont in his life. ”

When we went down Bates was limping about thelibrary, endeavoring to restore order. 

“Bates, ” I said to him, “you are a very curious person. I have had a thousand and one opinions about yousince I came here, and I still don’t make you out. ”

He turned from the shelves, a defaced volume in hishands. 

“Yes, sir. It was a good deal that way with your lamentedgrandfather. He always said I puzzled him. ”

Larry, safe behind the fellow’s back, made no attemptto conceal a smile. 

“I want to thank you for your heroic efforts to protectthe house last night. You acted nobly, and I mustconfess, Bates, that I didn’t think it was in you. You’vegot the right stuff in you; I’m only sorry that there areblack pages in your record that I can’t reconcile withyour manly conduct of last night. But we’ve got tocome to an understanding. ”

“Yes, sir. ”

“The most outrageous attacks have been made on mesince I came here. You know what I mean well enough. Mr. Glenarm never intended that I should sit down inhis house and be killed or robbed. He was the gentlestbeing that ever lived, and I’m going to fight for hismemory and to protect his property from the scoundrelswho have plotted against me. I hope you follow me. ”

“Yes, Mr. Glenarm. ” He was regarding me attentively. His lips quavered, perhaps from weakness, forhe certainly looked ill. 

“Now I offer you your choice, —either to stand loyallyby me and my grandfather’s house or to join thesescoundrels Arthur Pickering has hired to drive me out. I’m not going to bribe you, —I don’t offer you a cent forstanding by me, but I won’t have a traitor in the house, and if you don’t like me or my terms I want you to goand go now. ”

He straightened quickly, —his eyes lighted and thecolor crept into his face. I had never before seen himappear so like a human being. 

“Mr. Glenarm, you have been hard on me; there havebeen times when you have been very unjust—”

“Unjust, —my God, what do you expect me totake from you! Haven’t I known that you were inleague with Pickering? I’m not as dull as I look, andafter your interview with Pickering in the chapel porchyou can’t convince me that you were faithful to my interestsat that time. ”

He started and gazed at me wonderingly. I had hadno intention of using the chapel porch interview at thistime, but it leaped out of me uncontrollably. 

“I suppose, sir, ” he began brokenly, “that I can hardlypersuade you that I meant no wrong on that occasion. ”

“You certainly can not, —and it’s safer for you notto try. But I’m willing to let all that go as a rewardfor your work last night. Make your choice now; stayhere and stop your spying or clear out of Annandalewithin an hour. ”

He took a step toward me; the table was between usand he drew quite near but stood clear of it, erect untilthere was something almost soldierly and commandingin his figure. 

“By God, I will stand by you, John Glenarm!” hesaid, and struck the table smartly with his clenchedhand. 

He flushed instantly, and I felt the blood mountinginto my own face as we gazed at each other, —he, Bates, the servant, and I, his master! He had always addressedme so punctiliously with the “sir” of respect that hisdeclaration of fealty, spoken with so sincere and vigorousan air of independence, and with the bold emphasisof the oath, held me spellbound, staring at him. Thesilence was broken by Larry, who sprang forward andgrasped Bates’ hand. 

“I, too, Bates, ” I said, feeling my heart leap withliking, even with admiration for the real manhood thatseemed to transfigure this hireling, —this fellow whom Ihad charged with most infamous treachery, this servantwho had cared for my needs in so humble a spirit ofsubjection. 

The knocker on the front door sounded peremptorily, and Bates turned away without another word, and admittedStoddard, who came in hurriedly. 

“Merry Christmas!” in his big hearty tones washardly consonant with the troubled look on his face. Iintroduced him to Larry and asked him to sit down. 

“Pray excuse our disorder, —we didn’t do it for fun;it was one of Santa Claus’ tricks. ”

He stared about wonderingly. 

“So you caught it, too, did you?”

“To be sure. You don’t mean to say that they raidedthe chapel?”

“That’s exactly what I mean to say. When I wentinto the church for my early service I found that someone had ripped off the wainscoting in a half a dozenplaces and even pried up the altar. It’s the most outrageousthing I ever knew. You’ve heard of the proverbialpoverty of the church mouse, —what do you supposeanybody could want to raid a simple little countrychapel for? And more curious yet, the church platewas untouched, though the closet where it’s kept wasupset, as though the miscreants had been looking forsomething they didn’t find. ”

Stoddard was greatly disturbed, and gazed about thetopsy-turvy library with growing indignation. 

We drew together for a council of war. Here was anopportunity to enlist a new recruit on my side. I alreadyfelt stronger by reason of Larry’s accession; as toBates, my mind was still numb and bewildered. 

“Larry, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t join forceswith Mr. Stoddard, as he seems to be affected by thisstruggle. We owe it to him and the school to put himon guard, particularly since we know that Ferguson’swith the enemy. ”

“Yes, certainly, ” said Larry. 

He always liked or disliked new people unequivocally, and I was glad to see that he surveyed the big clergymanwith approval. 

“I’ll begin at the beginning, ” I said, “and tell youthe whole story. ”

He listened quietly to the end while I told him of myexperience with Morgan, of the tunnel into the chapelcrypt, and finally of the affair in the night and our interviewwith Bates. 

“I feel like rubbing my eyes and accusing you ofreading penny-horrors, ” he said. “That doesn’t soundlike the twentieth century in Indiana. ”

“But Ferguson, —you’d better have a care in his direction. Sister Theresa—”

“Bless your heart! Ferguson’s gone—without notice. He got his traps and skipped without saying a word toany one. ”

“We’ll hear from him again, no doubt. Now, gentlemen, I believe we understand one another. I don’t liketo draw you, either one of you, into my private affairs—”

The big chaplain laughed. 

“Glenarm, ”—prefixes went out of commission quicklythat morning, —”if you hadn’t let me in on this Ishould never have got over it. Why, this is a page outof the good old times! Bless me! I never appreciatedyour grandfather! I must run—I have another service. But I hope you gentlemen will call on me, day or night, for anything I can do to help you. Please don’t forgetme. I had the record once for putting the shot. ”

“Why not give our friend escort through the tunnel?”asked Larry. “I’ll not hesitate to say that I’m dyingto see it. ”

“To be sure!” We went down into the cellar, andpoked over the lantern and candlestick collections, andI pointed out the exact spot where Morgan and I hadindulged in our revolver duel. It was fortunate thatthe plastered walls of the cellar showed clearly the cutsand scars of the pistol-balls or I fear my story wouldhave fallen on incredulous ears. 

The debris I had piled upon the false block of stonein the cellar lay as I had left it, but the three of usquickly freed the trap. The humor of the thing tookstrong hold of my new allies, and while I was getting alantern to light us through the passage Larry sat on theedge of the trap and howled a few bars of a wild Irishjig. We set forth at once and found the passage unchanged. When the cold air blew in upon us I paused. 

“Have you gentlemen the slightest idea of whereyou are?”

“We must be under the school-grounds, I should say, ”replied Stoddard. 

“We’re exactly under the stone wall. Those tall postsat the gate are a scheme for keeping fresh air in thepassage. ”

“You certainly have all the modern improvements, ”observed Larry, and I heard him chuckling all the wayto the crypt door. 

When I pushed the panel open and we stepped outinto the crypt Stoddard whistled and Larry sworesoftly. 

“It must be for something!” exclaimed the chaplain. “You don’t suppose Mr. Glenarm built a secret passagejust for the fun of it, do you? He must have had somepurpose. Why, I sleep out here within forty yards ofwhere we stand and I never had the slightest idea ofthis. ”

“But other people seem to know of it, ” observedLarry. 

“To be sure; the curiosity of the whole countrysidewas undoubtedly piqued by the building of GlenarmHouse. The fact that workmen were brought from adistance was in itself enough to arouse interest. Morganseems to have discovered the passage without anytrouble. ”

“More likely it was Ferguson. He was the sexton ofthe church and had a chance to investigate, ” said Stoddard. “And now, gentlemen, I must go to my service. I’ll see you again before the day is over. ”

“And we make no confidences!” I admonished. 

“‘Sdeath!—I believe that is the proper expression underall the circumstances. ” And the Reverend PaulStoddard laughed, clasped my hand and went up intothe chapel vestry. 

I closed the door in the wainscoting and hung themap back in place. 

We went up into the little chapel and found a smallcompany of worshipers assembled, —a few people fromthe surrounding farms, half a dozen Sisters sitting somberlynear the chancel and the school servants. 

Stoddard came out into the chancel, lighted the altartapers and began the Anglican communion office. I hadforgotten what a church service was like; and Larry, Ifelt sure, had not attended church since the last timehis family had dragged hint to choral vespers. 

It was comforting to know that here was, at least, oneplace of peace within reach of Glenarm House. But Imay be forgiven, I hope, if my mind wandered thatmorning, and my thoughts played hide-and-seek withmemory. For it was here, in the winter twilight, thatMarian Devereux had poured out her girl’s heart in agreat flood of melody. I was glad that the organ wasclosed; it would have wrung my heart to hear a notefrom it that her hands did not evoke. 

When we came out upon the church porch and I stoodon the steps to allow Larry to study the grounds, one ofthe brown-robed Sisterhood spoke my name. 

It was Sister Theresa. 

“Can you come in for a moment?” she asked. 

“I will follow at once, ” I said. 

She met me in the reception-room where I had seenher before. 

“I’m sorry to trouble you on Christmas Day with myaffairs, but I have had a letter from Mr. Pickering, sayingthat he will he obliged to bring suit for settlementof my account with Mr. Glenarm’s estate. I needn’tsay that this troubles me greatly. In my position a lawsuitis uncomfortable; it would do a real harm to theschool. Mr. Pickering implies in a very disagreeableway that I exercised an undue influence over Mr. Glenarm. You can readily understand that that is not apleasant accusation. ”

“He is going pretty far, ” I said. 

“He gives me credit for a degree of power over othersthat I regret to say I do not possess. He thinks, for instance, that I am responsible for Miss Devereux’s attitudetoward him, —something that I have had nothingwhatever to do with. ”

“No, of course not. ”

“I’m glad you have no harsh feeling toward her. Itwas unfortunate that Mr. Glenarm saw fit to mentionher in his will. It has given her a great deal of notoriety, and has doubtless strengthened the impression insome minds that she and I really plotted to get as muchas possible of your grandfather’s estate. ”

“No one would regret all this more than my grandfather, —I am sure of that. There are many inexplicablethings about his affairs. It seems hardly possiblethat a man so shrewd as he, and so thoughtful of thefeelings of others, should have left so many loose endsbehind him. But I assure you I am giving my wholeattention to these matters, and I am wholly at yourservice in anything I can do to help you. ”

“I sincerely hope that nothing may interfere to preventyour meeting Mr. Glenarm’s wish that you remainthrough the year. That was a curious and whimsicalprovision, but it is not, I imagine, so difficult. ”

She spoke in a kindly tone of encouragement thatmade me feel uneasy and almost ashamed for havingalready forfeited my claim under the will. Her beautifulgray eyes disconcerted me; I had not the heart todeceive her. 

“I have already made it impossible for me to inheritunder the will, ” I said. 

The disappointment in her face rebuked me sharply. 

“I am sorry, very sorry, indeed, ” she said coldly. “But how, may I ask?”

“I ran away, last night. I went to Cincinnati to seeMiss Devereux. ”

She rose, staring in dumb astonishment, and after afull minute in which I tried vainly to think of somethingto say, I left the house. 

There is nothing in the world so tiresome as explanations, and I have never in my life tried to make themwithout floundering into seas of trouble. 

CHAPTER XXI

PICKERING SERVES NOTICE

The next morning Bates placed a letter postmarkedCincinnati at my plate. I opened and read it aloud toLarry: On Board the Heloise

 December 25, 1901. John Glenarm, Esq. , Glenarm House, Annandale, Wabana Co. , Indiana: DEAR SIR—I have just learned from what I believe tobe a trustworthy source that you have already violatedthe terms of the agreement under which you entered intoresidence on the property near Annandale, known asGlenarm House. The provisions of the will of John MarshallGlenarm are plain and unequivocal, as you undoubtedlyunderstood when you accepted them, and your absence, not only from the estate itself, but from WabanaCounty, violates beyond question your right to inherit. I, as executor, therefore demand that you at once vacatesaid property, leaving it in as good condition as whenreceived by you. Very truly yours, Arthur Pickering, Executor of the Estate of John Marshall Glenarm. 

“Very truly the devil’s, ” growled Larry, snappinghis cigarette case viciously. 

“How did he find out?” I asked lamely, but my heartsank like lead. Had Marian Devereux told him! Howelse could he know?

“Probably from the stars, —the whole universe undoubtedlysaw you skipping off to meet your lady-love. Bah, these women!”

“Tut! They don’t all marry the sons of brewers, ”I retorted. “You assured me once, while your affairwith that Irish girl was on, that the short upper lipmade Heaven seem possible, but unnecessary; then thenext thing I knew she had shaken you for the bloatedmasher. Take that for your impertinence. But perhapsit was Bates?”

I did not wait for an answer. I was not in a moodfor reflection or nice distinctions. The man came injust then with a fresh plate of toast. 

“Bates, Mr. Pickering has learned that I was awayfrom the house on the night of the attack, and I’m orderedoff for having broken my agreement to stay here. How do you suppose he heard of it so promptly?”

“From Morgan, quite possibly. I have a letter fromMr. Pickering myself this morning. Just a moment, sir. ”

He placed before me a note bearing the same date asmy own. It was a sharp rebuke of Bates for his failureto report my absence, and he was ordered to prepare toleave on the first of February. “Close your accounts atthe shopkeepers’ and I will audit your bills on my arrival. ”

The tone was peremptory and contemptuous. Bateshad failed to satisfy Pickering and was flung off like asmoked-out cigar. 

“How much had he allowed you for expenses, Bates?”

He met my gaze imperturbably. 

“He paid me fifty dollars a month as wages, sir, andI was allowed seventy-five for other expenses. ”

“But you didn’t buy English pheasants and champagneon that allowance!”

He was carrying away the coffee tray and his eyeswandered to the windows. 

“Not quite, sir. You see—”

“But I don’t see!”

“It had occurred to me that as Mr. Pickering’s allowancewasn’t what you might call generous it was betterto augment it—Well, sir, I took the liberty of advancinga trifle, as you might say, to the estate. Yourgrandfather would not have had you starve, sir. ”

He left hurriedly, as though to escape from the consequencesof his words, and when I came to myselfLarry was gloomily invoking his strange Irish gods. 

“Larry Donovan, I’ve been tempted to kill that fellowa dozen times! This thing is too damned complicatedfor me. I wish my lamented grandfather had leftme something easy. To think of it—that fellow, aftermy treatment of him—my cursing and abusing himsince I came here! Great Scott, man, I’ve been enjoyinghis bounty, I’ve been living on his money! Andall the time he’s been trusting in me, just because ofhis dog-like devotion to my grandfather’s memory. Lord, I can’t face the fellow again!”

“As I have said before, you’re rather lacking at timesin perspicacity. Your intelligence is marred by largeopaque spots. Now that there’s a woman in the caseyou’re less sane than ever. Bah, these women! Andnow we’ve got to go to work. ”

Bah, these women! My own heart caught the words. I was enraged and bitter. No wonder she had beenanxious for me to avoid Pickering after daring me tofollow her!

We called a council of war for that night that wemight view matters in the light of Pickering’s letter. His assuredness in ordering me to leave made promptand decisive action necessary on my part. I summonedStoddard to our conference, feeling confident of hisfriendliness. 

“Of course, ” said the broad-shouldered chaplain, “ifyou could show that your absence was on business ofvery grave importance, the courts might construe inthat you had not really violated the will. ”

Larry looked at the ceiling and blew rings of smokelanguidly. I had not disclosed to either of them thecause of my absence. On such a matter I knew I shouldget precious little sympathy from Larry, and I had, moreover, a feeling that I could not discuss MarianDevereux with any one; I even shrank from mentioningher name, though it rang like the call of bugles inmy blood. 

She was always before me, —the charmed spirit ofyouth, linked to every foot of the earth, every gleam ofthe sun upon the ice-bound lake, every glory of the wintersunset. All the good impulses I had ever stifledwere quickened to life by the thought of her. Amid theday’s perplexities I started sometimes, thinking I heardher voice, her girlish laughter, or saw her again comingtoward me down the stairs, or holding against the lighther fan with its golden butterflies. I really knew solittle of her; I could associate her with no home, onlywith that last fling of the autumn upon the lake, thesnow-driven woodland, that twilight hour at the organin the chapel, those stolen moments at the Armstrongs’. I resented the pressure of the hour’s affairs, and chafedat the necessity for talking of my perplexities with thegood friends who were there to help. I wished to bealone, to yield to the sweet mood that the thought of herbrought me. The doubt that crept through my mindas to any possibility of connivance between her andPickering was as vague and fleeting as the shadow of aswallow’s wing on a sunny meadow. 

“You don’t intend fighting the fact of your absence, do you?” demanded Larry, after a long silence. 

“Of course not!” I replied quietly. “Pickering wasright on my heels, and my absence was known to hismen here. And it would not be square to my grandfather, —who never harmed a flea, may his soul rest inblessed peace!—to lie about it. They might nail me forperjury besides. ”

“Then the quicker we get ready for a siege the better. As I understand your attitude, you don’t propose tomove out until you’ve found where the siller’s hidden. Being a gallant gentleman and of a forgiving nature, you want to be sure that the lady who is now entitled toit gets all there is coming to her, and as you don’t trustthe executor, any further than a true Irishman trusts aBritish prime minister’s promise, you’re going to standby to watch the boodle counted. Is that a correct analysisof your intentions?”

“That’s as near one of my ideas as you’re likely toget, Larry Donovan!”

“And if he comes with the authorities, —the sheriffand that sort of thing, —we must prepare for such anemergency, ” interposed the chaplain. 

“So much the worse for the sheriff and the rest ofthem!” I declared. 

“Spoken like a man of spirit. And now we’d betterstock up at once, in case we should be shut off from oursource of supplies. This is a lonely place here; eventhe school is a remote neighbor. Better let Bates raidthe village shops to-morrow. I’ve tried being hungry, and I don’t care to repeat the experience. ”

And Larry reached for the tobacco jar. 

“I can’t imagine, I really can’t believe, ” began thechaplain, “that Miss Devereux will want to be broughtinto this estate matter in any way. In fact, I have heardSister Theresa say as much. I suppose there’s no wayof preventing a man from leaving his property to ayoung woman, who has no claim on him, —who doesn’twant anything from him. ”

“Bah, these women! People don’t throw legacies tothe birds these days. Of course she’ll take it. ”

Then his eyes widened and met mine in a gaze thatreflected the mystification and wonder that struck bothof us. Stoddard turned from the fire suddenly:

“What’s that? There’s some one up stairs!”

Larry was already running toward the hall, and Iheard him springing up the steps like a cat, while Stoddardand I followed. 

“Where’s Bates?” demanded the chaplain. 

“I’ll thank you for the answer, ” I replied. 

Larry stood at the top of the staircase, holding acandle at arm’s length in front of him, staring about. 

We could hear quite distinctly some one walkingon a stairway; the sounds were unmistakable, just asI had heard them on several previous occasions, withoutever being able to trace their source. 

The noise ceased suddenly, leaving us with no hint ofits whereabouts. 

I went directly to the rear of the house and foundBates putting the dishes away in the pantry. 

“Where have you been?” I demanded. 

“Here, sir; I have been clearing up the dinner things, Mr. Glenarm. Is there anything the matter, sir?”

“Nothing. ”

I joined the others in the library. 

“Why didn’t you tell me this feudal imitation washaunted?” asked Larry, in a grieved tone. “All it neededwas a cheerful ghost, and now I believe it lacks absolutelynothing. I’m increasingly glad I came. Howoften does it walk?”

“It’s not on a schedule. Just now it’s the wind inthe tower probably; the wind plays queer pranks upthere sometimes. ”

“You’ll have to do better than that, Glenarm, ” saidStoddard. “It’s as still outside as a country graveyard. ”

“Only the slaugh sidhe, the people of the faery hills, the cheerfulest ghosts in the world, ” said Larry. “Youliteral Saxons can’t grasp the idea, of course. ”

But there was substance enough in our dangers withoutpursuing shadows. Certain things were plannedthat night. We determined to exercise every precautionto prevent a surprise from without, and we resolvedupon a new and systematic sounding of walls and floors, taking our clue from the efforts made by Morgan andhis ally to find hiding-places by this process. Pickeringwould undoubtedly arrive shortly, and we wished toanticipate his movements as far as possible. 

We resolved, too, upon a day patrol of the groundsand a night guard. The suggestion came, I believe, from Stoddard, whose interest in my affairs was onlyequaled by the fertility of his suggestions. One of usshould remain abroad at night, ready to sound the alarmin case of attack. Bates should take his turn with therest—Stoddard insisted on it. 

Within two days we were, as Larry expressed it, on awar footing. We added a couple of shot-guns and severalrevolvers to my own arsenal, and piled the librarytable with cartridge boxes. Bates, acting as quarter-master, brought a couple of wagon-loads of provisions. Stoddard assembled a remarkable collection of heavysticks; he had more confidence in them, he said, than ingunpowder, and, moreover, he explained, a priest mightnot with propriety hear arms. 

It was a cheerful company of conspirators that nowgathered around the big hearth. Larry, always restless, preferred to stand at one side, an elbow on themantel-shelf, pipe in mouth; and Stoddard sought thebiggest chair, —and filled it. He and Larry understoodeach other at once, and Larry’s stories, ranging in subjectfrom undergraduate experiences at Dublin to adventuresin Africa and always including endless conflictswith the Irish constabulary, delighted the big boyishclergyman. 

Often, at some one’s suggestion of a new idea, we ranoff to explore the house again in search of the key to theGlenarm riddle, and always we came back to the librarywith that riddle still unsolved. 

CHAPTER XXII

THE RETURN OF MARIAN DEVEREUX

“Sister Theresa has left, sir. ”

Bates had been into Annandale to mail some letters, and I was staring out upon the park from the librarywindows when he entered. Stoddard, having kept watchthe night before, was at home asleep, and Larry was offsomewhere in the house, treasure-hunting. I was feelingdecidedly discouraged over our failure to make anyprogress with our investigations, and Bates’ news didnot interest me. 

“Well, what of it?” I demanded, without turninground. 

“Nothing, sir; but Miss Devereux has come back!”

“The devil!”

I turned and took a step toward the door. 

“I said Miss Devereux, ” he repeated in dignified rebuke. “She came up this morning, and the Sister leftat once for Chicago. Sister Theresa depends particularlyupon Miss Devereux, —so I’ve heard, sir. MissDevereux quite takes charge when the Sister goes away. A few of the students are staying in school through theholidays. ”

“You seem full of information, ” I remarked, takinganother step toward my hat and coat. 

“And I’ve learned something else, sir. ”

“Well?”

“They all came together, sir. ”

“Who came; if you please, Bates?”

“Why, the people who’ve been traveling with Mr. Pickering came back with him, and Miss Devereux camewith them from Cincinnati. That’s what I learned inthe village. And Mr. Pickering is going to stay—”

“Pickering stay!”

“At his cottage on the lake for a while. The reasonis that he’s worn out with his work, and wishes quiet. The other people went back to New York in the car. ”

“He’s opened a summer cottage in mid-winter, hashe?”

I had been blue enough without this news. MarianDevereux had come back to Annandale with ArthurPickering; my faith in her snapped like a reed at thisastounding news. She was now entitled to my grandfather’sproperty and she had lost no time in returningas soon as she and Pickering had discussed together atthe Armstrongs’ my flight from Annandale. Her returncould have no other meaning than that there was astrong tie between them, and he was now to stay on theground until I should be dispossessed and her rightsestablished. She had led me to follow her, and my forfeiturehad been sealed by that stolen interview at theArmstrongs’. It was a black record, and the thought ofit angered me against myself and the world. 

“Tell Mr. Donovan that I’ve gone to St. Agatha’s, ”I said, and I was soon striding toward the school. 

A Sister admitted me. I heard the sound of a piano, somewhere in the building, and I consigned the inventorof pianos to hideous torment as scales werepursued endlessly up and down the keys. Two girlspassing through the hall made a pretext of looking fora book and came in and exclaimed over their inabilityto find it with much suppressed giggling. 

The piano-pounding continued and I waited for whatseemed an interminable time. It was growing dark anda maid lighted the oil lamps. I took a book from thetable. It was The Life of Benvenuto Cellini and “MarianDevereux” was written on the fly leaf, by unmistakablythe same hand that penned the apology forOlivia’s performances. I saw in the clear flowing linesof the signature, in their lack of superfluity, her ownease, grace and charm; and, in the deeper stroke withwhich the x was crossed, I felt a challenge, a readinessto abide by consequences once her word was given. Then my own inclination to think well of her angeredme. It was only a pretty bit of chirography, and Idropped the book impatiently when I heard her stepon the threshold. 

“I am sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr. Glenarm. But this is my busy hour. ”

“I shall not detain you long. I came, ”—I hesitated, not knowing why I had come. 

She took a chair near the open door and bent forwardwith an air of attention that was disquieting. Shewore black—perhaps to fit her the better into the houseof a somber Sisterhood. I seemed suddenly to rememberher from a time long gone, and the effort of memorythrew me off guard. Stoddard had said there wereseveral Olivia Armstrongs; there were certainly manyMarian Devereuxs. The silence grew intolerable; shewas waiting for me to speak, and I blurted:

“I suppose you have come to take charge of the property. ”

“Do you?” she asked. 

“And you came back with the executor to facilitatematters. I’m glad to see that you lose no time. ”

“Oh!” she said lingeringly, as though she were findingwith difficulty the note in which I wished to pitchthe conversation. Her calmness was maddening. 

“I suppose you thought it unwise to wait for thebluebird when you had beguiled me into breaking apromise, when I was trapped, defeated, —”

Her elbow on the arm of the chair, her hand restingagainst her check, the light rippling goldenly in herhair, her eyes bent upon me inquiringly, mournfully, —mournfully, as I had seen them—where?—once before!My heart leaped in that moment, with that thought. 

“I remember now the first time!” I exclaimed, moreangry than I had ever been before in my life. 

“That is quite remarkable, ” she said, and nodded herhead ironically. 

“It was at Sherry’s; you were with Pickering—youdropped your fan and he picked it up, and you turnedtoward me for a moment. You were in black thatnight; it was the unhappiness in your face, in youreyes, that made me remember. ”

I was intent upon the recollection, eager to fix andestablish it. 

“You are quite right. It was at Sherry’s. I waswearing black then; many things made me unhappythat night. ”

Her forehead contracted slightly and she pressed herlips together. 

“I suppose that even then the conspiracy was thoroughlyarranged, ” I said tauntingly, laughing a littleperhaps, and wishing to wound her, to take vengeanceupon her. 

She rose and stood by her chair, one hand restingupon it. I faced her; her eyes were like violet seas. She spoke very quietly. 

“Mr. Glenarm, has it occurred to you that when Italked to you there in the park, when I risked unpleasantgossip in receiving you in a house where you hadno possible right to be, that I was counting upon something, —foolishly and stupidly, —yet counting upon it?”

“You probably thought I was a fool, ” I retorted. 

“No;”—she smiled slightly—“I thought—I believeI have said this to you before!—you were a gentleman. I really did, Mr. Glenarm. I must say it to justifymyself. I relied upon your chivalry; I even thought, when I played being Olivia, that you had a sense ofhonor. But you are not the one and you haven’t theother. I even went so far, after you knew perfectlywell who I was, as to try to help you—to give you anotherchance to prove yourself the man your grandfatherwished you to be. And now you come to me in a shockingbad humor, —I really think you would like to beinsulting, Mr. Glenarm, if you could. ”

“But Pickering, —you came back with him; he ishere and he’s going to stay! And now that the propertybelongs to you, there is not the slightest reason whywe should make any pretense of anything but enmity. When you and Arthur Pickering stand together I takethe other side of the barricade! I suppose chivalrywould require me to vacate, so that you may enjoy atonce the spoils of war. ”

“I fancy it would not be very difficult to eliminateyou as a factor in the situation, ” she remarked icily. 

“And I suppose, after the unsuccessful efforts of Mr. Pickering’s allies to assassinate me, as a mild form ofelimination, one would naturally expect me to sit calmlydown and wait to be shot in the back. But you may tellMr. Pickering that I throw myself upon your mercy. I have no other home than this shell over the way, andI beg to be allowed to remain until—at least—the bluebirdscome. I hope it will not embarrass you to deliverthe message. ”

“I quite sympathize with your reluctance to deliverit yourself, ” she said. “Is this all you came to say?”

“I came to tell you that you could have the house, and everything in its hideous walls, ” I snapped; “totell you that my chivalry is enough for some situationsand that I don’t intend to fight a woman. I had acceptedyour own renouncement of the legacy in goodpart, but now, please believe me, it shall be yours to-morrow. I’ll yield possession to you whenever you askit, —but never to Arthur Pickering! As against himand his treasure-hunters and assassins I will hold outfor a dozen years!”

“Nobly spoken, Mr. Glenarm! Yours is really anadmirable, though somewhat complex character. ”

“My character is my own, whatever it is, ” I blurted. 

“I shouldn’t call that a debatable proposition, ” shereplied, and I was angry to find how the mirth I hadloved in her could suddenly become so hateful. Shehalf-turned away so that I might not see her face. Thethought that she should countenance Pickering in anyway tore me with jealous rage. 

“Mr. Glenarm, you are what I have heard called aquitter, defined in common Americanese as one whoquits! Your blustering here this afternoon can hardlyconceal the fact of your failure, —your inability to keepa promise. I had hoped you would really be of somehelp to Sister Theresa; you quite deceived her, —shetold me as she left to-day that she thought well of you, —she really felt that her fortunes were safe in yourhands. But, of course, that is all a matter of past historynow. ”

Her tone, changing from cold indifference to themost severe disdain, stung me into self-pity for my stupidityin having sought her. My anger was not againsther, but against Pickering, who had, I persuaded myself, always blocked my path. She went on. 

“You really amuse me exceedingly. Mr. Pickeringis decidedly more than a match for you, Mr. Glenarm, —even in humor. ”

She left me so quickly, so softly, that I stood staringlike a fool at the spot where she had been, and then Iwent gloomily back to Glenarm House, angry, ashamedand crestfallen. 

While we were waiting for dinner I made a cleanbreast of my acquaintance with her to Larry, omittingnothing, —rejoicing even to paint my own conduct asblack as possible. 

“You may remember her, ” I concluded, “she was thegirl we saw at Sherry’s that night we dined there. Shewas with Pickering, and you noticed her, —spoke of her, as she went out. ”

“That little girl who seemed so bored, or tired? Blessme! Why her eyes haunted me for days. Lord man, do you mean to say—”

A look of utter scorn came into his face, and he eyedme contemptuously. 

“Of course I mean it!” I thundered at him. 

He took the pipe from his mouth, pressed the tobaccoviciously into the bowl, and swore steadily in Gaelicuntil I was ready to choke him. 

“Stop!” I bawled. “Do you think that’s helping me?And to have you curse in your blackguardly Irish dialect!I wanted a little Anglo-Saxon sympathy, youfool! I didn’t mean for you to invoke your infamousgods against the girl!”

“Don’t be violent, lad. Violence is reprehensible, ”he admonished with maddening sweetness and patience. “What I was trying to inculcate was rather the fact, borne in upon me through years of acquaintance, thatyou are, —to he bold, my lad, to be bold, —a good dealof a damned fool. ”

The trilling of his r’s was like the whirring rise ofa flock of quails. 

“Dinner is served, ” announced Bates, and Larry ledthe way, mockingly chanting an Irish love-song. 

CHAPTER XXIII

THE DOOR OF BEWILDERMENT

We had established the practice of barring all thegates and doors at nightfall. There was no way ofguarding against an attack from the lake, whose frozensurface increased the danger from without; but wecounted on our night patrol to prevent a surprise fromthat quarter. I was well aware that I must prepare toresist the militant arm of the law, which Pickeringwould no doubt invoke to aid him, but I intended toexhaust the possibilities in searching for the lost treasurebefore I yielded. Pickering might, if he would, transfer the estate of John Marshall Glenarm to MarianDevereux and make the most he could of that service, but he should not drive me forth until I had satisfiedmyself of the exact character of my grandfather’s fortune. If it had vanished, if Pickering had stolen itand outwitted me in making off with it, that was anothermatter. 

The phrase, “The Door of Bewilderment, ” had neverceased to reiterate itself in my mind. We discussed athousand explanations of it as we pondered over thescrap of paper I had found in the library, and everybook in the house was examined in the search for furtherclues. 

The passage between the house and the chapel seemedto fascinate Larry. He held that it must have someparticular use and he devoted his time to exploring it. 

He came up at noon—it was the twenty-ninth ofDecember—with grimy face and hands and a grin on hisface. I had spent my morning in the towers, where itwas beastly cold, to no purpose and was not in a moodfor the ready acceptance of new theories. 

“I’ve found something, ” he said, filling his pipe. 

“Not soap, evidently!”

“No, but I’m going to say the last word on the tunnel, and within an hour. Give me a glass of beer and apiece of bread, and we’ll go back and see whether we’resold again or not. ”

“Let us explore the idea and be done with it. Waittill I tell Stoddard where we’re going. ”

The chaplain was trying the second-floor walls, andI asked him to eat some luncheon and stand guard whileLarry and I went to the tunnel. 

We took with us an iron bar, an ax and a couple ofhammers. Larry went ahead with a lantern. 

“You see, ” he explained, as we dropped through thetrap into the passage, “I’ve tried a compass on thistunnel and find that we’ve been working on the wrongtheory. The passage itself runs a straight line fromthe house under the gate to the crypt; the ravine is arough crescent-shape and for a short distance the tunneltouches it. How deep does that ravine average—aboutthirty feet?”

“Yes; it’s shallowest where the house stands. Itdrops sharply from there on to the lake. ”

“Very good; but the ravine is all on the Glenarm sideof the wall, isn’t it? Now when we get under the wallI’ll show you something. ”

“Here we are, ” said Larry, as the cold air blew inthrough the hollow posts. “Now we’re pretty near thatsharp curve of the ravine that dips away from the wall. Take the lantern while I get out the compass. Whatdo you think that C on the piece of paper means? Why, chapel, of course. I have measured the distance fromthe house, the point of departure, we may assume, tothe chapel, and three-fourths of it brings us under thosebeautiful posts. The directions are as plain as daylight. The passage itself is your N. W. , as the compassproves, and the ravine cuts close in here; therefore, ourbusiness is to explore the wall on the ravine side. ”

“Good! but this is just wall here—earth with a layerof brick and a thin coat of cement. A nice job it musthave been to do the work, —and it cost the price of atiger hunt, ” I grumbled. 

“Take heart, lad, and listen, ”—and Larry beganpounding the wall with a hammer, exactly under thenorth gate-post. We had sounded everything in andabout the house until the process bored me. 

“Hurry up and get through with it, ” I jerked impatiently, holding the lantern at the level of his head. Itwas sharply cold under the posts and I was anxious toprove the worthlessness of his idea and be done. 

Thump! thump!

“There’s a place here that sounds a trifle off the key. You try it. ”

I snatched the hammer and repeated his soundings. 

Thump! thump!

There was a space about four feet square in the wallthat certainly gave forth a hollow sound. 

“Stand back!” exclaimed Larry eagerly. “Here goeswith the ax. ”

He struck into the wall sharply and the cementchipped off in rough pieces, disclosing the brick beneath. Larry paused when he had uncovered a foot ofthe inner layer, and examined the surface. 

“They’re loose—these bricks are loose, and there’ssomething besides earth behind them!”

I snatched the hammer and drove hard at the wall. The bricks were set up without mortar, and I pluckedthem out and rapped with my knuckles on a woodensurface. 

Even Larry grew excited as we flung out the bricks. 

“Ah, lad, ” he said, “the old gentleman had a waywith him—he had a way with him!” A brick droppedon his foot and he howled in pain. 

“Bless the old gentleman’s heart! He made it aseasy for us as he could. Now, for the Glenarm millions, —red money all piled up for the ease of counting it, —a thousand pounds in every pile. ”

“Don’t be a fool, Larry, ” I coughed at him, for thebrick dust and the smoke of Larry’s pipe made breathingdifficult. 

“That’s all the loose brick, —bring the lantern closer, ”—and we peered through the aperture upon a woodendoor, in which strips of iron were deep-set. It was fastenedwith a padlock and Larry reached down for the ax. 

“Wait!” I called, drawing closer with the lantern. “What’s this?”

The wood of the door was fresh and white, but burneddeep on the surface, in this order, were the words:

 THE DOOR OF BEWILDERMENT

“There are dead men inside, I dare say! Here, mylad, it’s not for me to turn loose the family skeletons, ”—and Larry stood aside while I swung the ax andbrought it down with a crash on the padlock. It wasof no flimsy stuff and the remaining bricks cramped me, but half a dozen blows broke it off. 

“The house of a thousand ghosts, ” chanted the irrepressibleLarry, as I pushed the door open and crawledthrough. 

Whatever the place was it had a floor and I set myfeet firmly upon it and turned to take the lantern. 

“Hold a bit, ” he exclaimed. “Some one’s coming, ”—and bending toward the opening I heard the soundof steps down the corridor. In a moment Bates ran up, calling my name with more spirit than I imagined possiblein him. 

“What is it?” I demanded, crawling out into thetunnel. 

“It’s Mr. Pickering. The sheriff has come with him, sir. ”

As he spoke his glance fell upon the broken wall andopen door. The light of Larry’s lantern struck fullupon him. Amazement, and, I thought, a certain satisfaction, were marked upon his countenance. 

“Run along, Jack, —I’ll be up a little later, ” saidLarry. “If the fellow has come in daylight with thesheriff, he isn’t dangerous. It’s his friends that shootin the dark that give us the trouble. ”

I crawled out and stood upright. Bates, staring atthe opening, seemed reluctant to leave the spot. 

“You seem to have found it, sir, ” he said, —I thoughta little chokingly. His interest in the matter nettledme; for my first business was to go above for an interviewwith the executor, and the value of our discoverywas secondary. 

“Of course we have found it!” I ejaculated, brushingthe dust from my clothes. “Is Mr. Stoddard in thelibrary?”

“Oh, yes, sir; I left him entertaining the gentlemen. ”

“Their visit is certainly most inopportune, ” saidLarry. “Give them my compliments and tell them I’llbe up as soon as I’ve articulated the bones of my friend’sancestors. ”

Bates strode on ahead of me with his lantern, and Ileft Larry crawling through the new-found door as Ihurried toward the house. I knew him well enough tobe sure he would not leave the spot until he had foundwhat lay behind the Door of Bewilderment. 

“You didn’t tell the callers where you expected tofind me, did you?” I asked Bates, as he brushed me offin the kitchen. 

“No, sir. Mr. Stoddard received the gentlemen. Herang the bell for me and when I went into the libraryhe was saying, ‘Mr. Glenarm is at his studies. Bates, ’—he says—‘kindly tell Mr. Glenarm that I’m sorry to interrupthim, but won’t he please come down?’ I thoughtit rather neat, sir, considering his clerical office. Iknew you were below somewhere, sir; the trap-door wasopen and I found you easily enough. ”

Bates’ eyes were brighter than I had ever seen them. A certain buoyant note gave an entirely new tone tohis voice. He walked ahead of me to the library door, threw it open and stood aside. 

“Here you are, Glenarm, ” said Stoddard. Pickeringand a stranger stood near the fireplace in their overcoats. 

Pickering advanced and offered his hand, but Iturned away from him without taking it. His companion, a burly countryman, stood staring, a paper in hishand. 

“The sheriff, ” Pickering explained, “and our businessis rather personal—”

He glanced at Stoddard, who looked at me. 

“Mr. Stoddard will do me the kindness to remain, ”I said and took my stand beside the chaplain. 

“Oh!” Pickering ejaculated scornfully. “I didn’tunderstand that you had established relations with theneighboring clergy. Your taste is improving, Glenarm. ”

“Mr. Glenarm is a friend of mine, ” remarked Stoddardquietly. “A very particular friend, ” he added. 

“I congratulate you—both. ”

I laughed. Pickering was surveying the room as hespoke, —and Stoddard suddenly stepped toward him, merely, I think, to draw up a chair for the sheriff; butPickering, not hearing Stoddard’s step on the soft ruguntil the clergyman was close beside him, started perceptiblyand reddened. 

It was certainly ludicrous, and when Stoddard facedme again he was biting his lip. 

“Pardon me!” he murmured. 

“Now, gentlemen, will you kindly state your business?My own affairs press me. ”

Pickering was studying the cartridge boxes on thelibrary table. The sheriff, too, was viewing these effectswith interest not, I think, unmixed with awe. 

“Glenarm, I don’t like to invoke the law to eject youfrom this property, but I am left with no alternative. I can’t stay out here indefinitely, and I want to knowwhat I’m to expect. ”

“That is a fair question, ” I replied. “If it weremerely a matter of following the terms of the will Ishould not hesitate or be here now. But it isn’t the will, or my grandfather, that keeps me, it’s the determinationto give you all the annoyance possible, —to make ithard and mighty hard for you to get hold of this houseuntil I have found why you are so much interestedin it. ”

“You always had a grand way in money matters. AsI told you before you came out here, it’s a poor stake. The assets consist wholly of this land and this house, whose quality you have had an excellent opportunityto test. You have doubtless heard that the countrypeople believe there is money concealed here, —but Idare say you have exhausted the possibilities. This isnot the first time a rich man has died leaving preciouslittle behind him. ”

“You seem very anxious to get possession of a propertythat you call a poor stake, ” I said. “A few acresof land, a half-finished house and an uncertain claimupon a school-teacher!”

“I had no idea you would understand it, ” he replied. “The fact that a man may be under oath to performthe solemn duties imposed upon him by the law wouldhardly appeal to you. But I haven’t come here to debatethis question. When are you going to leave?”

“Not till I’m ready, —thanks!”

“Mr. Sheriff, will you serve your writ?” he said, andI looked to Stoddard for any hint from him as to whatI should do. 

“I believe Mr. Glenarm is quite willing to hear whateverthe sheriff has to say to him, ” said Stoddard. Hestepped nearer to me, as though to emphasize the factthat he belonged to my side of the controversy, and thesheriff read an order of the Wabana County CircuitCourt directing me, immediately, to deliver the houseand grounds into the keeping of the executor of thewill of the estate of John Marshall Glenarm. 

The sheriff rather enjoyed holding the center of thestage, and I listened quietly to the unfamiliar phraseology. Before he had quite finished I heard a step inthe hall and Larry appeared at the door, pipe in mouth. Pickering turned toward him frowning, but Larry paidnot the slightest attention to the executor, leaningagainst the door with his usual tranquil unconcern. 

“I advise you not to trifle with the law, Glenarm, ”said Pickering angrily. “You have absolutely no rightwhatever to be here. And these other gentlemen—yourguests, I suppose—are equally trespassers under thelaw. ”

He stared at Larry, who crossed his legs for greaterease in adjusting his lean frame to the door. 

“Well, Mr. Pickering, what is the next step?” askedthe sheriff, with an importance that had been increasedby the legal phrases he had been reading. 

“Mr. Pickering, ” said Larry, straightening up andtaking the pipe from his mouth, “I’m Mr. Glenarm’scounsel. If you will do me the kindness to ask thesheriff to retire for a moment I should like to say afew words to you that you might prefer to keep betweenourselves. ”

I had usually found it wise to take any cue Larrythrew me, and I said:

“Pickering, this is Mr. Donovan, who has every authorityto act for me in the matter. ”

Pickering looked impatiently from one to the otherof us. 

“You seem to have the guns, the ammunition and thenumbers on your side, ” he observed dryly. 

“The sheriff may wait within call, ” said Larry, andat a word from Pickering the man left the room. 

“Now, Mr. Pickering, ”—Larry spoke slowly, —“asmy friend has explained the case to me, the assets ofhis grandfather’s estate are all accounted for, —the landhereabouts, this house, the ten thousand dollars in securitiesand a somewhat vague claim against a ladyknown as Sister Theresa, who conducts St. Agatha’sSchool. Is that correct?”

“I don’t ask you to take my word for it, sir, ” rejoinedPickering hotly. “I have filed an inventory of theestate, so far as found, with the proper authorities. ”

“Certainly. But I merely wish to be sure of my factsfor the purpose of this interview, to save me the troubleof going to the records. And, moreover, I am somewhatunfamiliar with your procedure in this country. I ama member, sir, of the Irish Bar. Pardon me, but I repeatmy question. ”

“I have made oath—that, I trust, is sufficient evenfor a member of the Irish Bar. ”

“Quite so, Mr. Pickering, ” said Larry, nodding hishead gravely. 

He was not, to be sure, a presentable member of anybar, for a smudge detracted considerably from the appearanceof one side of his face, his clothes were rumpledand covered with black dust, and his hands wereblack. But I had rarely seen him so calm. He recrossedhis legs, peered into the bowl of his pipe for a moment, then asked, as quietly as though he were soliciting anopinion of the weather:

“Will you tell me, Mr. Pickering, whether you yourselfare a debtor of John Marshall Glenarm’s estate?”

Pickering’s face grew white and his eyes stared, andwhen he tried suddenly to speak his jaw twitched. Theroom was so still that the breaking of a blazing log onthe andirons was a pleasant relief. We stood, the threeof us, with our eyes on Pickering, and in my own caseI must say that my heart was pounding my ribs at anuncomfortable speed, for I knew Larry was not sparringfor time. 

The blood rushed into Pickering’s face and he turnedtoward Larry stormily. 

“This is unwarrantable and infamous! My relationswith Mr. Glenarm are none of your business. Whenyou remember that after being deserted by his own fleshand blood he appealed to me, going so far as to intrustall his affairs to my care at his death, your reflectionis an outrageous insult. I am not accountable to youor any one else!”

“Really, there’s a good deal in all that, ” said Larry. “We don’t pretend to any judicial functions. We areperfectly willing to submit the whole business and allmy client’s acts to the authorities. ”

(I would give much if I could reproduce some hintof the beauty of that word authorities as it rolled fromLarry’s tongue!)

“Then, in God’s name, do it, you blackguards!”roared Pickering. 

Stoddard, sitting on a table, knocked his heels togethergently. Larry recrossed his legs and blew acloud of smoke. Then, after a quarter of a minute inwhich he gazed at the ceiling with his quiet blue eyes, he said:

“Yes; certainly, there are always the authorities. Andas I have a tremendous respect for your American institutionsI shall at once act on your suggestion. Mr. Pickering, the estate is richer than you thought it was. It holds, or will hold, your notes given to the decedentfor three hundred and twenty thousand dollars. ”

He drew from his pocket a brown envelope, walkedto where I stood and placed it in my hands. 

At the same time Stoddard’s big figure grew active, and before I realized that Pickering had leaped towardthe packet, the executor was sitting in a chair, where thechaplain had thrown him. He rallied promptly, stuffinghis necktie into his waistcoat; he even laughed a little. 

“So much old paper! You gentlemen are perfectlywelcome to it. ”

“Thank you!” jerked Larry. 

“Mr. Glenarm and I had many transactions together, and he must have forgotten to destroy those papers. ”

“Quite likely, ” I remarked. “It is interesting toknow that Sister Theresa wasn’t his only debtor. ”

Pickering stepped to the door and called the sheriff. 

“I shall give you until to-morrow morning at nineo’clock to vacate the premises. The court understandsthis situation perfectly. These claims are utterly worthless, as I am ready to prove. ”

“Perfectly, perfectly, ” repeated the sheriff. 

“I believe that is all, ” said Larry, pointing to thedoor with his pipe. 

The sheriff was regarding him with particular attention. 

“What did I understand your name to be?” he demanded. 

“Laurance Donovan, ” Larry replied coolly. 

Pickering seemed to notice the name now and his eyeslighted disagreeably. 

“I think I have heard of your friend before, ” he said, turning to me. “I congratulate you on the internationalreputation of your counsel. He’s esteemed so highly inIreland that they offer a large reward for his return. Sheriff, I think we have finished our business forto-day. ”

He seemed anxious to get the man away, and we gavethem escort to the outer gate where a horse and buggywere waiting. 

“Now, I’m in for it, ” said Larry, as I locked the gate. “We’ve spiked one of his guns, but I’ve given him a newone to use against myself. But come, and I will showyou the Door of Bewilderment before I skip. ”

CHAPTER XXIV

A PROWLER OF THE NIGHT

Down we plunged into the cellar, through the trapand to the Door of Bewilderment. 

“Don’t expect too much, ” admonished Larry; “Ican’t promise you a single Spanish coin. ”

“Perish the ambition! We have blocked Pickering’sgame, and nothing else matters, ” I said. 

We crawled through the hole in the wall and lightedcandles. The room was about seven feet square. Atthe farther end was an oblong wooden door, close to theceiling, and Larry tugged at the fastening until it camedown, bringing with it a mass of snow and leaves. 

“Gentlemen, ” he said, “we are at the edge of theravine. Do you see the blue sky? And yonder, if youwill twist your necks a bit, is the boat-house. ”

“Well, let the scenic effects go and show us whereyou found those papers, ” I urged. 

“Speaking of mysteries, that is where I throw up myhands, lads. It’s quickly told. Here is a table, and hereis a tin despatch box, which lies just where I found it. It was closed and the key was in the lock. I took outthat packet—it wasn’t even sealed—saw the characterof the contents, and couldn’t resist the temptation totry the effect of an announcement of its discovery onyour friend Pickering. Now that is nearly all. I foundthis piece of paper under the tape with which the envelopewas tied, and I don’t hesitate to say that whenI read it I laughed until I thought I should shakedown the cellar. Read it, John Glenarm!”

He handed me a sheet of legal-cap paper on whichwas written these words:

 HE LAUGHS BEST WHO LAUGHS LAST

“What do you think is so funny in this?” I demanded. 

“Who wrote it, do you think?” asked Stoddard. 

“Who wrote it, do you ask? Why, your grandfatherwrote it! John Marshall Glenarm, the cleverest, grandestold man that ever lived, wrote it!” declaimed Larry, his voice booming loudly in the room. “It’s all a greatbig game, fixed up to try you and Pickering, —but principallyyou, you blockhead! Oh, it’s grand, perfectly, deliciously grand, —and to think it should be my goodluck to share in it!”

“Humph! I’m glad you’re amused, but it doesn’tstrike me as being so awfully funny. Suppose thosepapers had fallen into Pickering’s hands; then wherewould the joke have been, I should like to know!”

“On you, my lad, to be sure! The old gentlemanwanted you to study architecture; he wanted you tostudy his house; he even left a little pointer in an oldbook! Oh, it’s too good to be true!”

“That’s all clear enough, ” observed Stoddard, knockingupon the despatch box with his knuckles. “But whydo you suppose he dug this hole here with its outlet onthe ravine?”

“Oh, it was the way of him!” explained Larry. “Heliked the idea of queer corners and underground passages. This is a bully hiding-place for man or treasure, and that outlet into the ravine makes it possible to getout of the house with nobody the wiser. It’s in keepingwith the rest of his scheme. Be gay, comrades! To-morrowwill likely find us with plenty of business onour hands. At present we hold the fort, and let us havea care lest we lose it. ”

We closed the ravine door, restored the brick as bestwe could, and returned to the library. We made a listof the Pickering notes and spent an hour discussing thisnew feature of the situation. 

“That’s a large amount of money to lend one man, ”said Stoddard. 

“True; and from that we may argue that Mr. Glenarmdidn’t give Pickering all he had. There’s moresomewhere. If only I didn’t have to run—” and Larry’sface fell as he remembered his own plight. 

“I’m a selfish pig, old man! I’ve been thinking onlyof my own affairs. But I never relied on you as muchas now!”

“Those fellows will sound the alarm against Donovan, without a doubt, on general principles and to landa blow on you, ” remarked Stoddard thoughtfully. 

“But you can get away, Larry. We’ll help you offto-night. I don’t intend to stand between you and liberty. This extradition business is no joke, —if theyever get you back in Ireland it will be no fun gettingyou off. You’d better run for it before Pickering andhis sheriff spring their trap. ”

“Yes; that’s the wise course. Glenarm and I canhold the fort here. His is a moral issue, really, and I’min for a siege of a thousand years, ” said the clergymanearnestly, “if it’s necessary to beat Pickering. I maygo to jail in the end, too, I suppose. ”

“I want you both to leave. It’s unfair to mix youup in this ugly business of mine. Your stake’s biggerthan mine, Larry. And yours, too, Stoddard; why, yourwhole future—your professional standing and prospectswould be ruined if we got into a fight here with the authorities. ”

“Thank you for mentioning my prospects! I’venever had them referred to before, ” laughed Stoddard. “No; your grandfather was a friend of the Church andI can’t desert his memory. I’m a believer in a vigorousChurch militant and I’m enlisted for the whole war. But Donovan ought to go, if he will allow me to advisehim. ”

Larry filled his pipe at the fireplace. 

“Lads, ” he said, his hands behind him, rocking gentlyas was his way, “let us talk of art and letters, —I’m goingto stay. It hasn’t often happened in my life thatthe whole setting of the stage has pleased me as muchas this. Lost treasure; secret passages; a gentlemanrogue storming the citadel; a private chaplain on thepremises; a young squire followed by a limelight; sheriff, school-girls and a Sisterhood distributed throughthe landscape, —and me, with Scotland Yard loomingduskily in the distance. Glenarm, I’m going to stay. ”

There was no shaking him, and the spirits of all ofus rose after this new pledge of loyalty. Stoddardstayed for dinner, and afterward we began again oureternal quest for the treasure, our hopes high fromLarry’s lucky strike of the afternoon, and with a neweagerness born of the knowledge that the morrow wouldcertainly bring us face to face with the real crisis. Weranged the house from tower to cellar; we overhauledthe tunnel, for, it seemed to me, the hundredth time. 

It was my watch, and at midnight, after Stoddard andLarry had reconnoitered the grounds and Bates and Ihad made sure of all the interior fastenings, I sentthem off to bed and made myself comfortable with apipe in the library. 

I was glad of the respite, glad to be alone, —to considermy talk with Marian Devereux at St. Agatha’s, and her return with Pickering. Why could she not alwayshave been Olivia, roaming the woodland, or thegirl in gray, or that woman, so sweet in her dignity, who came down the stairs at the Armstrongs’? Herown attitude toward me was so full of contradictions;she had appeared to me in so many moods and guises, that my spirit ranged the whole gamut of feeling as Ithought of her. But it was the recollection of Pickering’sinfamous conduct that colored all my doubts ofher. Pickering had always been in my way, and here, but for the chance by which Larry had found the notes, I should have had no weapon to use against him. 

The wind rose and drove shrilly around the house. A bit of scaffolding on the outer walls rattled loosesomewhere and crashed down on the terrace. I grewrestless, my mind intent upon the many chances of themorrow, and running forward to the future. Even ifI won in my strife with Pickering I had yet my wayto make in the world. His notes were probably worthless, —I did not doubt that. I might use them to procurehis removal as executor, but I did not look forwardwith any pleasure to a legal fight over a property thathad brought me only trouble. 

Something impelled me to go below, and, taking alantern, I tramped somberly through the cellar, glancedat the heating apparatus, and, remembering that thechapel entrance to the tunnel was unguarded, followedthe corridor to the trap, and opened it. The cold airblew up sharply and I thrust my head down to listen. 

A sound at once arrested me. I thought at first itmust be the suction of the air, but Glenarm House wasno place for conjectures, and I put the lantern aside andjumped down into the tunnel. A gleam of light showedfor an instant, then the darkness and silence were complete. 

I ran rapidly over the smooth floor, which I had traversedso often that I knew its every line. My onlyweapon was one of Stoddard’s clubs. Near the Doorof Bewilderment I paused and listened. The tunnelwas perfectly quiet. I took a step forward and stumbledover a brick, fumbled on the wall for the openingwhich we had closed carefully that afternoon, and atthe instant I found it a lantern flashed blindingly inmy face and I drew back, crouching involuntarily, andclenching the club ready to strike. 

“Good evening, Mr. Glenarm!”

Marian Devereux’s voice broke the silence, and MarianDevereux’s face, with the full light of the lanternupon it, was bent gravely upon me. Her voice, as Iheard it there, —her face, as I saw it there, —are thethings that I shall remember last when my hour comesto go hence from this world. The slim fingers, as theyclasped the wire screen of the lantern, held my gaze fora second. The red tam-o’-shanter that I had associatedwith her youth and beauty was tilted rakishly on oneside of her pretty head. To find her here, seeking, likea thief in the night, for some means of helping ArthurPickering, was the bitterest drop in the cup. I felt asthough I had been struck with a bludgeon. 

“I beg your pardon!” she said, and laughed. “Theredoesn’t seem to be anything to say, does there? Well, we do certainly meet under the most unusual, not to sayunconventional, circumstances, Squire Glenarm. Pleasego away or turn your back. I want to get out of thisdonjon keep. ”

She took my hand coolly enough and stepped downinto the passage. Then I broke upon her stormily. 

“You don’t seem to understand the gravity of whatyou are doing! Don’t you know that you are riskingyour life in crawling through this house at midnight?—that even to serve Arthur Pickering, a life is a prettybig thing to throw away? Your infatuation for thatblackguard seems to carry you far, Miss Devereux. ”

She swung the lantern at arm’s length back and forthso that its rays at every forward motion struck my facelike a blow. 

“It isn’t exactly pleasant in this cavern. Unless youwish to turn me over to the lord high executioner, I willbid you good night. ”

“But the infamy of this—of coming in here to spyupon me—to help my enemy—the man who is seekingplunder—doesn’t seem to trouble you. ”

“No, not a particle!” she replied quietly, and then, with an impudent fling, “Oh, no!” She held up the lanternto look at the wick. “I’m really disappointed tofind that you were a little ahead of me, Squire Glenarm. I didn’t give you credit for so much—perseverance. But if you have the notes—”

“The notes! He told you there were notes, did he?The coward sent you here to find them, after his othertools failed him?”

She laughed that low laugh of hers that was like thebubble of a spring. 

[Illustration: “I beg your pardon!” she said, and laughed. ]

“Of course no one would dare deny what the greatSquire Glenarm says, ” she said witheringly. 

“You can’t know what your perfidy means to me, ” Isaid. “That night, at the Armstrongs’, I thrilled atthe sight of you. As you came down the stairway Ithought of you as my good angel, and I belonged to you, —all my life, the better future that I wished to makefor your sake. ”

“Please don’t!” And I felt that my words hadtouched her; that there were regret and repentance inher tone and in the gesture with which she turned fromme. 

She hurried down the passage swinging the lanternat her side, and I followed, so mystified, so angered byher composure, that I scarcely knew what I did. Sheeven turned, with pretty courtesy, to hold the light forme at the crypt steps, —a service that I accepted perforceand with joyless acquiescence in the irony of it. I knew that I did not believe in her; her conduct as toPickering was utterly indefensible, —I could not forgetthat; but the light of her eyes, her tranquil brow, thesensitive lips, whose mockery stung and pleased in abreath, —by such testimony my doubts were alternatelyreinforced and disarmed. Swept by these changingmoods I followed her out into the crypt. 

“You seem to know a good deal about this place, andI suppose I can’t object to your familiarizing yourselfwith your own property. And the notes—I’ll give myselfthe pleasure of handing them to you to-morrow. You can cancel them and give them to Mr. Pickering, —a pretty pledge between you!”

I thrust my hands into my pockets to give an impressionof ease I did not feel. 

“Yes, ” she remarked in a practical tone, “three hundredand twenty thousand dollars is no mean sum ofmoney. Mr. Pickering will undoubtedly be delightedto have his debts canceled—”

“In exchange for a life of devotion, ” I sneered. “Soyou knew the sum—the exact amount of these notes. He hasn’t served you well; he should have told you thatwe found them to-day. ”

“You are not nice, are you, Squire Glenarm, when youare cross?”

She was like Olivia now. I felt the utter futility ofattempting to reason with a woman who could becomea child at will. She walked up the steps and out intothe church vestibule. Then before the outer door shespoke with decision. 

“We part here, if you please! And—I have not theslightest intention of trying to explain my errand intothat passage. You have jumped to your own conclusion, which will have to serve you. I advise you notto think very much about it, —to the exclusion of moreimportant business, —Squire Glenarm!”

She lifted the lantern to turn out its light, and itmade a glory of her face, but she paused and held ittoward me. 

“Pardon me! You will need this to light you home. ”

“But you must not cross the park alone!”

“Good night! Please be sure to close the door to thepassage when you go down. You are a dreadfully heedlessperson, Squire Glenarm. ”

She flung open the outer chapel-door, and ran alongthe path toward St. Agatha’s. I watched her in thestarlight until a bend in the path hid her swift-movingfigure. 

Down through the passage I hastened, her lanternlighting my way. At the Door of Bewilderment I closedthe opening, setting up the line of wall as we had leftit in the afternoon, and then I went back to the library, freshened the fire and brooded before it until Bates cameto relieve me at dawn. 

CHAPTER XXV

BESIEGED

It was nine o’clock. A thermometer on the terraceshowed the mercury clinging stubbornly to a point abovezero; but the still air was keen and stimulating, andthe sun argued for good cheer in a cloudless sky. Wehad swallowed some breakfast, though I believe no onehad manifested an appetite, and we were cheering ourselveswith the idlest talk possible. Stoddard, who hadbeen to the chapel for his usual seven o’clock service, wasdeep in the pocket Greek testament he always carried. 

Bates ran in to report a summons at the outer wall, and Larry and I went together to answer it, sendingBates to keep watch toward the lake. 

Our friend the sheriff, with a deputy, was outsidein a buggy. He stood up and talked to us over the wall. 

“You gents understand that I’m only doing my duty. It’s an unpleasant business, but the court orders me toeject all trespassers on the premises, and I’ve got todo it. ”

“The law is being used by an infamous scoundrel toprotect himself. I don’t intend to give in. We canhold out here for three months, if necessary, and I adviseyou to keep away and not be made a tool for a manlike Pickering. ”

The sheriff listened respectfully, resting his arms ontop of the wall. 

“You ought to understand, Mr. Glenarm, that I ain’tthe court; I’m the sheriff, and it’s not for me to passon these questions. I’ve got my orders and I’ve got toenforce ’em, and I hope you will not make it necessaryfor me to use violence. The judge said to me, ‘We deploreviolence in such cases. ’ Those were his Honor’svery words. ”

“You may give his Honor my compliments and tellhim that we are sorry not to see things his way, butthere are points involved in this business that he doesn’tknow anything about, and we, unfortunately, have notime to lay them before him. ”

The sheriff’s seeming satisfaction with his positionon the wall and his disposition to parley had begun toarouse my suspicions, and Larry several times exclaimedimpatiently at the absurdity of discussing myaffairs with a person whom he insisted on calling a constable, to the sheriff’s evident annoyance. The officernow turned upon him. 

“You, sir, —we’ve got our eye on you, and you’d bettercome along peaceable. Laurance Donovan—the descriptionfits you to a ‘t’. ”

“You could buy a nice farm with that reward, couldn’t you—” began Larry, but at that moment Batesran toward us calling loudly. 

“They’re coming across the lake, sir, ” he reported, and instantly the sheriff’s head disappeared, and as weran toward the house we heard his horse pounding downthe road toward St. Agatha’s. 

“The law be damned. They don’t intend to come inhere by the front door as a matter of law, ” said Larry. “Pickering’s merely using the sheriff to give respectabilityto his manoeuvers for those notes and the restof it. ”

It was no time for a discussion of motives. We ranacross the meadow past the water tower and through thewood down to the boat-house. Far out on the lake wesaw half a dozen men approaching the Glenarm grounds. They advanced steadily over the light snow that lay uponthe ice, one man slightly in advance and evidently theleader. 

“It’s Morgan!” exclaimed Bates. “And there’s Ferguson. ”

Larry chuckled and slapped his thigh. 

“Observe that stocky little devil just behind the leader?He’s my friend from Scotland Yard. Lads! thisis really an international affair. ”

“Bates, go back to the house and call at any sign ofattack, ” I ordered. “The sheriff’s loose somewhere. ”

“And Pickering is directing his forces from afar, ”remarked Stoddard. 

“I count ten men in Morgan’s line, ” said Larry, “andthe sheriff and his deputy make two more. That’stwelve, not counting Pickering, that we know of on theother side. ”

“Warn them away before they get much nearer, ” suggestedStoddard. “We don’t want to hurt people ifwe can help it, ”—and at this I went to the end of thepier. Morgan and his men were now quite near, andthere was no mistaking their intentions. Most of themcarried guns, the others revolvers and long ice-hooks. 

“Morgan, ” I called, holding up my hands for a truce, “we wish you no harm, but if you enter these groundsyou do so at your peril. ”

“We’re all sworn deputy sheriffs, ” called the caretakersmoothly. “We’ve got the law behind us. ”

“That must be why you’re coming in the back way, ”I replied. 

The thick-set man whom Larry had identified as theEnglish detective now came closer and addressed me ina high key. 

“You’re harboring a bad man, Mr. Glenarm. You’dbetter give him up. The American law supports me, and you’ll get yourself in trouble if you protect thatman. You may not understand, sir, that he’s a verydangerous character. ”

“Thanks, Davidson!” called Larry. “You’d betterkeep out of this. You know I’m a bad man with theshillalah!”

“That you are, you blackguard!” yelled the officer, so spitefully that we all laughed. 

I drew back to the boat-house. 

“They are not going to kill anybody if they can helpit, ” remarked Stoddard, “any more than we are. Evendeputy sheriffs are not turned loose to do murder, andthe Wabana County Court wouldn’t, if it hadn’t beenimposed on by Pickering, lend itself to a game likethis. ”

“Now we’re in for it, ” yelled Larry, and the twelvemen, in close order, came running across the ice towardthe shore. 

“Open order, and fall back slowly toward the house, ”I commanded. And we deployed from the boat-house, while the attacking party still clung together, —a strategicerror, as Larry assured us. 

“Stay together, lads. Don’t separate; you’ll get lostif you do, ” he yelled. 

Stoddard bade him keep still, and we soon had ourhands full with a preliminary skirmish. Morgan’s lineadvanced warily. Davidson, the detective, seemed disgustedat Morgan’s tactics, openly abused the caretaker, and ran ahead of his column, revolver in hand, bearing down upon Larry, who held our center. 

The Englishman’s haste was his undoing. The lightfall of snow a few days before had gathered in the littlehollows of the wood deceptively. The detective plungedinto one of these and fell sprawling on all fours, —acalamity that caused his comrades to pause uneasily. Larry was upon his enemy in a flash, wrenched his pistolaway and pulled the man to his feet. 

“Ah, Davidson! There’s many a slip! Move, if youdare and I’ll plug you with your own gun. ” And hestood behind the man, using him as a shield while Morganand the rest of the army hung near the boat-houseuncertainly. 

“It’s the strategic intellect we’ve captured, General, ”observed Larry to me. “You see the American invaderswere depending on British brains. ”

Morgan now acted on the hint we had furnished himand sent his men out as skirmishers. The loss of thedetective had undoubtedly staggered the caretaker, andwe were slowly retreating toward the house, Larry withone hand on the collar of his prisoner and the othergrasping the revolver with which he poked the manfrequently in the ribs. We slowly continued our retreat, fearing a rush, which would have disposed of useasily enough if Morgan’s company had shown more ofa fighting spirit. Stoddard’s presence rather amazedthem, I think, and I saw that the invaders kept awayfrom his end of the line. We were far apart, stumblingover the snow-covered earth and calling to one anothernow and then that we might not become too widely separated. Davidson did not relish his capture by the manhe had followed across the ocean, and he attempted onceto roar a command to Morgan. 

“Try it again, ” I heard Larry admonish him, “trythat once more, and The Sod, God bless it! will neverfeel the delicate imprint of your web-feet again. ”

He turned the man about and rushed him toward thehouse, the revolver still serving as a prod. His speedgave heart to the wary invaders immediately behind himand two fellows urged and led by Morgan charged ourline at a smart pace. 

“Bolt for the front door, ” I called to Larry, and Stoddardand I closed in after him to guard his retreat. 

“They’re not shooting, ” called Stoddard. “You maybe sure they’ve had their orders to capture the housewith as little row as possible. ”

We were now nearing the edge of the wood, with theopen meadow and water-tower at our backs, while Larrywas making good time toward the house. 

“Let’s meet them here, ” shouted Stoddard. 

Morgan was coming up with a club in his hand, makingdirectly for me, two men at his heels, and the restveering off toward the wall of St. Agatha’s. 

“Watch the house, ” I yelled to the chaplain; andthen, on the edge of the wood Morgan came at me furiously, swinging his club over his head, and in a momentwe were fencing away at a merry rate. We both hadrevolvers strapped to our waists, but I had no intentionof drawing mine unless in extremity. At my rightStoddard was busy keeping off Morgan’s personalguard, who seemed reluctant to close with the clergyman. 

I have been, in my day, something of a fencer, andmy knowledge of the foils stood me in good stead now. With a tremendous thwack I knocked Morgan’s clubflying over the snow, and, as we grappled, Bates yelledfrom the house. I quickly found that Morgan’s woundedarm was still tender. He flinched at the first grapple, and his anger got the better of his judgment. Wekicked up the snow at a great rate as we feinted anddragged each other about. He caught hold of my beltwith one hand and with a great wrench nearly draggedme from my feet, but I pinioned his arms and benthim backward, then, by a trick Larry had taught me, flung him upon his side. It is not, I confess, a prettybusiness, matching your brute strength against that ofa fellow man, and as I cast myself upon him and felthis hard-blown breath on my face, I hated myself morethan I hated him for engaging in so ignoble a contest. 

Bates continued to call from the house. 

“Come on at any cost, ” shouted Stoddard, puttinghimself between me and the men who were flying toMorgan’s aid. 

I sprang away from my adversary, snatching his revolver, and ran toward the house, Stoddard close behind, but keeping himself well between me and the men whowere now after us in full cry. 

“Shoot, you fools, shoot!” howled Morgan, and as wereached the open meadow and ran for the house a shot-gunroared back of us and buckshot snapped and rattledon the stone of the water tower. 

“There’s the sheriff, ” called Stoddard behind me. 

The officer of the law and his deputy ran into thepark from the gate of St. Agatha’s, while the rest ofMorgan’s party were skirting the wall to join them. 

“Stop or I’ll shoot, ” yelled Morgan, and I felt Stoddardpause in his gigantic stride to throw himself betweenme and the pursuers. 

“Sprint for it hot, ” he called very coolly, as thoughhe were coaching me in a contest of the most amiablesort imaginable. 

“Get away from those guns, ” I panted, angered bythe very generosity of his defense. 

“Feint for the front entrance and then run for theterrace and the library-door, ” he commanded, as wecrossed the little ravine bridge. “They’ve got us headedoff. ”

Twice the guns boomed behind us, and twice I sawshot cut into the snow about me. 

“I’m all right, ” called Stoddard reassuringly, stillat my back. “They’re not a bit anxious to kill me. ”

I was at the top of my speed now, but the clergymankept close at my heels. I was blowing hard, but hemade equal time with perfect ease. 

The sheriff was bawling orders to his forces, whoawaited us before the front door. Bates and Larry werenot visible, but I had every confidence that the Irishmanwould reappear in the fight at the earliest momentpossible. Bates, too, was to be reckoned with, and thefinal struggle, if it came in the house itself, might notbe so unequal, providing we knew the full strengthof the enemy. 

“Now for the sheriff—here we go!” cried Stoddard—beside me—and we were close to the fringe of trees thatshielded the entrance. Then off we veered suddenly tothe left, close upon the terrace, where one of the Frenchwindows was thrown open and Larry and Bates steppedout, urging us on with lusty cries. 

They caught us by the arms and dragged us overwhere the balustrade was lowest, and we crowdedthrough the door and slammed it. As Bates snappedthe bolts Morgan’s party discharged its combined artilleryand the sheriff began a great clatter at the frontdoor. 

“Gentlemen, we’re in a state of siege, ” observedLarry, filling his pipe. 

Shot pattered on the wails and several panes of glasscracked in the French windows. 

“All’s tight below, sir, ” reported Bates. “I thoughtit best to leave the tunnel trap open for our own use. Those fellows won’t come in that way, —it’s too muchlike a blind alley. ”

“Where’s your prisoner, Larry?”

“Potato cellar, quite comfortable, thanks!”

It was ten o’clock and the besiegers suddenly withdrewa short distance for parley among themselves. Outsidethe sun shone brightly; and the sky was never bluer. In this moment of respite, while we made ready forwhat further the day might bring forth, I climbed upto the finished tower to make sure we knew the enemy’sfull strength. I could see over the tree-tops, beyond thechapel tower, the roofs of St. Agatha’s. There, at least, was peace. And in that moment, looking over the blackwood, with the snow lying upon the ice of the lake whiteand gleaming under the sun, I felt unutterably lonelyand heart-sick, and tired of strife. It seemed a thousandyears ago that I had walked and talked with thechild Olivia; and ten thousand years more since thegirl in gray at the Annandale station had wakened inme a higher aim, and quickened a better impulse than Ihad ever known. 

Larry roared my name through the lower floors. Iwent down with no wish in my heart but to even matterswith Pickering and be done with my grandfather’slegacy for ever. 

“The sheriff and Morgan have gone back toward thelake, ” reported Larry. 

“They’ve gone to consult their chief, ” I said. “Iwish Pickering would lead his own battalions. It wouldgive social prestige to the fight. ”

“Bah, these women!” And Larry tore the cornerfrom a cartridge box. 

Stoddard, with a pile of clubs within reach, lay onhis back on the long leather couch, placidly reading hisGreek testament. Bates, for the first time since my arrival, seemed really nervous and anxious, He pulled asilver watch from his pocket several times, something Ihad never seen him do before. He leaned against thetable, looking strangely tired and worn, and I saw himstart nervously as he felt Larry’s eyes on him. 

“I think, sir, I’d better take another look at the outergates, ” he remarked to me quite respectfully. 

His disturbed air aroused my old antagonism. Washe playing double in the matter? Did he seek now anexcuse for conveying some message to the enemy?

“You’ll stay where you are, ” I said sharply, and Ifound myself restlessly fingering my revolver. 

“Very good, sir, ”—and the hurt look in his eyestouched me. 

“Bates is all right, ” Larry declared, with an emphasisthat was meant to rebuke me. 

CHAPTER XXVI

THE FIGHT IN THE LIBRARY

“They’re coming faster this time, ” remarked Stoddard. 

“Certainly. Their general has been cursing themright heartily for retreating without the loot. He wantshis three-hundred-thousand-dollar autograph collection, ”observed Larry. 

“Why doesn’t he come for it himself, like a man?” Idemanded. 

“Like a man, do you say!” ejaculated Larry. “Faithand you flatter that fat-head!”

It was nearly eleven o’clock when the attacking partyreturned after a parley on the ice beyond the boat-house. The four of us were on the terrace ready for them. They came smartly through the wood, the sheriff andMorgan slightly in advance of the others. I expectedthem to slacken their pace when they came to the openmeadow, but they broke into a quick trot at the water-towerand came toward the house as steady as veterancampaigners. 

“Shall we try gunpowder?” asked Larry. 

“We’ll let them fire the first volley, ” I said. 

“They’ve already tried to murder you and Stoddard, —I’m in for letting loose with the elephant guns, ” protestedthe Irishman. 

“Stand to your clubs, ” admonished Stoddard, whoseown weapon was comparable to the Scriptural weaver’sbeam. “Possession is nine points of the fight, and we’vegot the house. ”

“Also a prisoner of war, ” said Larry, grinning. 

The English detective had smashed the glass in thebarred window of the potato cellar and we could hearhim howling and cursing below. 

“Looks like business this time!” exclaimed Larry. “Spread out now and the first head that sticks over thebalustrade gets a dose of hickory. ”

When twenty-five yards from the terrace the advancingparty divided, half halting between us and thewater-tower and the remainder swinging around thehouse toward the front entrance. 

“Ah, look at that!” yelled Larry. “It’s a battering-ramthey have. O man of peace! have I your Majesty’sconsent to try the elephant guns now?”

Morgan and the sheriff carried between them a stickof timber from which the branches had been cut, and, with a third man to help, they ran it up the steps andagainst the door with a crash that came booming backthrough the house. 

Bates was already bounding up the front stairway, arevolver in his hand and a look of supreme rage on hisface. Leaving Stoddard and Larry to watch the librarywindows, I was after him, and we clattered over the looseboards in the upper hall and into a great unfinishedchamber immediately over the entrance. Bates had thewindow up when I reached him and was well out uponthe coping, yelling a warning to the men below. 

He had his revolver up to shoot, and when I caughthis arm he turned to me with a look of anger and indignationI had never expected to see on his colorless, mask-likeface. 

“My God, sir! That door was his pride, sir, —it camefrom a famous house in England, and they’re wreckingit, sir, as though it were common pine. ”

He tore himself free of my grasp as the besiegersagain launched their battering-ram against the doorwith a frightful crash, and his revolver cracked smartlythrice, as he bent far out with one hand clinging tothe window frame. 

His shots were a signal for a sharp reply from one ofthe men below, and I felt Bates start, and pulled himin, the blood streaming from his face. 

“It’s all right, sir, —all right, —only a cut across mycheek, sir, ”—and another bullet smashed through theglass, spurting plaster dust from the wall. A fierceonslaught below caused a tremendous crash to echothrough the house, and I heard firing on the oppositeside, where the enemy’s reserve was waiting. 

Bates, with a handkerchief to his face, protested thathe was unhurt. 

“Come below; there’s nothing to be gained here, ”—. And I ran down to the hall, where Stoddard stood, leaningupon his club like a Hercules and coolly watchingthe door as it leaped and shook under the repeated blowsof the besiegers. 

A gun roared again at the side of the house, and I ranto the library, where Larry had pushed furniture againstall the long windows save one, which he held open. Hestepped out upon the terrace and emptied a revolver atthe men who were now creeping along the edge of theravine beneath us. One of them stopped and dischargeda rifle at us with deliberate aim. The ball snapped snowfrom the balustrade and screamed away harmlessly. 

“Bah, such monkeys!” he muttered. “I believe I’vehit that chap!” One man had fallen and lay howlingin the ravine, his hand to his thigh, while his comradespaused, demoralized. 

“Serves you right, you blackguard!” Larry muttered. 

I pulled him in and we jammed a cabinet against thedoor. 

Meanwhile the blows at the front continued with increasingviolence. Stoddard still stood where I had lefthim. Bates was not in sight, but the barking of a revolverabove showed that he had returned to the windowto take vengeance on his enemies. 

Stoddard shook his head in deprecation. 

“They fired first, —we can’t do less than get back atthem, ” I said, between the blows of the battering-ram. 

A panel of the great oak door now splintered in, butin their fear that we might use the opening as aloophole, they scampered out into range of Bates’ revolver. In return we heard a rain of small shot on theupper windows, and a few seconds later Larry shoutedthat the flanking party was again at the terrace. 

This movement evidently heartened the sheriff, for, under a fire from Bates, his men rushed up and the logcrashed again into the door, shaking it free of the upperhinges. The lower fastenings were wrenched loose aninstant later, and the men came tumbling into the hall, —the sheriff, Morgan and four others I had never seenbefore. Simultaneously the flanking party reached theterrace and were smashing the small panes of the Frenchwindows. We could hear the glass crack and tinkleabove the confusion at the door. 

In the hall he was certainly a lucky man who held tohis weapon a moment after the door tumbled in. Iblazed at the sheriff with my revolver as he stumbledand half-fell at the threshold, so that the ball passedover him, but he gripped me by the legs and had meprone and half-dazed by the rap of my head on the floor. 

I suppose I was two or three minutes, at least, gettingmy wits. I was first conscious of Bates grappling thesheriff, who sat upon me, and as they struggled with eachother I got the full benefit of their combined, swerving, tossing weight. Morgan and Larry were trying for achance at each other with revolvers, while Morganbacked the Irishman slowly toward the library. Stoddardhad seized one of the unknown deputies with bothhands by the collar and gave his captive a tremendousswing, jerking him high in the air and driving himagainst another invader with a blow that knocked bothfellows spinning into a corner. 

“Come on to the library!” shouted Larry, and Bates, who had got me to my feet, dragged me down the halltoward the open library-door. 

Bates presented at this moment an extraordinary appearance, with the blood from the scratch on his facecoursing down his cheek and upon his shoulder. Hiscoat and shirt had been torn away and the blood wassmeared over his breast. The fury and indignation inhis face was something I hope not to see again in a humancountenance. 

“My God, this room—this beautiful room!” I heardhim cry, as he pushed me before him into the library. “It was Mr. Glenarm’s pride, ” he muttered, and sprangupon a burly fellow who had came in through one ofthe library doors and was climbing over the long tablewe had set up as a barricade. 

We were now between two fires. The sheriff’s partyhad fought valiantly to keep us out of the library, andnow that we were within, Stoddard’s big shoulders heldthe door half-closed against the combined strength ofthe men in the ball. This pause was fortunate, for itgave us an opportunity to deal singly with the fellowswho were climbing in from the terrace. Bates had laidone of them low with a club and Larry disposed of another, who had made a murderous effort to stick a knifeinto him. I was with Stoddard against the door, wherethe sheriff’s men were slowly gaining upon us. 

“Let go on the jump when I say three, ” saidStoddard, and at his word we sprang away from thedoor and into the room. Larry yelled with joy as thesheriff and his men pitched forward and sprawled uponthe floor, and we were at it again in a hand-to-hand conflictto clear the room. 

“Hold that position, sir, ” yelled Bates. 

Morgan had directed the attack against me and I wasdriven upon the hearth before the great fireplace. Thesheriff, Morgan and Ferguson hemmed me in. It wasevident that I was the chief culprit, and they wished toeliminate me from the contest. Across the room, Larry, Stoddard and Bates were engaged in a lively rough andtumble with the rest of the besiegers, and Stoddard, seeingmy plight, leaped the overturned table, broke pastthe trio and stood at my side, swinging a chair. 

At that moment my eyes, sweeping the outer doors, saw the face of Pickering. He had come to see that hisorders were obeyed, and I remember yet my satisfaction, as, hemmed in by the men he had hired to kill meor drive me out, I felt, rather than saw, the cowardlyhorror depicted upon his face. 

Then the trio pressed in upon me. As I threw downmy club and drew my revolver, some one across theroom fired several shots, whose roar through the roomseemed to arrest the fight for an instant, and then, whileStoddard stood at my side swinging his chair defensively, the great chandelier, loosened or broken by the shots, fell with a mighty crash of its crystal pendants. Thesheriff, leaping away from Stoddard’s club, was struckon the head and borne down by the heavy glass. 

Smoke from the firing floated in clouds across theroom, and there was a moment’s silence save for thesheriff, who was groaning and cursing under the debrisof the chandelier. At the door Pickering’s face appearedagain anxious and frightened. I think the scenein the room and the slow progress his men were makingagainst us had half-paralyzed him. 

We were all getting our second wind for a renewalof the fight, with Morgan in command of the enemy. One or two of his men, who had gone down early in thestruggle, were now crawling back for revenge. I thinkI must have raised my hand and pointed at Pickering, for Bates wheeled like a flash and before I realized whathappened he had dragged the executor into the room. 

“You scoundrel—you ingrate!” howled the servant. 

The blood on his face and bare chest and the hatredin his eves made him a hideous object; but in that lullof the storm while we waited, watching for an advantage, I heard off somewhere, above or below, that samesound of footsteps that I had remarked before. Larryand Stoddard heard it; Bates heard it, and his eyes fixedupon Pickering with a glare of malicious delight. 

“There comes our old friend, the ghost, ” yelled Larry. 

“I think you are quite right, sir, ” said Bates. Hethrew down the revolver he held in his hand and leanedupon the edge of the long table that lay on its side, hisgaze still bent on Pickering, who stood with his overcoatbuttoned close, his derby hat on the floor beside him, where it had fallen as Bates hauled him into the room. 

The sound of a measured step, of some one walking, of a careful foot on a stairway, was quite distinct. I evenremarked the slight stumble that I had noticed before. 

We were all so intent on those steps in the wall thatwe were off guard. I heard Bates yell at me, and Larryand Stoddard rushed for Pickering. He had drawn arevolver from his overcoat pocket and thrown it up tofire at me when Stoddard sent the weapon flying throughthe air. 

“Only a moment now, gentlemen, ” said Bates, an oddsmile on his face. He was looking past me toward theright end of the fireplace. There seemed to be in theair a feeling of something impending. Even Morganand his men, half-crouching ready for a rush at me, hesitated;and Pickering glanced nervously from one to theother of us. It was the calm before the storm; in a momentwe should be at each other’s throats for the finalstruggle, and yet we waited. In the wall I heard stillthe sound of steps. They were clear to all of us now. We stood there for what seemed an eternity—I supposethe time was really not more than thirty seconds—inert, waiting, while I felt that something must happen; thesilence, the waiting, were intolerable. I grasped my pistoland bent low for a spring at Morgan, with the overturnedtable and wreckage of the chandelier between meand Pickering; and every man in the room was instantlyon the alert. 

All but Bates. He remained rigid—that curioussmile on his blood-smeared face, his eyes bent toward theend of the great fireplace back of me. 

That look on his face held, arrested, numbed me; Ifollowed it. I forgot Morgan; a tacit truce held us allagain. I stepped back till my eyes fastened on thebroad paneled chimney-breast at the right of the hearth, and it was there now that the sound of footsteps in thewall was heard again; then it ceased utterly, the longpanel opened slowly, creaking slightly upon its hinges, then down into the room stepped Marian Devereux. She wore the dark gown in which I had seen her last, and a cloak was drawn over her shoulders. 

She laughed as her eyes swept the room. 

“Ah, gentlemen, ” she said, shaking her head, as sheviewed our disorder, “what wretched housekeepers youare!”

Steps were again heard in the wall, and she turned tothe panel, held it open with one hand and put out theother, waiting for some one who followed her. 

Then down into the room stepped my grandfather, John Marshall Glenarm! His staff, his cloak, the silkhat above his shrewd face, and his sharp black eyes wereunmistakable. He drew a silk handkerchief from theskirts of his frock coat, with a characteristic flourishthat I remembered well, and brushed a bit of dust fromhis cloak before looking at any of us. Then his eyesfell upon me. 

“Good morning, Jack, ” he said; and his gaze sweptthe room. 

“God help us!”

It was Morgan, I think, who screamed these words ashe bolted for the broken door, but Stoddard caught andheld him. 

“Thank God, you’re here, sir!” boomed forth in Bates’sepulchral voice. 

It seemed to me that I saw all that happened with aweird, unnatural distinctness, as one sees, before astorm, vivid outlines of far headlands that the usuallight of day scarce discloses. 

I was myself dazed and spellbound; but I do not liketo think, even now, of the effect of my grandfather’sappearance on Arthur Pickering; of the shock thatseemed verily to break him in two, so that he staggered, then collapsed, his head falling as though to strike hisknees. Larry caught him by the collar and dragged himto a seat, where he huddled, his twitching hands at histhroat. 

“Gentlemen, ” said my grandfather, “you seem to havebeen enjoying yourselves. Who is this person?”

He pointed with his stick to the sheriff, who was endeavoringto crawl out from under the mass of brokencrystals. 

“That, sir, is the sheriff, ” answered Bates. 

“A very disorderly man, I must say. Jack, whathave you been doing to cause the sheriff so much inconvenience?Didn’t you know that that chandelier waslikely to kill him? That thing cost a thousand dollars, gentlemen. You are expensive visitors. Ah, Morgan, —and Ferguson, too! Well, well! I thought better of bothof you. Good morning, Stoddard! A little work forthe Church militant! And this gentleman?”—he indicatedLarry, who was, for once in his life, without anythingto say. 

“Mr. Donovan, —a friend of the house, ” explainedBates. 

“Pleased, I’m sure, ” said the old gentleman. “Gladthe house had a friend. It seems to have had enemiesenough, ” he added dolefully; and he eyed the wreck ofthe room ruefully. The good humor in his face reassuredme; but still I stood in tongue-tied wonder, staringat him. 

“And Pickering!” John Marshall Glenarm’s voicebroke with a quiet mirth that I remembered as the prefaceusually of something unpleasant. “Well, Arthur, I’m glad to find you on guard, defending the interestsof my estate. At the risk of your life, too! Bates!”

“Yes, Mr. Glenarm. ”

“You ought to have called me earlier. I really prizedthat chandelier immensely. And this furniture wasn’tso bad!”

His tone changed abruptly. He pointed to thesheriff’s deputies one after the other with his stick. There was, I remembered, always something insinuating, disagreeable and final about my grandfather’s staff. 

“Clear out!” he commanded. “Bates, see these fellowsthrough the wall. Mr. Sheriff, if I were you I’dbe very careful, indeed, what I said of this affair. I’ma dead man come to life again, and I know a great dealthat I didn’t know before I died. Nothing, gentlemen, fits a man for life like a temporary absence from thischeerful and pleasant world. I recommend you to tryit. ”

He walked about the room with the quick eager stepthat was peculiarly his own, while Stoddard, Larry andI stared at him. Bates was helping the dazed sheriffto his feet. Morgan and the rest of the foe were crawlingand staggering away, muttering, as though imploringthe air of heaven against an evil spirit. 

Pickering sat silent, not sure whether he saw a ghostor real flesh and blood, and Larry kept close to him, cuttingoff his retreat. I think we all experienced that bewilderedfeeling of children who are caught in mischiefby a sudden parental visitation. My grandfather wentabout peering at the books, with a tranquil air that wasdisquieting. 

He paused suddenly before the design for the memorialtablet, which I had made early in my stay atGlenarm House. I had sketched the lettering with somecare, and pinned it against a shelf for my more leisurelystudy of its phrases. The old gentlemen pulled out hisglasses and stood with his hands behind his back, reading. When he finished he walked to where I stood. 

“Jack!” he said, “Jack, my boy!” His voice shookand his hands trembled as he laid them on my shoulders. “Marian, ”—he turned, seeking her, but the girl hadvanished. “Just as well, ” he said. “This room is hardlyan edifying sight for a woman. ” I heard, for an instant, a light hurried step in the wall. 

Pickering, too, heard that faint, fugitive sound, andour eyes met at the instant it ceased. The thought ofher tore my heart, and I felt that Pickering saw andknew and was glad. 

“They have all gone, sir, ” reported Bates, returningto the room. 

“Now, gentlemen, ” began my grandfather, seatinghimself, “I owe you an apology; this little secret of minewas shared by only two persons. One of these was Bates, ”—he paused as an exclamation broke from all of us; andhe went on, enjoying our amazement, —“and the otherwas Marian Devereux. I had often observed that at aman’s death his property gets into the wrong hands, orbecomes a bone of contention among lawyers. Sometimes, ”and the old gentleman laughed, “an executorproves incompetent or dishonest. I was thoroughlyfooled in you, Pickering. The money you owe me is alarge sum; and you were so delighted to hear of mydeath that you didn’t even make sure I was really out ofthe way. You were perfectly willing to accept Bates’word for it; and I must say that Bates carried it offsplendidly. ”

Pickering rose, the blood surging again in his face, and screamed at Bates, pointing a shaking finger at theman. 

“You impostor, —you perjurer! The law will dealwith your case. ”

“To be sure, ” resumed my grandfather calmly;“Bates did make false affidavits about my death; butpossibly—”

“It was in a Pickwickian sense, sir, ” said Batesgravely. 

“And in a righteous cause, ” declared my grandfather. “I assure you, Pickering, that I have every intention oftaking care of Bates. His weekly letters giving an accountof the curious manifestations of your devotion toJack’s security and peace were alone worth a goodlysum. But, Bates—”

The old gentleman was enjoying himself hugely. Hechuckled now, and placed his hand on my shoulder. 

“Bates, it was too bad I got those missives of yoursall in a bunch. I was in a dahabiyeh on the Nile andthey don’t have rural free delivery in Egypt. Yourcablegram called me home before I got the letters. Butthank God, Jack, you’re alive!”

There was real feeling in these last words, and Ithink we were all touched by them. 

“Amen to that!” cried Bates. 

“And now, Pickering, before you go I want to showyou something. It’s about this mysterious treasure, thathas given you—and I hear, the whole countryside—somuch concern. I’m disappointed in you, Jack, that youcouldn’t find the hiding-place. I designed that as a partof your architectural education. Bates, give me achair. ”

The man gravely drew a chair out of the wreckageand placed it upon the hearth. My grandfather steppedupon it, seized one of the bronze sconces above the manteland gave it a sharp turn. At the same moment, Bates, upon another chair, grasped the companionbronze and wrenched it sharply. Instantly some mechanismcreaked in the great oak chimney-breast and thelong oak panels swung open, disclosing a steel door witha combination knob. 

“Gentlemen, ”—and my grandfather turned with aquaint touch of humor, and a merry twinkle in hisbright old eyes—“gentlemen, behold the treasury! Ithas proved a better hiding-place than I ever imaginedit would. There’s not much here, Jack, but enough tokeep you going for a while. ”

We were all staring, and the old gentleman was unfeignedlyenjoying our mystification. It was an houron which he had evidently counted much; it was thetriumph of his resurrection and home-coming, and hechuckled as he twirled the knob in the steel door. ThenBates stepped forward and helped him pull the dooropen, disclosing a narrow steel chest, upright and heldin place by heavy bolts clamped in the stone of the chimney. It was filled with packets of papers placed onshelves, and tied neatly with tape. 

“Jack, ” said my grandfather, shaking his head, “youwouldn’t be an architect, and you’re not much of anengineer either, or you’d have seen that that panelingwas heavier than was necessary. There’s two hundredthousand dollars in first-rate securities—I vouch forthem! Bates and I put them there just before I wentto Vermont to die. ”

“I’ve sounded those panels a dozen times, ” I protested. 

“Of course you have, ” said my grandfather, “butsolid steel behind wood is safe. I tested it carefully beforeI left. ”

He laughed and clapped his knees, and I laughed withhim. 

“But you found the Door of Bewilderment and Pickering’snotes, and that’s something. ”

“No; I didn’t even find that. Donovan deserves thecredit. But how did you ever come to build that tunnel, if you don’t mind telling me?”

He laughed gleefully. 

“That was originally a trench for natural-gas pipes. There was once a large pumping-station on the site ofthis house, with a big trunk main running off acrosscountry to supply the towns west of here. The gas wasexhausted, and the pipes were taken up before I beganto build. I should never have thought of that tunnel inthe world if the trench hadn’t suggested it. I merelydeepened and widened it a little and plastered it withcheap cement as far as the chapel, and that little roomthere where I put Pickering’s notes had once been thecellar of a house built for the superintendent of the gasplant. I had never any idea that I should use that passageas a means of getting into my own house, but Marianmet me at the station, told me that there was troublehere, and came with me through the chapel into thecellar, and through the hidden stairway that windsaround the chimney from that room where we keep thecandlesticks. ”

“But who was the ghost?” I demanded, “if you werereally alive and in Egypt?”

Bates laughed now. 

“Oh, I was the ghost! I went through there occasionallyto stimulate your curiosity about the house. And you nearly caught me once!”

“One thing more, if we’re not wearing you out—I’dlike to know whether Sister Theresa owes you anymoney. ”

My grandfather turned upon Pickering with blazingeyes. 

“You scoundrel, you infernal scoundrel, SisterTheresa never borrowed a cent of me in her life! Andyou have made war on that woman—”

His rage choked him. 

He told Bates to close the door of the steel chest, andthen turned to me. 

“Where are those notes of Pickering’s?” he demanded;and I brought the packet. 

“Gentlemen, Mr. Pickering has gone to ugly lengthsin this affair. How many murders have you gentlemencommitted?”

“We were about to begin actual killing when you arrived, ”replied Larry, grinning. 

“The sheriff got all his men off the premises more orless alive, sir, ” said Bates. 

“That is good. It was all a great mistake, —a verygreat mistake, ”—and my grandfather turned to Pickering. 

“Pickering, what a contemptible scoundrel you are!I lent you that three hundred thousand dollars to buysecurities to give you better standing in your railroadenterprises, and the last time I saw you, you got me torelease the collateral so you could raise money to buymore shares. Then, after I died”—he chuckled—“youthought you’d find and destroy the notes and that wouldend the transaction; and if you had been smart enoughto find them you might have had them and welcome. But as it is, they go to Jack. If he shows any mercyon you in collecting them he’s not the boy I think he is. ”

Pickering rose, seized his hat and turned toward theshattered library-door. He paused for one moment, hisface livid with rage. 

“You old fool!” he screamed at my grandfather. “You old lunatic, I wish to God I had never seen you!No wonder you came back to life! You’re a tricky olddevil and too mean to die!”

He turned toward me with some similar complaintready at his tongue’s end; but Stoddard caught him bythe shoulders and thrust him out upon the terrace. 

A moment later we saw him cross the meadow andhurry toward St. Agatha’s. 

CHAPTER XXVII

CHANGES AND CHANCES

John Marshall Glenarm had probably never been sohappy in his life as on that day of his amazing home-coming. He laughed at us and he laughed with us, andas he went about the house explaining his plans for itscompletion, he chaffed us all with his shrewd humorthat had been the terror of my boyhood. 

“Ah, if you had had the plans of course you wouldhave been saved a lot of trouble; but that little sketchof the Door of Bewilderment was the only thing I left, —and you found it, Jack, —you really opened these goodbooks of mine. ”

He sent us all away to remove the marks of battle, andwe gave Bates a hand in cleaning up the wreckage, —Bates, the keeper of secrets; Bates, the inscrutable andmysterious; Bates, the real hero of the affair at Glenarm. 

He led us through the narrow stairway by which hehad entered, which had been built between false walls, and we played ghost for one another, to show just howthe tread of a human being around the chimney sounded. There was much to explain, and my grandfather’scontrition for having placed me in so hazardous a predicamentwas so sincere, and his wish to make amendsso evident, that my heart warmed to him. He made medescribe in detail all the incidents of my stay at thehouse, listening with boyish delight to my adventures. 

“Bless my soul!” he exclaimed over and over again. And as I brought my two friends into the story his delightknew no bounds, and he kept chuckling to himself;and insisted half a dozen times on shaking hands withLarry and Stoddard, who were, he declared, his friendsas well as mine. 

The prisoner in the potato cellar received our due attention;and my grandfather’s joy in the fact that anagent of the British government was held captive inGlenarm House was cheering to see. But the man’s detentionwas a grave matter, as we all realized, and madeimperative the immediate consideration of Larry’s future. 

“I must go—and go at once!” declared Larry. 

“Mr. Donovan, I should feel honored to have you remain, ”said my grandfather. “I hope to hold Jackhere, and I wish you would share the house with us. ”

“The sheriff and those fellows won’t squeal very hardabout their performances here, ” said Stoddard. “Andthey won’t try to rescue the prisoner, even for a reward, from a house where the dead come back to life. ”

“No; but you can’t hold a British prisoner in anAmerican private house for ever. Too many peopleknow he has been in this part of the country; and youmay be sure that the fight here and the return of Mr. Glenarm will not fail of large advertisement. All I canask of you, Mr. Glenarm, is that you hold the fellow afew hours after I leave, to give me a start. ”

“Certainly. But when this trouble of yours blowsover, I hope you will come back and help Jack to livea decent and orderly life. ”

My grandfather spoke of my remaining with awarmth that was grateful to my heart; but the place andits associations had grown unbearable. I had not mentionedMarian Devereux to him, I had not told him ofmy Christmas flight to Cincinnati; for the fact that Ihad run away and forfeited my right made no differencenow, and I waited for an opportunity when we shouldbe alone to talk of my own affairs. 

At luncheon, delayed until mid-afternoon, Bates producedchampagne, and the three of us, worn with excitementand stress of battle, drank a toast, standing, to thehealth of John Marshall Glenarm. 

“My friends, ”—the old gentleman rose and we allstood, our eyes bent upon him in, I think, real affection, —“I am an old and foolish man. Ever since I wasable to do so I have indulged my whims. This houseis one of them. I had wished to make it a thing ofbeauty and dignity, and I had hoped that Jack wouldcare for it and be willing to complete it and settle here. The means I employed to test him were not, I admit, worthy of a man who intends well toward his own fleshand blood. Those African adventures of yours scaredme, Jack; but to think”—and he laughed—“that Iplaced you here in this peaceful place amid greater dangersprobably than you ever met in tiger-hunting! Butyou have put me to shame. Here’s health and peace toyou!”

“So say we all!” cried the others. 

“One thing more, ” my grandfather continued, “I don’twant you to think, Jack, that you would really havebeen cut off under any circumstances if I had died whileI was hiding in Egypt. What I wanted, boy, was toget you home! I made another will in England, whereI deposited the bulk of my property before I died, anddid not forget you. That will was to protect you in caseI really died!”—and he laughed cheerily. 

The others left us—Stoddard to help Larry get histhings together—and my grandfather and I talked foran hour at the table. 

“I have thought that many things might happenhere, ” I said, watching his fine, slim fingers, as he polishedhis eye-glasses, then rested his elbows on the tableand smiled at me. “I thought for a while that I shouldcertainly be shot; then at times I was afraid I mightnot be; but your return in the flesh was something Inever considered among the possibilities. Bates fooledme. That talk I overheard between him and Pickeringin the church porch that foggy night was the thing thatseemed to settle his case; then the next thing I knew hewas defending the house at the serious risk of his life;and I was more puzzled than ever. ”

“Yes, a wonderful man, Bates. He always dislikedPickering, and he rejoiced in tricking him. ”

“Where did you pick Bates up? He told me he wasa Yankee, but he doesn’t act or talk it. ”

My grandfather laughed. “Of course not! He’s anIrishman and a man of education—but that’s all I knowabout him, except that he is a marvelously efficient servant. ”

My mind was not on Bates. I was thinking now ofMarian Devereux. I could not go on further with mygrandfather without telling him how I had run awayand broken faith with him, but he gave me no chance. 

“You will stay on here, —you will help me to finishthe house?” he asked with an unmistakable eagernessof look and tone. 

It seemed harsh and ungenerous to tell him that Iwished to go; that the great world lay beyond the confinesof Glenarm for me to conquer; that I had lost aswell as gained by those few months at Glenarm House, and wished to go away. It was not the mystery, nowfathomed, nor the struggle, now ended, that was uppermostin my mind and heart, but memories of a girlwho had mocked me with delicious girlish laughter, —who had led me away that I might see her transformedinto another, more charming, being. It was a comfortto know that Pickering, trapped and defeated, was notto benefit by the bold trick she had helped him play uponme. His loss was hers as well, and I was glad in mybitterness that I had found her in the passage, seekingfor plunder at the behest of the same master whom Morgan, Ferguson and the rest of them served. 

The fight was over and there was nothing more for meto do in the house by the lake. After a week or so Ishould go forth and try to win a place for myself. Ihad my profession; I was an engineer, and I did notquestion that I should be able to find employment. Asfor my grandfather, Bates would care for him, and Ishould visit him often. I was resolved not to give himany further cause for anxiety on account of my adventurousand roving ways. He knew well enough that hisold hope of making an architect of me was lost beyondredemption—I had told him that—and now I wished todepart in peace and go to some new part of the world, where there were lines to run, tracks to lay and bridgesto build. 

These thoughts so filled my mind that I forgot hewas patiently waiting for my answer. 

“I should like to do anything you ask; I should liketo stay here always, but I can’t. Don’t misunderstandme. I have no intention of going back to my old ways. I squandered enough money in my wanderings, and Ihad my joy of that kind of thing. I shall find employmentsomewhere and go to work. ”

“But, Jack, ”—he bent toward me kindly, —“Jack, youmustn’t be led away by any mere quixotism into layingthe foundation of your own fortune. What I have isyours, boy. What is in the box in the chimney is yoursnow—to-day. ”

“I wish you wouldn’t! You were always too kind, and I deserve nothing, absolutely nothing. ”

“I’m not trying to pay you, Jack. I want to ease myown conscience, that’s all. ”

“But money can do nothing for mine, ” I replied, tryingto smile. “I’ve been dependent all my days, andnow I’m going to work. If you were infirm and neededme, I should not hesitate, but the world will have itseyes on me now. ”

“Jack, that will of mine did you a great wrong; itput a mark upon you, and that’s what hurts me, that’swhat I want to make amends for! Don’t you see? Nowdon’t punish me, boy. Come! Let us be friends!”

He rose and put out his hands. 

“I didn’t mean that! I don’t care about that! Itwas nothing more than I deserved. These months herehave changed me. Haven’t you heard me say I was goingto work?”

And I tried to laugh away further discussion of myfuture. 

“It will be more cheerful here in the spring, ” he said, as though seeking an inducement for me to remain. “When the resort colony down here comes to life thelake is really gay. ”

I shook my head. The lake, that pretty cupful ofwater, the dip and glide of a certain canoe, the remembranceof a red tam-o’-shanter merging afar off in anOctober sunset—my purpose to leave the place strengthenedas I thought of these things. My nerves werekeyed to a breaking pitch and I turned upon him stormily. 

“So Miss Devereux was the other person who sharedyour confidence! Do you understand, —do you appreciatethe fact that she was Pickering’s ally?”

“I certainly do not, ” he replied coldly. “I’m surprisedto hear you speak so of a woman whom you canscarcely know—”

“Yes, I know her; my God, I have reason to know her!But even when I found her out I did not dream thatthe plot was as deep as it is. She knew that it was ascheme to test me, and she played me into Pickering’shands. I saw her only a few nights ago down there inthe tunnel acting as his spy, looking for the lost notesthat she might gain grace in his eyes by turning themover to him. You know I always hated Pickering, —hewas too smooth, too smug, and you and everybody elsewere for ever praising him to me. He was always heldup to me as a model; and the first time I saw MarianDevereux she was with him—it was at Sherry’s the nightbefore I came here. I suppose she reached St. Agatha’sonly a few hours ahead of me. ”

“Yes. Sister Theresa was her guardian. Her fatherwas a dear friend, and I knew her from her early childhood. You are mistaken, Jack. Her knowing Pickeringmeans nothing, —they both lived in New York andmoved in the same circle. ”

“But it doesn’t explain her efforts to help him, doesit?” I blazed. “He wished to marry her, —SisterTheresa told me that, —and I failed, I failed miserablyto keep my obligation here—I ran away to follow her!”

“Ah, to be sure! You were away Christmas Eve, when those vandals broke in. Bates merely mentionedit in the last report I got as I came through New York. That was all right. I assumed, of course, that you hadgone off somewhere to get a little Christmas cheer; Idon’t care anything about it. ”

“But I had followed her—I went to Cincinnati to seeher. She dared me to come—it was a trick, a part ofthe conspiracy to steal your property. ”

The old gentleman smiled. It was a familiar way ofhis, to grow calm as other people waxed angry. 

“She dared you to come, did she! That is quite likeMarian; but you didn’t have to go, did you, Jack?”

“Of course not; of course I didn’t have to go, but—”

I stammered, faltered and ceased. Memory threwopen her portals with a challenge. I saw her on thestairway at the Armstrongs’; I heard her low, softlaughter, I felt the mockery of her voice and eyes! Iknew again the exquisite delight of being near her. Myheart told me well enough why I had followed her. 

“Jack, I’m glad I’m not buried up there in that Vermontgraveyard with nobody to exercise the right ofguardianship over you. I’ve had my misgivings aboutyou; I used to think you were a born tramp; and you disappointedme in turning your back on architecture, —thenoblest of all professions; but this performance of yoursreally beats them all. Don’t you know that a girl likeMarian Devereux isn’t likely to become the agent of anyrascal? Do you really believe for a minute that shetempted you to follow her, so you might forfeit yourrights to my property?”

“But why was she trying to find those notes of his?Why did she come back from Cincinnati with his party?If you could answer me those things, maybe I’d admitthat I’m a fool. Pickering, I imagine, is a pretty plausiblefellow where women are concerned. ”

“For God’s sake, Jack, don’t speak of that girl aswomen! I put her in that will of mine to pique yourcuriosity, knowing that if there was a penalty on yourmarrying her you would be wholly likely to do it, —forthat’s the way human beings are made. But you’vemixed it all up now, and insulted her in the grossestway possible for a fellow who is really a gentleman. AndI don’t want to lose you; I want you here with me, Jack! This is a beautiful country, this Indiana!And what I want to do is to found an estate, tobuild a house that shall be really beautiful, —somethingthese people hereabouts can be proud of, —and I want you to have it with me, Jack, tolink our name to these woods and that pretty lake. I’drather have that for my neighbor than any lake in Scotland. These rich Americans, who go to England to live, don’t appreciate the beauty of their own country. Thislandscape is worthy of the best that man can do. AndI didn’t undertake to build a crazy house so much asone that should have some dignity and character. Thatpassage around the chimney is an indulgence, Jack, —I’ll admit it’s a little bizarre, —you see that chimneyisn’t so big outside as it is in!”—and he laughed andrubbed his knees with the palms of his hands, —“and mybringing foreign laborers here wasn’t really to make iteasier to get things done my way. Wait till you haveseen the May-apples blossom and heard the robins singin the summer twilight, —help me to finish the house, —then if you want to leave I’ll bid you God-speed. ”

The feeling in his tone, the display of sentiment soat variance with my old notion of him, touched me inspite of myself. There was a characteristic nobility anddignity in his plan; it was worthy of him. And I hadnever loved him as now, when he finished this appeal, and turned away to the window, gazing out upon thesomber woodland. 

“Mr. Donovan is ready to go, sir, ” announced Batesat the door, and we went into the library, where Larryand Stoddard were waiting. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

SHORTER VISTAS

Larry had assembled his effects in the library, and tomy surprise, Stoddard appeared with his own hand-bag. 

“I’m going to see Donovan well on his way, ” said theclergyman. 

“It’s a pity our party must break up, ” exclaimed mygrandfather. “My obligations to Mr. Donovan are verygreat—and to you, too, Stoddard. Jack’s friends aremine hereafter, and when we get new doors for GlenarmHouse you shall honor me by accepting duplicatekeys. ”

“Where’s Bates?” asked Larry, and the man came in, respectfully, inperturbably as always, and began gatheringup the bags. 

“Stop—one moment! Mr. Glenarm, ” said Larry. “Before I go I want to congratulate you on the splendidcourage of this man who has served you and your housewith so much faithfulness and tact. And I want to tellyou something else, that you probably would never learnfrom him—”

“Donovan!” There was a sharp cry in Bates’ voice, and he sprang forward with his hands outstretched entreatingly. But Larry did not heed him. 

“The moment I set eyes on this man I recognizedhim. It’s not fair to you or to him that you should notknow him for what he is. Let me introduce an oldfriend, Walter Creighton; he was a student at Dublinwhen I was there, —I remember him as one of the bestfellows in the world. ”

“For God’s sake—no!” pleaded Bates. He was deeplymoved and turned his face away from us. 

“But, like me, ” Larry went on, “he mixed in politics. One night in a riot at Dublin a constable was killed. No one knew who was guilty, but a youngster was suspected, —the son of one of the richest and best-knownmen in Ireland, who happened to get mixed in the row. To draw attention from the boy, Creighton let suspicionattach to his own name, and, to help the boy’s casefurther, ran away. I had not heard from or of him untilthe night I came here and found him the defender ofthis house. By God! that was no servant’s trick, —it wasthe act of a royal gentleman. ”

They clasped hands; and with a new light in his face, with a new manner, as though he resumed, as a familiargarment, an old disused personality, Bates stood transfiguredin the twilight, a man and a gentleman. I thinkwe were all drawn to him; I know that a sob clutchedmy throat and tears filled my eyes as I grasped his hand. 

“But what in the devil did you do it for?” blurtedmy grandfather, excitedly twirling his glasses. 

Bates (I still call him Bates, —he insists on it)laughed. For the first time he thrust his hands into hispockets and stood at his ease, one of us. 

“Larry, you remember I showed a fondness for thestage in our university days. When I got to America Ihad little money and found it necessary to find employmentwithout delay. I saw Mr. Glenarm’s advertisementfor a valet. Just as a lark I answered it to seewhat an American gentleman seeking a valet lookedlike. I fell in love with Mr. Glenarm at sight—”

“It was mutual!” declared my grandfather. “I neverbelieved your story at all, —you were too perfect in thepart!”

“Well, I didn’t greatly mind the valet business; ithelped to hide my identity; and I did like the humorand whims of Mr. Glenarm. The housekeeping, afterwe came out here, wasn’t so pleasant”—he looked at hishands ruefully—“but this joke of Mr. Glenarm’s makinga will and then going to Egypt to see what wouldhappen, —that was too good to miss. And when theheir arrived I found new opportunities of practisingamateur theatricals; and Pickering’s efforts to enlistme in his scheme for finding the money and making merich gave me still greater opportunities. There weretimes when I was strongly tempted to blurt the wholething; I got tired of being suspected, and of playingghost in the wall; and if Mr. Glenarm hadn’t got herejust as he did I should have stopped the fight andproclaimed the truth. I hope, ” he said, turning tome, “you have no hard feelings, sir. ” And he threwinto the “sir” just a touch of irony that made us allroar. 

“I’m certainly glad I’m not dead, ” declared my grandfather, staring at Bates. “Life is more fun than I everthought possible. Bless my soul!” he said, “if it isn’t ashame that Bates can never cook another omelette forme!”

We sent Bates back with my grandfather from theboat-house, and Stoddard, Larry and I started across theice; the light coating of snow made walking comparativelyeasy. We strode on silently, Stoddard leading. Their plan was to take an accommodation train at thefirst station beyond Annandale, leave it at a town fortymiles away, and then hurry east to an obscure place inthe mountains of Virginia, where a religious ordermaintained a house. There Stoddard promised Larryasylum and no questions asked. 

We left the lake and struck inland over a rough countryroad to the station, where Stoddard purchased ticketsonly a few minutes before the train whistled. 

We stood on the lonely platform, hands joined tohands, and I know not what thoughts in our minds andhearts. 

“We’ve met and we’ve said good-by in many odd cornersof this strange old world, ” said Larry, “and Godknows when we shall meet again. ”

“But you must stay in America—there must be nosea between us!” I declared. 

“Donovan’s sins don’t seem heinous to me! It’s simplythat they’ve got to find a scapegoat, ”—and Stoddard’svoice was all sympathy and kindness. “It willblow over in time, and Donovan will become an enlightenedand peaceable American citizen. ”

There was a constraint upon us all at this moment ofparting—so many things had happened that day—andwhen men have shared danger together they are boundby ties that death only can break. Larry’s effort atcheer struck a little hollowly upon us. 

“Beware, lad, of women!” he importuned me. 

“Humph! You still despise the sex on account ofthat affair with the colleen of the short upper lip. ”

“Verily. And the eyes of that little lady, who guidedyour grandfather back from the other world, remindedme strongly of her! Bah, these women!”

“Precious little you know about them!” I retorted. 

“The devil I don’t!”

“No, ” said Stoddard, “invoke the angels, not thedevil!”

“Hear him! Hear him! A priest with no knowledgeof the world. ”

“Alas, my cloth! And you fling it at me after I havegone through battle, murder and sudden death with yougentlemen!”

“We thank you, sir, for that last word, ” said Larrymockingly. “I am reminded of the late Lord Alfred:

 “I waited for the train at Coventry; I hung with grooms and porters on the bridge, To watch the three tall spires, —’ ”

he quoted, looking off through the twilight toward St. Agatha’s. “I can’t see a blooming spire!”

The train was now roaring down upon us and weclung to this light mood for our last words. Betweenmen, gratitude is a thing best understood in silence;and these good friends, I knew, felt what I could notsay. 

“Before the year is out we shall all meet again, ” criedStoddard hopefully, seizing the bags. 

“Ah, if we could only be sure of that!” I replied. Andin a moment they were both waving their hands to mefrom the rear platform, and I strode back homewardover the lake. 

A mood of depression was upon me; I had lost muchthat day, and what I had gained—my restoration to theregard of the kindly old man of my own blood, who hadappealed for my companionship in terms hard to deny—seemed trifling as I tramped over the ice. PerhapsPickering, after all, was the real gainer by the day’sevent. My grandfather had said nothing to allay mydoubts as to Marion Devereux’s strange conduct, andyet his confidence in her was apparently unshaken. 

I tramped on, and leaving the lake, half-unconsciouslystruck into the wood beyond the dividing wall, wheresnow-covered leaves and twigs rattled and broke undermy tread. I came out into an open space beyond St. Agatha’s, found the walk and turned toward home. 

As I neared the main entrance to the school the dooropened and a woman came out under the overhanginglamp. She carried a lantern, and turned with a handoutstretched to some one who followed her with carefulsteps. 

“Ah, Marian, ” cried my grandfather, “it’s ever thetask of youth to light the way of age. ”

CHAPTER XXIX

AND SO THE LIGHT LED ME

He had been to see Sister Theresa, and Marian waswalking with him to the gate. I saw her quite plainlyin the light that fell from the lamp overhead. A longcloak covered her, and a fur toque capped her gracefulhead. My grandfather and his guide were apparentlyin high spirits. Their laughter smote harshly upon me. It seemed to shut me out, —to lift a barrier against me. The world lay there within the radius of that swayinglight, and I hung aloof, hearing her voice and jealous ofthe very companionship and sympathy between them. 

But the light led me. I remembered with bitternessthat I had always followed her, —whether as Olivia, trailing in her girlish race across the snow, or as thegirl in gray, whom I had followed, wondering, on thatnight journey at Christmas Eve; and I followed now. The distrust, my shattered faith, my utter loneliness, could not weigh against the joy of hearing that laughof hers breaking mellowly on the night. 

I paused to allow the two figures to widen the distancebetween us as they traversed the path that curvedaway toward the chapel. I could still hear their voices, and see the lantern flash and disappear. I felt an impulseto turn back, or plunge into the woodland; but Iwas carried on uncontrollably. The light glimmered, and her voice still floated back to me. It stole throughthe keen winter dark like a memory of spring; and soher voice and the light led me. 

Then I heard an exclamation of dismay followed bylaughter in which my grandfather joined merrily. 

“Oh, never mind; we’re not afraid, ” she exclaimed. 

I had rounded the curve in the path where I shouldhave seen the light; but the darkness was unbroken. There was silence for a moment, in which I drew quitenear to them. 

Then my grandfather’s voice broke out cheerily. 

“Now I must go back with you! A fine person youare to guide an old man! A foolish virgin, indeed, withno oil in her lamp!”

“Please do not! Of course I’m going to see you quiteto your own door! I don’t intend to put my hand tothe lantern and then turn back!”

“This walk isn’t what it should be, ” said my grandfather, “we’ll have to provide something better in thespring. ”

They were still silent and I heard him futilely strikinga match. Then the lantern fell, its wires rattlingas it struck the ground, and the two exclaimed with renewedmerriment upon their misfortune. 

“If you will allow me!” I called out, my hand fumblingin my pocket for my own match-box. 

I have sometimes thought that there is really somesort of decent courtesy in me. An old man caught ina rough path that was none too good at best! And agirl, even though my enemy! These were, I fancy, thethoughts that crossed my mind. 

“Ah, it’s Jack!” exclaimed my grandfather. “Marianwas showing me the way to the gate and our light wentout. ”

“Miss Devereux, ” I murmured. I have, I hope, anicy tone for persons who have incurred my displeasure, and I employed it then and there, with, no doubt, itsfullest value. 

She and my grandfather were groping in the dark forthe lost lantern, and I, putting out my hand, touchedher fingers. 

“I beg your pardon, ” she murmured frostily. 

Then I found and grasped the lantern. 

“One moment, ” I said, “and I’ll see what’s the trouble. ”

I thought my grandfather took it, but the flame ofmy wax match showed her fingers, clasping the wires ofthe lantern. The cloak slipped away, showing her arm’ssoft curve, the blue and white of her bodice, the purpleblur of violets; and for a second I saw her face, with asmile quivering about her lips. My grandfather wasbeating impatiently with his stick, urging us to leave thelantern and go on. 

“Let it alone, ” he said. “I’ll go down through thechapel; there’s a lantern in there somewhere. ”

“I’m awfully sorry, ” she remarked; “but I recentlylost my best lantern!”

To be sure she had! I was angry that she should sobrazenly recall the night I found her looking for Pickering’snotes in the passage at the Door of Bewilderment!

She had lifted the lantern now, and I was striving totouch the wax taper to the wick, with imminent dangerto my bare fingers. 

“They don’t really light well when the oil’s out, ” sheobserved, with an exasperating air of wisdom. 

I took it from her hand and shook it close to my ear. 

“Yes; of course, it’s empty, ” I muttered disdainfully. 

“Oh, Mr. Glenarm!” she cried, turning away towardmy grandfather. 

I heard his stick beating the rough path several yardsaway. He was hastening toward Glenarm House. 

“I think Mr. Glenarm has gone home. ”

“Oh, that is too bad!” she exclaimed. 

“Thank you! He’s probably at the chapel by thistime. If you will permit me—”

“Not at all!”

A man well advanced in the sixties should not tax hisarteries too severely. I was quite sure that my grandfatherran up the chapel steps; I could hear his stickbeating hurriedly on the stone. 

“If you wish to go farther”—I began. 

I was indignant at my grandfather’s conduct; he haddeliberately run off, leaving me alone with a youngwoman whom I particularly wished to avoid. 

“Thank you; I shall go back now. I was merely walkingto the gate with Mr. Glenarm. It is so fine to havehim back again, so unbelievable!”

It was just such a polite murmur as one might employin speaking to an old foe at a friend’s table. 

She listened a moment for his step; then, apparentlysatisfied, turned back toward St. Agatha’s. I followed, uncertain, hesitating, marking her definite onwardflight. From the folds of the cloak stole the faint perfumeof violets. The sight of her, the sound of hervoice, combined to create—and to destroy!—a moodwith every step. 

I was seeking some colorless thing to say when shespoke over her shoulder:

“You are very kind, but I am not in the least afraid, Mr. Glenarm. ”

“But there is something I wish to say to you. Ishould like—”

She slackened her step. 

“Yes. ”

“I am going away. ”

“Yes; of course; you are going away. ”

Her tone implied that this was something that hadbeen ordained from the beginning of time, and did notmatter. 

“And I wish to say a word about Mr. Pickering. ”

She paused and faced me abruptly. We were at theedge of the wood, and the school lay quite near. Shecaught the cloak closer about her and gave her head alittle toss I remembered well, as a trick compelled by thevagaries of woman’s head-dress. 

“I can’t talk to you here, Mr. Glenarm; I had no intentionof ever seeing you again; but I must say this—”

“Those notes of Pickering’s—I shall ask Mr. Glenarmto give them to you—as a mark of esteem from me. ”

She stepped backward as though I had struck her. 

“You risked much for them—for him”—I went on. 

“Mr. Glenarm, I have no intention of discussing that, or any other matter with you—”

“It is better so—”

“But your accusations, the things you imply, are unjust, infamous!”

The quaver in her voice shook my resolution to dealharshly with her. 

“If I had not myself been a witness—” I began. 

“Yes; you have the conceit of your own wisdom, Idare say. ”

“But that challenge to follow you, to break my pledge;my running away, only to find that Pickering was closeat my heels; your visit to the tunnel in search of thosenotes, —don’t you know that those things were a blowthat hurt? You had been the spirit of this woodland tome. Through all these months, from the hour I watchedyou paddle off into the sunset in your canoe, the thoughtof you made the days brighter, steadied and cheered me, and wakened ambitions that I had forgotten—abandoned—long ago. And this hideous struggle here, —it seemsso idle, so worse than useless now! But I’m glad I followedyou, —I’m glad that neither fortune nor duty keptme back. And now I want you to know that ArthurPickering shall not suffer for anything that has happened. I shall make no effort to punish him; for yoursake he shall go free. ”

A sigh so deep that it was like a sob broke from her. She thrust forth her hand entreatingly. 

“Why don’t you go to him with your generosity?You are so ready to believe ill of me! And I shall notdefend myself; but I will say these things to you, Mr. Glenarm: I had no idea, no thought of seeing him atthe Armstrongs’ that night. It was a surprise to me, and to them, when he telegraphed he was coming. Andwhen I went into the tunnel there under the wall thatnight, I had a purpose—a purpose—”

“Yes?” she paused and I bent forward, earnestlywaiting for her words, knowing that here lay her greatoffending. 

“I was afraid, —I was afraid that Mr. Glenarm mightnot come in time; that you might be dispossessed, —losethe fight, and I came back with Mr. Pickering becauseI thought some dreadful thing might happen here—toyou—”

She turned and ran from me with the speed of thewind, the cloak fluttering out darkly about her. At thedoor, under the light of the lamp, I was close upon her. Her hand was on the vestibule latch. 

“But how should I have known?” I cried. “And youhad taunted me with my imprisonment at Glenarm;you had dared me to follow you, when you knew thatmy grandfather was living and watching to see whetherI kept faith with him. If you can tell me, —if therean answer to that—”

“I shall never tell you anything—more! You were soeager to think ill of me—to accuse me!”

“It was because I love you; it was my jealousy of thatman, my boyhood enemy, that made me catch at anydoubt. You are so beautiful, —you are so much a partof the peace, the charm of all this! I had hoped forspring—for you and the spring together!”

“Oh, please—!”

Her flight had shaken the toque to an unwonted angle;her breath came quick and hard as she tugged atthe latch eagerly. The light from overhead was fullupon us, but I could not go with hope and belief strugglingunsatisfied in my heart. I seized her hands andsought to look into her eyes. 

“But you challenged me, —to follow you! I want toknow why you did that!”

She drew away, struggling to free herself

“Why was it, Marian?”

“Because I wanted—”

“Yes. ”

“I wanted you to come, Squire Glenarm!”

Thrice spring has wakened the sap in the Glenarmwood since that night. Yesterday I tore March fromthe calendar. April in Indiana! She is an impudenttomboy who whistles at the window, points to the sunshineand, when you go hopefully forth, summons theclouds and pelts you with snow. The austere old woodland, wise from long acquaintance, finds no joy in her. The walnut and the hickory have a higher respect forthe stormier qualities of December. April in Indiana!She was just there by the wall, where now the bluebirdpauses dismayed, and waits again the flash of her goldensandals. She bent there at the lakeside the splash ofa raindrop ago and tentatively poked the thin, brittleice with the pink tips of her little fingers. April in theheart! It brings back the sweet wonder and awe of thosedays, three years ago, when Marian and I, waiting forJune to come, knew a joy that thrilled our hearts likethe tumult of the first robin’s song. The marvel of itall steals over me again as I hear the riot of melody inmeadow and wood, and catch through the window theflash of eager wings. 

My history of the affair at Glenarm has overrun thebounds I had set for it, and these, I submit, are notdays for the desk and pen. Marian is turning over thesheets of manuscript that lie at my left elbow, and demandingthat I drop work for a walk abroad. Mygrandfather is pacing the terrace outside, planning, nodoubt, those changes in the grounds that are his constantdelight. 

Of some of the persons concerned in this winter’stale let me say a word more. The prisoner whom Larryleft behind we discharged, after several days, with allthe honors of war, and (I may add without breach ofconfidence) a comfortable indemnity. Larry has madea reputation by his book on Russia—a searching studyinto the conditions of the Czar’s empire, and, havingsqueezed that lemon, he is now in Tibet. His fatherhas secured from the British government a promise ofimmunity for Larry, so long as that amiable adventurerkeeps away from Ireland. My friend’s latest letters tome contain, I note, no reference to The Sod. 

Bates is in California conducting a fruit ranch, andwhen he visited us last Christmas he bore all the marksof a gentleman whom the world uses well. Stoddard’slife has known many changes in these years, but theymust wait for another day, and, perhaps, another historian. Suffice it to say that it was he who married us—Marian and me—in the little chapel by the wall, andthat when he comes now and then to visit us, we renewour impression of him as a man large of body and ofsoul. Sister Theresa continues at the head of St. Agatha’s, and she and the other Sisters of her brown-cladcompany are delightful neighbors. Pickering’s failureand subsequent disappearance were described sufficientlyin the newspapers and his name is never mentioned atGlenarm. 

As for myself—Marian is tapping the floor restlesslywith her boot and I must hasten—I may say that I amno idler. It was I who carried on the work of finishingGlenarm House, and I manage the farms which mygrandfather has lately acquired in this neighborhood. But better still, from my own point of view, I maintainin Chicago an office as consulting engineer and I havealready had several important commissions. 

Glenarm House is now what my grandfather hadwished to make it, a beautiful and dignified mansion. He insisted on filling up the tunnel, so that the Door ofBewilderment is no more. The passage in the wall andthe strong box in the paneling of the chimney-breastremain, though the latter we use now as a hiding-placefor certain prized bottles of rare whisky which JohnMarshall Glenarm ordains shall be taken down only onChristmas Eves, to drink the health of Olivia GladysArmstrong. That young woman, I may add, is now abelle in her own city, and of the scores of youngsters allthe way from Pittsburg to New Orleans who lay siegeto her heart, my word is, may the best man win!

And now, at the end, it may seem idle vanity for aman still young to write at so great length of his ownaffairs; but it must have been clear that mine is thehumblest figure in this narrative. I wished to set forthan honest account of my grandfather’s experiment inlooking into this world from another, and he has himselfurged me to write down these various incidentswhile they are still fresh in my memory. 

Marian—the most patient of women—is walking towardthe door, eager for the sunshine, the free airs ofspring, the blue vistas lakeward, and at last I am readyto go.