XII. ELEANORE.
“Constant you are-- ... And for secrecy No lady closer.”
Henry IV.
“No, ‘t is slander, Whose edge is sharper than the sword whose tongue Outvenoms all the worms of Nile.”
Cymbeline.
THE door was opened by Molly. “You will find Miss Eleanore in thedrawing-room, sir,” she said, ushering me in.
Fearing I knew not what, I hurried to the room thus indicated, feelingas never before the sumptuousness of the magnificent hall with itsantique flooring, carved woods, and bronze ornamentations:--the mockeryof _things_ for the first time forcing itself upon me. Laying my handon the drawing-room door, I listened. All was silent. Slowly pulling itopen, I lifted the heavy satin curtains hanging before me to the floor,and looked within. What a picture met my eyes!
Sitting in the light of a solitary gas jet, whose faint glimmering justserved to make visible the glancing satin and stainless marble ofthe gorgeous apartment, I beheld Eleanore Leavenworth. Pale as thesculptured image of the Psyche that towered above her from the mellowdusk of the bow-window near which she sat, beautiful as it, and almostas immobile, she crouched with rigid hands frozen in forgotten entreatybefore her, apparently insensible to sound, movement, or touch; a silentfigure of despair in presence of an implacable fate.
Impressed by the scene, I stood with my hand upon the curtain,hesitating if to advance or retreat, when suddenly a sharp tremble shookher impassive frame, the rigid hands unlocked, the stony eyes softened,and, springing to her feet, she uttered a cry of satisfaction, andadvanced towards me.
“Miss Leavenworth!” I exclaimed, starting at the sound of my own voice.
She paused, and pressed her hands to her face, as if the world and allshe had forgotten had rushed back upon her at this simple utterance ofher name.
“What is it?” I asked.
Her hands fell heavily. “Do you not know? They--they are beginning tosay that I--” she paused, and clutched her throat. “Read!” she gasped,pointing to a newspaper lying on the floor at her feet.
I stooped and lifted what showed itself at first glance to be the_Evening Telegram._ It needed but a single look to inform me to what shereferred. There, in startling characters, I beheld:
THE LEAVENWORTH MURDER
LATEST DEVELOPMENTS IN THE MYSTERIOUS CASE
A MEMBER OF THE MURDERED MAN’S OWN FAMILY STRONGLY SUSPECTED OF THE CRIME
THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN IN NEW YORK UNDER A CLOUD
PAST HISTORY OF MISS ELEANORE LEAVENWORTH
I was prepared for it; had schooled myself for this very thing, youmight say; and yet I could not help recoiling. Dropping the paper frommy hand, I stood before her, longing and yet dreading to look into herface.
“What does it mean?” she panted; “what, what does it mean? Is the worldmad?” and her eyes, fixed and glassy, stared into mine as if she foundit impossible to grasp the sense of this outrage.
I shook my head. I could not reply.
“To accuse _me_” she murmured; “me, me!” striking her breast with herclenched hand, “who loved the very ground he trod upon; who would havecast my own body between him and the deadly bullet if I had only knownhis danger. Oh!” she cried, “it is not a slander they utter, but adagger which they thrust into my heart!”
Overcome by her misery, but determined not to show my compassion untilmore thoroughly convinced of her complete innocence, I replied, after apause:
“This seems to strike you with great surprise, Miss Leavenworth; wereyou not then able to foresee what must follow your determined reticenceupon certain points? Did you know so little of human nature as toimagine that, situated as you are, you could keep silence in regard toany matter connected with this crime, without arousing the antagonism ofthe crowd, to say nothing of the suspicions of the police?”
“But--but----”
I hurriedly waved my hand. “When you defied the coroner to findany suspicious paper in your possession; when”--I forced myself tospeak--“you refused to tell Mr. Gryce how you came in possession of thekey--”
She drew hastily back, a heavy pall seeming to fall over her with mywords.
“Don’t,” she whispered, looking in terror about her. “Don’t! Sometimes Ithink the walls have ears, and that the very shadows listen.”
“Ah,” I returned; “then you hope to keep from the world what is known tothe detectives?”
She did not answer.
“Miss Leavenworth,” I went on, “I am afraid you do not comprehendyour position. Try to look at the case for a moment in the light ofan unprejudiced person; try to see for yourself the necessity ofexplaining----”
“But I cannot explain,” she murmured huskily.
“Cannot!”
I do not know whether it was the tone of my voice or the word itself,but that simple expression seemed to affect her like a blow.
“Oh!” she cried, shrinking back: “you do not, cannot doubt me, too? Ithought that you--” and stopped. “I did not dream that I--” and stoppedagain. Suddenly her whole form quivered. “Oh, I see! You have mistrustedme from the first; the appearances against me have been too strong”; andshe sank inert, lost in the depths of her shame and humiliation. “Ah,but now I am forsaken!” she murmured.
The appeal went to my heart. Starting forward, I exclaimed: “MissLeavenworth, I am but a man; I cannot see you so distressed. Saythat you are innocent, and I will believe you, without regard toappearances.”
Springing erect, she towered upon me. “Can any one look in my faceand accuse me of guilt?” Then, as I sadly shook my head, she hurriedlygasped: “You want further proof!” and, quivering with an extraordinaryemotion, she sprang to the door.
“Come, then,” she cried, “come!” her eyes flashing full of resolve uponme.
Aroused, appalled, moved in spite of myself, I crossed the room to whereshe stood; but she was already in the hall. Hastening after her, filledwith a fear I dared not express, I stood at the foot of the stairs; shewas half-way to the top. Following her into the hall above, I saw herform standing erect and noble at the door of her uncle’s bedroom.
“Come!” she again cried, but this time in a calm and reverential tone;and flinging the door open before her, she passed in.
Subduing the wonder which I felt, I slowly followed her. There was nolight in the room of death, but the flame of the gas-burner, at the farend of the hall, shone weirdly in, and by its glimmering I beheld herkneeling at the shrouded bed, her head bowed above that of the murderedman, her hand upon his breast.
“You have said that if I declared my innocence you would believe me,” she exclaimed, lifting her head as I entered. “See here,” and layingher cheek against the pallid brow of her dead benefactor, she kissed theclay-cold lips softly, wildly, agonizedly, then, leaping to her feet,cried, in a subdued but thrilling tone: “Could I do that if I wereguilty? Would not the breath freeze on my lips, the blood congeal inmy veins, and my heart faint at this contact? Son of a father loved andreverenced, can you believe me to be a woman stained with crime when Ican do this?” and kneeling again she cast her arms over and about thatinanimate form, looking in my face at the same time with an expressionno mortal touch could paint, nor tongue describe.
“In olden times,” she went on, “they used to say that a dead body wouldbleed if its murderer came in contact with it. What then would happenhere if I, his daughter, his cherished child, loaded with benefits,enriched with his jewels, warm with his kisses, should be the thing theyaccuse me of? Would not the body of the outraged dead burst its veryshroud and repel me?”
I could not answer; in the presence of some scenes the tongue forgetsits functions.
“Oh!” she went on, “if there is a God in heaven who loves justice andhates a crime, let Him hear me now. If I, by thought or action, withor without intention, have been the means of bringing this dear head tothis pass; if so much as the shadow of guilt, let alone the substance,
lies upon my heart and across these feeble woman’s hands, may His wrathspeak in righteous retribution to the world, and here, upon the breastof the dead, let this guilty forehead fall, never to rise again!”
An awed silence followed this invocation; then a long, long sigh ofutter relief rose tremulously from my breast, and all the feelingshitherto suppressed in my heart burst their bonds, and leaning towardsher I took her hand in mine.
“You do not, cannot believe me tainted by crime now?” she whispered,the smile which does not stir the lips, but rather emanates from thecountenance, like the flowering of an inner peace, breaking softly outon cheek and brow.
“Crime!” The word broke uncontrollably from my lips; “crime!”
“No,” she said calmly, “the man does not live who could accuse me ofcrime, _here_.”
For reply, I took her hand, which lay in mine, and placed it on thebreast of the dead.
Softly, slowly, gratefully, she bowed her head.
“Now let the struggle come!” she whispered. “There is one who willbelieve in me, however dark appearances may be.”
The Leavenworth Case Page 12
