My Lady of Doubt

by Randall Parrish

  CHAPTER XVII

  ENTOMBED

  I had not suspected it; however obvious it may appear now to those whoread this tale, the possibility that she had been masquerading in anofficer's uniform, indulging in warlike deeds, had never once occurred tome. She was so thoroughly feminine that her acknowledgment came as adistinct shock. I had, it is true, seen sufficient of life to be ofcharitable mind, and yet there was that within me which instantlyrevolted. She read all this in my face, but fronted me without the quiverof an eyelash, firmly withdrawing her hand.

  "It is easy to perceive your disapproval," she said more coldly, "but Ihave no further explanation to make. I am sorry to have you think ill ofme, but I felt that perhaps you might realize my action was justified."

  "It is not that," I hastened to explain, ashamed of myself. "I have notlost faith in you. But I was brought up in a strict school; my mother wasalmost puritanical in her rules of conduct, and I have never entirelyoutgrown her conception of feminine limitations. I am sure you have onlydone what is right and womanly. Do not permit my first surprise to endour friendship."

  "That is for you to determine, Major Lawrence. I have confessed, and thuscleared my conscience of deceit. Some day you may also learn the cause ofmy action, but in the meantime it must bear your disapproval. However, weneed discuss the matter no longer--"

  She sprang to the door, and glanced out into the hall, stepping back oncemore as Peter appeared. His eyes swept the room in silent observation.

  "Captain Grant and the two officers with him have concluded their meal,Mistress Claire," he announced calmly, "and one of them has gone for afile of soldiers to begin the search of the house."

  "Very well, Peter; go back and assist them. I will see to the safeconcealment of Major Lawrence."

  He bowed graciously, and disappeared.

  "You have not given me your pardon," I implored as our eyes again met.

  "There is nothing to pardon, to my knowledge. I respect you because ofyour sense of propriety, but we cannot talk longer now. You must enterthe passage at once."

  "You will give me your hand first?"

  "Gladly," and I felt its firm pressure, her face brightened by a smile."Now let us remember rather the danger, the necessity of concealment, andnot delay too long. Wait a moment, Major; is it true you absolutely trustme?"

  "It certainly is."

  "I am going to put that to the test. You have papers you desire to giveat once into the hands of General Washington. You may be detained heresome time, but I have with me an Indian who could take them across theDelaware to-night. It is not the first time he has made that journey.Will you confide them to me?"

  Our eyes were looking directly into each other. I may have hesitated aninstant, confused by the unexpected request, yet there was something inthe expression of the girl's face which swept doubt swiftly aside. Icould not question her honesty, her faith. Strange as her actions seemedI was compelled to trust her. Why should I not? She was saving my life,and she had it in her power, by the mere speaking of a word, to betray meto those who would take the papers from me by force. Without a word Itook them from an inner pocket, and gave them to her. The red lipssmiled, the blue eyes brightening.

  "Tonepah shall leave within the hour," she promised, thrusting the smallpacket into the bosom of her dress. "Now step within, Major, and I willclose the door."

  I did as she requested, hearing the click of the lock behind me, andbeing as instantly plunged into darkness. I waited a moment, my foot uponthe first narrow stair, listening. No sound reached me from without, and,with her animated face still before me in memory, I began to slowly feelmy way down the circular staircase. There was nothing dangerous about thepassage, but with only the bare stone wall to touch with the hand I wasobliged to grope along blindly. The huge chimney had evidently beenerected merely for concealment, and I marvelled at the ingenuity of itsconstruction. I failed to count the steps, but I went around and aroundso many times, pressed against the smooth wall, that I knew I must bewell below the basement of the house before I finally stood at thebottom. I groped forward in the intense darkness, feeling withoutstretched hands. The first object encountered was a rough table, thesurface of which I explored, discovering thereon a candlestick with flintand steel beside it. With relief I struck a spark, and a yellow flamerevealed my surroundings.

  What I saw was a low room some fifteen feet square, the walls and roofapparently of stone securely mortared, the only exit the narrow circularstairs. The floor was of earth. Opposite me was a bunk slightly elevated,containing a blanket or two, and a fairly comfortable chair built from abarrel. An old coat and hat hung from a nail at the head of the bunk. Ona shelf near by was an earthen crock, and two candles, and beneath this,on the floor, was a sawed-off gun and two pistols, with a small supply ofpowder and balls, the former wrapped in an oiled cloth. It was in truth agloomy, desolate hole, although dry enough. For want of something betterto do I went over and picked up the pistols; the lock of one was broken,but the other seemed serviceable, and, after snapping the flint, I loadedthe weapon, and slipped it into my pocket. Somehow its possession yieldedme a new measure of courage, although I had no reason to suppose I wouldbe called upon to use the ancient relic.

  There was little to examine, but I tramped about nervously, tapping thewalls, and convincing myself of their solidity, and, finally, tired bythis useless exercise, seated myself in the chair. It was like beingburied in a tomb, not a sound reaching my strained ears, but at last thespirit of depression vanished, and my mind began to grapple with theproblems confronting me. I felt no regret at having entrusted my papersto Mistress Mortimer. There was no occasion for her attempting to trickme, and the contents of the packet were not sufficiently important tocause me any great worriment. Besides, I was beginning to believe thatthe sympathies of the girl were altogether with us. If so, what was shedoing, or attempting to do? It could be no light undertaking which hadled her to assume male attire, and enter upon the adventure of theevening before. She was evidently making use of the resemblance betweenherself and her brother to accomplish concealment. Yet for what purpose?to serve which cause? The best I could do was to guess blindly at theanswer. Let that be what it might, my own personal faith in her shouldnot waver. I had looked down into the depth of those blue eyes and readtruth there; I had felt the clasp of her warm hand and it held me firm.My heart beat more rapidly as I reviewed all that had transpired betweenus, and I began to realize how deep was the interest with which she hadalready inspired me. I had met many women--daughters of the besthomes--but never before a Claire Mortimer. The very mystery with whichshe was invested lured me to her, and yet beyond this there existed acharm indefinable that held me captive. She was a gay, laughing spirit,but with a steadiness of character in reserve ever provocative ofsurprise. I could never be sure which mood was uppermost, or which bestrepresented the real womanhood. Nor could I decide in which guise sheappealed to me the most. Hers was a witchery yielding no opportunity forescape.

  Heaven alone knows how long I remained there motionless, my mindelsewhere, drifting idly backward to the old home, reviewing the years ofwar that had transformed me from boy to man as though by some magic. Thevaried incidents of march, camp, and battle were like dreams, so swiftlydid they pass across the retina of the brain, each stirring event leadingto another as I climbed from the ranks to command. Yet at the end of allcame again the vision of Claire Mortimer, and I was seeing in her blueeyes the hope of the future. The candle sputtering fitfully aroused me tothe passing of time, and I lit another, and placed it in the candlestick.Surely the search of the house would be completed by this time, butperhaps the intention was to keep me concealed until Grant and his menhad finally departed.

  The silence and loneliness caused me to become restless. I could notentirely throw off the sense of being buried alive in this dismal hole. Iwondered if there was any way of escape, if that secret door was notlocked and unlocked only from without. A desire to ascertain led me totake candle in hand, a
nd climb the circular staircase, examining the wallas I passed upward. The interior of the chimney revealed nothing. While Ifelt convinced there must also be a false fireplace on the first floor,so as to carry out the deception, the dim candle light made no revealmentof its position. I could judge very nearly where it should appear, and Isounded the wall thereabout carefully both above and below withoutresult. Nor did any noise reach me to disclose a thinness of partition.

  Convinced of the solidity of the wall at this spot I continued higheruntil I came to the end of the passage. To my surprise the conditionshere were practically the same. Had I not entered at this point I couldnever have been convinced that there was an opening. From within itdefied discovery, for nothing confronted my eyes but mortared stone. Icould trace no crack, no semblance of a hinge, no secret spring. I feltalong the surface, inch by inch, with my finger tips, pressing againsteach slight irregularity, but without result. My ear held to the sidewall heard nothing--apparently I was sealed in helplessly, but for theassistance of friends without; no effort on my part could ever bringrelease. For a moment, as I realized all this, the cold perspirationstood in drops upon my forehead, and I noted the trembling of the handholding the candlestick. There was a horror to the thought hard toexplain--perhaps I would be left immured until my small stock of candleswas exhausted, and this dismal hole plunged in cave-like darkness; onlytwo persons knew of my predicament, or were capable of releasing me. Whatif something should occur making it impossible for either to act? What ifthis was a trick, and I had been actually buried alive? I grew morbid,suspicious, almost convinced that I was the victim of conspiracy. Then,somehow, a flash of courage returned, and I caught at these fears, asmemory of those honest blue eyes came again. I would not permit such athought to dominate me; it was not possible--the very conception wasinsanity.

  Yet I went over the rough surface again before retracing my steps down tothe room below. All this must have taken fully an hour of time, and thestrain of disappointment left me tired, as though I had done a day'swork. I sank back into the chair, watching the candle burn away, tryingin vain to think out some course of action if those above failed me. Ihad no reason to believe they would, and yet the long time I had beenthere--apparently much longer than it really was--the certainty that mymeans of light were fast being exhausted, the awful silence andloneliness, left upon me a horror against which I struggled in vain. Ican hardly conceive that I slept, and yet I certainly lost consciousness,for, when I aroused myself, I was in pitch darkness.

  I felt dazed, bewildered, but as my hand felt the edge of the table Icomprehended where I was, and what had occurred. Groping about I foundflint and steel, and that last candle, which I forced into thecandlestick. The tiny yellow flame was like a message from the gods. HowI watched it, every nerve tingling, as it burned lower and lower. Wouldit last until help came, or was I destined to remain pinned up in thedarkness of this ghastly grave? Why, I must have been there forhours--hours. The burning out of the candles proved that. Surely I coulddoubt no longer this was a trick, a cowardly, cruel trick! If help hadbeen coming it would have reached me before this. The day must havepassed, and much of the night. Grant and his party would have marchedaway long before this on the road to Philadelphia. What could haveoccurred, then, to prevent Peter or the girl from setting me free? Couldthey have been forced into accompanying the soldiers? Could they haveforgotten? Could they deliberately leave me there to die?

  My brain whirled with incipient madness, as such questions haunted meunceasingly. I lost faith in everything, even her, and cursed aloud,hating the echoes of my own voice. It seemed as though those walls, thatlow roof, were crushing me, as if the close, foul air was suffocating. Irecall tearing open the front of my shirt to gain easier breath. I walkedabout beating with bare hands the rough stone, muttering to myself wordswithout meaning. The candle had burned down until barely an inchremained.