XXIII
THE MISFORTUNES OF MY HOUSE
To one who swoons but seldom, the moment of returning consciousness isoften fraught with great pain and sometimes with unimaginable horror. Itwas such to Deborah; the pain and horror holding her till her eyes,accustomed to realities again, saw in the angel face which floatedbefore her vision amid a swarm of demon masks, the sweet and solicitouscountenance of Reuther.
As she took this in, she took in other facts also: that there were nodemons, no strangers even about her: That she and her child werecomparatively alone in their own little parlour, and that Reuther'ssweet face wore a look of lofty courage which reminded her of somethingshe could not at the moment grasp, but which was so beautiful. At thatinstant her full memory came, and, uttering a low cry, she started up,and struggling to her feet, confronted her child, this time with a lookfull of agonised inquiry.
Reuther seemed to understand her; for, taking her mother's hand in hers,she softly said:
"I knew you were not seriously ill, only frightened by the crowd andtheir senseless shoutings. Don't think of it any more, dear mother. Thepeople are dispersing now, and you will soon be quite restored and readyto smile with us at an attack so groundless it is little short ofabsurd."
Astounded at such tranquillity where she had expected anguish if notstark unreason, doubting her eyes, her ears--for this was no longer herdelicate, suffering Reuther to be shielded from all unhappy knowledge,but a woman as strong if not as wise to the situation as herself--shescrutinised the child closely, then turned her gaze slowly about theroom, and started in painful surprise, as she perceived standing in thespace behind her the tall figure of Judge Ostrander.
He! and she must face him! the man whom she by her blind and untimelyefforts to regain happiness for Reuther, had brought to this woful pass!The ordeal was too bitter for her broken spirit and, shrinking aside,she covered her face with her hands like one who stands detected in aguilty act.
"Pardon," she entreated, forgetting Reuther's presence in herconsciousness of the misery she had brought upon her benefactor. "Inever meant--I never dreamed--"
"Oh, no apologies!" Was this the judge speaking? The tone was anadmonitory, not a suffering one. It was not even that of a manhumiliated or distressed. "You have had an unfortunate experience, butthat is over now and so must your distress be." Then, as in herastonishment she dropped her hands and looked up, he added very quietly,"Your daughter has been much disturbed about you, but not at all aboutOliver or his good name. She knows my son too well, and so do you and I,to be long affected by the virulent outcries of a mob seeking for anobject upon which to expend their spleen."
Swaying yet in body and mind, quite unable in the turmoil of her spiritsto reconcile this strong and steady man with the crushed and despairingfigure she had so lately beheld shrinking under the insults of thecrowd, Deborah was glad to sit silent under this open rebuke and listento Reuther's ingenuous declarations, though she knew that they broughtno conviction and distilled no real comfort either to his mind or hers.
"Yes, mother darling," the young girl was saying. "These people have notseen Oliver in years, but we have, and nothing they can say, nothingthat any one can say but himself could ever shake my belief in him as aman incapable of a really wicked act. He might be capable of striking asudden blow--most men are under great provocation--but to conceal such afact,--to live for years enjoying the respect of all who knew him, withthe knowledge festering in his heart of another having suffered for hiscrime--that, THAT would be impossible to Oliver Ostrander."
Some words ring in the heart long after their echo has left the ear.IMPOSSIBLE! Deborah stole a look at the judge. But he was gazing atReuther, where he well might gaze, if his sinking heart craved supportor his abashed mind sought to lose itself in the enthusiasm of this puresoul, with its loving, uncalculating instincts.
"Am I not right, mother?"
Ah! must she answer that?
"Tell the judge who is as confident of Oliver as I am myself that youare confident, too. That you could no more believe him capable of thisabominable act than you could believe it of my father."
"I will--tell--the judge," stammered the unhappy mother. "Judge," shebriefly declared, as she rose with the help of her daughter's arm, "mymind agrees with yours in this matter. What you think, I think." Andthat was all she could say.
As she fell again into her seat, the judge turned to Reuther:
"Leave your mother for a little while," he urged with that raregentleness he always showed her. "Let her rest here a few minuteslonger, alone with me."
"Yes, Reuther," murmured Deborah, seeing no way of avoiding thisinevitable interview. "I am feeling better every minute. I will comesoon."
The young girl's eye faltered from one to the other, then settled, witha strange and imploring look upon her mother. Had her clear intelligencepierced at last to the core of that mother's misery? Had she seen whatDeborah would have spared her at the cost of her own life? It would seemso, for when the mother, with great effort, began some conciliatoryspeech, the young girl smiled with a certain sad patience, and, turningtowards Judge Ostrander, said as she softly withdrew:
"You have been very kind to allow me to mention a name and discuss asubject you have expressly forbidden. I want to show my gratitude, JudgeOstrander, by never referring to it again without your permission. Thatyou know my mind,"--here her head rose with a sort of lofty pride whichlent a dazzling quality to her usually quiet beauty,--"and that I knowyours, is quite enough for me."
"A noble girl! a mate for the best!" fell from the judge's lips after asilence disturbed only by the faint, far-off murmur of a slowlydispersing throng.
Deborah made no answer. She could not yet trust her courage or hervoice.
The judge, who was standing near, concentrated his look upon herfeatures. Still she made no effort to meet his eye. He did not speak,and the silence grew appalling. To break it, he stepped away and took aglance out of the window. There was nothing to be seen there; the fencehid all, but he continued to look, the shadows from his soul settlingdeeper and deeper upon his countenance as each heavy moment dragged by.When he finally turned, it was with a powerful effort which communicateditself to her and forced her long-bowed head to rise and her troubledmind to disclose itself.
"You wish to express your displeasure, and hesitate on account ofReuther," she faltered. "You need not. We are quite prepared to leaveyour house if our presence reminds you too much of the calamity I havebrought upon you by my inconsiderate revival of a past you had everyreason to believe buried."
His reply was uttered with great courtesy.
"Madam," said he, "I have never had a thought from the first moment ofyour coming, of any change in the arrangements we then entered into; noris the demonstration we have just witnessed a calamity of sufficientimportance to again divide this household. To connect my high-minded sonwith a crime for which he had no motive and from which he could reap nobenefit is, if you will pardon my plain speaking at a moment socritical, even greater folly than to exculpate, after all these years,the man whom a conscientious jury found guilty. Only a mob could soindulge itself; individuals will not dare."
She thought of the letter which had been passed up to him in court, andsurveyed him with an astonishment she made no effort to conceal. Neverhad she felt at a greater disadvantage with him. Never had sheunderstood him less. Was this attempt at unconcern, so pitiablytransparent to her, made in an endeavour to probe her mind or to deceivehis own? In her anxiety to determine, she hesitatingly remarked:
"Not the man who writes those anonymous letters?"
"Letters?" Involuntarily his hand flew to one of his inner pockets.
"Yes, you have found them, have you not, lying about the grounds?"
"No." He looked startled. "Explain yourself," said he. "What letters?Not such as--" Again his hand went to his pocket, but shrunk hastilyback as she pulled out a crumpled bit of paper and began to smooth itout for his perusal.
"W
hat have you there?" he cried.
"Such a letter as I speak of, Judge Ostrander. I picked it up from thewalk a day or so ago. Perhaps you have come upon the like?"
"No; why should I?"
He had started back, but his eye falling involuntarily upon the wordsshe had spread out before him, he rapidly read them, and aghast at theirimport, glanced from the paper to her face and back again, crying:
"He means Oliver! We have an enemy, Mrs. Scoville, an enemy! Do youknow"--here he leaned forward, and plunged his eye, now burning withmany passions, into hers--"who this enemy is?"
"Yes." Softly as the word came, it seemed to infuriate him. Seizing herby the arm, he was about to launch against her the whole weight of hisaroused nature, when she said simply: "He is a common bill-poster. Itook pains to find this out. I was as interested as you could be todiscover the author of such an outrage."
"A bill-poster?"
"Yes, Judge Ostrander."
"What is his name?"
"I do not know. I only know that he is resolved upon making you trouble.It was he who incited this riot. He did it by circulating anonymousmissives and by--forgive me for telling you this--affixing scrawls ofthe same ambiguous character on fences and on walls, and even on--on--"(Here terror tied her tongue, for his hand had closed about her arm in aforceful grip, and the fire in the eye holding hers was a consuming one)"the rails--of--of BRIDGES."
"Ah!"
The cry was involuntary, but not so the steady settling of the lipswhich followed it and the determined poise of his body as he waited forher next word.
"Miss Weeks, the little lady opposite, saw the latter and tore it off.But the mischief had already spread. Oh, strike me! Send me from yourhouse!"
He gave no token of hearing her.
"Why is this man my enemy?" he asked. "I do not know any such person asyou describe."
"Nor I," she answered more quietly.
"A bill-poster! Well, he has done his worst. I shall think no more abouthim." And the burning eye grew mild and the working lip calm again, witha determination too devoid of sarcasm to be false.
It was a change for which Deborah was in no wise prepared. She showedher amazement as ingenuously as a child, and he, observing it, remarkedin a different tone from any he had used yet:
"You do not look well. You are still suffering from the distress andconfusion into which this wretched swoon has thrown you. Or can it bethat you are not yet convinced of our wisdom in ignoring this diabolicattack upon one whose reputation is as dear to us as our own? If that isso, and I see that it is, let me remind you of a fact which cannot benew to you if it is to others of happier memories, that no accusation ofthis kind, however plausible--and this is not plausible--can hold itsown for a day without evidence to back it. And there is no evidenceagainst my son in this ancient matter of my friend Etheridge's violentdeath, save the one coincidence known to many, that he chanced to besomewhere in the ravine at that accursed hour. A petty point upon whichto hang this late and elaborate insult of suspicion!" And his voice rangout in a laugh, but not as it would have rung, or as Deborah thought itwould have rung, had his mind been as free as his words.
When it had quite ceased, Deborah threw off the last remnant of physicalas well as moral weakness, and deliberately rose to her feet. Shebelieved she understood him now; and she respected the effort he wasmaking, and would have seconded it gladly had she dared.
But she did not dare. If he were really as ignorant as he appeared ofthe extent of the peril threatening Oliver's good name; if he hadcheated himself during these long years into supposing that the secretwhich had undermined his own happiness was an unshared one, and that hisown conduct since that hour he had characterised as accursed, had givenno point to the charges they had just heard hurled against his son, thenhe ought to be undeceived and that right speedily. Evidence did existconnecting Oliver with this crime; evidence as sure, nay, yet surer,than that raised against her husband; and no man's laughter, no, noteven his father's--least of all his father's--could cover up the fact oravail against the revelations which must follow, now that the scent wason. Honouring as she did the man before her, understanding both hismisery and the courage he displayed in this superhuman effort to hidehis own convictions, she gathered up all her resources, and with aresolution no less brave than his, said firmly:
"You are too much respected in this town, Judge Ostrander, for anycollection of people, however thoughtless or vile, to so follow the leadof a low-down miscreant as to greet you to your face with these damagingassertions, unless they THOUGHT they had evidence, and good evidence,too, with which to back these assertions."
It was the hurling of an arrow poisoned at the point; the launching of abomb into the very citadel of his security. Had he burst intooutbreak--gripped her again or fiercely shown her the door, she wouldnot have been astonished. Indeed, she was prepared for some such result,but it did not come. On the contrary, his answer was almost mild, thoughtinged for the first time with a touch of that biting sarcasm for whichhe had once been famous.
"If they had not THOUGHT!" he repeated. "If you had said if they had notKNOWN, then I might indeed have smelt danger. People THINK strangethings. Perhaps YOU think them, too."
"I?" The moment was critical. She saw now that he was sounding her,--hadbeen sounding her from the first. Should she let everything go and lethim know her mind, or should she continue to conceal it? In eithercourse lay danger, if not to herself and Reuther, then to himself andOliver. She decided for the truth. Subterfuge had had its day. Themenace of the future called for the strongest weapons which lie at thehand of man. She, therefore, answered:
"Yes; I have been thinking, and this is the result: You must eitherexplain publicly and quite satisfactorily to the people of this town,the mystery of your long separation from Oliver and the life you havesince led in this trebly barred house, or accept the opprobrium of suchaccusations as we have listened to to-day. There is no middle course,Judge Ostrander. I who have loved Oliver almost like a son;--who have adaughter who not only loves him but regards him as a perfect model ofnoble manhood, tell you so, though it breaks my heart to do it. I cannotsee you both fall headlong to destruction for lack of understanding thenearness or the depth of the precipice you are approaching."
"So!"
The ejaculation came after a moment of intense silence--a silence duringwhich she seemed to discern the sturdiness of years drop slowly awayfrom him.
"So that is the explanation which people give to my desire forretirement and a life of contemplation. Well," he slowly added, with thehalting utterance of one to whom each word is an effort, "I can see somejustification for their conclusions now. I have been too self-centred,and too short-sighted to recognise my own folly. I might have known thatanything out of the common course rouses a curiosity which supplies itsown explanation at any cost to propriety or respect. I have courted myown doom. I am the victim of my own mistake. But," he continued, with aflash of his old fire which made him a dignified figure again, "I'm notgoing to cringe because I have lost ground in the first skirmish. I comeof fighting blood. Oliver's reputation shall not suffer long, whatever Imay have done in my parental confidence to endanger it. I have not spentten years at the bar, and fifteen on the bench for nothing. Let thepeople look to it! I will stand by my own."
He had as completely forgotten her as if she had never existed. JohnScoville, his widow, even the child bowed under troubles not unlike hisown, had faded alike from his consciousness. But the generous Deborahfelt no resentment at the determination which would only press her andhers deeper into contumely. She had seen the father in the man for thefirst time, and her whole heart went out in passionate sympathy whichblinded her to everything but her present duty. Alas, that it should beso hard a one! Alas, that instead of encouraging him, she must point outthe one weakness of his cause which he did not or would not see, thatis, his own conviction of his absent son's guilt as typified by the linehe had deliberately smeared across Oliver's pictured countenance.
Thetask seemed so difficult, the first steps so blind, that she did notknow how to begin and stood staring at him with interest and dreadstruggling for mastery in her heavily labouring breast.
Did he perceive this or was it the silence which drew his attention toher condition and the evils still threatening him? Whichever it was, thelight vanished from his face as he surveyed her and it was with a returnof his old manner, that he finally observed:
"You are keeping something from me--some fancied discovery--some clew,as they call it, to what you may consider my dear boy's guilt."
With a deep breath she woke from her trance of indecision and lettingforth the full passion of her nature, she cried out in her anguish:
"I have but one answer for that, Judge Ostrander. Look into your ownheart! Question your own conscience. I have seen what reveals it. I--"
She stopped appalled. Rage, such as she had never even divined spokefrom every feature. He was no longer the wretched but calmly reasoningman, but a creature hardly human, and when he spoke, it was in a frenzywhich swept everything before it.
"You have SEEN!" he shouted. "You have broken your promise! You havetouched what you were forbidden to touch! You have--"
"Not so," she broke in softly but very firmly. "I have touched nothingthat I was told not to, nor have I broken any promise. I simply saw morethan I was expected to, I suppose, of the picture which fell the day youfirst allowed me to enter your study."
"Is that true?"
"It is true."
They were whispering now.
Drawing a deep breath, he gathered up his faculties. "Upon suchaccidents," he muttered, "hang the fate and honour of men. And you havegossiped about this picture," he again vociferated with sudden andunrestrained violence, "told Reuther--told others--"
"No." The denial was peremptory,--not to be disbelieved. "What I havelearned, I have kept religiously to myself. Alas!" she half moaned, halfcried, "that I should feel the necessity!"
"Madam!"--he was searching her eyes, searching her very soul, as menseldom search the mind of another. "You believe in the truth of thesecalumnies that have just been shouted in our ears. You believe what theysay of Oliver. You with every prejudice in his favour; with every desireto recognise his worth! You, who have shown yourself ready to drop yourhusband's cause though you consider it an honest one, when you saw whathavoc it would entail to my boy's repute. YOU believe--and on whatevidence?" he broke in. "Because of the picture?"
"Yes."
"And the coincidence of his presence in the ravine?"
"Yes."
"But these are puerile reasons." He was speaking peremptorily now andwith all the weight of a master mind. "And you are not the woman to besatisfied with anything puerile. There is something back of all this;something you have not imparted. What is that something? Tell--tell--"
"Oliver was a mere boy in those days and a very passionate one. He hatedEtheridge--the obtrusive mentor who came between him and yourself."
"Hated?"
"Yes."
"HATED?"
"Yes, there is proof."
"Of his hate?"
"Yes, judge."
He did not ask where. Possibly he knew. And because he did not ask, shedid not tell him, holding on to her secret in a vague hope that so muchat least might never see light.
"I knew the boy shrank sometimes from Algernon's company," the judgeadmitted, after another glance at her face; "but that means nothing in aboy full of his own affairs. What else have you against him? Speak up! Ican bear it all."
"He handled the stick that--that-"
"Oliver?"
"Yes."
"Never! Now you have gone mad, madam."
"I would be willing to end my days in an asylum if that would disprovethis fact."
"But, madam, what proof--what reason can you have for an assertion somonstrous?"
"You remember the shadow I saw which was not that of John Scoville? Theperson who made that shadow was whittling a stick; that was a trick ofOliver's. I have heard that he even whittled furniture."
"Good God!" The judge's panoply was pierced at last.
"They tried to prove, as you will remember, that it was John who thusdisfigured the bludgeon he always carried with pride. But the argumentwas a sorry one and in itself would have broken down the prosecution hadhe been a man of better repute. Now, those few chips taken from thehandle of this weapon will carry a different significance. For in myfolly I asked to see this stick which still exists at PoliceHeadquarters, and there in the wood I detected and pointed out a trifleof steel which never came from the unbroken blades of the knife takenfrom John's pocket."
Fallen was the proud head now and fallen the great man's aspect. If hespoke it was to utter a low "Oliver! Oliver!"
The pathos of it--the heart-rending wonder in the tone brought the tearsto Deborah's eyes and made her last words very difficult.
"But the one great thing which gives to these facts their reallydangerous point is the mystery you have made of your life and of thisso-called hermitage. If you can clear up that, you can afford to ignorethe rest."
"The misfortunes of my house!" was his sole response. "The misfortunesof my house!"
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