Dark Hollow

by Anna Katharine Green

  XXXII

  THE VIGIL

  When Mr. Black came into Shelby, he came alone. He was anxious to getback; anxious to face his enemies if he had any; anxious to see Deborahand explain. Miss Weeks and Reuther followed on more slowly; this wasbetter for them and better for him, and better, too, for Deborah, whomust hear his story without the distraction of her daughter's presence.

  It was dark when he stepped on to the platform, and darker still when herang the bell of Judge Ostrander's house. But it was not late, and hisagitation had but few minutes in which to grow, before the gate swungwide and he felt her hand in his.

  She was expecting him. He had telegraphed the hour at which he shouldarrive, and also when to look for Reuther. Consequently there was nonecessity for preliminaries, and he could ask at once for the judge andwhether he was strong enough to bear disappointment.

  Deborah's answer was certainly disconcerting.

  "I've not seen him. He admits nobody. When I enter the library, heretreats to his bedroom. I have not even been allowed to hand him hisletters. I put them on his tray when I carry in his meals."

  "He has received letters then?"

  "Unimportant ones, yes."

  "None from Oliver?"

  "Oh, no."

  A pause.

  "Deborah?"

  Another pause. The echo of that name so uttered was too sweet in her earfor her to cut it short by too hasty a reply. When she did speak, it washumbly, or should I say, wistfully.

  "Yes, Mr. Black."

  "I am afraid he never will hear from Oliver. The boy gave us the slip inthe most remarkable manner. I will tell you when we get inside."

  She led him up the walk. She moved slowly, and he felt the influence ofher discouragement. But once in the lighted parlour, she turned upon himthe face he knew best--the mother face.

  "Did Reuther see him?" she asked.

  Then he told her the whole story.

  When she had heard him through, she looked about the room they were in,with a lingering, abstracted gaze he hardly understood till he saw itfall with an indescribable aspect of sorrow upon a picture which hadlately been found and rehung upon the wall. It was a portrait ofOliver's mother.

  "I am disappointed," she murmured in bitter reflection to herself. "Idid not expect Oliver to clear himself, but I did expect him to face hisaccusers if only for his father's sake. What am I to say now to thejudge?"

  "Nothing to-night. In the morning we will talk the whole subject over. Imust first explain myself to Andrews, and, if possible, learn hisintentions; then I shall know better what to advise."

  "Did the officer you met on your return from Tempest Lodge follow you toShelby?"

  "I have not seen him."

  "That is bad. He followed Oliver."

  "It was to be expected."

  "Oliver is in Canada?"

  "Undoubtedly."

  "Which means--"

  "Delay, then extradition. It's that fellow Flannagan who has broughtthis upon us. The wretch knows something which forbids us to hope."

  "Alas, yes." And a silence followed, during which such entire stillnessrested upon the house that a similar thought rose in both minds. Couldit be that under this same roof, and only separated from them by apartition, there brooded another human being helplessly awaiting amessage which would never come, and listening, but how vainly, for thestep and voice for which he hungered, though they were the prelude tofurther shame and the signal for coming punishment.

  So strong was this thought in both their minds, that the shadow deepenedupon both faces, as though a presence had passed between them; and whenMr. Black rose, as he very soon did, it was with an evident dread ofleaving her alone with this thought.

  They were lingering yet in the hall, the goodnight faltering on theirlips, when suddenly their eyes flashed together in mutual question, andDeborah bent her ear towards the street.

  An automobile was slowing up--stopping--stopping before the gates!Deborah turned and looked at Mr. Black. Was it the police? No, for theautomobile was starting up again--it was going. Whoever had come hadcome to stay. With eyes still on those of Mr. Black, whose face showed asudden change, she threw her hand behind her and felt wildly about forthe door-knob. She had just grasped it--when the bell rang. Never had itsounded so shrill and penetrating. Never had it rung quite such asummons through this desolate house. Recoiling, she made a motion ofentreaty.

  "Go," she whispered. "Open! I cannot."

  Quickly he obeyed. She heard him pass out and down the walk, and throughthe first gate. Then there came a silence, followed by the opening ofthe second gate. Then, a sound like smothered greetings, followed byquickly advancing steps and a voice she knew:

  "How is my father? Is he well? I cannot enter till I know."

  It was Oliver!--come from some distant station, or from some other linewhich he had believed unwatched. Tumultuous as her thoughts were, shedared not indulge in them for a moment, or give way to gratitude or anyother emotion. There were words to be said--words which must be utteredon the instant and with as much imperiousness as his own.

  Throwing the door wide, she called down the steps:

  "Yes, he is well. Come in, Mr. Ostrander, and you, too, Mr. Black.Instructions have been given me by the judge, which I must deliver atonce. He expects you, Oliver," she went on, as the two men stepped in."But not knowing when, he bade me say to you immediately upon yourentrance (and I am happy to be able to do this in Mr. Black's presence),that much as he would like to be on hand to greet you, he cannot see youto-night. You may wish to go to him--but you must restrain this wish.Nor are you to talk, though he does not forbid you to listen. If you donot know what has happened here, Mr. Black will tell you, but forto-night at least, and up to a certain hour to-morrow, you are to keepyour own counsel. When certain persons whose names he has given me canbe gotten together in this house, he will join you, giving you yourfirst meeting in the presence of others. Afterwards he will see youalone. If these plans distress you,--if you find the delay hard, I am tosay that it is even harder for him than it can be for you. Butcircumstances compel him to act thus, and he expects you to understandand be patient. Mr. Black, assure Mr. Ostrander that I am not likely tooverstate the judge's commands, or to add to or detract from them in theleast particular--that I am simply the judge's mouthpiece."

  "You may believe that, Mr. Ostrander." Young Ostrander bowed.

  "I have no doubt of the fact," he assured her, with an unsuccessfuleffort to keep his trouble out of his voice. "But as my father allows mesome explanation, I shall be very glad to hear what has happened here tooccasion my imperative recall."

  "Do you not read the papers, Mr. Ostrander?"

  "I have not looked at one since I started upon my return."

  Mr. Black glanced at Deborah, who was slipping away. Then he made a movetowards the parlour.

  "If you will come in and sit down, Mr. Ostrander, I'll tell you what youhave every right to know."

  But when they found themselves alone together, Oliver's manner altered.

  "One moment," said he, before Mr. Black could speak. "I should like toask you first of all, if Miss Scoville is better. When I left you bothso suddenly at Tempest Lodge, she was not well. I--"

  "She is quite recovered, Mr. Ostrander."

  "And is here?"

  "Not yet. I came back quickly--like yourself."

  Involuntarily their glances met in a question which perhaps neitherdesired to have answered. Then Oliver remarked quite simply:

  "My haste seemed warranted by my father's message. Five minutes,--oneminute even is of great importance when you have but fifteen in which tocatch a train."

  "And by such a route!"

  "You know my route." A short laugh escaped him. "I feared thedelay--possibly the interference--But why discuss these unimportantmatters! I succeeded in my efforts. I am here, at my father's command,unattended and, as I believe, without the knowledge of any one butyourself and Mrs. Scoville. But your reason for these has
tysummons--that is what I am ready now to hear." And he sat down, but insuch a way as to throw his face very much into the shadow.

  This was a welcome circumstance to the lawyer. His task promised to behard enough at the best. Black night had not offered too dark a screenbetween him and the man thus suddenly called upon to face suspicions thevery shadow of which is enough to destroy a life. The hardy lawyershrunk from uttering the words which would make the gulf imaginativelyopening between them a real, if not impassable, one. Something about theyoung man appealed to him--something apart from his relationship to thejudge--something inherent in himself. Perhaps it was the misery hebetrayed. Perhaps it was the memory of Reuther's faith in him and howthat faith must suffer when she saw him next. Instantaneous reflections;but epoch-making in a mind like his. Alanson Black had never hesitatedbefore in the face of any duty, and it robbed him of confidence. But hegave no proof of this in voice or manner, as pacing the floor inalternate approach and retreat, he finally addressed the motionlessfigure he could no longer ignore.

  "You want to know what has happened here? If you mean lately, I shallhave to explain that anything which has lately occurred to distress yourfather or make your presence here desirable, has its birth in eventswhich date back to days when this was your home and the bond betweenyourself and father the usual and natural one."

  Silence in that shadowy corner! But this the speaker had expected, andmust have exacted even if Oliver had shown the least intention ofspeaking.

  "A man was killed here in those old days--pardon me if I am tooabrupt--and another man was executed for this crime. You were a boy--butyou must remember."

  Again he paused; but no more in expectation of or desire for an answerthan before. One must breathe between the blows he inflicts, even if oneis a lawyer.

  "That was twelve years ago. Not so long a time as has elapsed since youmet a waif of the streets and chastised him for some petty annoyance.But both events, the great and the little, have been well rememberedhere in Shelby; and when Mrs. Scoville came amongst us a month or soago, with her late but substantial proofs of her husband's innocence inthe matter of Etheridge's death, there came to her aid a man, who notonly remembered the beating he had received as a child, but certainfacts which led him to denounce by name, the party destined to bear atthis late day the onus of the crime heretofore ascribed to Scoville.That name he wrote on bridges and walls; and one day, when your fatherleft the courthouse, a mob followed him, shouting loud words which Iwill not repeat, but which you must understand were such as must be metand answered when the man so assailed is Judge Ostrander. Have I saidenough? If so, raise your hand and I will desist for to-night."

  But no movement took place in the shadow cast by Oliver's figure on thewall before which Mr. Black had paused, and presently, a voice was heardfrom where he sat, saying:

  "You are too merciful. I do not want generalities but the naked truth.What did the men shout?"

  "You have asked for a fact, and that I feel free to give you. Theyshouted, 'Where is Oliver, your guilty son, Oliver? You saved him at apoor man's expense, but we'll have him yet.' You asked me for the words,Mr. Ostrander."

  "Yes." The pause was long, but the "Yes" came at last. Then anothersilence, and then this peremptory demand: "But we cannot stop here, Mr.Black. If I am to meet my father's wishes to-morrow, I must know theground upon which I stand. What evidence lies back of these shouts? Ifyou are my friend,--and you have shown yourself to be such,--you willtell me the whole story. I shall say nothing more."

  Mr. Black was not walking now; he was standing stock-still and in theshadow also. And with this space and the double shadow between them,Alanson Black told Oliver Ostrander why the people had shouted: "We willhave him yet."

  When he had quite finished, he came into the light. He did not look inthe direction he had avoided from the first, but his voice had adifferent note as he remarked:

  "I am your father's friend, and I have promised to be yours. You mayexpect me here in the morning, as I am one of the few persons yourfather has asked to be present at your first interview. If after thisinterview you wish anything more from me, you have only to signify it. Iam blunt, but not unfeeling, Mr. Ostrander."

  A slight lift of the hand, visible now in the shadow, answered him; andwith a silent bow he left the room.

  In the passageway he met Deborah.

  "Leave him to himself," said he. "Later, perhaps, you can do somethingfor him."

  But she found this quite impossible. Oliver would neither eat nor sleep.When the early morning light came, he was sitting there still. Was hisfather keeping vigil also? We shall never know.