The Anna Katharine Green Mystery Megapack

by Anna Katharine Green

  “Hush!” she cried, almost commandingly, and the airy, dainty, dimpled creature whom I knew seemed to grow in stature and become a woman, in her indignation; “you do not know Orrin and you do not know the Colonel. You shall not draw comparisons between them. I will have you think of Orrin only, as I do, day and night, ever and always.”

  “But,” I exclaimed, aghast, “if you love him so and despise the Colonel, why do you not break your troth with the latter?”

  “Because,” she murmured, with white cheeks and a wandering gaze, “I have sworn to marry the Colonel, and I dare not break my oath. Sworn to be his wife when the house he is building is complete; and the oath was on the graves of the dead; on the graves of the dead!” she repeated.

  “But,” I said, without any intimation of having heard that oath, “you are breaking that oath in private with every thought you give to Orrin. Either complete your perjury by disowning the Colonel altogether, or else give up Orrin. You cannot cling to both without dishonor; does not your father tell you so?”

  “My father—oh, he does not know; no one knows but you. My father likes the Colonel; I would never think of telling him.”

  “Juliet,” I declared solemnly, “you are on dangerous ground. Think what you are doing before it is too late. The Colonel is not a man to be trifled with.”

  “I know it,” she murmured, “I know it,” and would not say another word or let me.

  And so the burden of this new apprehension is laid upon me; for happiness cannot come out of this complication.

  * * * *

  Where is Orrin, and what is he doing that he stays so much from home? If it were not for the intent and preoccupied look which he wears when I do see him, I should think that he was absenting himself for the purpose of wearing out his unhappy passion. But the short glimpses I have had of him as he has ridden busily through the town have left me with no such hope, and I wait with feverish impatience for some fierce action on his part, or what would be better, the Colonel’s return. And the Colonel must come back soon, for nothing goes well in a long absence, and his house is almost at a standstill.

  * * * *

  Colonel Schuyler has come and, I hear, is storming angrily over the mishaps that have delayed the progress of his new dwelling. He says he will not go away again till it is completed, and has been riding all the morning in every direction, engaging new men to aid the dilatory workmen already employed. Does Orrin know this? I will go down to his house and see.

  * * * *

  And now I know Orrin’s secret. He was not at home, of course, and being determined to get at the truth of his mysterious absences, I mounted a horse of my own and rode off to find him.

  Why I took this upon myself, or whether I had the right to do it, I have not stopped to ask. I went in the direction he had last gone, and after I had ridden through two villages I heard of him as having passed still farther east some two hours before.

  Not in the least deterred, I hurried on, and having threaded a thicket and forded a stream, I came upon a beautiful open country wholly new to me, where, on the verge of a pleasant glade and in full view of a most picturesque line of hills, I saw shining the fresh boards of a new cottage. Instantly the thought struck me, “It is Orrin’s, and he is building it for Juliet,” and filled with a confusion of emotions, I spurred on my horse, and soon drew up before it.

  Orrin was standing, pale and defiant, in the doorway, and as I met his eye, I noticed, with a sick feeling of contempt, that he swung the whip he was holding smartly against his leg in what looked like a very threatening manner.

  “Good-evening, Orrin,” I cried. “You have a very pleasant site here—preferable to the Colonel’s, I should say.”

  “What has the Colonel to do with me?” was his fierce reply, and he turned as if about to go into the house.

  “Only this,” I calmly answered; “I think he will get his house done first.”

  He wheeled and faced me, and his eye which had looked simply sullen shot a fierce and dangerous gleam.

  “What makes you think that?” he cried.

  “He has come back, and today engaged twenty extra men to push on the work.”

  “Indeed!” and there was contempt in his tone. “Well, I wish him joy and a sound roof!”

  And this time he did go into the house.

  As he had not asked me to follow, I of course had no alternative but to ride on. As I did so, I took another look at the house and saw with a strange pang at the heart that the plastering was on the walls and the windows ready for glazing. “I was wrong,” said I to myself; “it is Orrin’s house which will be finished first.”

  * * * *

  And what if it is? Will she turn her back upon the Colonel’s lofty structure and take refuge in this cottage remote from the world? I cannot believe it, knowing how she loves show and the smiles and gallantries of men. And yet—and yet, she is so capricious and Orrin so determined that I do not know what to think or what to fear, and I ride back with a heavy heart, wishing she had never come up from the farm to worry and inflame the souls of honest men.

  * * * *

  And now the Colonel’s work goes on apace, and the whole town is filled with the noise and bustle of lumbering carts and eager workmen. The roof which Orrin so bitterly wished might be a sound one has been shingled; and under the Colonel’s eye and the Colonel’s constant encouragement, part after part of the new building is being fitted to its place with a precision and despatch that to many minds promise the near dawning of Juliet’s wedding-day. But I know that afar in the east another home is nearer completion than this, and whether she knows it too or does not know it (which is just as probable), her wilful, sportive, and butterfly nature seems to be preparing itself for a struggle which may rend if not destroy its airy and delicate wings.

  I have prepared myself too, and being still and always her friend, I stand ready to mediate or assist, as opportunity offers or circumstances demand. She realizes this, and leans on me in her secret hours of fear, or why does her face brighten when she sees me, and her little hand thrust itself confidingly forth from under its shrouding mantle and grasp mine with such a lingering and entreating pressure? And the Colonel? Does he realize, too, that I am any more to her than her other cast-off lovers and would-be friends? Sometimes I think he does, and eyes me with suspicion. But he is ever so courteous that I cannot be sure, and so do not trouble myself in regard to a jealousy so illy founded and so easily dispelled.

  He is always at Juliet’s side and seems to surround her with a devotion which will make it very difficult for any other man, even Orrin, to get her ear.

  * * * *

  The crisis is approaching. Orrin is again in town, and may be seen riding up and down the streets in his holiday clothes. Have some whispers of his secret love and evident intentions reached the ear of the Colonel? Or is Juliet’s father alone concerned? For I see that the blinds of her lattice are tightly shut, and watch as I may, I cannot catch a glimpse of her eager head peering between them at the flaunting horseman as he goes careering by.

  * * * *

  The hour has come and how different is the outcome from any I had imagined. I was sitting last night in my own lonely little room, which opens directly on the street, struggling as best I might against the distraction of my thoughts which would lead me from the book I was studying, when a knock on the panels of my door aroused me, and almost before I could look up, that same door swung open and a dark form entered and stood before me.

  For a moment I was too dazed to see who it was, and rising ceremoniously, I made my bow of welcome, starting a little as I met the Colonel’s dark eyes looking at me from the folds of the huge mantle in which he had wrapped himself. “Your worship?” I began, and stumbling awkwardly, offered him a chair which he refused with a gesture of his smooth white hand.

  “Thank you, no,” said he, “I do not sit down in your house till I know if it is you who have stolen the heart of my bride away from me and if it is you with who
m she is prepared to flee.”

  “Ah,” was my involuntary exclamation, “then it has come. You know her folly, and will forgive it because she is such a child.”

  “Her folly? Are you not then the man?” he cried; but in a subdued tone which showed what a restraint he was putting upon himself even in the moment of such accumulated emotions.

  “No,” said I; “if your bride meditates flight, it is not with me she means to go. I am her friend, and the man who would take her from you is not. I can say no more, Colonel Schuyler.”

  He eyed me for a moment with a deep and searching gaze which showed me that his intellect was not asleep though his heart was on fire.

  “I believe you,” said he; and threw aside his cloak and sat down. “And now,” he asked, “who is the man?”

  Taken by surprise, I stammered and uttered some faint disclaimer; but seeing by his steady look and firm-set jaw that he meant to know, and detecting as I also thought in his general manner and subdued tones the promise of an unexpected forbearance, I added impulsively:

  “Let the wayward girl tell you herself; perhaps in the telling she will grow ashamed of her caprice.”

  “I have asked her,” was the stern reply, “and she is dumb.” Then in softer tones he added: “How can I do anything for her if she will not confide in me. She has treated me most ungratefully, but I mean to be kind to her. Only I must first know if she has chosen worthily.”

  “Who is there of worth in town?” I asked, softened and fascinated by his manner. “There is no man equal to yourself.”

  “You say so,” he cried, and waved his hand impatiently. Then with a deep and thrilling intensity which I feel yet, he repeated, “His name, his name? Tell me his name.”

  The Colonel is a man of power, accustomed to control men. I could not withstand his look or be unmoved by his tones. If he meant well to Orrin and to her, what was I that I should withhold Orrin’s name. Falteringly I was about to speak it when a sudden sound struck my ears, and rising impetuously I drew him to the window, blowing out the candles as I passed them.

  “Hark!” I cried, as the rush of pounding hoofs was heard on the road, and “Look!” I added, as a sudden figure swept by on the panting white horse so well known by all in that town.

  “Is it he?” whispered the dark figure at my side as we both strained our eyes after Orrin’s fast vanishing form.

  “You have seen him,” I returned; and drawing him back from the window, I closed the shutters with care, lest Orrin should be seized with a freak to return and detect me in conference with his heart’s dearest enemy.

  Silence and darkness were now about us, and the Colonel, as if anxious to avail himself of the surrounding gloom, caught my arm as I moved to relight the candles.

  “Wait,” said he; and I understood and stopped still.

  And so we stood for a moment, he quiet as a carven statue and I restless but obedient to his wishes. When he stirred I carefully lit the candles, but I did not look at him till he had donned his cloak and pulled his hat well over his eyes. Then I turned, and eying him earnestly, said:

  “If I have made a mistake—”

  But he quickly interrupted me, averring:

  “You have made no mistake. You are a good lad, Philo, and if it had been you—” He did not say what he would have done, but left the sentence incomplete and went on: “I know nothing of this Orrin Day, but what a woman wills she must have. Will you bring this fellow—he is your friend is he not?—to Juliet’s house in the morning? Her father is set on her being the mistress of the new stone house and we three will have to reason with him, do you see?”

  Astonished, I bowed with something like awe. Was he so great-hearted as this? Did he intend to give up his betrothed to the man whom she loved, and even to plead her cause with the father she feared? My admiration would have its vent, and I uttered some foolish words of sympathy, which he took with the stately, rather condescending grace which they perhaps merited; after which, he added again: “You will come, will you not?” and bowed kindly and retreated towards the door, while I, abashed and worshipful, followed with protestations that nothing should hinder me from doing his will, till he had passed through the doorway and vanished from my sight.

  And yet I do not want to do his will or take Orrin to that house. I might have borne with sad equanimity to see her married to the Colonel, for he is far above me, but to Orrin—ah, that is a bitter outlook, and I must have been a fool to have promised aught that will help to bring it about. Still, am I not her sworn friend, and if she thinks she can be happy with him, ought I not to do my share towards making her so?

  I wonder if the Colonel knows that Orrin too has been building himself a house?

  I did not sleep last night, and I have not eaten this morning. Thoughts robbed me of sleep, and a visit from Orrin effectually took away from me whatever appetite I might have had. He came in almost at daybreak. He looked dishevelled and wild, and spoke like a man who had stopped more than once at the tavern.

  “Philo,” said he, “you have annoyed me by your curiosity for more than a year; now you can do me a favor. Will you call at Juliet’s house and see if she is free to go and come as she was a week ago?”

  “Why?” I asked, thinking I perceived a reason for his bloodshot eye, and yet being for the moment too wary, perhaps too ungenerous, to relieve him from the tension of his uncertainty.

  “Why?” he repeated. “Must you know all that goes on in my mind, and cannot I keep one secret to myself?”

  “You ask me to do you a favor,” I quietly returned. “In order to do it intelligently, I must know why it is asked.”

  “I do not see that,” objected Orrin, “and if you were not such a boy I’d leave you on the spot and do the errand myself. But you mean no harm, and so I will tell you that Juliet and I had planned to run away together last night, but though I was at the place of meeting, she did not come, nor has she made any sign to show me why she failed me.”

  “Orrin,” I began, but he stopped me with an oath.

  “No sermons,” he protested. “I know what you would have done if instead of smiling on me she had chanced to give all her poor little heart to you.”

  “I should not have tempted her to betray the Colonel,” I exclaimed hotly, perhaps because the sudden picture he presented to my imagination awoke within me such a torrent of unsuspected emotions. “Nor should I have urged her to fly with me by night and in stealth.”

  “You do not know what you would do,” was his rude and impatient rejoinder. “Had she looked at you, with tears in her arch yet pathetic blue eyes, and listened while you poured out your soul, as if heaven were opening before her and she had no other thought in life but you, then—”

  “Hush!” I cried, “do you want me to go to her house for you, or do you want me to stay away?”

  “You know I want you to go.”

  “Then be still, and listen to what I have to say. I will go, but you must go too. If you want to take Juliet away from the Colonel you must do it openly. I will not abet you, nor will I encourage any underhanded proceedings.”

  “You are a courageous lad,” he said, “in other men’s affairs. Will you raise me a tomb if the Colonel runs me through with his sword?”

  “I at least should not feel the contempt for you which I should if you eloped with her behind his back.”

  “Now you are courageous on your own behalf,” laughed he, “and that is better and more to the point.” Yet he looked as if he could easily spit me on his own sword, which I noticed was dangling at his heels.

  “Will you come?” I urged, determined not to conciliate or enlighten him even if my forbearance cost me my life.

  He hesitated, and then broke into a hoarse laugh. “I have drunk just enough to be reckless,” said he; “yes, I will go; and the devil must answer for the result.”

  I had never seen him look so little the gentleman, and perhaps it was on this very account I became suddenly quite eager to take him at his wo
rd before time and thought should give him an opportunity to become more like himself; for I could not but think that if she saw him in this condition she must make comparisons between him and the Colonel which could not but be favorable to the latter. But it was still quite early, and I dared not run the risk of displeasing the Colonel by anticipating his presence, so I urged Orrin into that little back parlor of mine, where I had once hoped to see a very different person installed, and putting wine and biscuits before him, bade him refresh himself while I prepared myself for appearing before the ladies.

  When the hour came for us to go I went to him. He was pacing the floor and trying to school himself into patience, but he made but a sorry figure, and I felt a twinge of conscience as he thrust on his hat without any attempt to smooth his dishevelled locks, or rearrange his disordered ruffles. Should I permit him to go thus disordered, or should I detain him long enough to fit him for the eye of the dainty Juliet? He answered the question himself. “Come,” said he, “I have chewed my sleeve long enough in suspense. Let us go and have an end of it. If she is to be my wife she must leave the house with me today, if not, I have an hour’s work before me down yonder,” and he pointed in the direction of his new house. “When you see the sky red at noonday, you will know what that is.”

  “Orrin!” I cried, and for the first time I seized his arm with something like a fellow-feeling.

  But he shook me off.

  “Don’t interfere with me,” he said, and strode on, sullen and fierce, towards the place where such a different greeting awaited him from any that he feared.

  Ought I to tell him this? Ought I to say: “Your sullenness is uncalled for and your fierceness misplaced; Juliet is constant, and the Colonel means you nothing but good”? Perhaps; and perhaps, too, I should be a saint and know nothing of earthly passions and jealousies. But I am not. I hate this Orrin, hate him more and more as every step brings us nearer to Juliet’s house and the fate awaiting him from her weakness and the Colonel’s generosity. So I hold my peace and we come to her gate, and the recklessness that has brought him thus far abandons him on the instant and he falls back and lets me go in several steps before him, so that I seem to be alone when I enter the house, and Juliet, who is standing in the parlor between the Colonel and her father, starts when she sees me, and breaking into sobs, cries: