Lost Man's Lane: A Second Episode in the Life of Amelia Butterworth
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XX
QUESTIONS
I kept the promise I had made to myself and did not go to the stables.Had I intended to go there, I could not have done so after the discoveryI have just mentioned. It awakened too many thoughts and contradictorysurmises. If this knot was a signal, for whom was this signal meant? Ifit was a mere acknowledgment of death, how reconcile the sentimentalitywhich prompted such an acknowledgment with the monstrous and diseasedpassions lying at the base of the whole dreadful occurrence? Lastly, ifit was the result of pure carelessness, a bit of crape having beencaught up and used for a purpose for which any ordinary string wouldhave answered, what a wonderful coincidence between it and mythoughts,--a coincidence, indeed, amounting almost to miracle!
Marvelling at the whole affair and deciding nothing, I allowed myself tostroll down alone to the gate, William having left me at my peremptoryrefusal to drag my skirts any longer through the briers. The day beingbright and the sunshine warm, the road looked less gloomy than usual,especially in the direction of the village and Deacon Spear's cottage.The fact is, that anything seemed better than the grim and loweringwalls of the house behind me. If my home was there, so was my dread, andI welcomed the sight of Mother Jane's heavy figure bent over her herbsat the door of her hut, a few paces to my left, where the road turned.
Had she not been deaf, I believed I would have called her. As it was, Icontented myself with watching the awkward swayings of her body as shepottered to and fro among her turnips and carrots. My eyes were still onher when I suddenly heard the clatter of a horse's hoofs on the highway.Looking up, I encountered the trim figure of Mr. Trohm, bending to mefrom a fine sorrel.
"Good morning, Miss Butterworth. It's a great relief to me to see you insuch good health and spirits this morning," were the pleasant words withwhich he endeavored, perhaps, to explain his presence in a spot more orless under a ban.
It was certainly a surprise. What right had I to look for suchattentions from a man whose acquaintance I had made only the day before?It touched me, little as I am in the habit of allowing myself to beruled by trivial sentimentalities, and though I was discreet enough toavoid any further recognition of his kindness than was his due from alady of great self-respect, he was evidently sufficiently gratified bymy response to draw rein and pause for a moment's conversation under thepine trees. This for the moment seemed so natural that I forgot thatmore than one pair of eyes might be watching me from the windows behindus--eyes which might wonder at a meeting which to the foolishunderstandings of the young might have the look of premeditation. But,pshaw! I am talking as if I were twenty instead of--Well, I will leaveyou to consult our family record on that point. There are certainsecrets which even the wisest among us cannot be blamed for preserving.
"How did you pass the night?" was Mr. Trohm's first question. "I hope inall due peace and quiet."
"Thank you," I returned, not seeing why I should increase his anxiety inmy regard. "I have nothing to complain of. I had a dream; but dreams areto be expected where one has to pass a half-dozen empty rooms to one'sapartment."
He could not restrain his curiosity.
"A dream!" he repeated. "I do not believe in sleep that is broken bydreams, unless they are of the most cheerful sort possible. And I judgefrom what you say that yours were not cheerful."
I wanted to confide in him. I felt that in a way he had a right to knowwhat had happened to me, or what I thought had happened to me, underthis roof. And yet I did not speak. What I could tell would sound sopuerile in the broad sunshine that enveloped us. I merely remarked thatcheerfulness was not to be expected in a domicile so given over to theravages of time, and then with that lightness and versatility whichcharacterize me under certain exigencies, I introduced a topic we coulddiscuss without any embarrassment to himself or me.
"Do you see Mother Jane over there?" I asked. "I had some talk with heryesterday. She seems like a harmless imbecile."
"Very harmless," he acquiesced; "her only fault is greed; that isinsatiable. Yet it is not strong enough to take her a quarter of a milefrom this place. Nothing could do that, I think. She believes that herdaughter Lizzie is still alive and will come back to the hut some day.It's very sad when you think that the girl's dead, and has been deadnearly forty years."
"Why does she harp on numbers?" I asked. "I heard her mutter certainones over and over."
"That is a mystery none of us have ever been able to solve," said he."Possibly she has no reason for it. The vagaries of the witless areoften quite unaccountable."
He remained looking at me long after he had finished speaking, not, Ifelt sure, from any connection he found between what he had just saidand anything to be observed in me, but from--Well, I was glad that I hadbeen carefully trained in my youth to pay the greatest attention to mymorning toilets. Any woman can look well at night and many women in theflush of a bright afternoon, but the woman who looks well in the morningneeds not always to be young to attract the appreciative gaze of a manof real penetration. Mr. Trohm was such a man, and I did not begrudgehim the pleasure he showed in my neat gray silk and carefully adjustedcollar. But he said nothing, and a short silence ensued, which wasperhaps more of a compliment than otherwise. Then he uttered a shortsigh and lifted the reins.
"If only I were not debarred from entering," he smiled, with a shortgesture toward the house.
I did not answer. Even I understand that on occasion the tongue playsbut a sorry part in interviews of this nature.
He sighed again and uttered some short encouragement to his horse, whichstarted that animal up and sent him slowly pacing down the road towardthe cheerful clearing whither my own eyes were looking with what I wasdetermined should not be construed even by the most sanguine into aglance of anything like wistfulness. As he went he made a bow I havenever seen surpassed in my own parlor in Gramercy Park, and upon mybestowing upon him a return nod, glanced up at the house with anintentness which seemed to increase as some object, invisible to me atthat moment, caught his eye. As that eye was directed toward the leftwing, and lifted as far as the second row of windows, I could not helpasking myself if he had seen the knot of crape which had produced uponme so lugubrious an impression. Before I could make sure of this he hadpassed from sight, and the highway fell again into shadow--why, I hardlyknew, for the sun certainly had been shining a few minutes before.