by Roy J. Snell
CHAPTER XXIV SECRETS REVEALED
On a night such as this, one does not stand on formalities. There was alight burning in the mystery cottage on Tyler street. The girls enteredwithout knocking.
The scene which struck their eyes was most dramatic. On a long, low couchlay the aged Frenchman. Beside his bed, her hair disheveled, her garmentsblackened and scorched by fire, knelt the child. She was silentlysobbing. The man, for all one could see, might be dead, so white andstill did he lie.
Yet as the girls, still dressed in great coats and rubber hats, steppedinto the room, his eyes opened; his lips moved and the girls heard himmurmur:
"Ah, the firemen. Now my books will burn, the house will go. They allwill burn. But like Montcalm at Quebec, I shall not live to see mydefeat."
"No, no, no!" the child sprang to her feet. "They must not burn! Theyshall not burn!"
"Calm yourself," said Lucile, advancing into the room and removing hercoat as she did so. "It is only I, your friend, Lucile. The fire is twoblocks away and there is reason to hope that this part of Tyler streetwill be saved. The huge concrete building is burning out from within butis standing rugged as a great rock. It is your protection."
"Ah, then I shall die happy," breathed the man.
"No! No! No!" almost screamed the child. "You shall not die."
"Hush, my little one," whispered the man. "Do not question the wisdom ofthe Almighty. My hour has come. Soon I shall be with my sires and with mysons and grandsons; with all the brave ones who have so nobly defendedour beloved France.
"And as for you, my little one, you have here two friends and all mybooks. It is in the tin box behind the books, my will. I have no livingkin. I have made you my heir. The books are worth much money. You arewell provided for. Your friends here will see that they are not stolenfrom you, will you not?"
Florence and Lucile, too touched to trust themselves to speak, bowedtheir heads.
"As for myself," the man went on in a hoarse whisper, "I have but oneregret.
"Come close," he beckoned to Lucile. "Come very close. I have somethingmore to tell you."
Lucille moved close to him, something seeming to say to her, "Now you areto hear the gargoyle's secret."
"Not many days ago," he began, "I told you some of my life, but not all.I could not. My heart was too sore. Now I wish to tell you all. Youremember that I said I took my books to Paris. That is not quite true. Istarted with all of them but not all arrived. One box of them, the mostprecious of all, was stolen while on the way and a box of cheap andworthless books put in its place.
"Heartbroken at this loss, I traced the robbers as best I could at lastto find that the books had been carried overseas to America.
"I came to America. They had been sold, scattered abroad. The thiefeluded me, but the books I could trace. By the gargoyle in the corner andby the descriptions of dealers in rare books, I located many of them.
"Those who had them had paid handsomely for them. They would not believean old man's story. They would not give them up.
"I brought suit in the courts. It was no use. No one would believe me.
"Young lady," the old man's voice all but died away as his feeble fingersclutched at the covers, "young lady, every man has some wish which hehopes to fulfill. He may desire to become rich, to secure power, to writea book, to paint a great picture. There is always something. As for me, Iwished but one thing, a very little thing: to die with the books, thoseprecious volumes I had inherited. The foolish wish of a childish old man,perhaps, but that was my wish. The war has taken my family. They cannotgather by my bedside; I have only my books. And, thanks to this child,"he attempted to place his hand on the child's bowed head, "thanks to her,there are but few missing at this, the last moment."
For a little there was silence in the room, then the whisper began again,this time more faint:
"Perhaps it was wrong, the way I taught the child to get the books. Butthey were really my own. I had not sold one of them. They were all myown. She knows where they came from. When I am gone, if that is the wayof America, they may all be returned."
Lucile hesitated for a moment, then bent over the dying man.
"The books," she whispered. "Were two of them very small ones?"
The expression on the dying man's face grew eager as he answered, "Yes,yes, very small and very rare. One was a book about fishing and theother--ah, that one!--that was the rarest of all. It had been written in bythe great Napoleon and had been presented by him to one of his marshals,my uncle."
Lucile's hand came out from behind her back. In it were two books.
"Are these the ones?" she asked.
"Yes, yes," he breathed hoarsely. "Those are the very most precious ones.I die--I die happy."
For a second the glassy eyes stared, then lighted up with a smile thatwas beautiful to behold.
"Ah!" he breathed, "I am happy now, happy as when a child I playedbeneath the grapevines in my own beloved France."
Those were his last words. A moment later, Lucile turned to lead thesilently weeping child into another room. As she did so, she encountereda figure standing with bowed head.
It was the studious looking boy who had donned the fireman's coat andfollowed them.
"Harry Brock!" she whispered. "How did you come here?"
"I came in very much the same manner that you came," he said quietly. "Ihave been where you have been many times of late. I did not understand,but I thought you needed protection and since I thought of myself as thebest friend you had among the men at the university, I took that taskupon myself. I have been in this room, unnoticed, for some time. I heardwhat he said and now I think I understand. Please allow me tocongratulate you and--and to thank you. You have strengthened my faithin--in all that is good and beautiful."
He stepped awkwardly aside and allowed her to pass.
