The Yellow House; Master of Men

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  CHAPTER XXVI

  THE EVIDENCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES

  Two very weary days dragged themselves by. We had no news whateverfrom my father. We did not even know where he was. Alice and I werehard at work packing, and already the house began to look bare andcomfortless. All the rooms, except two were dismantled. We began tocount the days before we might be able to move into Eastminster. Noone came to call upon us. I saw nothing whatever either of OliveBerdenstein or of Bruce Deville.

  But on the afternoon of the third day I saw them both from the windowof my room. They came from the plantation leading down to the YellowHouse and turned slowly upwards from the Court. The girl was much morefittingly dressed than usual. She was wearing a dark green tailor-madegown, and even from the distance at which I stood I could see that shewas walking briskly, and that there was a new vivacity in her mannerand carriage. Her usually sallow cheeks were touched with a faint andvery becoming tinge of pink. Bruce Deville too was leaning downtowards her with a little more than his usual consideration. I watchedthem from the window, and there was a pain at my heart like the painof death. Had she won already, I wondered? Was a man so easily to bedeceived?

  They had come from the Yellow House; he had been taking her to seeMrs. Fortress. An irresistible desire seized me. I hurried on myjacket and hat and walked down there.

  The little maid-servant admitted me without hesitation. Mrs. Fortresswas at home, she told me, and would no doubt see me, although she wasvery busy. Hearing my voice, she came out into the hall to meet me,and led me into her study.

  "I am hard at work, you see," she remarked, pointing to a pile ofpapers littered all over her desk. "When do you think that you will beable to come into residence with me? I have had my little flat put inorder, and I want to get there soon."

  "I can come in about three weeks, I suppose," I said. "I shall be veryglad to. We hope to move to Eastminster on Monday or Tuesday.I want to see my father again and to help them to settle downthere. Afterwards I shall be quite free."

  She nodded, and looked at me keenly for a moment or two.

  "You are looking tired and worried," she said, sympathetically. "Hasanything fresh happened?"

  "Nothing."

  She waited for a moment, but she did not pursue the subject. Still, Ifancied that she was disappointed that I did not offer her myconfidence.

  "Mr. Bruce Deville has just been here, and Miss Berdenstein," sheremarked.

  I nodded.

  "I saw them come through the plantation," I remarked. "I have not seenMiss Berdenstein for several days. Is she quite well?"

  She looked at me, and commenced to sort some papers.

  "Oh, yes, she is well enough. Bruce Deville rather puzzles me. He isin a very odd mood. I have never seen him more attentive to any onethan he is to that girl, and yet all the time there was a sort ofbrutal cynicism about his behavior, and when I asked him to stay andtalk to me he would not. I wonder have you----"

  She looked up into my face and stopped short. There was a littlepause.

  "Won't you tell me about it?" she said, wistfully. "Not unless youlike, of course."

  "There is nothing much to tell," I answered, controlling my voice witha desperate effort. "Mr. Deville asked me something. I was obliged tosay no. He is consoling himself admirably."

  She sighed, and looked at me thoughtfully. That note of bitterness inmy tone had betrayed me.

  "I am sorry," she said. "Bruce Deville is not exactly a woman's man,and he has many faults, but he is a fine fellow. He is a world toogood anyhow to throw himself away upon that miserable chit of a girl."

  That was exactly my own idea. I did not tell her so, however.

  "She is very rich," I remarked. "She can free his estates and put himin his right position again."

  "That is only a trifle," she declared. "Besides, he is not so poor assome people think. He could live differently now, only he is afraidthat he would have to entertain and be entertained. He makes hispoverty an excuse for a great many things, but as a matter of fact heis not nearly so embarrassed as people believe. The truth is hedetests society."

  "I do not blame him," I answered. "Society is detestable."

  "At any rate, I cannot bring myself to believe that he is thinkingseriously about that girl," she continued, anxiously. "I should hateto think so!"

  "Men are enigmas," I remarked. "It is precisely the unexpected whichone has always to expect from them."

  "That is what they say about us," she said.

  I nodded.

  "Don't you think that most of the things that men say of women aremore true about themselves? It seems so to me, at any rate."

  She rose up suddenly, and came and stood over me. She held out herhands, and I gave her mine. My eyes were dim. It was strange to me tofind any one who understood.

  "Would you like to go away with me to-morrow--right away from here?"she asked, softly.

  "Where to?" I asked, with sudden joy.

  "To London. Everything is ready for us there; we only need to send atelegram. I think--perhaps--it would be good for you."

  "I am sure of it," I answered, quickly. "I have a sort of fancy thatif I stay here I shall go mad. The place is hateful."

  "Poor child!" she said, soothingly. "You must make up your mind andcome."

  "I would not hesitate," I answered, "if only I could feel certainthat--he would not come back here before Olive Berdenstein leaves."

  "We can make sure of it," she said. "Write and tell him that it wouldnot be safe; he ought not to come."

  Our eyes met, and I felt impelled to ask her a sudden question.

  "Do you believe that he killed her brother?"

  She looked at me with blanched cheeks and glanced half-fearfullyaround. From where I sat I could see the black bending branches fromthat little fir plantation where he had been found.

  "What else is there to believe?" she asked. "I heard him myself oneawful day--it was long ago, but it seems only like yesterday--I heardhim threaten to kill him if ever he found him near again. It wasoutside the gate there that they met, and then--in the church youremember----"

  I held out my hand and stopped her. The moaning of the wind outsideseemed like the last cry of that dying man. It was too horrible.

  "I cannot stay here," I cried. "I will go with you whenever you areready."

  A light flashed across her face. She drew me to her and kissed myforehead.

  "I am sure it would be best," she said. "I too loathe this place! Ishall never live here any more. To-morrow----"

  "To-morrow," I interrupted, "we will go away."