VIII.
A SEARCH AND ITS RESULTS.
Hermione Cavanagh, without the scar, would have been one of thehandsomest of women. She was of the grand type, with height and anobility of presence to which the extreme loveliness of her perfectfeatures lent a harmonizing grace. Of a dazzling complexion, the hairwhich lay above her straight fine brows shone ebon-like in its lustre,while her eyes, strangely and softly blue, filled the gazer at firstwith surprise and then with delight as the varying emotions of her quickmind deepened them into a more perfect consonance with her hair, orsoftened them into something like the dewy freshness of heaven-bornflowers. Her mouth was mobile, but the passions it expressed were not ofthe gentlest, whatever might be the language of her eyes, and so it wasthat her face was in a way a contradiction of itself, which made it afascinating study to one who cared to watch it, or possessed sufficientunderstanding to read its subtle language. She was oddly dressed in ablack, straight garment, eminently in keeping with the room; but therewas taste displayed in the arrangement of her hair, and nothing couldmake her face anything but a revelation of beauty, unless it was thescar, and that Frank Etheridge did not see.
"Are you--" she began and paused, looking at him with such surprise thathe felt his cheeks flush--"the lawyer who was in town a few days ago onsome pressing inquiry?"
"I am," returned Frank, making her the low bow her embarrassment seemedto demand.
"Then you must excuse me," said she; "I thought you were an elderly man,like our own Mr. Hamilton. I should not have sent for you if----"
"If you had known I had no more experience," he suggested, with a smile,seeing her pause in some embarrassment.
She bowed; yet he knew that was not the way she would have ended thesentence if she had spoken her thought.
"Then I am to understand," said he, with a gentleness born of his greatwish to be of service to her, "that you would prefer that I should sendyou an older adviser. I can do it, Miss Cavanagh."
"Thank you," she said, and stood hesitating, the slight flush on hercheek showing that she was engaged in some secret struggle. "I will tellyou my difficulty," she pursued at last, raising her eyes with a franklook to his face. "Will you be seated?"
Charmed with the graciousness of her manner when once relieved fromembarrassment, he waited for her to sit and then took a chair himself.
"It is a wearisome affair," she declared, "but one which a New Yorklawyer can solve without much trouble." And with the clearness of ahighly cultivated mind, she gave him the facts of a case in which sheand her sister had become involved through the negligence of her man ofbusiness.
"Can you help me?" she asked.
"Very easily," he replied. "You have but to go to New York and swear tothese facts before a magistrate, and the matter will be settled withoutdifficulty."
"But I cannot go to New York."
"No? Not on a matter of this importance?"
"On no matter. I do not travel, Mr. Etheridge."
The pride and finality with which this was uttered, gave him his firstglimpse of the hard streak which there was undoubtedly in her character.Though he longed to press the question he judged that he had better not,so suggested carelessly:
"Your sister, then?"
But she met this suggestion, as he had expected her to, with equalcalmness and pride.
"My sister does not travel either."
He looked the astonishment he did not feel and remarked gravely:
"I fear, then, that the matter cannot be so easily adjusted." And hebegan to point out the difficulties in the way, to all of which shelistened with a slightly absent air, as if the affair was in reality ofno great importance to her.
Suddenly she waved her hand with a quick gesture.
"You can do as you please," said she. "If you can save us from loss, doso; if not, let the matter go; I shall not allow it to worry mefurther." Then she looked up at him with a total change of expression,and for the first time the hint of a smile softened the almost severeoutline of her mouth. "You are searching, I hear, for a woman namedHarriet Smith; have you found her, sir?"
Delighted at this evidence on her part of a wish to indulge in generalconversation, he answered with alacrity:
"Not yet. She was not, as it seems, a well-known inhabitant of this townas I had been led to believe. I even begin to fear she never has livedhere at all. The name is a new one to you, I presume."
"Smith. Can the name of Smith ever be said to be new?" she laughed withsomething like an appearance of gayety.
"But Harriet," he explained, "Harriet Smith, once Harriet Huckins."
"I never knew any Harriet Smith," she averred. "Would it have obligedyou very much if I had?"
He smiled, somewhat baffled by her manner, but charmed by her voice,which was very rich and sweet in its tones.
"It certainly would have saved me much labor and suspense," he replied.
"Then the matter is serious?"
"Is not all law-business serious?"
"You have just proved it so," she remarked.
He could not understand her; she seemed to wish to talk and yethesitated with the words on her lips. After waiting for her to speakfurther and waiting in vain, he changed the subject back to the onewhich had at first occupied them.
"I shall be in Marston again," said he; "if you will allow me I willthen call again and tell you exactly what I can do for your interest."
"If you will be so kind," she replied, and seemed to breathe easier.
"I have one intimate friend in town," pursued Frank, as he rose to takehis departure, "Dr. Sellick. If you know him----"
Why did he pause? She had not moved and yet something, he could not saywhat, had made an entire change in her attitude and expression. It wasas if a chill had passed over her, stiffening her limbs and paling herface, yet her eyes did not fall from his face, and she tried to speak asusual.
"Dr. Sellick?"
"Yes, he has returned to Marston after a year of absence. Have not thegossips told you that?"
"No; that is, I have seen no one--I used to know Dr. Sellick," sheadded with a vain attempt to be natural. "Is that my sister I hear?" Andshe turned sharply about.
Up to this moment she had uniformly kept the uninjured side of her facetowards him, and he had noticed the fact and been profoundly touched byher seeming sensitiveness. But he was more touched now by the emotionwhich made her forget herself, for it argued badly for his hopes, andassured him that for all Sellick's assumed indifference, there had beensome link of feeling between these two which he found himself illyprepared to accept.
"May I not have the honor," he requested, "of an introduction to yoursister?"
"She is not coming; I was mistaken," was her sole reply, and herbeautiful face turned once more towards him, with a deepening of itsusual tragic expression which lent to it a severity which would haveappalled most men. But he loved every change in that enigmaticalcountenance, there was so much character in its grave lines. So with theconsideration that was a part of his nature he made a great effort tosubdue his jealous curiosity, and saying, "Then we will reserve thatpleasure till another time," bowed like a man at his ease, and passedquickly out of the door.
Yet his heart was heavy and his thoughts in wildest turmoil; for heloved this woman and she had paled and showed the intensest emotion atthe mention of a man whom he had heard decry her. He might have feltworse could he have seen the look of misery which settled upon her faceas the door closed upon him, or noted how long she sat with fixed eyesand paling lips in that dreary old parlor where he had left her. As itwas, he felt sufficiently disturbed and for a long time hesitatedwhether or not he should confront Edgar with an accusation of knowingMiss Cavanagh better than he acknowledged. But Sellick's reserve was onethat imposed silence, and Frank dared not break through it lest heshould lose the one opportunity he now had of visiting Marston freely.So he composed himself with the thought that he had at least gained afooting in the house, and if the rest did not follow he had only h
imselfto blame. And in this spirit he again left Marston.
He found plenty of work awaiting him in his office. Foremost ininterest was an invitation to be present at the search which was to beinstituted that afternoon in the premises of the Widow Wakeham. The willof which he had been made Executor, having been admitted to probate, ithad been considered advisable to have an inventory made of the personaleffects of the deceased, and this day had been set apart for thepurpose. To meet this appointment he hurried all the rest, and at thehour set, he found himself before the broken gate and gardens of theruinous old house in Flatbush. There was a crowd already gathered there,and as he made his appearance he was greeted by a loud murmur whichamply proved that his errand was known. At the door he was met by thetwo Appraisers appointed by the Surrogate, and within he found one ortwo workmen hob-nobbing with a detective from police headquarters.
The house looked barer and more desolate than ever. It was a sunshinyday, and the windows having been opened, the pitiless rays streamed inshowing all the defects which time and misuse had created in the oncestately mansion. Not a crack in plastering or woodwork but stood forthin bold relief that day, nor were the gaping holes in the flooring ofhall and parlor able to hide themselves any longer under the strips ofcarpet with which Huckins had endeavored to conceal them.
"Shall we begin with the lower floor?" asked one of the workmen, poisingthe axe he had brought with him.
The Appraisers bowed, and the work of demolition began. As the firstsound of splitting boards rang through the empty house, a quick cry asof a creature in pain burst from the staircase without, and they saw,crouching there with trembling hands held out in protest, the meagreform of Huckins.
"Oh, don't! don't!" he began; but before they could answer, he hadbounded down the stairs to where they stood and was looking with eager,staring eyes into the hole which the workmen had made.
"Have you found anything?" he asked. "It is to be all mine, you know,and the more you find the richer I'll be. Let's see--let's see, she mayhave hidden something here, there is no knowing." And falling on hisknees he thrust his long arm into the aperture before him, just as Mr.Dickey had seen him do in a similar case on the night of the old woman'sdeath.
But as his interference was not desired, he was drawn quietly back, andwas simply allowed to stand there and watch while the others proceededin their work. This he did with an excitement which showed itself inalternate starts and sudden breathless gasps, which, taken with thesickly smiles with which he endeavored to hide the frowns caused by hisnatural indignation, made a great impression upon Frank, who had come toregard him as a unique specimen in nature, something between a hyena anda fox.
As the men held up a little packet which had at last come to light verynear the fireplace, he gave a shriek and stretched out two clutchinghands.
"Let me have it!" he cried. "I know what that is; it disappeared from mysister's desk five years ago, and I could never get her to tell whereshe had put it. Let me have it, and I will open it here before you all.Indeed I will, sirs--though it is all mine, as I have said before."
But Etheridge, quietly taking it, placed it in his pocket, and Huckinssank back with a groan.
The next place to be examined was the room upstairs. Here the poorwoman had spent most of her time till she was seized with her lastsickness, and here the box had been found by Huckins, and here theyexpected to find the rest of her treasures. But beyond a small casket ofalmost worthless jewelry, nothing new was discovered, and they proceededat Frank's suggestion to inspect the room where she had died, and wherethe clock still stood towards which she had lifted her dying hand, whilesaying, "There! there!"
As they approached this place, Huckins was seen to tremble. CatchingFrank by the arm, he whispered:
"Can they be trusted? Are they honest men? She had greenbacks, piles ofgreenbacks; I have caught her counting them. If they find them, willthey save them all for me?"
"They will save them all for the heir," retorted Frank, severely. "Whydo you say they are for you, when you know you will only get them indefault of other heirs being found."
"Why? why? Because I feel that they are mine. Heirs or no heirs, theywill come into my grasp yet, and you of the law cannot help it. Do Ilook like a man who will die poor? No, no; but I don't want to becheated. I don't want these men to rob me of anything which willrightfully be mine some day."
"You need not fret about that," said Frank. "No one will rob _you_," andhe drew disdainfully aside.
The Appraisers had now surveyed the room awful with hideous memories tothe young lawyer. Pointing to the bed, they said:
"Search that," and the search was made.
A bundle of letters came to light and were handed over to Frank.
"Why did she hide those away?" screamed Huckins. "They ain't money."
Nobody answered him.
The lintels of the windows and doors were now looked into, and thefireplace dismantled and searched. But nothing was found in theseplaces, nor in the staring cupboards or beneath the loosened boards.Finally they came to the clock.
"Oh, let me," cried Huckins, "let me be the first to stop that clock. Ithas been running ever since I was a little boy. My mother used to windit with her own hands. I cannot bear a stranger's hand to touch it.My--my sister would not have liked it."
But they disregarded even this appeal; and he was forced to stand in thebackground and see the old piece taken down and laid at length upon thefloor with its face to the boards. There was nothing in its interior butthe works which belonged there, but the frame at its back seemedunusually heavy, and Etheridge consequently had this taken off, when, tothe astonishment of all and to the frantic delight of Huckins, thereappeared at the very first view, snugly laid between the true and falsebacking, layers of bills and piles of sealed and unsealed papers.
"A fortune! A fortune!" cried this would-be possessor of his sister'shoarded savings. "I knew we should find it at last. I knew it wasn't allin that box. She tried to make me think it was, and made a great secretof where she had put it, and how it was all to be for me if I only letit alone. But the fortune was here in this old clock I have stared at athousand times. Here, here, and I never knew it, never suspected ittill----"
He felt the lawyer's eyes fall on him, and became suddenly silent.
"Let's count it!" he greedily cried, at last.
But the Appraisers, maintaining their composure, motioned the almostfrenzied man aside, and summoning Frank to assist them, made out a listof the papers, which were most of them valuable, and then proceeded tocount the loose bills. The result was to make Huckins' eyes gleam withjoy and satisfaction. As the last number left their lips, he threw uphis arms in unrestrained glee, and cried:
"I will make you all rich some day. Yes, sirs; I have not the greed ofmy poor dead sister; I intend to spend what is mine, and have a goodtime while I live. I don't intend any one to dance over my grave when Iam dead."
His attitude was one so suggestive of this very same expression ofdelight, that more than one who saw him and heard these words shudderedas they turned from him; but he did not care for cold shoulders now, orfor any expression of disdain or disapproval. He had seen the fortune ofhis sister with his own eyes, and for that moment it was enough.
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