X.
DORIS.
Frank Etheridge walked musingly towards town. When half-way there heheard his name pronounced behind him in tremulous accents, and turning,saw hastening in his wake the woman who had brought him the messagewhich first took him to Miss Cavanagh's house. She was panting with thehaste she had made, and evidently wished to speak to him. He of coursestopped, being only too anxious to know what the good woman had to say.She flushed as she came near to him.
"Oh, sir," she cried with an odd mixture of eagerness and restraint, "Ihave been wanting to talk to you, and if you would be so good as to letme say what is on my mind, it would be a great satisfaction to me,please, and make me feel a deal easier."
"I should be very glad to hear whatever you may have to tell me," washis natural response. "Are you in trouble? Can I help you?"
"Oh, it is not that," she answered, looking about to see if any curiouspersons were peering at them through the neighboring window-blinds,"though I have my troubles, of course, as who hasn't in this hard, roughworld; it is not of myself I want to speak, but of the young ladies. Youtake an interest in them, sir?"
It was naturally put, yet it made his cheek glow.
"I am their lawyer," he murmured.
"I thought so," she went on as if she had not seen the evidences ofemotion on his part, or if she had seen them had failed to interpretthem. "Mr. Hamilton is a very good man but he is not of much use, sir;but you look different, as if you could influence them, and make them doas other people do, and enjoy the world, and go out to church, and seethe neighbors, and be natural in short."
"And they do not?"
"Never, sir; haven't you heard? They never either of them set footbeyond the garden gate. Miss Emma enjoys the flower-beds and spends mostof her time working at them or walking up and down between the poplars,but Miss Hermione keeps to the house and grows white and thin, studyingand reading, and making herself wise--for what? No one comes to seethem--that is, not often, sir, and when they do, they are stiff andformal, as if the air of the house was chilly with something nobodyunderstood. It isn't right, and it's going against God's laws, for theyare both well and able to go about the world as others do. Why, then,don't they do it? That is what I want to know."
"And that is what everybody wants to know," returned Frank, smiling;"but as long as the young ladies do not care to explain themselves I donot see how you or any one else can criticise their conduct. They musthave good reasons for their seclusion or they would never denythemselves all the pleasures natural to youth."
"Reasons? What reasons can they have for actions so extraordinary? Idon't know of any reason on God's earth which would keep me tied to thehouse, if my feet were able to travel and my eyes to see."
"Do you live with them?"
"Yes; or how could they get the necessaries of life? I do theirmarketing, go for the doctor when they are sick, pay their bills, andbuy their dresses. That's why their frocks are no prettier," sheexplained.
Frank felt his wonder increase.
"It is certainly a great mystery," he acknowledged. "I have heard ofelderly women showing their eccentricity in this way, but young girls!"
"And such beautiful girls! Do you not think them beautiful?" she asked.
He started and looked at the woman more closely. There was a tone in hervoice when she put this question that for the first time made him thinkthat she was less simple than her manner would seem to indicate.
"What is your name?" he asked her abruptly.
"Doris, sir."
"And what is it you want of me?"
"Oh, sir, I thought I told you; to talk to the young ladies and showthem how wicked it is to slight the good gifts which the Lord hasbestowed upon them. They may listen to you, sir; seeing that you arefrom out of town and have the ways of the big city about you."
She was very humble now and had dropped her eyes in some confusion athis altered manner, so that she did not see how keenly his glance restedupon her nervous nostril, weak mouth, and obstinate chin. But sheevidently felt his sudden distrust, for her hands clutched each other inembarrassment and she no longer spoke with the assurance with which shehad commenced the conversation.
"I like the young ladies," she now explained, "and it is for their owngood I want them to do differently."
"Have they never been talked to on the subject? Have not their friendsor relatives tried to make them break their seclusion?"
"Oh, sir, the times the minister has been to that house! And the doctortelling them they would lose their health if they kept on in the waythey were going! But it was all waste breath; they only said they hadtheir reasons, and left people to draw what conclusions they would."
Frank Etheridge, who had a gentleman's instincts, and yet who was toomuch of a lawyer not to avail himself of the garrulity of another on aquestion he had so much at heart, stopped, and weighed the matter amoment with himself before he put the one or two questions which herrevelations suggested. Should he dismiss the woman with a rebuke for herforwardness, or should he humor her love for talk and learn the fewthings further which he was in reality burning to hear. His love andinterest naturally gained the victory over his pride, and he allowedhimself to ask:
"How long have they kept themselves shut up? Is it a year, do youthink?"
"Oh, a full year, sir; six months at least before their father died. Wedid not notice it at first, because they never said anything about it,but at last it became very evident, and then we calculated and foundthey had not stepped out of the house since the day of the great ball atHartford."
"The great ball!"
"Yes, sir, a grand party that every one went to. But they did not go,though they had talked about it, and Miss Hermione had her dress ready.And they never went out again, not even to their father's funeral. Thinkof that, sir, not even to their father's funeral."
"It is very strange," said he, determined at whatever cost to ask Edgarabout that ball, and if he went to it.
"And that is not all," continued his now thoroughly reassuredcompanion. "They were never the same girls again after that time. Beforethen Miss Hermione was the admiration and pride of the whole town,notwithstanding that dreadful scar, while Miss Emma was the life of thehouse and of every gathering she went into. But afterwards--well, youcan see for yourself what they are now; and it was just so before theirfather died."
Frank longed to ask some questions about this father, but reason badehim desist. He was already humiliating himself enough in thus discussingthe daughters with the servant who waited upon them; others must tellhim about the old gentleman.
"The house is just like a haunted house," Doris now remarked. Then asshe saw him cast her a quick look of renewed interest, she glancednervously down the street and asked eagerly: "Would you mind turning offinto this lane, sir, where there are not so many persons to pry and peerat us? It is still early enough for people to see, and as everybodyknows me and everybody by this time must know you, they may wonder tosee us talking together, and I do so long to ease my whole consciencenow I am about it."
For reply, he took the road she had pointed out. When they werecomfortably out of sight from the main street, he stopped again andsaid:
"What do you mean by haunted?"
"Oh, sir," she began, "not by ghosts; I don't believe in any suchnonsense as ghosts; but by memories sir, memories of something which hashappened within those four walls and which are now locked up in thehearts of those two girls, making them live like spectres. I am not afanciful person myself, nor given to imaginings, but that house,especially on nights when the wind blows, seems to be full of somethingnot in nature; and though I do not hear anything or see anything, I feelstrange terrors and almost expect the walls to speak or the floors togive up their secrets, but they never do; and that is why I quake in mybed and lie awake so many nights."
"Yet you are not fanciful, nor given to imaginings," smiled Frank.
"No, for there is ground for my secret fears. I see it in the girls'pale looks,
I hear it in the girls' restless tread as they pace hourafter hour through those lonesome rooms."
"They walk for exercise; they do not use the streets, so they make apromenade of their own floors."
"Do people walk for exercise at night?"
"At _night_?"
"Late at night; at one, two, sometimes three, in the morning? Oh, sir,it is uncanny, I tell you."
"They are not well; lack of change affects their nerves and they cannotsleep, so they walk."
"Very likely, _but they do not walk together_. Sometimes it's one, andsometimes it's the other. I know their different steps, and I never hearthem both at the same time."
Frank felt a cold shiver thrill his blood.
"I have been in the house," she resumed, after a minute's pause, "forfive years; ever since Mrs. Cavanagh died, and I cannot tell you whatits secret is. But it has one, I am certain, and I often go about thehalls and into the different rooms and ask low to myself, 'Was it herethat it happened, or was it there?' There is a little staircase on thesecond floor which takes a quick turn towards a big empty room wherenobody ever sleeps, and though I have no reason for shuddering at thatplace, I always do, perhaps because it is in that big room the youngladies walk so much. Can you understand my feeling this way, and I nomore than a servant to them?"
A month ago he would have uttered a loud disclaimer, but he had changedmuch in some regards, so he answered: "Yes, if you really care forthem."
The look she gave him proved that she did, beyond all doubt.
"If I did not care for them do you think I would stay in such a gloomyhouse? I love them both better than anything else in the whole world,and I would not leave them, not for all the money any one could offerme."
She was evidently sincere, and Frank felt a vague relief.
"I am glad," said he, "that they have so good a friend in their ownhouse; as for your fears you will have to bear them, for I doubt if theyoung ladies will ever take any one into their confidence."
"Not--not their lawyer?"
"No," said he, "not even their lawyer."
She looked disappointed and suddenly very ill at ease.
"I thought you might be masterful," she murmured, "and find out.Perhaps you will some day, and then everything will be different. MissEmma is the most amiable," said she, "and would not long remain aprisoner if Miss Hermione would consent to leave the house."
"Miss Emma is the younger?"
"Yes, yes, in everything."
"And the sadder!"
"I am not so sure about that, but she shows her feelings plainer,perhaps because her spirits used to be so high."
Frank now felt they had talked long enough, interesting as was the topicon which they were engaged. So turning his face towards the town, heremarked:
"I am going back to New York to-night, but I shall probably be inMarston again soon. Watch well over the young ladies, but do not thinkof repeating this interview unless something of great importance shouldoccur. It would not please them if they knew you were in the habit oftalking them over to me, and it is your duty to act just as they wouldwish you to."
"I know it, sir, but when it is for their good----"
"I understand; but let us not repeat it, Doris." And he bade her a kindbut significant good-by.
It was now quite dusk, and as he walked towards Dr. Sellick's office,he remembered with some satisfaction that Edgar was usually at homeduring the early evening. He wanted to talk to him about Hermione'sfather, and his mood was too impatient for a long delay. He found him ashe expected, seated before his desk, and with his wonted precipitancydashed at once into his subject.
"Edgar, you told me once that you were acquainted with Miss Cavanagh'sfather; that you were accustomed to visit him. What kind of a man washe? A hard one?"
Edgar, taken somewhat by surprise, faltered for a moment, but only for amoment.
"I never have attempted to criticise him," said he; "but let me see; hewas a straightforward man and a persistent one, never let go when heonce entered upon a thing. He could be severe, but I should never havecalled him hard. He was like--well he was like Raynor, that professor ofours, who understood everything about beetles and butterflies and suchsmall fry, and knew very little about men or their ways and tastes whenthey did not coincide with his own. Mr. Cavanagh's hobby was not in theline of natural history, but of chemistry, and that is why I visited himso much; we used to experiment together."
"Was it his pastime or his profession? The house does not look as if ithad been the abode of a rich man."
"He was not rich, but he was well enough off to indulge his whims. Ithink he inherited the few thousands, upon the income of which hesupported himself and family."
"And he could be severe?"
"Very, if he were interrupted in his work; at other times he was simplyamiable and absent-minded. He only seemed to live when he had a retortbefore him."
"Of what did he die?"
"Apoplexy, I think; I was not here, so do not know the particulars."
"Was he--" Frank turned and looked squarely at his friend, as he alwaysdid when he had a venturesome question to put--"was he fond of hisdaughters?"
Edgar had probably been expecting some such turn in the conversation asthis, yet he frowned and answered quite hastily, though with evidentconscientiousness:
"I could not make out; I do not know as I ever tried to; the matter didnot interest me."
But Frank was bound to have a definite reply.
"I think you will be able to tell me if you will only give your mind toit for a few moments. A father cannot help but show some gleam ofaffection for two motherless girls."
"Oh, he was proud of them," Edgar hurriedly asserted, "and liked to havethem ready to hand him his coffee when his experiments were over; butfond of them in the way you mean, I think not. I imagine they oftenmissed their mother."
"Did you know _her_?"
"No, only as a child. She died when I was a youngster."
"You do not help me much," sighed Frank.
"Help you?"
"To solve the mystery of those girls' lives."
"Oh!" was Edgar's short exclamation.
"I thought I might get at it by learning about the father, but nothingseems to give me any clue."
Edgar rose with a restless air.
"Why not do as I do--let the matter alone?"
"Because," cried Frank, hotly, "my affections are engaged. I loveHermione Cavanagh, and I cannot leave a matter alone that concerns herso nearly."
"I see," quoth Edgar, and became very silent.
When Frank returned to New York it was with the resolution to win theheart of Hermione and then ask her to tell him her secret. He was sosure that whatever it was, it was not one which would stand in the wayof his happiness.
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