The Web of the Golden Spider

by Frederick Orin Bartlett

  CHAPTER II

  _Chance Provides_

  For a moment after he had closed the door they stood side by side, shepressing close to him. She shivered the length of her slight frame.The hesitancy which had come to him with the first impress of thelightless silence about them vanished.

  "Come," he said, taking her hand, "we must find a light and build afire."

  He groped his way back to the window and closed it, drawing thecurtain tight down over it. Then he struck a match and held it abovehis head.

  At the flash of light the girl dropped his hand and shrank back insudden trepidation. So long as he remained in the shadows he had beento her only a power without any more definite personality than that ofsex. Now that she was thrown into closer contact with him, by the merecurtailing of the distances around and above her, she was conscious ofthe need of further knowledge of the man. The very power which haddefended her, unless in the control of a still higher power, mightturn against her. The match flickered feebly in the damp air,revealing scantily a small room which looked like a laundry. It wasenough, however, to disclose a shelf upon which rested a bit ofcandle. He lighted this.

  She watched him closely, and as the wick sputtered into life shegrasped eagerly at every detail it revealed. She stood alert as afencer before an unknown antagonist. Then he turned and, with thissteadier light above his head, stepped towards her.

  She saw eyes of light blue meeting her own of brown quite fearlessly.His lean face and the shock of sandy hair above it made an instantappeal to her. She knew he was a man she could trust within doors asfully as she had trusted him without. His frame was spare butsuggestive of the long muscles of the New Englander which do not showbut which work on and on with seemingly indestructible energy. Helooked to her to be strong and tender.

  She realized that he in his turn was studying her, and held up herhead and faced him sturdily. In spite of her drenched condition shedid not look so very bedraggled, thanks to the simple linen suit shehad worn. Her jet black hair, loose and damp, framed an oval facewhich lacked color without appearing unhealthy. The skin was dark--thegypsy dark of one who has lived much out of doors. Both the nose andthe chin was of fine and rather delicate modeling without losinganything of vigor. It was a responsive face, hinting of large emotionsrather easily excited but as yet latent, for the girlishness was stillin it.

  Wilson found his mouth losing its tenseness as he looked into thosebrown eyes; found the strain of the situation weakening. The roomappeared less chill, the vista beyond the doorway less formidable.Here was a good comrade for a long road--a girl to meet life with somespirit as it came along.

  She looked up at him with a smile as she heard the drip of theirclothes upon the floor.

  "We ought to be hung up to dry," she laughed.

  Lowering the candle, he stepped forward.

  "We'll be dry soon," he answered confidently. "What am I to call you,comrade?"

  "My name is Jo Manning," she answered with a bit of confusion.

  "And I am David Wilson," he said simply. "Now that we've beenintroduced we'll hunt for a place to get dry and warm."

  He shivered.

  "I am sure the house is empty. It _feels_ empty. But even if it isn't,whoever is here will have to warm us or--fight!"

  He held out his hand again and she took it as he led the way along thehall towards the front of the house. He moved cautiously, creepingalong on tiptoe, the light held high above his head, pausing every nowand then to listen. They reached the stairs leading to the upperhallway and mounted these. He pushed open the door, stopping to listenat every rusty creak, and stepped out upon the heavy carpet. The lightroused shadows which flitted silently about the corners as in batlikefear. The air smelled heavy, and even the moist rustling of the girl'sgarments sounded muffled. Wilson glanced at the wall, and at sight ofthe draped pictures pressed the girl's hand.

  "Our first bit of luck," he whispered. "They _have_ gone for thesummer!"

  They moved less cautiously now, but not until they reached the diningroom and saw the covered chairs and drawn curtains did they feel fullyassured. He thrust aside the portieres and noted that the blinds wereclosed and the windows boarded. They could move quite safely now.

  The mere sense of being under cover--of no longer feeling the beat ofthe rain upon them--was in itself a soul-satisfying relief. But therewas still the dank cold of their soggy clothes against the body. Theymust have heat; and he moved on to the living rooms above. He pushedopen a door and found himself in a large room of heavy oak, not drapedlike the others. He might have hesitated had it not been for the sightof a large fireplace directly facing him. When he saw that it waspiled high with wood and coal ready to be lighted, he would havebraved an army to reach it. Crossing the room, he thrust his candleinto the kindling. The flames, as though surprised at being summoned,hesitated a second and then leaped hungrily to their meal. Wilsonthrust his cold hands almost into the fire itself as he crouched overit.

  "Come here," he called over his shoulder. "Get some of this quickly."

  She huddled close to him and together they let their cold bodies drinkin the warm air. It tingled at their fingers, smarted into theirfaces, and stung their chests.

  "Nearer! Nearer!" he urged her. "Let it burn into you."

  Their garments sent out clouds of steam and sweated pools to the tilesat their feet; but still they bathed in the heat insatiably. He piledon wood until the flames crackled out of sight in the chimney andflared into the room. He took her by the shoulders and turned herround and round before it as one roasts a goose. He took her two handsand rubbed them briskly till they smarted; she laughed deliciously thewhile, and the color on her cheeks deepened. But in spite of all thisthey couldn't get very far below the surface. He noticed the drippingfringe of her skirts and her water-logged shoes.

  "This will never do," he said. "You've got to get dry--clear to yourbones. Somehow a woman doesn't look right--wet. She gets so verywet--like a kitten. I'm going foraging now. You keep turning round andround."

  "Till I'm brown on the outside?"

  "Till I come back and see if you're done."

  She followed him with her eyes as he went out, and in less than fiveminutes she heard him calling for her. She hurried to the next roomand found him bending over a tumbled heap of fluffy things which hehad gingerly picked from the bureau drawers.

  "Help yourself," he commanded, with a wave of his hand.

  "But--I oughtn't to take these things!"

  "My girl," he answered in an even voice that seemed to steady her,"when it's either these or pneumonia--it's these. I'll leave you thecandle."

  "But you----"

  "I'll find something."

  He went out. She stood bewildered in the midst of the dimly revealedluxury about her. The candle threw feeble rays into the dark cornersof the big room, over the four-posted oak bed covered with itsdaintily monogrammed spread, over the heavy hangings at the windows,and the bright pictures on the walls. She caught a glimpse of closets,of a graceful dressing table, and finally saw her reflection in thelong mirror which reached to the floor.

  She held the candle over her head and stared at herself. She cut but asorry figure in her own eyes in the midst of such spotless richness asnow surrounded her. She shivered a little as her own damp clothespressed clammily against her skin. Then with a flush she turned againto the garments rifled from their perfumed hiding places. They lookedvery white and crisp. She hesitated but a second.

  "She'll forgive," she whispered, and threw off her dripping waist. Theclothes, almost without exception, fitted her remarkably well. Shefound herself dressing leisurely, enjoying to the fullest the feel ofthe rich goods. She shook her hair free, dried it as best she could,and took some pains to put it up nicely. It was long and glossyblack, but not inclined to curl. It coiled about her head in silkenstrands of dark richness.

  She demurred at first at the silk dress which he had tossed upon thebed, but she could find no other. It was of a golden yellow, dain
tyand foreign in its design. It fitted snugly to her slim figure asthough it had been made for her. She stood off at a little distanceand studied herself in the mirror. She was a girl who had an instinctfor dress which had never been satisfied; a girl who could give, aswell as take, an air from her garments. She admired herself quite asfrankly as though it had been some other person who, with headuptilted and teeth flashing in a contented smile, challenged her fromthe clear surface of the mirror, looking as though she had juststepped through the wall into the room. The cold, the wet, and for amoment even the hunger vanished, so that as she glanced back at hercomfortable reflection it seemed as if it were all just a dream ofcold and wet and hunger. With silk soothing her skin, with the crisppurity of spotless linen rustling about her, with the faultless gownfalling in rich splendor about her feet, she felt so much a part ofthese new surroundings that it was as though she melted intothem--blended her own personality with the unstinted luxury abouther.

  But her foot scuffled against a wet stocking lying as limp as watergrass, which recalled her to herself and the man who had led the wayto this. A wave of pity swept over her as she wondered if he had founddry things for himself. She must hurry back and see that he wascomfortable. She felt a certain pride that the beaded slippers she hadfound in the closet fitted her a bit loosely. With the candle held farout from her in one hand and the other lifting her dress from thefloor, she rustled along the hall to the study, pausing there to speakhis name.

  "All ready?" he shouted.

  He strode from a door to the left, but stopped in the middle of theroom to study her as she stood framed in the doorway--a picture forWhistler. With pretty art and a woman's instinctive desire to please,she had placed the candle on a chair and assumed something of a pose.The mellow candle-light deepened the raven black of her hair, softenedthe tint of her gown until it appeared of almost transparent fineness.It melted the folds of the heavy crimson draperies by her side intoone with the dark behind her. She had shyly dropped her eyes, but inthe excitement of the moment she quickly raised them again. Theysparkled with merriment at sight of his lean frame draped in alounging robe of Oriental ornateness. It was of silk and embellishedwith gold-spun figures.

  "It was either this," he apologized, "or a dress suit. If I had seenyou first, I should have chosen the latter. I ought to dress fordinner, I suppose, even if there isn't any."

  "You look as though you ought to make a dinner come out of thosesleeves, just as the magicians make rabbits and gold-fish."

  "And you," he returned, "look as though you ought to be able to get adinner by merely summoning the butler."

  He offered her his arm with exaggerated gallantry and escorted her toa chair by the fire. She seated herself and, thrusting out her toestowards the flames, gave herself up for a moment to the drowsy warmth.He shoved a large leather chair into place to the left and, facingher, enjoyed to himself the sensation of playing host to her hostessin this beautiful house. She looked up at him.

  "I suppose you wonder what brought me out there?"

  "In a general way--yes," he answered frankly. "But I don't wishyou to feel under any obligation to tell me. I see you as you sitthere,--that is enough."

  "There is so little else," she replied. She hesitated, then added,"That is, that anyone seems to understand."

  "You really had no place to which you could go for the night?"

  "No. I am an utter stranger here. I came up this morning fromNewburyport--that's about forty miles. I lost my purse and my ticket,so you see I was quite helpless. I was afraid to ask anyone for help,and then--I hoped every minute that I might find my father."

  "But I thought you knew no one here?"

  "I don't. If Dad is here, it is quite by chance."

  She looked again into his blue eyes and then back to the fire.

  "It is wonderful how you came to me," she said.

  "I saw you twice before."

  "Once," she said, "was just beyond the Gardens."

  "You noticed me?"

  "Yes."

  She leaned forward.

  "Yes," she repeated, "I noticed you because of all the faces I hadlooked into since morning yours was the first I felt I could trust."

  "Thank you."

  "And now," she continued, "I feel as though you might even understandbetter than the others what my errand here to Boston was." She pausedagain, adding, "I should hate to have you think me silly."

  She studied his face eagerly. His eyes showed interest; his mouthassured her of sympathy.

  "Go on," he bade her.

  To him she was like someone he had known before--like one of thosevague women he used to see between the stars. Within even these lastfew minutes he had gotten over the strangeness of her being here. Hedid not think of this building as a house, of this room as part of ahome; it was just a cave opening from the roadside into which they hadfled to escape the rain.

  It seemed difficult for her to begin. Now that she had determined totell him she was anxious for him to see clearly.

  "I ought to go back," she faltered; "back a long way into my life, andI'm afraid that won't be interesting to you."

  "You can't go very far back," he laughed. Then he added seriously, "Iam really interested. Please to tell it in your own way."

  "Well, to begin with, Dad was a sea captain and he married the verybest woman in the world. But she died when I was very young. It wasafter this that Dad took me on his long voyages with him,--to SouthAmerica, to India, and Africa. I don't remember much about it, exceptas a series of pictures. I know I had the best of times for somehow Ican remember better how I felt than what I saw. I used to play on thedeck in the sun and listen to the sailors who told me strange stories.Then when we reached a port Dad used to take me by the hand and leadme through queer, crooked little streets and show me the shops and buywhole armfuls of things for me. I remember it all just as you rememberbrightly colored pictures of cities--pointed spires in the sunlight,streets full of bright colors, and dozens of odd men and women whosefaces come at night and are forgotten in the morning. Dad was big andhandsome and very proud of me. He used to like to show me off and takeme with him everywhere. Those years were very wonderful andbeautiful.

  "Then one day he brought me back to shore again, and for a while welived together in a large white house within sight of the ocean. Weused to take long walks and sometimes went to town, but he didn't seemvery happy. One day he brought home with him a strange woman and toldme that she was to be housekeeper, and that I must obey her and growup to be a fine woman. Then he went away. That was fifteen years ago.Then came the report he was dead; that was ten years ago. After awhile I didn't mind so much, for I used to lie on my back and recallall the places we had been together. When these pictures began to fadea little, I learned another way,--a way taught me by a sailor. I tooka round crystal I found in the parlor and I looked into it hard,--oh,very, very hard. Then it happened. First all I saw was a blur ofcolors, but in a little while these separated and I saw as clearly asat first all the streets and places I had ever visited, and sometimesothers too. Oh, it was such a comfort! Was that wrong?"

  "No," he answered slowly, "I can't see anything wrong in that."

  "She--the housekeeper--called it wicked--devilish. She took away thecrystal. But after a while I found I could see with other things--evenwith just a glass of clear water. All you have to do is to hold youreyes very still and stare and stare. Do you understand?"

  He nodded.

  "I've heard of that."

  She dropped her voice, evidently struggling with growing excitement,colored with something of fear.

  "Don't you see how close this kept me to Dad? I've been living withhim almost as though I were really with him. We've taken over againthe old walks and many news ones. This seemed to go on just the sameafter we received word that he had died--stricken with a fever inSouth America somewhere."

  She paused, taking a quick breath.

  "All that is not so strange," she ran on; "but yesterday--yesterday i
nthe crystal I saw him--here in Boston."

  "What!"

  "As clearly as I see you. He was walking down a street near theGardens."

  "It might have been someone who resembled him."

  "No, it was Dad. He was thinner and looked strange, but I knew him asthough it were only yesterday that he had gone away."

  "But if he is dead----"

  "He isn't dead," she answered with conviction.

  "On the strength of that vision you came here to look for him?"

  "Yes."

  "When you believe, you believe hard, don't you?"

  "I believe the crystal," she answered soberly.

  "Yet you didn't find your father?"

  "No," she admitted.

  "You are still sure he is here?"

  "I am still sure he is living. I may have made a mistake in the place,but I know he is alive and well somewhere. I shall look again in thecrystal to-morrow."

  "Yes, to-morrow," answered Wilson, vaguely.

  He rose to his feet.

  "But there is still the hunger of to-day."

  She seemed disappointed in the lightness with which apparently he tookher search.

  "You don't believe?"

  "I believe you. And I believe that you believe. But I have seen littleof such things myself. In the meanwhile it would be good to eat--ifonly a few crackers. Are you afraid to stay here alone while I explorea bit?"

  She shook her head.

  He was gone some ten minutes, and when he came back his loose robebulged suspiciously in many places.

  "Madame," he exclaimed, "I beg you to observe me closely. I snap myfingers twice,--so! Then I motion,--so! Behold!"

  He deftly extricated from one of the large sleeves a can of soup, andheld it triumphantly aloft.

  "Once more,--so!"

  He produced a package of crackers; next a can of coffee, next somesugar. And she, watching him with face alight, applauded vigorouslyand with more genuine emotion than usually greets the acts of aprestidigitator.

  "But, oh!" she exclaimed, with her hands clasped beneath her chin,"don't you dare to make them disappear again!"

  "Madame," answered Wilson, with a bow, "that shall be your privilege."

  He hurried below once more, and this time returned with a chafing-dish,two bowls, and a couple of iron spoons which he had found in thekitchen. In ten minutes the girl had prepared a lunch which to them wasthe culmination of their happiness. Warmed, clothed, and fed, thereseemed nothing left for them.

  When they had finished and had made everything tidy in the room, andhe had gone to the cellar and replenished the coal-hod, he told hersomething of his own life. For a little while she listened, but soonthe room became blurred to her and she sank farther and farther amongthe heavy shadows and the old paintings on the wall. The rain beatagainst the muffled windows drowsily. The fire warmed her brow likesome hypnotic hand. Then his voice ceased and she drew her feetbeneath her and slept in the chair, looking like a soft Persiankitten.