by Bret Harte
dissatisfied withhimself than ever.
Two or three days elapsed without his seeing Cherry; even thewell-known rustle of her skirt in the passage was missing. On thethird evening he resolved to bear the formal terrors of thedrawing-room again, and stumbled upon a decorous party consisting ofMrs. Brooks, the deacon, and the pastor's wife--but not Cherry. Itstruck him on entering that the momentary awkwardness of the companyand the formal beginning of a new topic indicated that HE had been thesubject of their previous conversation. In this idea he continued,through that vague spirit of opposition which attacks impulsive peoplein such circumstances, to generally disagree with them on all subjects,and to exaggerate what he chose to believe they thought objectionablein him. He did not remain long; but learned in that brief intervalthat Cherry had gone to visit a friend in Contra Costa, and would beabsent a fortnight; and he was conscious that the information wasconveyed to him with a peculiar significance.
The result of which was only to intensify his interest in the absentCherry, and for a week to plunge him in a sea of conflicting doubts andresolutions. At one time he thought seriously of demanding anexplanation from Mrs. Brooks, and of confiding to her--as he hadintended to do to Cherry--his fears that his character had beenmisinterpreted, and his reasons for believing so. But here he was metby the difficulty of formulating what he wished to have explained, andsome doubts as to whether his confidences were prudent. At anothertime he contemplated a serious imitation of Tappington's perfections, arenunciation of the world, and an entire change in his habits. Hewould go regularly to church--HER church, and take up Tappington'sdesolate Bible-class. But here the torturing doubt arose whether ayoung lady who betrayed a certain secular curiosity, and who hadevidently depended upon her brother for a knowledge of the world, wouldentirely like it. At times he thought of giving up the room andabandoning for ever this doubly dangerous proximity; but here again hewas deterred by the difficulty of giving a satisfactory reason to hisemployer, who had procured it as a favor. His passion--for such hebegan to fear it to be--led him once to the extravagance of asking aday's holiday from the bank, which he vaguely spent in the streets ofOakland in the hope of accidentally meeting the exiled Cherry.
III.
The fortnight slowly passed. She returned, but he did not see her. Shewas always out or engaged in her room with some female friend whenHerbert was at home. This was singular, as she had never appeared tohim as a young girl who was fond of visiting or had ever affectedfemale friendships. In fact, there was little doubt now that,wittingly or unwittingly, she was avoiding him.
He was moodily sitting by the fire one evening, having returned earlyfrom dinner. In reply to his habitual but affectedly careless inquiry,Ellen had told him that Mrs. Brooks was confined to her room by aslight headache, and that Miss Brooks was out. He was trying to read,and listening to the wind that occasionally rattled the casement andcaused the solitary gas-lamp that was visible in the side street toflicker and leap wildly. Suddenly he heard the same footfall upon hisouter step and a light tap at the door. Determined this time to solvethe mystery, he sprang to his feet and ran to the door; but to hisanger and astonishment it was locked and the key was gone. Yet he waspositive that HE had not taken it out.
The tap was timidly repeated. In desperation he called out, "Pleasedon't go away yet. The key is gone; but I'll find it in a moment."Nevertheless he was at his wits' end.
There was a hesitating pause and then the sound of a key cautiouslythrust into the lock. It turned; the door opened, and a tall figure,whose face and form were completely hidden in a veil and long grayshawl, quickly glided into the room and closed the door behind it.Then it suddenly raised its arms, the shawl was parted, the veil fellaside, and Cherry stood before him!
Her face was quite pale. Her eyes, usually downcast, frightened, orcoldly clear, were bright and beautiful with excitement. The dimpleswere faintly there, although the smile was sad and half hysterical.She remained standing, erect and tall, her arms dropped at her side,holding the veil and shawl that still depended from her shoulders.
"So--I've caught you!" she said, with a strange little laugh. "Oh yes.'Please don't go away yet. I'll get the key in a moment,'" shecontinued, mimicking his recent utterance.
He could only stammer, "Miss Brooks--then it was YOU?"
"Yes; and you thought it was SHE, didn't you? Well, and you're caught!I didn't believe it; I wouldn't believe it when they said it. Idetermined to find it out myself. And I have; and it's true."
Unable to determine whether she was serious or jesting, and consciousonly of his delight at seeing her again, he advanced impulsively. Buther expression instantly changed: she became at once stiff andschool-girlishly formal, and stepped back towards the door.
"Don't come near me, or I'll go," she said quickly, with her hand uponthe lock.
"But not before you tell me what you mean," he said half laughinglyhalf earnestly. "Who is SHE? and what wouldn't you have believed? Forupon my honor, Miss Brooks, I don't know what you are talking about."
His evident frankness and truthful manner appeared to puzzle her. "Youmean to say you were expecting no one?" she said sharply.
"I assure you I was not."
"And--and no woman was ever here--at that door?"
He hesitated. "Not to-night--not for a long time; not since youreturned from Oakland."
"Then there WAS one?"
"I believe so."
"You BELIEVE--you don't KNOW?"
"I believed it was a woman from her voice; for the door was locked, andthe key was downstairs. When I fetched it and opened the door, she--orwhoever it was--was gone."
"And that's why you said so imploringly, just now, 'Please don't goaway yet'? You see I've caught you. Ah! I don't wonder you blush!"
If he had, his cheeks had caught fire from her brilliant eyes and theextravagantly affected sternness--as of a school-girl monitor--in heranimated face. Certainly he had never seen such a transformation.
"Yes; but, you see, I wanted to know who the intruder was," he said,smiling at his own embarrassment.
"You did--well, perhaps THAT will tell you? It was found under yourdoor before I went away." She suddenly produced from her pocket afolded paper and handed it to him. It was a misspelt scrawl, and ranas follows:--
"Why are you so cruel? Why do you keep me dansing on the stepps beforethem gurls at the windows? Was it that stuckup Saint, Miss Brooks,that you were afraid of, my deer? Oh, you faithless trater! Wait tillI ketch you! I'll tear your eyes out and hern!"
It did not require great penetration for Herbert to be instantlyconvinced that the writer of this vulgar epistle and the owner of theunknown voice were two very different individuals. The note wasevidently a trick. A suspicion of its perpetrators flashed upon him.
"Whoever the woman was, it was not she who wrote the note," he saidpositively. "Somebody must have seen her at the door. I remember nowthat those girls--your neighbors--were watching me from their windowwhen I came out. Depend upon it, that letter comes from them."
Cherry's eyes opened widely with a sudden childlike perception, andthen shyly dropped. "Yes," she said slowly; "they DID watch you. Theyknow it, for it was they who made it the talk of the neighborhood, andthat's how it came to mother's ears." She stopped, and, with afrightened look, stepped back towards the door again.
"Then THAT was why your mother"--
"Oh yes," interrupted Cherry quickly. "That was why I went over toOakland, and why mother forbade my walking with you again, and why shehad a talk with friends about your conduct, and why she came neartelling Mr. Carstone all about it until I stopped her." She checkedherself--he could hardly believe his eyes--the pale, nun-like girl wasabsolutely blushing.
"I thank you, Miss Brooks," he said gravely, "for your thoughtfulness,although I hope I could have still proven my innocence to Mr. Carstone,even if some unknown woman tried my door by mistake, and was seen doingit. But I am pained to think that YOU could have believe
d me capableof so wanton and absurd an impropriety--and such a gross disrespect toyour mother's house."
"But," said Cherry with childlike naivete, "you know YOU don't thinkanything of such things, and that's what I told mother."
"You told your mother THAT?"
"Oh yes--I told her Tappington says it's quite common with young men.Please don't laugh--for it's very dreadful. Tappington didn't laughwhen he told it to me as a warning. He was shocked."
"But, my dear Miss Brooks"--
"There--now you're angry--and that's as bad. Are you sure you didn'tknow that woman?"
"Positive!"
"Yet you seemed very anxious just now that she should wait till youopened the door."
"That was perfectly natural."
"I don't think it was natural at all."
"But--according to Tappington"--
"Because my brother is very good you need not make fun of him."
"I assure you I have no such intention. But what more can I say? Igive you my word that I don't know who that unlucky woman was. No doubtshe may have been some nearsighted neighbor who had mistaken the house,and I dare say was as thoroughly astonished at my voice as I was athers. Can I say more? Is it necessary for me to swear that since Ihave been here no woman has ever entered that door--but"--
"But who?"
"Yourself."
"I know what you mean," she said hurriedly, with her old frightenedlook, gliding to the outer door. "It's shameful what I've done. But Ionly did it because--because I had faith in you, and didn't believewhat they said was true." She had already turned the lock. There weretears in her pretty eyes.
"Stop," said Herbert gently. He walked slowly towards her, and withinreach of her frightened figure stopped with the timid respect of amature and genuine passion. "You must not be seen going out of thatdoor," he said gravely. "You must let me go first, and, when I amgone, lock the door again and go through the hall to your own room. Noone must know that I was in the house when you came in at that door.Good-night."
Without offering his hand he lifted his eyes to her face. The dimpleswere all there--and something else. He bowed and passed out.
Ten minutes later he ostentatiously returned to the house by the frontdoor, and proceeded up the stairs to his own room. As he cast a glancearound he saw that the music-stool had been moved before the fire,evidently with the view of attracting his attention. Lying upon it,carefully folded, was the veil that she had worn. There could be nodoubt that it was left there purposely. With a smile at this strangegirl's last characteristic act of timid but compromising recklessness,after all his precautions, he raised it tenderly to his lips, and thenhastened to hide it from the reach of vulgar eyes. But had Cherryknown that its temporary resting-place that night was under his pillowshe might have doubted his superior caution.
When he returned from the bank the next afternoon, Cherry rappedostentatiously at his door. "Mother wishes me to ask you," she beganwith a certain prim formality, which nevertheless did not precludedimples, "if you would give us the pleasure of your company at ourChurch Festival to-night? There will be a concert and a collation.You could accompany us there if you cared. Our friends andTappington's would be so glad to see you, and Dr. Stout would bedelighted to make your acquaintance."
"Certainly!" said Herbert, delighted and yet astounded. "Then," headded in a lower voice, "your mother no longer believes me sodreadfully culpable?"
"Oh no," said Cherry in a hurried whisper, glancing up and down thepassage; "I've been talking to her about it, and she is satisfied thatit is all a jealous trick and slander of these neighbors. Why, I toldher that they had even said that I was that mysterious woman; that Icame that way to you because she had forbidden my seeing you openly."
"What! You dared say that?"
"Yes don't you see? Suppose they said they HAD seen me coming in lastnight--THAT answers it," she said triumphantly.
"Oh, it does?" he said vacantly.
"Perfectly. So you see she's convinced that she ought to put you onthe same footing as Tappington, before everybody; and then there won'tbe any trouble. You'll come, won't you? It won't be so VERY good.And then, I've told mother that as there have been so manystreet-fights, and so much talk about the Vigilance Committee lately, Iought to have somebody for an escort when I am coming home. And ifyou're known, you see, as one of US, there'll be no harm in yourmeeting me."
"Thank you," he said, extending his hand gratefully.
Her fingers rested a moment in his. "Where did you put it?" she saiddemurely.
"It? Oh! IT'S all safe," he said quickly, but somewhat vaguely.
"But I don't call the upper drawer of your bureau safe," she returnedpoutingly, "where EVERYBODY can go. So you'll find it NOW inside theharmonium, on the keyboard."
"Oh, thank you."
"It's quite natural to have left it there ACCIDENTALLY--isn't it?" shesaid imploringly, assisted by all her dimples. Alas! she had forgottenthat he was still holding her hand. Consequently, she had not time tosnatch it away and vanish, with a stifled little cry, before it hadbeen pressed two or three times to his lips. A little ashamed of hisown boldness, Herbert remained for a few moments in the doorwaylistening, and looking uneasily down the dark passage. Presently aslight sound came over the fanlight of Cherry's room. Could he believehis ears? The saint-like Cherry--no doubt tutored, for example's sake,by the perfect Tappington--was softly whistling.
In this simple fashion the first pages of this little idyl were quietlyturned. The book might have been closed or laid aside even then. Butit so chanced that Cherry was an unconscious prophet; and presently itactually became a prudential necessity for her to have a masculineescort when she walked out. For a growing state of lawlessness andcrime culminated one day the deep tocsin of the Vigilance Committee,and at its stroke fifty thousand peaceful men, reverting to the firstprinciples of social safety, sprang to arms, assembled at theirquarters, or patrolled the streets. In another hour the city of SanFrancisco was in the hands of a mob--the most peaceful, orderly, wellorganized, and temperate the world had ever known, and yet inconception as lawless, autocratic, and imperious as the conditions itopposed.
IV.
Herbert, enrolled in the same section with his employer and one or twofellow-clerks, had participated in the meetings of the committee withthe light-heartedness and irresponsibility of youth, regretting onlythe loss of his usual walk with Cherry and the hours that kept him fromher house. He was returning from a protracted meeting one night, whenthe number of arrests and searching for proscribed and suspectedcharacters had been so large as to induce fears of organized resistanceand rescue, and on reaching the foot of the hill found it already solate, that to avoid disturbing the family he resolved to enter his roomdirectly by the door in the side street. On inserting his key in thelock it met with some resisting obstacle, which, however, yielded andapparently dropped on the mat inside. Opening the door and steppinginto the perfectly dark apartment, he trod upon this object, whichproved to be another key. The family must have procured it for theirconvenience during his absence, and after locking the door hadcarelessly left it in the lock. It was lucky that it had yielded soreadily.
The fire had gone out. He closed the door and lit the gas, and aftertaking off his overcoat moved to the door leading into the passage tolisten if anybody was still stirring. To his utter astonishment hefound it locked. What was more remarkable--the key was also INSIDE!An inexplicable feeling took possession of him. He glanced suddenlyaround the room, and then his eye fell upon the bed. Lying there,stretched at full length, was the recumbent figure of a man.
He was apparently in the profound sleep of utter exhaustion. Theattitude of his limbs and the order of his dress--of which only hiscollar and cravat had been loosened--showed that sleep must haveovertaken him almost instantly. In fact, the bed was scarcelydisturbed beyond the actual impress of his figure. He seemed to be ahandsome, matured man of about forty; his dark straight hair
was alittle thinned over the temples, although his long heavy moustache wasstill youthful and virgin. His clothes, which were elegantly cut andof finer material than that in ordinary use, the delicacy and neatnessof his linen, the whiteness of his hands, and, more particularly, acertain dissipated pallor of complexion and lines of recklessness onthe brow and cheek, indicated to Herbert that the man before him wasone of that desperate and suspected class--some of whose proscribedmembers he had been hunting--the professional gambler!
Possibly the magnetism of Herbert's intent and astonished gaze affectedhim. He moved slightly, half opened his eyes, said "Halloo, Tap,"rubbed them again, wholly opened them, fixed them with a lazy stare onHerbert, and said:
"Now, who the devil are you?"
"I think I have the right to ask that question, considering that thisis my room," said Herbert sharply.
"YOUR room?"
"Yes!"
The stranger half raised himself on his elbow, glanced round the room,settled himself slowly back on the pillows, with his hands claspedlightly behind his head, dropped his eyelids, smiled, and said:
"Rats!"
"What?" demanded Herbert, with a resentful sense of sacrilege toCherry's virgin slang.
"Well, old rats then! D'ye think I don't know this shebang? Lookhere, Johnny, what are you putting on all this side for, eh? What'syour little game? Where's Tappington?"
"If you mean Mr. Brooks, the son of this house, who formerly lived inthis room," replied Herbert, with a formal precision intended to show adoubt of the stranger's knowledge of Tappington, "you ought to knowthat he has left town."
"Left town!" echoed the stranger, raising himself again. "Oh, I see!getting rather too warm for him here? Humph! I ought to have thoughtof that. Well, you know, he DID take mighty big risks, anyway!" Hewas silent a moment, with his brows knit and a rather dangerousexpression in his handsome face. "So some d--d hound gave himaway--eh?"
"I hadn't the pleasure of knowing Mr. Brooks except by reputation, asthe respected son of the lady upon whose house you have just intruded,"said Herbert frigidly, yet with a creeping consciousness of someunpleasant revelation.
The stranger stared at him for a moment, again looked carefully roundthe room, and then suddenly dropped his head back on the pillow, andwith his white hands over his eyes and mouth tried to restrain a spasmof silent laughter. After an effort he succeeded, wiped his moisteyes, and sat up.
"So you didn't know Tappington, eh?" he said, lazily buttoning hiscollar.
"No."
"No more do I."
He retied his cravat, yawned, rose, shook himself perfectly neat again,and going to Herbert's dressing-table quietly took up a brush and beganto lightly brush himself, occasionally turning to the window to glanceout. Presently he turned to Herbert and said:
"Well, Johnny, what's your name?"
"I am Herbert Bly, of Carstone's Bank."
"So, and a member of this same Vigilance Committee, I reckon," hecontinued.
"Yes."
"Well, Mr. Bly, I owe you an apology for coming here, and some thanksfor the only sleep I've had in forty-eight hours. I struck this oldshebang at about ten o'clock, and it's now two, so I reckon I've put inabout four hours' square sleep. Now, look here." He beckoned Herberttowards the window. "Do you see those three men standing under thatgaslight? Well, they're part of a gang of Vigilantes who've hunted meto the hill, and are waiting to see me come out of the bushes, wherethey reckon I'm hiding. Go to them and say that I'm here! Tell themyou've got Gentleman George--George Dornton, the man they've beenhunting for a week--in this room. I promise you I won't stir, nor kickup a row, when they've come. Do it, and Carstone, if he's a squareman, will raise your salary for it, and promote you." He yawnedslightly, and then slowly looking around him, drew the easy-chairtowards him and dropped comfortably in it, gazing at the astounded andmotionless Herbert with a lazy smile.
"You're wondering what my little game is, Johnny, ain't you? Well,I'll tell you. What with being hunted from pillar to post, putting myold pards to no end of trouble, and then slipping up on it whenever Ithink I've got a sure thing like this,"--he cast an almost affectionateglance at the bed,--"I've come to the conclusion that it's played out,and I might as well hand in my checks. It's only a question of mybeing RUN OUT of 'Frisco, or hiding until I can SLIP OUT myself; andI've reckoned I might as well give them the trouble and expense oftransportation. And if I can put a good thing in your way in doingit--why, it will sort of make things square with you for the fuss I'vegiven you."
Even in the stupefaction and helplessness of knowing that the manbefore him was the notorious duellist and gambler George Dornton, oneof the first marked for deportation by the Vigilance Committee, Herbertrecognized all he had heard of his invincible coolness, courage, andalmost philosophic fatalism. For an instant his youthful imaginationchecked even his indignation. When he recovered himself, he said, withrising color and boyish vehemence:
"Whoever YOU may be, I am neither a police officer nor a spy. You haveno right to insult me by supposing that I would profit by the mistakethat made you my guest, or that I would refuse you the sanctuary of theroof that covers your insult as well as your blunder."
The stranger gazed at him with an amused expression, and then rose andstretched out his hand.
"Shake, Mr. Bly! You're the only man that ever kicked George Dorntonwhen he deserved it. Good-night!" He took his hat and walked to thedoor.
"Stop!" said Herbert impulsively; "the night is already far gone; goback and finish your sleep."
"You mean it?"
"I do."
The stranger turned, walked back to the bed, unfastening his coat andcollar as he did so, and laid himself down in the attitude of a momentbefore.
"I will call you in the morning," continued Herbert. "By thattime,"--he hesitated,--"by that time your pursuers may have given uptheir search. One word more. You will be frank with me?"
"Go on."
"Tappington and you are--friends?"
"Well--yes."
"His mother and sister know nothing of this?"
"I reckon he didn't boast of it. I didn't. Is that all?" sleepily.
"Yes."
"Don't YOU worry about HIM. Good-night."
"Good-night."
But even at that moment George Dornton had dropped off in a quiet,peaceful sleep.
Bly turned down the light, and, drawing his easy-chair to the window,dropped into it in bewildering reflection. This then was thesecret--unknown to mother and daughter--unsuspected by all! This wasthe double life of Tappington, half revealed in his flirtation with theneighbors, in the hidden cards behind the books, in the mysteriousvisitor--still unaccounted for--and now wholly exploded by thissleeping confederate, for whom, somehow, Herbert felt the greatestsympathy! What was to be done? What should he say to Cherry--to hermother--to Mr. Carstone? Yet he had felt he had done right. From timeto time he turned to the motionless recumbent shadow on the bed andlistened to its slow and peaceful respiration. Apart from thatundefinable attraction which all original natures have for each other,the thrice-blessed mystery of protection of the helpless, for the firsttime in his life, seemed to dawn upon him through that night.
Nevertheless, the actual dawn came slowly. Twice he nodded and awokequickly with a start. The third time it was day. The street-lampswere extinguished, and with them the moving, restless watchers seemedalso to have vanished. Suddenly a formal deliberate rapping at thedoor leading to the hall startled him to his feet.
It must be Ellen. So much the better; he could quickly get rid of her.He glanced at the bed; Dornton slept on undisturbed. He unlocked thedoor cautiously, and instinctively fell back before the erect, shawled,and decorous figure of Mrs. Brooks. But an utterly new resolution andexcitement had supplanted the habitual resignation of her handsomefeatures, and given them an angry sparkle of expression.
Recollecting himself, he instantly stepped forward into the passage,drawing t
o the door behind him, as she, with equal celerity, opposed itwith her hand.
"Mr. Bly," she said deliberately, "Ellen has just told me that yourvoice has been heard in conversation with some one in this room latelast night. Up to this moment I have foolishly allowed my daughter topersuade me that certain infamous scandals regarding your conduct herewere false. I must ask you as a gentleman to let me pass now andsatisfy myself."
"But, my dear madam, one moment. Let me first explain--Ibeg"--stammered Herbert with a half-hysterical laugh. "I assure you agentleman friend"--
But she had pushed him aside and entered precipitately. With a quickfeminine glance round the room she turned to the bed, and then haltedin overwhelming confusion.
"It's a friend," said Herbert in a hasty whisper. "A friend of minewho returned with me late, and whom, on account of the disturbed stateof the streets, I induced to stay here all night. He was so tired thatI have not had the heart to disturb him yet."
"Oh, pray don't!--I beg"--said Mrs. Brooks with a certain youthfulvivacity, but still gazing at the stranger's handsome features as sheslowly retreated. "Not for worlds!"
Herbert was relieved; she was actually blushing.
"You see, it was quite unpremeditated, I assure you. We came intogether," whispered Herbert, leading her to the door, "and I"--
"Don't believe a word of it, madam," said a lazy voice from the bed, asthe stranger leisurely raised himself upright, putting the lastfinishing touch to his cravat as he shook himself neat again. "I'm anutter stranger to him, and he knows it. He found me here, biding fromthe Vigilantes, who were chasing me on the hill. I got in at thatdoor, which happened to be unlocked. He let me stay because he was agentleman--and--I wasn't. I beg your pardon,