Dark Hollow

  VIII

  WITH HER VEIL LIFTED

  "MRS.--"

  "You recognise me?"

  "Too well." The tone was deep with meaning but there was no accusationin it; nor was there any note of relief. It was more as if some hopedeeply, and perhaps unconsciously, cherished had suffered a sudden andcomplete extinction.

  The change this made in him was too perceptible for her not to observeit. The shadow lying deep in her eyes now darkened her whole face. Shehad tried to prepare him for this moment; tried to prepare herself. Butwho can prepare the soul for the return of old troubles or make otherthan startling the resurrection of a ghost laid, as men thought,forever.

  "You see that it was no fault of my own I was trying to hide," shefinally remarked in her rich and sympathetic voice.

  "Put back your veil."

  It was all he said.

  Trembling she complied, murmuring as she fumbled with its folds:

  "Disgrace to an Ostrander! I know that I was mad to risk it for amoment. Forgive me for the attempt, and listen to my errand. Oliver waswilling to marry my child, even after he knew the shame it would entail.But Reuther would not accept the sacrifice. When she learned, as she wasobliged to now, that her father had not only been sentenced to death forthe worst crime in the calendar, but had suffered the full penalty,leaving only a legacy of eternal disgrace to his wife and innocentchild, she showed a spirit becoming a better parentage. In his presence,and in spite of his dissuasions (for he acted with all the nobility onemight expect) she took off her veil with her own hands and laid it asidewith a look expressive of eternal renunciation. She loves him, sir; andthere is no selfishness in her heart and never has been. For all herfrail appearance and the mildness of her temper, she is like flint whereprinciple is involved or the welfare of those she loves is at stake. Mydaughter may die from shock or shame, but she will never cloud yourson's prospects with the obloquy which has settled over her own. JudgeOstrander, I am not worthy of such a child, but such she is. If John--"

  "We will not speak his name," broke in Judge Ostrander, assuming aperemptory bearing quite unlike his former one of dignified reserve. "Ishould like to hear, instead, your explanation of how my son becameinveigled into an engagement of which you, if no one else, knew thepreposterous nature."

  "Judge Ostrander, you do right to blame me. I should never have given myconsent, never. But I thought our past so completely hidden--ouridentity so entirely lost under the accepted name of Averill."

  "You thought!" He towered over her in his anger. He looked and acted asin the old days, when witnesses cowered under his eye and voice. "Saythat you KNEW, madam; that you planned this unholy trap for my son. Youhad a pretty daughter, and you saw to it that she came under his notice;nay, more, ignoring the claims of decency, you allowed the folly toproceed, if you did not help it on in your misguided ambition to marryyour daughter well."

  "Judge Ostrander, I did not plan their meeting, nor did I at firstencourage his addresses. Not till I saw the extent of their mutualattachment, did I yield to the event and accept the consequences. But Iwas wrong, wholly wrong to allow him to visit her a second time; but nowthat the mischief is done--"

  Judge Ostrander was not listening.

  "I have a question to put you," said he, when he realised that she hadceased speaking. "Oliver was never a fool. When he was told who yourdaughter was, what did he say of the coincidence which made him thelover of the woman against whose father, his father had uttered asentence of death? Didn't he marvel and call it extraordinary--the workof the devil?"

  "Possibly; but if he did, it was not in any conversation he had withme."

  "Detroit is a large city and must possess hundreds of sweet young girlswithin its borders. Could he contemplate without wonder the fact that hehad been led to the door of the one above all others between whom andhimself Fate had set such an insurmountable barrier? He must have beenstruck deeply by the coincidence; he must have been, madam."

  Astonished at his manner, at the emphasis he placed upon this pointwhich seemed to her so much less serious than many others, she regardedhim doubtfully before saying:

  "I was if he was not. From the very first I wondered. But I got used tothe fact during the five months of his courtship. And I got used toanother fact too; that my secret was safe so far as it ran the risk ofbeing endangered by a meeting with yourself. Mr. Ostrander made it veryplain to us that we need never expect to see you in Detroit."

  "He did? Did he offer any explanation for this lack of--of sympathybetween us?"

  "Never. It was a topic he forbore to enter into and I think he only saidwhat he did, to prevent any expectations on our part of ever seeingyou."

  "And your daughter? Was he as close-mouthed in speaking of me to her ashe was to you?"

  "I have no doubt of it. Reuther betrays no knowledge of you or of yourhabits, and has never expressed but one curiosity in your regard. As youcan imagine what that is, I will not mention it."

  "You are at liberty to. I have listened to much and can well listen to alittle more."

  "Judge, she is of a very affectionate nature and her appreciation ofyour son's virtues is very great. Though her conception of yourself isnaturally a very vague one, it is only to be expected that she shouldwonder how you could live so long without a visit from Oliver."

  Expectant as he was of this reply, and resolved as he was, to hear itunmoved, he had miscalculated his strength or his power of concealment,for he turned aside immediately upon hearing it, and walked away fromher towards the further extremity of the room. Covertly she watched him;first through her veil, and then with it partly removed. She did notunderstand his mood; and she hardly understood her own. When she enteredupon this interview, her mind had been so intent upon one purpose thatit seemed to absorb all her faculties and reach every corner of herheart; yet here she was, after the exchange of many words between them,with her purpose uncommunicated and her heart unrelieved, staring at himnot in the interest of her own griefs, but in commiseration of his.

  Yet when he faced her once more every thought vanished from her mindsave the one which had sustained her through the extraordinary measuresshe had taken to secure herself this opportunity of presenting her lostcause to the judgment of the only man from whom she could expect aid.

  But her impulse was stayed and her thoughts sent wandering again by thepenetrating look he gave her before she let her veil fall again.

  "How long have you been in Detroit?" he asked.

  "Ever since--"

  "And how old is Reuther?"

  "Eighteen, but--"

  "Twelve years ago, then." He paused and glanced about him before adding,"She was about the age of the child you brought to my house to-day."

  "Yes, sir, very nearly."

  His lips took a strange twist. There was self-contempt in it, and someother very peculiar and contradictory emotion. But when this semblanceof a smile had passed, it was no longer Oliver's father she saw beforeher, but the county's judge. Even his tone partook of the change as hedryly remarked:

  "What you have told me concerning your daughter and my son is veryinteresting. But it was not for the simple purpose of informing me thatthis untoward engagement was at an end that you came to Shelby. You haveanother purpose. What is it? I can remain with you just five minuteslonger."

  Five minutes! It only takes one to kill a hope but five are far too fewfor the reconstruction of one. But she gave no sign of her secretdoubts, as she plunged at once into her subject.

  "I will be brief," said she; "as brief as any mother can be who ispleading for her daughter's life as well as happiness. Reuther has noreal ailment, but her constitution is abnormally weak, and she will dieof this grief if some miracle does not save her. Strong as her will is,determined as she is to do her duty at all cost, she has very littlephysical stamina. See! here is her photograph taken but a short timeago. Look at it I beg. See what she was like when life was full of hope;and then imagine her with all hope eliminated."

&nb
sp; "Excuse me. What use? I can do nothing. I am very sorry for the child,but--" His very attitude showed his disinclination to look at thepicture.

  But she would not be denied. She thrust it upon him and once his eyeshad fallen upon it, they clung there though evidently against his will.Ah, she knew that Reuther's exquisite countenance would plead foritself! God seldom grants to such beauty, so lovely a spirit. If thefeatures themselves failed to appeal, certainly he must feel the charmof an expression which had already netted so many hearts. Breathlesslyshe watched him, and, as she watched, she noted the heavy lines carvedin his face by thought and possibly by sorrow, slowly relax and his eyesfill with a wistful tenderness.

  In the egotism of her relief, she thought to deepen the impression shehad made by one vivid picture of her daughter as she was now. Mistakinghis temperament or his story, classing him in with other strong men, thewell of whose feeling once roused overflows in sympathetic emotion, sheobserved very gently but, as she soon saw, unwisely:

  "Such delicacy can withstand a blow, but not a steady heartbreak. When,on that dreadful night I crept in from my sleepless bed to see how mydarling was bearing her long watch, this was what I saw. She had notmoved, no, not an inch in the long hours which had passed since I lefther. She had not even stirred the hand from which, at her request, I hadmyself drawn her engagement ring. I doubt even if her lids had shut onceover her strained and wide-staring eyes. It was as if she were laid outfor her grave--"

  "Madam!"

  The harsh tone recalled her to herself. She took back the picture he washolding towards her and was hardly surprised when he said:

  "Parents must learn to endure bitterness. I have not been exempt myselffrom such. Your child will not die. You have years of mutualcompanionship before you, while I have nothing. And now let us end thisinterview so painful to both. You have said--"

  "No," she broke in with sudden vehemence, all the more startling fromthe restraint in which she had--held herself up to this moment, "I havenot said--I have not begun to say what seethes like a consuming fire inmy breast. Judge Ostrander, I do not know what has estranged you fromOliver. It must be something serious;--for you are both good men. Butwhatever it is, of this I am certain: you would not wilfully deliver aninnocent child like mine to a wretched fate which a well-directed effortmight avert. I spoke of a miracle--Will you not listen, judge? I am notwild; I am not unconscious of presumption. I am only in earnest, indeadly earnest. A miracle is possible. The gulf between these two mayyet be spanned. I see a way--"

  What change was this to which she had suddenly become witness? The facewhich had not lost all its underlying benignancy even when it looked itscoldest, had now become settled and hard. His manner was absolutelyrepellent as he broke in with the quick disclaimer:

  "But there IS no way. What miracle could ever make your daughter, lovelyas she undoubtedly is, a fitting match for my son! None, madam,absolutely none. Such an alliance would be monstrous; unnatural."

  "Why?" The word came out boldly. If she was intimidated by thisunexpected attack from a man accustomed to deference and altogether ableto exact it, she did not show it. "Because her father died the death ofa criminal?" she asked.

  The answer was equally blunt:

  "Yes; a criminal over whose trial his father presided as judge."

  Was she daunted? No. Quick as a flash came the retort.

  "A judge, however, who showed him every consideration possible. I wastold at the time and I have been assured by many since that you weremore than just to him in your rulings. Such a memory creates a bond ofgratitude, not hate. Judge Ostrander"--He had taken a step towards thehall-door; but he paused at this utterance of his name--"answer me thisone question. Why did you do this? As his widow, as the mother of hischild, I implore you to tell me why you showed him this leniency? Youmust have hated him deeply--"

  "Yes. I have never hated any one more."

  "The slayer of your dearest friend; of your inseparable companion; ofthe one person who stood next to your son in your affections andregard!"

  He put up his hand. The gesture, the way he turned his face aside showedthat she had touched the raw of a wound still unhealed. Insensibly, thewoman in her responded to this evidence of an undying sorrow, andmodulating her voice, she went on, with just a touch of the subtlefascination which made her always listened to:

  "Your feeling for Mr. Etheridge was well known. THEN WHY SUCHMAGNANIMITY TOWARDS THE MAN WHO STOOD ON TRIAL FOR KILLING HIM?"

  Unaccustomed to be questioned, though living in an atmosphere ofcontinual yes and no, he stared at the veiled features of one who sodared, as if he found it hard to excuse such presumption. But heanswered her nevertheless, and with decided emphasis:

  "Possibly because his victim was my friend and lifelong companion. Ajudge fears his own prejudices."

  "Possibly; but you had another reason, judge; a reason which justifiedyou in your own eyes at the time and which justifies you in mine now andalways. Am I not right? This is no court-room; the case is one of thepast; it can never be reopened; the prisoner is dead. Answer me then, asone sorrowing mortal replies to another, hadn't you another reason?"

  The judge, panoplied though he was or thought he was, against allconceivable attack, winced at this repetition of a question he had hopedto ignore, and in his anxiety to hide this involuntary betrayal ofweakness, allowed his anger to have full vent, as he cried out in nomeasured terms:

  "What is the meaning of all this? What are you after? Why are you rakingup these bygones which only make the present condition of affairs darkerand more hopeless? You say that you know some way of making the matchbetween your daughter and my son feasible and proper. I say that nothingcan do this. Fact--the sternest of facts is against it. If you found away, I shouldn't accept it. Oliver Ostrander, under no circumstances andby means of no sophistries, can ever marry the daughter of JohnScoville. I should think you would see that for yourself."

  "But if John should be proved to have suffered wrongfully? If he shouldbe shown to have been innocent?"

  "Innocent?"

  "Yes. I have always had doubts of his guilt, even when circumstancesbore most heavily against him; and now, as I look back upon the trialand remember certain things, I feel sure that you had doubts of it,yourself."

  His rebuke was quick, instant. With a force and earnestness whichrecalled the court-room he replied:

  "Madam, your hopes and wishes have misled you. Your husband was a guiltyman; as guilty a man as any judge ever passed sentence upon."

  "Oh!" she wailed forth, reeling heavily back and almost succumbing tothe shock, she had so thoroughly convinced herself that what she saidwas true. But hers was a courageous soul. She rallied instantly andapproaching him again with face uncovered and her whole potentpersonality alive with magnetism, she retorted:

  "You say that, eye to my eye, hand on my hand, heart beating with myheart above the grave of our children's mutual happiness?"

  "I do."

  Convinced; for there was no wavering in his eye, no trembling in thehand she had clasped; convinced but ready notwithstanding to repudiateher own convictions, so much of the mother-passion, if not the wife's,tugged at her heart, she remained immovable for a moment, waiting forthe impossible, hoping against hope for a withdrawal of his words andthe reillumination of hope. Then her hand fell away from his; she gave agreat sob, and, lowering her head, muttered:

  "John Scoville smote down Algernon Etheridge! O God! O God! whathorror!"

  A sigh from her one auditor welled up in the silence, holding a notewhich startled her erect and brought back a memory which drove her againinto passionate speech:

  "But he swore the day I last visited him in the prison, with his armspressed tight about me and his eye looking straight into mine as you arelooking now, that he never struck that blow. I did not believe him then,there were too many dark spots in my memory of old lies premeditated anddestructive of my happiness; but I believed him later, AND I BELIEVE HIMNOW."

  "Madam, t
his is quite unprofitable. A jury of his peers condemned him asguilty and the law compelled me to pass sentence upon him. That hisinnocent child should be forced, by the inexorable decrees of fate, tosuffer for a father's misdoing, I regret as much, perhaps more, than youdo; for my son--beloved, though irreconcilably separated fromme--suffers with her, you say. But I see no remedy;--NO REMEDY, Irepeat. Were Oliver to forget himself so far as to ignore the past andmarry Reuther Scoville, a stigma would fall upon them both for which noamount of domestic happiness could ever compensate. Indeed, there can beno domestic happiness for a man and woman so situated. The inevitablemust be accepted. Madam, I have said my last word."

  "But not heard mine," she panted. "For me to acknowledge the inevitablewhere my daughter's life and happiness are concerned would make me seema coward in my own eyes. Helped or unhelped, with the sympathy orwithout the sympathy of one who I hoped would show himself my friend, Ishall proceed with the task to which I have dedicated myself. You willforgive me, judge. You see that John's last declaration of innocencegoes farther with me than your belief, backed as it is by the fullweight of the law."

  Gazing at her as at one gone suddenly demented, he said:

  "I fail to understand you, Mrs.--I will call you Mrs. Averill. You speakof a task. What task?"

  "The only one I have heart for: the proving that Reuther is not thechild of a wilful murderer; that another man did the deed for which hesuffered. I can do it. I feel confident that I can do it; and if youwill not help me--"

  "Help you! After what I have said and reiterated that he is guilty,GUILTY, GUILTY?"

  Advancing upon her with each repetition of the word, he towered beforeher, an imposing, almost formidable figure. Where was her courage now?In what pit of despair had it finally gone down? She eyed himfascinated, feeling her inconsequence and all the madness of herromantic, ill-digested effort, when from somewhere in the maze ofconfused memories there came to her a cry, not of the disappointed heartbut of a daughter's shame, and she saw again the desperate, haunted lookwith which the stricken child had said in answer to some plea, "Acriminal's daughter has no place in this world but with the sufferingand the lost"; and nerved anew, she faced again his anger which mightwell be righteous, and with almost preternatural insight, boldlydeclared:

  "You are too vehement to quite convince me, Judge Ostrander. Acknowledgeit or not, there is more doubt than certainty in your mind; a doubtwhich ultimately will lead you to help me. You are too honest not to.When you see that I have some reason for the hopes I express, your senseof justice will prevail and you will confide to me the point untouchedor the fact unmet, which has left this rankling dissatisfaction tofester in your mind. That known, my way should broaden;--a way, at theend of which I see a united couple--my daughter and your son. Oh, she isworthy of him--" the woman broke forth, as he made another repellent andimperative gesture. "Ask any one in the town where we have lived."

  Abruptly, and without apology for his rudeness, Judge Ostrander againturned his back and walked away from her to an old-fashioned bookcasewhich stood in one corner of the room. Halting mechanically before it,he let his eyes roam up and down over the shelves, seeing nothing, asshe was well aware, but weighing, as she hoped, the merits of theproblem she had propounded him. She was, therefore, unduly startled whenwith a quick whirl about which brought him face to face with her oncemore, he impetuously asked:

  "Madam, you were in my house this morning. You came in through a gatewhich Bela had left unlocked. Will you explain how you came to do this?Did you know that he was going down street, leaving the way open behindhim? Was there collusion between you?"

  Her eyes looked up clearly into his. She felt that she had nothing todisguise or conceal.

  "I had urged him to do this, Judge Ostrander. I had met him more thanonce in the street when he went out to do your errands, and I used allmy persuasion to induce him to give me this one opportunity of pleadingmy cause with you. He was your devoted servant, he showed it in hisdeath, but he never got over his affection for Oliver. He told me thathe would wake oftentimes in the night feeling about for the boy he usedto carry in his arms. When I told him--"

  "Enough! He knew who you were then?"

  "He remembered me when I lifted my veil. Oh, I know very well that I hadnot the right to influence your own man to disobey your orders. But mycause was so pressing and your seclusion seemingly so arbitrary. Howcould I dream that your nerves could not bear any sudden shock? or thatBela--that giant among negroes--would be so affected by his emotionsthat he would not see or hear an approaching automobile? You must notblame me for these tragedies; and you must not blame Bela. He was tornby conflicting duties, and only yielded because of his great love forthe absent."

  "I do not blame Bela."

  Startled, she looked at him with wondering eyes. There was a broodingdespair in his tone which caught at her heart, and for an instant madeher feel the full extent of her temerity. In a vain endeavour to regainher confidence, she falteringly remarked.

  "I had listened to what folks said. I had heard that you would receivenobody; talk to nobody. Bela was my only resource."

  "Madam, I do not blame YOU."

  He was scrutinising her keenly and for the first time understandingly.Whatever her station past or present, she was certainly no ordinarywoman, nor was her face without beauty, lit as it was by passion andevery ardour of which a loving woman is capable. No man would be likelyto resist it unless his armour were thrice forged. Would he himself beable to? He began to experience a cold fear,--a dread which drew a blackveil over the future; a blacker veil than that which had hitherto restedupon it.

  But his face showed nothing. He was master of that yet. Only his tone.That silenced her. She was therefore scarcely surprised when, with aslight change of attitude which brought their faces more closelytogether, he proceeded, with a piercing intensity not to be withstood:

  "When you entered my house this morning, did you come directly to myroom?"

  "Yes. Bela told me just how to reach it."

  "And when you saw me indisposed--unable, in fact, to greet you--what didyou do then?"

  With the force and meaning of one who takes an oath, she brought herhand, palm downward on the table before her, as she steadily replied:

  "I flew back into the room through which I had come, undecided whetherto fly the house or wait for what might happen to you, I had never seenany one in such an attack before, and almost expected to hear you fallforward to the floor. But when you did not and the silence, which seemedso awful, remained unbroken, I pulled the curtain aside and looked inagain. There was no change in your posture; and, alarmed now for yoursake rather than for my own, I did not dare to go till Bela came back.So I stayed watching."

  "Stayed where?"

  "In a dark corner of that same room. I never left it till the crowd camein. Then I slid out behind them."

  "Was the child with you--at your side I mean, all this time?"

  "I never let go her hand."

  "Woman, you are keeping nothing back?"

  "Nothing but my terror at the sight of Bela running in all bloody toescape the people pressing after him. I thought then that I had been thedeath of servant as well as master. You can imagine my relief when Iheard that yours was but a passing attack."

  Sincerity was in her manner and in her voice. The judge breathed moreeasily, and made the remark:

  "No one with hearing unimpaired can realise the suspicion of the deaf,nor can any one who is not subject to attacks like mine conceive thedoubts with which a man so cursed views those who have been active abouthim while the world to him was blank."

  Thus he dismissed the present subject, to surprise her by a renewal ofthe old one.

  "What are your reasons," said he, "for the hopes you have justexpressed? I think it your duty to tell me before we go any further."

  It was an acknowledgment, uttered after his own fashion, of the truth ofher plea and the correctness of her woman's insight. She contemplatedhis face anew, an
d wondered that the dart she had so inconsideratelylaunched should have found the one weak joint in this strong man'sarmour. But she made no immediate reply, rather stopped to ponder,finally saying, with drooped head and nervously working fingers:

  "Excuse me for to-night. What I have to tell--or rather, what I have toshow you,--requires daylight." Then, as she became conscious of hisastonishment, added falteringly:

  "Have you any objection to meeting me to-morrow on the bluff overlookingDark---"

  The voice of the clock, and that only! Tick! Tick! Tick! Tick! Thatonly! Why then had she felt it impossible to finish her sentence? Thejudge was looking at her; he had not moved; nor had an eyelash stirred,but the rest of that sentence had stuck in her throat, and she foundherself standing as immovably quiet as he.

  Then she remembered. He had loved Algernon Etheridge. Memory stilllived. The spot she had mentioned was a horror to him. Weakly she stroveto apologise.

  "I am sorry," she began, but he cut her short at once.

  "Why there?" he asked.

  "Because"--her words came slowly, haltingly, as she tremulously, almostfearfully, felt her way with him--"because--there--is--no--otherplace--where--I can make--my point."

  He smiled. It was his first smile in years and naturally was a littleconstrained,--and to her eyes at least, almost more terrifying than hisfrown.

  "You have a point, then, to make?"

  "A good one."

  He started as if to approach her, and then stood stock-still.

  "Why have you waited till NOW?" he called out, forgetful that they werenot alone in the house, forgetful apparently of everything but hissurprise and repulsion. "Why not have made use of this point before itwas too late? You were at your husband's trial; you were even on thewitness-stand?"

  She nodded, thoroughly cowed at last both by his indignation and therevelation contained in this question of the judicial mind--"Why now,when the time was THEN?"

  Happily, she had an answer.

  "Judge Ostrander, I had a reason for that too; and, like my point, it isa good one. But do not ask me for it to-night. To-morrow I will tell youeverything. But it will have to be in the place I have mentioned. Willyou come to the bluff where the ruins are one-half hour before sunset?Please, be exact as to the time. You will see why, if you come."

  He leaned across the table--they were on opposite sides of it--andplunging his eyes into hers stood so, while the clock ticked out oneslow minute more, then he drew back, and remarking with an aspect ofgloom but with much less appearance of distrust:

  "A very odd request, madam. I hope you have good reason for it;" adding,"I bury Bela to-morrow and the cemetery is in this direction. I willmeet you where you say and at the hour you name."

  And, regarding him closely as he spoke, she saw that for all thecorrectness of his manner and the bow of respectful courtesy with whichhe instantly withdrew, that deep would be his anger and unquestionablethe results to her if she failed to satisfy him at this meeting of thevalue of her POINT in reawakening justice and changing public opinion.