XXIV
The Yorba house on Nob Hill was the gloomiest house in San Francisco inany circumstances; upon the return of the family to town this year itsuggested a convent of perpetual silence. Mrs. Yorba, bereft of her fullcorps of servants, herself shook the curtains free of their loops andpinned them together. "Ah Kee can play the hose on the windows from theoutside once a month," she remarked to her daughter; "but Heaven onlyknows when they will be washed inside again, or how often poor Ah Keewill have time to sweep the rooms. I shall make an attempt to keep thereception-room in some sort of order; and as it is comparatively smalland I can dust it myself, I may succeed, but I don't suppose anyone willever enter the parlours again. There seems no hope of your father comingto his senses."
Magdalena flung her own curtains wide, determined to have light if shehad to wash the windows herself. But the rest of the house chilled andoppressed her. Even her mother's bedroom was half-lighted, and the hallsand rooms downstairs were echoing vaults. One was almost afraid to breakthe silence; even the soft-footed Chinaman walked on his toes. Magdalenaconceived the whimsical idea that her father's house had been closed toreceive all the family skeletons of San Francisco, of which manywhispers had come to her. Sometimes she fancied that she heard theirbones rattling at night, as they crowded together, muttering theirterrible secrets. But the idea only amused her; it did not make hermorbid, although there was little but her own will to keep her spiritson a plane where there was more light than bog. It was a very grey andrainy winter. She was forced to spend the afternoons after four o'clockin idleness: Don Roberto himself turned off the gas every morning beforehe went down town, and on again at seven in the evening. The meals inthe dining-room, naturally the darkest room in the house, were eaten inabsolute silence. In fact, it was seldom that anyone spoke except onMrs. Yorba's reception day. Herself wore the air of a stoic. DonRoberto's keen eyes searched his wife and daughter now and again for anysign of extravagance in attire, but he rarely addressed them except onthe first of the month, when he demanded their accounts. He peremptorilyforbade them to go out after dusk, as the night air was bad for thehorses. The evenings he spent in his study with his brother-in-law. Mrs.Yorba and Magdalena sat in their respective rooms until nearly half-pastten; when Don Roberto went the rounds to see that the lights were out.Were it not for his fear of earthquakes, he would have turned off thegas at that hour, but he permitted a tiny spark to burn in the halls allnight. Occasionally Mr. Polk came home early and went to Magdalena'slittle sitting-room, the old schoolroom, and sat with her for an hour ortwo. He said little and never talked of himself. She longed to bring heraunt back to this lonely old man, but did not know in the least how togo about it, and the subject never was mentioned between them; he mighthave been a bachelor or a widower. But as he sat staring into the fire,Magdalena was convinced that he was thinking of his wife. She had neverentered his house since the day of her strange discovery; delicacy kepther away, but her feminine curiosity often tempted her to go in and seeif the fires were burning, the flowers and magazines on the table.Sometimes at night she heard footsteps in the connecting gardens behindthe houses, and fancied they were those of her uncle, gone on whatpilgrimage she dared not imagine.
She and Helena met again early in November. They greeted each other withall their old cordiality, but there was a barrier, and both felt it.Still, they exchanged frequent visits, and Magdalena was alwaysinterested in Helena's new conquests and dazzling regalities. Helena wasenjoying herself mightily. She had all her old admirers exhausting andcoining adjectives at her feet, and a number of distinguishedforeigners, who were spending the winter in San Francisco. She could notdrive, nor yacht, nor run to fires on account of the weather, but sheunloosed her energies upon indoor society, and started a cotillion club,and an amateur opera company. She gave a fancy dress ball, to which allher guests were obliged to come in the costumes of Old California, andlaughed for a week at the ridiculous figure which most of them cut. Shealso gave many dinners and breakfasts, kettle-drums and theatre parties,and, altogether, managed to amuse herself and others. She nevermentioned Trennahan to Magdalena. Nor did he write. The Pacific mighthave been climbing over him, for any sign he gave.