 15. I make an engagement. The southbound train had not arrived, and as I turned away the station agent again changed its time on the bulletin board. It was now due in ten minutes. A few students had boarded the Chicago train, but a greater number still waited on the farther platform. The girl in gray was surrounded by half a dozen students, all talking animatedly. As I walked toward them I could not justify my stupidity in mistaking a grown woman for a school girl of fifteen or sixteen, but it was the tamishanter, the short skirt, the youthful joy in the outdoor world that had disguised her as effectually as Rosalind to the eyes of Orlando in the forest of Arden. She was probably a teacher, quite likely the teacher of music, I argued, who had amused herself at my expense. It had seemed the easiest thing in the world to approach her with an apology or a farewell, but those few inches added to her skirt and that pretty gray toque substituted for the tamishanter set up a barrier that did not yield at all as I drew nearer. At the last moment as I crossed the track and stepped upon the other platform it occurred to me that while I might have some claim upon the attention of Olivia Gladys Armstrong, a wayward school girl of athletic taste, I had none whatever upon a person whom it was proper to address as Miss Armstrong, who was, I felt sure, quite capable of snubbing me if snubbing fell in with her mood. She glanced toward me and bowed instantly. Her young companions withdrew to a conservative distance. And I will say this for the St. Agatha girls, their manners are beyond criticism and an affable discretion is one of their most admirable traits. I didn't know they ever grew up so fast in a day and a night. I was glad I remembered the number of beads in her chain. The item seemed at once to become important. It's the air, I suppose. It's praised by excellent credits as you may learn from the catalogue. But you are going to an ampler ether, a diviner air. You have attained the beatific state and at once take flight. If they confer perfection like an academic degree at St. Agatha's, then I had never felt so stupidly helpless in my life. There were a thousand things I wished to say to her. There were countless questions I wished to ask. But her calmness and poise were disconcerting. She had not, apparently, the slightest curiosity about me. And there was no reason why she should have. I knew that well enough. Her eyes met mine easily, their azure depths puzzled me. She was almost, but not quite, someone I had seen before, and it was not my woodland, Olivia. Her eyes, the soft curve of her cheek, the light in her hair, but the memory of another time, another place, another girl, lured only to baffle me. She laughed, a little murmuring laugh. I'll never tell if you won't, she said. But I don't see how that helps me with you. It certainly does not. But it is a much more serious matter, Mr. Glenarm. And the worst of it is that I haven't a single thing to say for myself. It wasn't the not knowing that was so utterly stupid. Certainly not. It was talking, that ridiculous twaddle. It was trying to flirt with a silly schoolgirl. What we'll do for fifteen is somewhat vacuous for her. She paused abruptly, colored, and laughed. I am twenty-seven. And I am just the usual age, she said. Ages don't count, but time is important. There are many things I wish you tell me, you who hold the key of the Gate of Mystery. Then you'll have to pick the lock. She laughed lightly. The somber sisters patrolling the platform with their charges heated us little. I had no idea you knew Arthur Pickering when you were just Olivia in the Tamashanter. Maybe you think he wouldn't have cared for my acquaintance. As Olivia in the Tamashanter, men are very queer. But Arthur Pickering is an old friend of mine. So he told me. We were neighbors in our youth. I believe I have heard him mention it. And we did our prep school together, and then parted. You tell exactly the same story. So it must be true. He went to college, and you went to Tech. And you knew him? I began. My curiosity thoroughly aroused. Not at college any more than I knew you at Tech. The train's coming, I said earnestly, and I wish you would tell me when I shall see you again. Before we part forever there was a mischievous hint of the Olivia in short skirts in her tone. Please don't suggest it. Our times have been strange and few. There was that first night when you called to me from the lake. How impertinent! How dare you remember that? And there was that other encounter at the Chapel porch. Neither you nor I had the slightest business there. I admit my own culpability. She colored again. But you spoke as though you understood what you must have heard there. It is important for me to know. I have a right to know just what you meant by that warning. Real distress showed in her face for an instant. The agent and his helpers rushed the last baggage down the platform, and the rails hummed their warning of the approaching train. I was eavesdropping on my own account, she said hurriedly, and with a note of finality. I was there by intention, and there was another hint of the Tamashanter in the mirth that seemed to bubble for a moment in her throat. It's too bad you didn't see me, for I had on my prettiest gown, and the fog wasn't good for it. But you know as much of what was said there as I do. You are a man, and I have heard that you have had some experience in taking care of yourself, Mr. Glenarm. To be sure, but there are times. Yes, there are times when the odds seem rather heavy. I have noticed that myself. She smiled, but for an instant the sad look came into her eyes. A look that vaguely but insistently suggested another time and place. I want you to come back," I said boldly, for the train was very near, and I felt that the eyes of the sisters were upon us. You cannot go away where I shall not find you. I did not know who this girl was, her home or her relation to the school, but I knew that her life and mine had touched strangely, that her eyes were blue, and that her voice had called to me twice through the dark, in mockery once and in warning another time, and that the sense of having known her before, of having looked into her eyes, haunted me. The youth in her was so alluring, she was at once so frank and so guarded. Breeding in the taste and training of an ampler world than that of Anondale were so evidenced in the wichery of her voice, in the grace and ease that marked her every motion, in the soft gray tone of hat, dress, and gloves, that a new mood, a new hope and faith, sang in my pulses. There on that platform I felt again the sweet heartache I had known as a boy, when spring first warmed the Vermont hillsides, and the mountains sent the last snows singing in joy of their release, down through the brook-beds, and into the vacant heart of youth. She met my eyes steadily. If I thought there was the slightest chance of my ever seeing you again, I shouldn't be talking to you here. But I thought, I thought it would be good fun to see how you really talk to a grown-up, so I am risking the displeasure of these good sisters, just to test your conversational powers, Mr. Glenarm. You see how perfectly frank I am, but you forget that I can follow you. I don't intend to sit down in this hole and dream about you. You can't go anywhere, but I shall follow and find you. That is finally spoken, Squire Glenarm, but I imagine you are hardly likely to go far from Glenarm very soon. It isn't, of course, any of my affair, and yet I don't hesitate to say, that I feel perfectly safe from pursuit, and she laughed her little low laugh that was delicious in its mockery. I felt the blood mounting to my cheek. She knew then that I was virtually a prisoner at Glenarm, and for once in my life at least I was ashamed of my folly that had caused my grandfather to hold and check me from the grave, as he had never been able to control me in his life. The whole countryside knew why I was at Glenarm, and that did not matter, but my heart rebelled at the thought that this girl knew and mocked me with her knowledge. I shall see you Christmas Eve, I said, wherever you may be. In three days, then you will come to my Christmas Eve party. I shall be delighted to see you, and flattered. Just think of throwing away a fortune to satisfy one's curiosity. I'm surprised at you, but gratified on the whole, Mr. Glenarm. I shall give more than a fortune. I shall give the honour I have pledged my grandfather's memory to hear your voice again. That is a great deal for so small a voice. But money, fortune, a man will risk his honour readily enough. But his fortune is a more serious matter. I'm sorry we shall not meet again. It would be pleasant to discuss the subject further. It interests me particularly. In three days I shall see you, I said. She was instantly brave. No, please do not try. It would be a great mistake, and anyhow you can hardly come to my party without being invited. That matter is closed. Wherever you are on Christmas Eve I shall find you, I said, and felt my heart leap, knowing that I meant what I said. Goodbye, she said turning away. I'm sorry I shan't ever chase rabbits at Glenarm any more. Or paddle a canoe, or play wonderful celestial music on the organ. Or be an eavesdropper, or hear pleasant words from the master of Glenarm. But I don't know where you are going. You haven't told me anything. You are slipping out into the world. She did not hear or would not answer. She turned away, and was at once surrounded by a laughing throng that crowded about the train. Two brown-robed sisters stood like sentinels, one at either side, as she stepped into the car. I was conscious of a feeling that from the depths of their hoods they regarded me with un-Christian disdain. Through the windows I could see the students fluttering to seats, and the girl in grey seemed to be marshaling them. The grey hat appeared at a window for an instant, and a smiling face gladdened, I am sure, the guardians of the peace at St. Agatha's, for whom it was intended. The last trunk crashed into the baggage-car. Every window framed for a moment a girl's face, and the train was gone. CHAPTER XVI. THE PASSING OF OLIVIA Bates brought a great log and rolled it upon exactly the right spot on the andirons, and a great constellation of sparks thronged up the chimney. The old relic of a house, I called the establishment by many names, but this was, I think, my favourite, could be heeded in all its habitable parts, as Bates had demonstrated. The halls were of glacial temperature these cold days, but my room above, the dining-room, and the great library were comfortable enough. I threw down a book and knocked the ashes from my pipe. Bates! Yes, sir? I think my spiritual welfare is in jeopardy. I need counsel, a spiritual advisor. I am afraid that's beyond me, sir. I'd like to invite Mr. Stoddard to dinner, so I may discuss my soul's health with him at leisure. Certainly, Mr. Glenarm. But it occurs to me that probably the terms of Mr. Glenarm's will point to my complete sequestration here. In other words, I may forfeit my rights by asking a guest to dinner. He pondered the matter for a moment, then replied, I should think, sir, as you ask my opinion, that in the case of a gentleman and holy otters, there would be no impropriety. Mr. Stoddard is a fine gentleman, I heard yearly grandfather speak of him very highly. That I imagine is hardly conclusive in the matter. There is the executor. To be sure, I hadn't considered him. While you'd better consider him, he's the court of last resort, isn't he? Well, of course, that's one way of looking at it, sir. I suppose there's no chance of Mr. Pickering's dropping in on us now and then? He gazed at me steadily, unblinkingly, and with entire respect. He's a good deal of a traveller, Mr. Pickering is. He passed through only this morning, so the mail-boy told me, you may have met him at the station. Oh, yes, to be sure, so I did, I replied. I was not as good a liar as Bates, and there was nothing to be gained by denying that I had met the executor in the village. I had a very pleasant talk with him. He was on the way to California with several friends. That is quite his way, I understand. Private cars and long journeys about the country. A very successful man is Mr. Pickering. Your grandfather had great confidence in him, did Mr. Glenarm? Ah, yes, a fine judge of character my grandfather was. I guess John Marshall Glenarm could spot a rascal about as far as any man in his day. I felt like letting myself go before this mask scoundrel. The density of his mask was an increasing wonder to me. Bates was the most incomprehensible human being I had ever known. I had been torn with a thousand conflicting emotions since I overheard him discussing the state of affairs at Glenarm House with Pickering in the Chapel Porch, and Pickering's acquaintance with the girl in gray brought new elements into the affair that added to my uneasiness. But here was a treasonable dog, on whom the stress of conspiracy had no outward effect whatever. It was an amazing situation, but it called for calmness and eternal vigilance. With every hour my resolution grew to stand fast and fight it out on my own account, without outside help. A thousand times during the afternoon I had heard the voice of the girl in gray saying to me, You are a man, and I have heard that you have had some experience in taking care of yourself, Mr. Glenarm. It was both a warning and a challenge, and the memory of the words was at once sobering and cheering. Bates waited. Of him certainly I should ask no questions touching Olivia Armstrong. To discuss her with a blackered servant, even to gain answers to baffling questions about her, was not to my liking. And, thank God, I taught myself one thing if nothing more in those days at Glenarm House. I learned to bide my time. I'll give you a note to Mr. Stoddard in the morning. You may go now. Yes, sir. The note was written and dispatched. The chaplain was not at his lodgings, and Bates reported that he had left the message. The answer came presently by the hand of the Scotch Gardener, Ferguson, a short, wiry, raw-boned specimen. I happened to open the door myself, and brought him into the library until I could read Stoddard's reply. Ferguson had, I thought, an uneasy eye, and his hair of an ugly carrot-color annoyed me. Mr. Paul Stoddard presented his compliments and would be delighted to done with me. He wrote in a large, even hand, as frank and open as himself. That is all, Ferguson, and the Gardener took himself off. Thus it came about that Stoddard and I faced each other across the table in the refectory that same evening, under the lights of a great candelabrum which Bates had produced from the storeroom below. And I may say here that while there was a slight hitch sometimes in the delivery of supplies from the village, while the fish which Bates caused to be shipped from Chicago for delivery every Friday morning failed once or twice. And while the grapefruit for breakfast was not always what it should have been, the supply of candles seemed inexhaustible. They were produced in every shade and size. There were enormous ones such as I had never seen outside of a Russian church, and one of the rooms in the cellar was filled with boxes of them. The house of a thousand candles deserved and proved its name. Bates had certainly risen to the occasion, silver and crystal of which I had not known before, glistened on the table, and on the sideboard two huge candelabra added to the festive air of the little room. Stoddard laughed as he glanced about. Here I have been feeling sorry for you, and yet you are living like a prince. I didn't know there was so much splendor in all Wabana County. I'm a trifle dazzled myself. Bates has tapped a new cellar somewhere. I'm afraid I'm not a good housekeeper to speak truthfully. There are times when I hate the house, when it seems wholly ridiculous, the whim of an eccentric old man, and then again I'm actually afraid that I like its seclusion. Your seclusion is better than mine. You know my little two-room affair behind the chapel, only a few books and a punching bag. That chapel is also one of your grandfather's whims. He provided that all the offices of the church must be said there daily, or the endowment is stopped. Mr. Glenarm lived in the past, or liked to think he did. I suppose you know, or maybe you don't know, how I came to have this appointment? Indeed, I should like to know. We had reached the soup, and Bates was changing our plates with his accustomed, light hand. It was my name that did the business. Paul, a bishop, had recommended a man whose given name was Ethelbert, a decent enough name, and one that you might imagine would appeal to Mr. Glenarm, but he rejected him, because the name might be too easily cut down to Ethel, a name which he said was very distasteful to him. That is characteristic, the dear old gentleman I exclaimed with real feeling. But he reckoned without his host, Stoddard continued, the young ladies I have lately learned call me Pauline, as a mark of regard or otherwise, probably otherwise, I give two lectures a week on church history, and I fear my course isn't popular. But it is something, on the other hand, to be in touch with such an institution. They are a very sightly company, those girls. I enjoy watching them across the garden wall, and I had a closer view of them at the station this morning when you ran off and deserted me. He laughed, his big, wholesome, cheering laugh. I take good care not to see much of them socially. Afraid of the eternal feminine? Yes, I suppose I am. I'm preparing to go into a brotherhood, as you probably don't know, and girls are distracting. I glanced at my companion with a new inquiry and interest. I didn't know, I said. Yes, I'm spending my year in studies that I may never have a chance for hereafter. I'm going into an order whose members work hard. He spoke as though he were planning a summer outing. I had not sat at meet with a clergyman since the death of my parents broke up our old home in Vermont, and my attitude toward the cloth was, I fear, one of antagonism dating from those days. Well, I saw Pickering after all, I remarked. Yes, I saw him too. What is it in his case? Genius or good luck? I'm not a competent witness, I answered. I'll be frank with you. I don't like him. I don't believe in him. Oh, I beg your pardon. I didn't know, of course. The subject is not painful to me, I hasten to add, though he was always rather thrust before me as an ideal back in my youth, and you know how fatal that is. And then the gods of success have opened all the gates for him. Yes, and yet. And yet, I repeated. Stoddard lifted a glass of sherry to the light and studied it for a moment. He did not drink wine, but was not, I found, afraid to look at it. And yet, he said, putting down the glass and speaking slowly. When the gates of good fortune opened too readily and smoothly, they may close sometimes rather too quickly, and snap a man's coattails. Please don't think I'm going to afflict you with shavings of wisdom from the shop floor. But life wasn't intended to be too easy. The spirit of man needs arresting and chastening. It doesn't flourish under too much fostering or too much of what we call good luck. I'm disposed to be afraid of good luck. I've never tried it, I said laughingly. I am not looking for it. And he spoke soberly. I could not talk of pickering with Bates the masked beggar in the room, so I changed the subject. I suppose you impose penances prescribed discipline for the girls at St. Agatha's, an agreeable exercise of the priestly office, I should say. His laugh was pleasant and rang true. I was liking him better the more I saw of him. Bless you, no, I am not venerable enough. The sisters attend to all that, and a fine company of women they are. But there must be obstinate cases. One of the young ladies confided to me, I tell you this incloestral confidence, that she was being deported for insubordination. Ah, that must be Olivia. Well, her case is different. She is not one girl. She is many kinds of a girl in one. I fear Sister Teresa lost her patience and hardened her heart. I should like to intercede for Miss Armstrong, I declared. The surprise showed in his face, and I added, Pray, don't misunderstand me. We met under rather curious circumstances, Miss Armstrong and I. She is usually met under rather unconventional circumstances, I believe. He remarked dryly. My introduction to her came through the kitten. She smuggled into the almsbox of the chapel. It took me two days to find it. He smiled ruefully at the recollection. She is a young woman of spirit, I declared defensively. She simply must find an outlet for the joy of youth. Paddling a canoe, chasing rabbits through the snow, placing kittens endurance vile. But she is demure enough when she pleases, and a satisfaction to the eye, my heart warmed at the memory of Olivia. Verily the chaplain was right. She was many girls in one. Stodder dropped a lump of sugar into his coffee. Miss Devereux begged hard for her, but Sister Teresa couldn't afford to keep her. Her influence on the other girls was bad. That's to Miss Devereux's credit, I replied. You needn't wait, Pates. Olivia was too popular. All the other girls indulged her, and all concede that she's pretty. That gypsy face of hers bodes ill to the hearts of men, if she ever grows up. I shouldn't exactly call it a gypsy face, and how much more should you expect her to grow? At twenty a woman's grown, isn't she? He looked at me quizzically. Fifteen, you mean? Olivia Armstrong, that little witch, the kid that's kept the school in turmoil all the fall. There was a decided emphasis in his interrogations. I'm glad your glasses are full, or I should say. There was, I think, a little heat for a moment on both sides. The wires are evidently crossed somewhere, he said calmly. My Olivia Armstrong is a droll child from Cincinnati, whose escapades caused her to be sent home for discipline today. She's a little mite who just about comes to the lapel of your coat. Her eyes are as black as midnight. Then she didn't talk to Pickering and his friends at the station this morning. The prettiest girl in the world. Gray hat, gray coat, blue eyes. You can have your Olivia, but who, will you tell me, is mine. I pounded with my clenched hand on the table until the candles rattled and sputtered. Stoddard stared at me for a moment as though he thought I had lost my wits. Then he lay back in his chair and roared. Eye rose, bending across the table toward him in my eagerness. A suspicion had leaped into my mind, and my heart was pounding as it roused a thousand questions. The blue-eyed young woman in gray. Bless your heart, man. Olivia is a child. I talked to her myself on the platform. You were talking to Miss Devereux. She isn't Olivia, she's Marion. Then, who is Marion Devereux? Where does she live? What is she doing here? Well, he laughed. To answer your questions in order, she is a young woman and her home is in New York. She has no near kinfolk except Sister Teresa, so she spends some of her time here. Teaches music? Not that I ever heard of. She does a lot of things well, takes cups and golf tournaments, and is the nimblest hand at tennis you ever saw. Also, she is a fine musician and plays the organ tremendously. Well, she told me she was Olivia, I said. I should think she would. When you refused to meet her, when you had ignored her and Sister Teresa, both of them among your grandfather's best friends and your nearest neighbors here. My grandfather be hanged. Of course I couldn't know her. We can't live on the same earth. I'm in her way, hanging onto this property here just to defeat her when she's the finest girl alive. He nodded gravely, his eyes bent upon me with sympathy and kindness. The past events at Glenarm swept through my mind in kinetoscopic flashes, but the girl in gray talking to Arthur Pickering and his friends at the Annandale Station, the girl in gray who had been an eavesdropper at the chapel, the girl in gray with the eyes of blue. It seemed that a year passed before I broke the silence. Where has she gone? I demanded. He smiled, and I was cheered by the mirth that showed in his face. Why, she's gone to Cincinnati with Olivia Gladys Armstrong, he said. They're great chums, you know. End of Chapter 16 Chapter 17 of The House of a Thousand Candles This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The House of a Thousand Candles by Meredith Nicholson. Chapter 17. Sister Teresa There was further information I wished to obtain, and I did not blush to pluck it from Stoddard before I let him go that night. Olivia Gladys Armstrong lived in Cincinnati. Her father was a wealthy physician at Walnut Hills. Stoddard knew the family, and I asked questions about them, their antecedents and place of residence, that were not perhaps impertinent, in view of the fact that I had never consciously set eyes on their daughter in my life. As I look back upon it now, my information secured at that time, touching the history and social position of the Armstrong's of Walnut Hills, Cincinnati, seems excessive. But the curiosity which the Reverend Paul Stoddard satisfied with so little trouble to himself, was of immediate interest and importance. As to the girl in gray, I found him far more difficult. She was Marion Devereaux, she was a niece of Sister Teresa, her home was in New York with another aunt, her parents being dead, and she was a frequent visitor at St. Agatha's. The wayward Olivia and she were on excellent terms, and when it seemed wisest for that vivacious youngster to retire from school at the mid-year recess, Miss Devereaux had accompanied her home, ostensibly for a visit, but really to break the force of the blow. It was a pretty story, and enhanced my already high opinion of Miss Devereaux, while at the same time I admired the unknown Olivia Gladys nonetheless. When Stoddard left me, I dug out of a drawer a copy of John Marshall Glenarm's will, and re-read it for the first time since Pickering gave it to me in New York. There was one provision to which I had not given a single thought, and when I had smoothed the thin typewritten sheets upon the table in my room, I read it over and over again, construing it in a new light with every reading. Provided further that in the event of the marriage of said John Glenarm to the said Marion Devereaux, or in the event of any promise or contract of marriage between said persons, within five years from the date of said John Glenarm's acceptance of the provisions of this will, the whole estate shall become the property absolutely of St. Agatha's School at Annandale, Wabana County, Indiana, a corporation under the laws of said state. Fully for the old boy, I muttered finally, folding the copy with something akin to reverence for my grandfather's shrewdness, enclosing so many doors upon his heirs. It required no lawyer to interpret this paragraph. If I could not secure his estate by settling at Glenarm for a year, I was not to gain it by marrying the alternative heir. Here clearly was not one of those situations so often contrived by novelists, in which the luckless heir presumptive, cut off without assent, weds the pretty cousin who gets the fortune, and they live happily together ever afterward. John Marshall Glenarm had explicitly provided against any such frustration of his plans. Fully for you, John Marshall Glenarm, I rose and bowed low to his photograph. On top of my mail next morning lay a small envelope, unstamped, and addressed to me in a free running hand. Ferguson left it, explained Bates. I opened and read. If convenient will Mr. Glenarm kindly look in at St. Agatha's some day this week at four o'clock. Sister Teresa wishes to see him. I whistled softly. My feelings towards Sister Teresa had been those of utter repugnance and antagonism. I had been avoiding her studiously, and was not a little surprised that she should seek an interview with me. Quite possibly she wished to inquire how soon I expected to abandon Glenarm House, or perhaps she wished to admonish me as to the perils of my soul. In any event I liked the quality of her note, and I was curious to know why she sent for me. Moreover, Marian Devereux was her niece, and that was wholly in the sister's favor. At four o'clock I passed into St. Agatha territory and rang the bell at the door of the building where I had left Olivia the evening I found her in the chapel. A sister admitted me, led the way to a small reception room where I imagined the visiting parent was received, and left me. I felt a good deal like a schoolboy who has been summoned before a severe master for discipline. I was idly beating my hat with my gloves when a quick step sounded in the hall, and instantly a brown-clad figure appeared in the doorway. Mr. Glenarm? It was a deep, rich voice, a voice of assurance, a voice, may I say, of the world. A voice, too, may I add, of a woman who is likely to say what she means without a do. The white band at her forehead brought into relief two wonderful gray eyes that were alight with kindness. She surveyed me a moment, then her lips parted in a smile. This room is rather forbidding. If you will come with me. She turned with an air of authority that was part of her undeniable distinction, and I was seated a moment later in a pretty sitting-room, whose windows gave a view of the dark wood and frozen lake beyond. I'm afraid, Mr. Glenarm, that you are not disposed to be neighborly, and you must pardon me if I seem to be pursuing you. Her smile, her voice, her manner were charming. I had pictured her a sour old woman, who had hidden away from a world that had offered her no pleasure. The apologies must be all on my side, Sister Teresa. I have been greatly occupied since coming here, distressed and perplexed even. Our young ladies treasured the illusion that there are ghosts at your house, she said, with a smile that disposed of the matter. She folded her slim white hands on her knees, and spoke with a simple directness. Mr. Glenarm, there is something I wish to say to you, but I can say it only if we are to be friends. I have feared you might look upon us here as enemies. That is a strong word, I replied evasively. Let me say to you that I hope very much that nothing will prevent your inheriting all that Mr. Glenarm wished you to have from him. Thank you, that is both kind and generous, I said, with no little surprise. Not in the least, I should be disloyal to your grandfather, who was my friend and the friend of my family, if I did not feel kindly toward you and wish you well, and I must say for my niece, Miss Devereaux. I found a certain pleasure in pronouncing her name. Miss Devereaux is very disturbed over the good intentions of your grandfather in placing her name in his will. You can doubtless understand how uncomfortable a person of any sensibility would be under the circumstances. I'm sorry you have never met her. She is a very charming young woman whose happiness does not, I may say, depend upon other people's money. She had never told then. I smiled at the recollection of our interviews. I am sure that is true, Sister Teresa. Now I wish to speak to you about a matter of some delicacy. It is, I understand perfectly, no business of mine, how much of a fortune Mr. Glenarm left. But this matter has been brought to my attention in a disagreeable way. Your grandfather established this school. He gave most of the money for these buildings. I had other friends who offered to contribute, but he insisted on doing it all. But now Mr. Pickering insists that the money, or part of it at least, was only alone. Yes, I understand. Mr. Pickering tells me that he has no alternative in the matter, that the law requires him to collect this money as a debt due the estate. That is undoubtedly true. As a general proposition, he told me in New York that he had a claim against you for fifty thousand dollars. Yes, that is the amount. I wish to say to you, Mr. Glenarm, that if necessary, I can pay that amount. Pray, do not trouble about it, Sister Teresa. There are a good many things about my grandfather's affairs that I don't understand. But I'm not going to see an old friend of his swindled. There's more in all this than appears. My grandfather seems to have mislaid or lost most of his assets before he died, and yet he had the reputation of being a pretty cautious businessman. The impression is abroad, as you must know, that your grandfather concealed his fortune before his death. The people hereabouts believe so, and Mr. Pickering, the executor, has been unable to trace it. Yes, I believe Mr. Pickering has not been able to solve the problem, I said, and laughed. But, of course, you and he will cooperate in an effort to find the lost property. She bent forward slightly. Her eyes, as they met mine, examined me with a keen interest. Why shouldn't I be frank with you, Sister Teresa? I have every reason for believing Arthur Pickering a scoundrel. He does not care to cooperate with me in searching for this money. The fact is, he very much wishes to eliminate me as a factor in the settlement of the estate. I speak carefully. I know exactly what I am saying. She bowed her head slightly and was silent for a moment. The silence was the more marked from the fact that the hood of her habit concealed her face. What you say is very serious. Yes, and his offence is equally serious. It may seem odd for me to be saying this to you when I am a stranger, when you may be pardoned for having no very high opinion of me. She turned her face to me. It was singularly gentle and refined. Not a face to associate with an idea of self-seeking or duplicity. I sent for you, Mr. Glenarm, because I had a very good opinion of you, because, for one reason, you are the grandson of your grandfather. And the friendly light in her gray eyes drove away any lingering doubt I may have had as to her sincerity. I wish to warn you to have a care for your own safety. I don't warn you against Arthur Pickering alone, but against the countryside. The idea of a hidden fortune is alluring. A mysterious house and a lost treasure make a very enticing combination. I fancy Mr. Glenarm did not realize that he was creating dangers for the people he wished to help. She was silent again. Her eyes bent meditatively upon me. Then she spoke abruptly. Mr. Pickering wishes to marry my niece. Ah, I have been waiting to hear that. I am exceedingly glad to know that he has so noble an ambition. But Miss Devereaux isn't encouraging him as near as I can make out. She refused to go to California with his party. I happen to know that. That whole California episode would have been amusing, if it had not been ridiculous. Marion never had the slightest idea of going with him, but she is sometimes a little, shall I say, perverse. Please do, I like the word, and the quality. And Mr. Pickering's rather elaborate methods of wooing. He's as heavy as lead, I declared. Amuse Marion up to a certain point. Then they annoy her. He has implied pretty strongly that the claim against me could be easily adjusted if Marion marries him. But she will never marry him, whether she benefits by your grandfather's will, or however that may be. I should say not, I declared, with a warmth that caused Sister Teresa to sweep me warily with those wonderful gray eyes. But first he expects to find his fortune and endow Miss Devereaux with it. That is part of the scheme, and my own interest in the estate must be eliminated before he can bring that condition about. But, Sister Teresa, I am not so easily got rid of as Arthur Pickering imagines. My staying qualities, which were always weak in the eyes of my family, have been braced up a trifle. Yes. I thought pleasure and hope were expressed in the monosyllable, and my heart warmed to her. Sister Teresa, you and I are understanding each other much better than I imagined we should. And we both laughed, feeling a real sympathy growing between us. Yes, I believe we are, and the smile lighted her face again. So I can tell you two things. The first is that Arthur Pickering will never find my grandfather's lost fortune, assuming that any exists. The second is that in no event will he marry your niece. You speak with a good deal of confidence, she said, and laughed a low, murmuring laugh. I thought there was relief in it. But I didn't suppose Marion's affairs interested you. They don't, Sister Teresa. Her affairs are not of the slightest importance. But she is. There was Frank Inquiry in her eyes now. But you don't know her. You have missed your opportunity. To be sure, I don't know her. But I know Olivia Gladys Armstrong. She's a particular friend of mine. We have chased rabbits together. And she told me a great deal. I have formed a very good opinion of Miss Devereux in that way. Oh, that note you wrote about Olivia's intrusions beyond the wall. I should thank you for it. But really, I didn't mind. A note. I never wrote you a note until today. Well, someone did, I said. Then she smiled. Oh, that must have been Marion. She was always Olivia's loyal friend. I should say so. Sister Teresa laughed merrily. But you shouldn't have known Olivia. It's unpardonable. If she played tricks upon you, you should not have taken advantage of them to make her acquaintance. That wasn't fair to me. I suppose not. But I protest against this deportation. The landscape hereabouts is only so much sky, snow, and lumber without her. We miss her too, replied Sister Teresa. We have less to do. And still I protest, I declared rising. Sister Teresa, I thank you with all my heart for what you have said to me, for the disposition to say it. And this debt to the estate is something I promise you that shall not trouble you. Then there is a truce between us. We are not enemies at all now, are we? No, for Olivia's sake at least, we shall be friends. I went home and studied the timetable. End of Chapter 17 Chapter 18 of The House of a Thousand Candles This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The House of a Thousand Candles by Meredith Nicholson Chapter 18 Golden Butterflies If you are one of those caputious people who must verify by the calendar every new moon you read of in a book, and if you are paying to discover the historian lifting anchor and spreading sail contrary to the reckonings of the nautical almanac, I beg to call your attention to these items from the timetable of the Midwestern and Southern Railway for December 1901. The Southbound Express passed Anandale at exactly 53 minutes after 4 p.m. It was scheduled to reach Cincinnati at 11 o'clock sharp. These items are, I trust, sufficiently explicit. To the student of morals and motives, I will say a further word. I had resolved to practice deception in running away from Glenarm House to keep my promise to Marion Devereux. By leaving, I should forfeit my right to any part of my grandfather's estate. I knew that, and accepted the issue without regret. But I had no intention of surrendering Glenarm House to Arthur Pickering, particularly now that I realized how completely I had placed myself in his trap. I felt, moreover, a duty to my dead grandfather, and not least, the attacks of Morgan and the strange ways of Bates had stirred whatever fighting blood there was in me. Pickering and I were engaged in a sharp contest, and I was beginning to enjoy it to the full. But I did not falter in my determination to visit Cincinnati, hoping to return without my absence being discovered. So the next afternoon I began preparing for my journey. Bates, I fear I am taking a severe cold, and I am going to douse myself with whiskey in quinine and go to bed. I shan't want any dinner, nothing, until you see me again. I yawned and stretched myself with a groan. I am very sorry, sir, shan't I call a doctor? Not a bit of it. I'll sleep it off and be as lively as a cricket in the morning. At four o'clock I told him to carry some hot water and lemons to my room, bathe him in emphatic good-night, and lock the door as he left. Then I packed my evening clothes in a suitcase. I threw the bag in a heavy ulster from a window, swung myself out upon the limb of a big maple, and let it bend under me to its sharpest curve, then drop lightly to the ground. I passed the gate and struck off toward the village with a joyful sense of freedom. When I reached the station I saw it at once the southbound platform, not wishing to be seen buying a ticket. A few other passengers were assembling, but I saw no one I recognized. Number six, I heard the agent say, was on time, and in a few minutes it came roaring up. I bought a seat in the Washington sleeper, and went into the dining-car for supper. The train was full of people hurrying to various ports for the holidays, but they had, I reflected, no advantage over me. I, too, was bound on a definite errand, though my journey was, I imagined, less commonplace in its character than the homing flight of most of my fellow travelers. I made myself comfortable and dozed and dreamed as the train plunged through the dark. There was a weight, with much shifting of cars, where we crossed the Wabash, then we sped on. It grew warmer as we drew southward, and the conductor was confident we should reach Cincinnati on time. The three passengers about me went to bed, and I was left sprawled out in my open section, lurking on the shadowy frontier between the known world and Dreamland. We are running into Cincinnati ten minutes late, said the porter's voice, and in a moment I was in the vestibule and out, hurrying to a hotel. At the St. Balthoff I ordered a carriage and broke all records, changing my clothes. The timetable informed me that the Northern Express left at half-past one. There was no reason why I should not be safe at Glenarm House by my usual breakfast hour if all went well. To avoid loss of time in returning to the station, I paid the hotel charge and carried my bag away with me. Dr. Armstrong's residence? Yes, sir. I've already taken one load there. The carriage was soon climbing what seemed to be a mountain to the heights above Cincinnati. To this day I associate Ohio's most interesting city with a lonely carriage ride that seemed to be chiefly uphill, through a region that was as strange to me as a trackless jungle in the wilds of Africa. And my heart began to perform strange tattoos on my ribs. I was going to the house of a gentleman who did not know of my existence, to see a girl who was his guest, to whom I had never, as the conventions go, been presented. It did not seem half so easy, now that I was well launched upon the adventure. I stopped the cabin just as he was about to enter an iron gateway, whose posts bore two great lamps. That is all right, sir. I can drive right in. But you needn't, I said, jumping out. Wait here. Dr. Armstrong's residence was brilliantly lighted, and the strains of a waltz stole across the lawn cheerily. Several carriages swept past me as I followed the walk. I was arriving at a fashionable hour. It was nearly twelve, and just had to affect an entrance without being thrown out as an interloper was a formidable problem, now that I had reached the house. I must catch my train home, and this left no margin for explanation to an outraged host whose first impulse would be very likely to turn me over to the police. I made a detour and studied the house, seeking a door by which I could enter, without passing the unfriendly Gibraltar of a host and hostess on guard to welcome belated guests. A long conservatory filled with tropical plants gave me my opportunity. Prominators went idly through and out into another part of the house by an exit I could not see. A handsome, spectacle gentleman opened a glass door within a yard of where I stood, sniffed the air, and said to his companion as he turned back with a shrug into the conservatory, There's no sign of snow, it isn't Christmas weather at all. He strolled away through the palms, and I instantly threw off my ulster and hat, cast them behind some bushes, and boldly opened the door and entered. The ballroom was on the third floor, but the guests were straggling down to supper, and I took my stand at the foot of the broad stairway and glanced up carelessly, as though waiting for someone. It was a large and brilliant company, and many a lovely face passed me as I stood waiting. The very size of the gathering gave me security, and I smoothed my gloves complacently. The spectacle gentleman whose breath of night air had given me a valued hint of the open conservatory door came now and stood beside me. He even put his hand on my arm with intimate friendliness. There was a sound of mirth and scampering feet in the hall above, and then down the steps between the lines of guests arrested in their descent came a dark laughing girl in the garb of little red riding hood amid general applause and laughter. It's Olivia, she's won the wager, exclaimed the spectacle gentleman, and the girl whose dark curls were shaken about her face ran up to us and threw her arms about him and kissed him. It was a charming picture, the figures on the stairway, the pretty graceful child, the eager happy faces all about. I was too much interested by this scene of the comedy to be uncomfortable. Then at the top of the stair her height accented by her gown of white stood Marion Devereux, hesitating an instant as a bird pauses before taking wing, and then laughingly running between the lines to where Olivia faced her in mock objection. To the charm of the girl in the woodland was added now the dignity of beautiful womanhood and my heart leaped at the thought that I had ever spoken to her, that I was there because she had taunted me with the risk of coming. Above on the stair landing a deep tone clock began to strike midnight and everyone cried Merry Christmas and Olivia's won, and there was more hand clapping in which I joined with goodwill. Someone behind me was explaining what had just occurred. Olivia, the youngest daughter of the house, had been denied a glimpse of the ball. Miss Devereux had made a wager with her host that Olivia would appear before midnight and Olivia had defeated the plot against her and gained the main hall at the stroke of Christmas. Good night, good night! cried Olivia, the real Olivia, in derision to the company and turned and ran back through the applauding, laughing throng. The spectacle gentleman was Olivia's father and he mockingly rebuked Marion Devereux for having encouraged an infraction of parental discipline while she was tweeting him upon the loss of his wager. Then her eyes rested upon me for the first time. She smiled slightly but continued talking placidly to her host. The situation did not please me. I had not travelled so far and burglariously entered Dr. Armstrong's house in quest of a girl with blue eyes merely to stand by while she talked to another man. I drew nearer, impatiently, and was conscious that four other young men in white waistcoats and gloves, quite as irreproachable as my own, stood ready to claim her the instant she was free. I did not propose to be thwarted by the bow of Cincinnati, so I stepped toward Dr. Armstrong. I beg your pardon, doctor! I said was an assurance for which I blushed to this hour. All right, my boy, I too have been an arcadey, he exclaimed in cheerful apology, and she put her hand on my arm and I led her away. He called me my boy, so I must be passing muster, I remarked, not daring to look at her. He's afraid not to recognize you. His inability to remember faces is a town joke. We reached a quiet corner of the great hall, and I found a seat for her. You don't seem surprised to see me. You knew I would come. I should have come across the world for this, for just this. Her eyes were grave at once. Why did you come? I did not think you were so foolish. This is all so wretched, so unfortunate. You didn't know that Mr. Pickering—Mr. Pickering— she was greatly distressed, and this name came from her chokingly. Yes, what of him? I laughed. He is well on his way to California, and without you. She spoke hurriedly, eagerly, bending toward me. No, you don't know. You don't understand. He's here. He abandoned his California trip at Chicago. He telegraphed me to expect him here to-night. You must go at once, at once! Ah, but you can't frighten me, I said, trying to realize just what a meeting with Pickering in that house might mean. No. She looked anxiously about. They were to arrive late. He and the tailors. They know the Armstrongs quite well. They may come at any moment now. Please, go. But I have only a few minutes myself. You wouldn't have me sit them out in the station, downtown. There are some things I have come to say, and Arthur Pickering and I are not afraid of each other. But you must not meet him here. Think what that would mean to me. You are very foolhardy, Mr. Glenarm. I had no idea you would come. But you wish to try me. You challenged me. That wasn't me. It was Olivia. She laughed, more at ease. I thought— Yes, what did you think, I asked, that I was tied hand and foot by a dead man's money? No, it wasn't that wretched fortune. But I enjoyed playing the child before you. I really love Olivia, and it seemed that the fairies were protecting me, and that I could play being a child to the very end of the chapter, without any real mischief coming of it. I wish I were Olivia, she declared, her eyes away from me. That's rather idle. I'm not really sure yet what your name is, and I don't care. Let's imagine that we haven't any names. I'm sure my name isn't of any use, and I'll be glad to go nameless all my days, if only— If only? she repeated idly, opening and closing her fan. It was a frail blue trifle, painted in golden butterflies. There are so many, if onlys, that I hesitate to choose, but I will venture one, if only you will come back to St. Agatha's, not tomorrow or the next day, but say, with the first bluebirds. I believe they are harbingers up there. Her very ease was a balm to my spirit. She was now a veritable daughter of her pose. One arm in its long white sheets lay quietly in her lap. Her right hand held the golden butterflies against the soft curve of her cheek. A collar of pearls clasped her throat and accented the clear girlish lines of her profile. I felt the appeal of her youth and purity. It was like a cry in my heart, and I forgot the dreary house by the lake and pickering and the weeks within the stone walls of my prison. The friends who know me best never expect me to promise to be anywhere at a given time. I can't tell. Perhaps I shall follow the bluebirds to Indiana, but why should I, when I can't play being Olivia any more? No, I am very dull. That note of apology you wrote from the school really fooled me, but I have seen the real Olivia now. I don't want you to go too far, not where I can't follow. This flight I shall hardly dare repeat. Her lips closed like a rose that had gone back to be a bud again, and she pondered a moment, slowly freeing and imprisoning the golden butterflies. You have risked the fortune, Mr. Glenarm, very, very foolishly, and more if you are found here. Why, Olivia must have recognized you. She must have seen you often across the wall. But I don't care. I'm not staying at that ruin up there for money. My grandfather meant more to me than that. Yes, I believe that is so. He was a dear old gentleman, and he liked me because I thought his jokes adorable. My father and he had known each other. But there was no expectation, no wish to profit by his friendship. My name and his will is a great embarrassment, a source of real annoyance. The newspapers have printed dreadful pictures of me. That is why I say to you, quite frankly, that I wouldn't accept a cent of Mr. Glenarm's money if it were offered me. And that is why—and her smile was a flash of spring—I want you to obey the terms of the will and earn your fortune. She closed the fan sharply and lifted her eyes to mine. But there isn't any fortune. It's all a myth. A joke, I declared. Mr. Pickering doesn't seem to think so. He had every reason for believing that Mr. Glenarm was a very rich man. The property can't be found in the usual places, banks, safety vaults, and the like. Then where do you think it is? Or better, where do you think Mr. Pickering thinks it is? But assuming that it's buried up there by the lake like a pirate's treasure, it isn't Pickering's if he finds it. There are laws to protect even the dead from robbery, I concluded hotly. How difficult you are! Suppose you should fall from a boat or be shot accidentally. Then I might have to take the fortune after all, and Mr. Pickering might think of an easier way of getting it than by— Stealing it? Yes, but you wouldn't. Half-pass-twelve struck on the stairway, and I started to my feet. You wouldn't, I repeated. I might, you know. I must go. But not with that. Not with any hint of that. Please. If you let him defeat you, if you fail to spend your year there, we'll overlook this one lapse. She looked me steadily in the eyes, wholly guiltless of coquetry, but infinitely kind. Then— She paused, opened the fan, held it up to the light, and studied the golden butterflies. Yes? Then let me see, oh, I shall never chase another rabbit as long as I live. Now go, quickly, quickly! But you haven't told me when and where it was we met the first time. Please. She laughed, but urged me away with her eyes. I shan't do it. It isn't proper for me to remember, if your memory is so poor. I wonder how it would seem for us to meet just once and be introduced. Good night, you really came. You are a gentleman of your word, Squire Glenarm. She gave me the tips of her fingers without looking at me. A servant came in hurriedly. Miss Devereux, Mr. and Mrs. Taylor, and Mr. Pickering are in the drawing-room. Yes, very well. I will come at once. Then to me. They must not see you. There, that way. And she stood in the door, facing me, her hands lightly touching the frame, as though to secure my way. I turned for a last look, and saw her waiting. Her eyes bent gravely upon me, her arms still half raised, barring the door. Then she turned swiftly away into the hall. Outside I found my hat and coat, and awakened my sleeping driver. He drove like mad into the city, and I swung upon the northbound sleeper, just as it was drawing out of the station. End of Chapter 18 Chapter 19 of The House of a Thousand Candles This Libervox recording is in the public domain. The House of a Thousand Candles by Meredith Nicholson Chapter 19 I meet an old friend. When I reached the house I found, to my astonishment, that the window I had left open as I scrambled out the night before was closed. I dropped my bag and crept to the front door, thinking that if Bates had discovered my absence, it was useless to attempt any further deception. I was amazed to find the great doors of the main entrance flung wide, and in real alarm I ran through the hall and back to the library. The nearest door stood open, and as I peered in a curious scene disclosed itself. A few of the large cathedral candles still burned brightly in several places, their flame rising strangely in the grey morning light. Books had been taken from the shelves and scattered everywhere, and sharp implements had cut ugly gashes in the shelving. The drawers containing sketches and photographs had been pulled out in their contents thrown about and trampled underfoot. The house was as silent as a tomb, but as I stood on the threshold trying to realize what had happened, something stirred by the fireplace, and I crept forward listening, until I stood by the long table beneath the great chandelier. Again I heard a sound as of some animal waking and stretching, followed by a moan that was undoubtedly human. Then the hands of a man clutched the farther edge of the table, and slowly and evidently with infinite difficulty a figure rose and the dark face of Bates, with eyes blurred and staring strangely, confronted me. He drew his body to its height and leaned heavily upon the table. I snatched a candle and bent toward him, to make sure my eyes were not tricking me. Mr. Glen Arm! Mr. Glen Arm! he exclaimed in broken whispers. It is Bates, sir. What have you done? What has happened? I demanded. He put his hand to his head, uncertainly, and gaped as though trying to gather his wits. He was evidently dazed by whatever had occurred, and I sprang around and helped him to a couch. He would not lie down, but sat up, staring and passing his hand over his head. It was rapidly growing lighter, and I saw a purple and black streak across his temple where a bludgeon of some sort had struck him. What does this mean, Bates? Who has been in the house? I can't tell you, Mr. Glen Arm. Can't tell me. You will tell me or go to jail. There's been mischief done here, and I don't intend to have any nonsense about it from you. Well, he was clearly suffering, but in my anger at the sight of the wreck of the room, I grasped his shoulder and shook him roughly. It was early, this morning, he faltered, about two o'clock. I heard noises in the lower part of the house. I came down, thinking likely it was you, and remembering that you had been sick yesterday? Yes, go on. The thought of my truancy was no bomb to my conscience just then. As I came into the hall, I saw lights in the library. As you were down last night, the room hadn't been lighted at all. I heard steps and someone tapping with a hammer. Yes, a hammer. Go on. It was then the same old story. The war had been carried openly into the house, but Bates, just why should anyone connected with the conspiracy in your Bates, who stood so near to pickering its leader? The fellow was undoubtedly hurt. There was no mistaking the lump on his head. He spoke with painful difficulty that was not assumed. I felt increasingly sure as he went on. I saw a man pulling out the books and tapping the inside of the shelves. He was working very fast, and the next thing I knew he let in another man through one of the terrorist doors, the one there that still stands a little open. He flinched as he turned slightly to indicate it, and his face twitched with pain. Never mind that. Tell the rest of your story. Then I ran in, grabbed one of the big candelabra from the table, and went for the nearest man. They were about to begin on the chimney breast there. It was Mr. Glennam's pride in all the house, and that accounts for my being there in front of the fireplace. They rather got the best of me, sir. Clearly I see they did. You had a hand-to-hand fight with them, and being two to one. No, there are two of us. Don't you understand? Two of us. There was another man who came running in from somewhere, and he took sides with me. I thought at first it was you. The robbers thought so too. For one of them yelled, Great God, it's Glennam! Just like that. But it wasn't you. Quite another person. That's a good story so far, and then what happened? I don't remember much more, except that someone soused me with water that helped my head considerably, and the next thing I knew I was staring across the table there at you. Who were these man-baits? Speak up quickly. My tone was peremptory. Here was, I felt, a crucial moment in our relations. Well, he began deliberately. I disliked to make charges against the fellow man, but I strongly suspect one of the men of being. Yes, tell the whole truth, or it will be the worst for you. I very much fear one of them was Ferguson, the gardener over the way. I am disappointed in him, sir. Very good, and now for the other one? I didn't get my eyes on him. I had closed with Ferguson, and we were having quite a lively time of it, when the other one came in. Then the man who came to my help mixed us all up. He was a very lively person, and what became of Ferguson and the rest of it I don't know. There was food for thought in what he said. He had taken punishment in defense of my property. The crack on his head was undeniable, and I could not abuse him or question his veracity with any grace, not at least without time for investigation and study. However, I ventured to ask him one question. If you are guessing, shouldn't you think it quite likely that Morgan was the other man? He met my gaze squarely. I think it wholly possible, Mr. Glenarm. And the man who helped you? Who in the devil was he? Bless me, I don't know. He disappeared. I'd like mightily to see him again. Now you'd better do something for your head. I'll summon the village doctor, if you say so. No, thank you, sir. I'll take care of it myself. And now we'll keep quiet about this. Don't mention it or discuss it with anyone. Certainly not, sir. He rose and staggered a little, but crossed the broad mantel shelf in the great chimney breast, rested his arm upon it for a moment, passed his hand over the dark wood with a sort of caress, then bent his eyes upon the floor littered with books and drawings, and papers torn from the cabinets, and all splashed with tallow and wax from the candles. The daylight had increased until the havoc wrought by the night's visitors was fully apparent. The marauders had made a sorry mess of the room, and I thought Bates' lip quivered as he saw the wreck. It would have been a blow to Mr. Glenarm. The room was his pride, his pride, sir. He went out toward the kitchen, and I ran upstairs to my own room. I cursed the folly that had led me to leave my window open, for undoubtedly Morgan and his new ally, St. Agatha's Gardener, had taken advantage of it to enter the house. Quite likely, too, they had observed my absence, and this would undoubtedly be communicated to Pickering. I threw up in my door and started back with an exclamation of amazement. Standing at my chiffonniere between two windows was a man, clad in a bath-gown, my own I saw with fury, his back to me, the razor at his face, placidly shaving himself. Without turning he addressed me, quite coolly and casually, as though his being there was the most natural thing in the world. Good morning, Mr. Glenarm. Rather damaged in evidence that cost him. I suppose it's the custom of the country for gentlemen in evening clothes to go out by the window and return by the door. You might think the other way round, preferable. Larry, I shouted. Jack, kick that door shut and lock it. He commanded in a sharp, severe tone that I remembered well and just now welcomed in him. How, why, and when? Never mind about me. I'm here. Throw the enemy off for a few days, and you give me lessons in current history first. While I climb into my armor, pray pardon the informality. He seized a broom and began work upon a pair of trousers, to which mud and briars clung tenaciously. His coat and hat lay on a chair. They, too, much the worse for rough wear. There was never any use in refusing to obey Larry's orders, and as he got into his clothes I gave him, in as few words as possible, the chief incidents that had marked my stay at Glenarm House. He continued dressing with care, helping himself to a shirt and collar from my chiffon year and choosing with unfailing eye the best tie in my collection. Now and then he asked a question, tersely, or again, he laughed or swore direly in Gaelic. When I had concluded the story of Pickering's visit and of the conversation I overheard between the executor and Bates in the church porch, Larry wheeled around with the scarf half tied in his fingers and surveyed me commiseratingly. And you didn't rush them both on the spot and have it out? No, I was much to taken aback for one thing. I daresay you were. And for another I didn't think the time ripe. I'm going to beat that fellow, Larry, but I want him to show his hand fully before we come to a smash-up. I know as much about the house and its secrets as he does. That's one consolation. Sometimes I don't believe there's a shilling here. And again I'm sure there's a big stake in it. The fact that Pickering is risking so much to find what's supposed to be hidden here is pretty fair evidence that something's buried on the place. Possibly, but they're giving you a lively boycott. Now where in the devil have you been? Well, I began and hesitated. I had not mentioned Barry and Devereux and this did not seem the time for confidences of that sort. He took a cigarette from his pocket and lighted it. Ah, these women! Under the terms of your revered grandfather's will you have thrown away all your rights. It looks to me, as a member of the Irish bar in bad standing, as though you had delivered yourself up to the enemy. So far as the legal situation is concerned, how does it strike you? Of course I've forfeited my rights, but I don't mean that anyone shall know it yet a while. My lad, don't deceive yourself. Everybody round here will know it before night. You ran off, left your window open invitingly, and to a gentleman who meditated breaking in, found that they didn't take the trouble. One came in through your own room, noting, of course, your absence, let in his friend below, interrupt the place regrettably. Yes, but how did you get here, if you don't mind telling? It's a short story, that little chap from Scotland Yard, who annoyed me so much in New York, and drove me to Mexico, for which may he dwell forever in fiery torment, has never given up. I shook him off, though, at Indianapolis three days ago. I bought a ticket for Pittsburgh with him at my elbow. I suppose he thought the chase was growing tame, and that by far the least he could arrest me, the nearer I should be to a British consul in Tidewater. I went ahead of him into the station, and out to the Pittsburgh sleeper. I dropped my bag into my section, if that's what they call it in your atrocious American language, looked out and saw him coming along the platform. Just then the car began to move. They were shunting it about to attach a sleeper that had been brought in from Louisville, and my carriage, or whatever you call it, went skimming out of the sheds into a yard, where everything seemed to be most noisy and complex. I dropped off in the dark just before they began to haul the carriage back. A long train of empty goods wagons was just pulling out, and I threw my bag into a wagon and climbed after it. We kept going for an hour or so, until I was thoroughly lost. Then I took advantage of the stop, at a place that seemed to be the end of terrestrial things. Got out, and started across country. I expressed my bag to you, the other day, from a town that rejoiced in the cheering name of Kokomo, just to get rid of it. I walked into Annandale about midnight, found this medieval marvel through the kindness of the station master, and was reconorturing with my usual caution, when I saw a gentleman romantically entering through an open window. Larry paused to light a fresh cigarette. You always did have a way of arriving, opportunity. Go on. It pleased my fancy to follow him, and by the time I had studied your diggins here at Trifle, things began to happen below. It sounded like a St. Patrick's Day celebration in an Irish village, and I went on at a gallop to see if there was any chance of breaking in. Have you seen the room? Well, he gave several turns to his right wrist as though to test it. We all had a jolly time there by the fireplace. Another chap had got in somewhere, so there were two of them. Your man, I suppose it's your man, was defending himself gallantly with a large thing of brass that looked like the pipes of a grand organ, and I sailed in with a chair. My presence seemed to surprise the attacking party who evidently thought I was you, fluttering, I must say, to me. You undoubtedly saved Bates's life, and prevented the rifling of the house, and after you had poured water on Bates—he's the servant—you came up here? That's the way of it. You're a brick, Larry Donovan. There's only one of you, and now—and now a junglin arm, we've got to get down to business. Are you must? As for me, after a few hours of your enlivening society, you don't go a step further until we go together. Know by the beard of the Prophet, I've a fight on here, and I'm going to win it if I die in the struggle, and you've got to stay with me to the end. But under the will you dare not take a border? Of course I dare. That wills as though it had never been as far as I'm concerned. My grandfather never expected me to sit here alone and be murdered. John Marshall Glenarm wasn't a fool, exactly. No, but it may feel queer, I should say. I don't have to tell you, old man, that this situation appeals to me. It's my kind of job. If it weren't that the hounds are at my heels, I'd like to stay with you. But you have enough trouble on hands. Was that open in the house to an attack by my enemies? Stop talking about it. I don't propose to be deserted by the only friend I have in the world when I'm up to my eyes in trouble. Let's go down and get some coffee. We found Bates trying to remove the evidences of the night's struggle. He had fastened a cold pack about his head and limped slightly, otherwise he was the same, silent and inexplicable. Daylight had not improved the appearance of the room. Several hundred books lay scattered over the floor, and the shelves which had held them were hacked and broken. Bates, if you can give us some coffee, let the room go for the present. Yes, sir. And Bates. He paused and Larry's keen eyes were bent sharply upon him. Mr. Donovan is a friend who will be with me for some time. We'll fix up his room later in the day. He limped out, Larry's eyes following him. What do you think of that fellow? I asked. Larry's face were a puzzled look. What do you call him? Bates? He is a plucky fellow. Larry picked up from the hearth the big candelabrum with which Bates had defended himself. It was badly bent and twisted, and Larry grinned. The fellow who went through the front door probably isn't feeling very well today. Yermann was swinging this thing like a windmill. I can't understand it, I muttered. I can't for the life of me see why he should have given battle to the enemy. They all belong to Pickering, and Bates is the biggest rascal of the bunch. We'll consider that later. And would you mind telling me? What kind of a tallow foundry this is? I never saw so many candlesticks in my life. I seem to taste tallow. I had no letters from you, and I supposed you were loafing quietly in a grim farmhouse, dying of unwee, and here you are in an establishment that ought to be the imperial residence of an Eskimo chief. Possibly you have crude petroleum for soup, and whipped salad oil for dessert. I declare a man living here ought to attain a high candle-power of luminosity. It's perfectly immense. He stared and laughed. And hidden treasure, and night attacks, and young virgins in the middle distance. Yes, I'd really like to stay awhile. As we ate breakfast I filled in gaps I had left in my hurry narrative, and with relief that I cannot describe filling my heart as I leaned again upon the sympathy of an old and trusted friend. As Bates came and went I marked Larry's scrutiny of the man. I dismissed him as soon as possible that we might talk freely. Take it up and down and all around. What do you think of all this? I asked. Larry was silent for a moment. He was not given to careless speech in personal matters. There's more to it than frightening you off or getting your grandfather's money. It's my guess that there's something in this house that somebody, pickering supposedly, is very anxious to find. Yes, I begin to think so. He could come in here legally if it were merely a matter of searching for lost assets. Yes, and whatever it is must be well hidden. As I remember, your grandfather died in June. You got a letter calling you home in October. It was sent out blindly, with not one chance in a hundred that it would ever reach me. To be sure. You were a whinerer on the face of the earth, and there was nobody in America to look after your interests. You may be sure that the place was thoroughly ransacked while you were sailing home. I'll wager you, the best dinner you ever ate, that there's more at stake than your grandfather's money. The situation is inspiring. I grow interested. I'm almost persuaded to linger. End of Chapter 19 Chapter 20 of The House of a Thousand Candles. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The House of a Thousand Candles by Meredith Nicholson Chapter 20 A Triple Alliance Larry refused to share my quarters and chose a room for himself, which Bates fitted up out of the House's doors. I did not know what Bates might surmise about Larry, but he accepted my friend in good part, as a guest who would remain indefinitely. He seemed to interest Larry, whose eyes followed the man inquiringly. When we went into Bates' room on our tour of the House, Larry scanned the books on the little shelf with something more than a casual eye. There were exactly four volumes, Shakespeare's comedies, The Fairy Queen, Stern's Sentimental Journey, and Yates' Land of Heart's Desire. A queer customer, Larry, nobody but my grandfather could ever have discovered him. He found him up in Vermont. I suppose his being a blooming Yankee naturally accounts for this, remarked Larry, taking from under the pillow of the narrow iron bed a copy of the Dublin Freemance Journal. It is a little odd, I said, but if you found a Yiddish newspaper or an Egyptian papyrus under his pillow, I should not be surprised. Nor I, said Larry, a wager than not another shelf in this part of the world contains exactly that collection of books and nothing else. You will notice that there was once a book plate in each of these volumes, and that it's been scratched out with care. On a small table were pen and ink and a curious, much-worn portfolio. He always gets the mail first, doesn't he? Asked Larry. Yes, I believe he does. I thought so. And I swear he never got a letter from Vermont in his life. When we went down, Bates was limping about the library, endeavoring to restore order. Bates, I said to him, you are a very curious person. I have had a thousand and one opinions about you since I came here, and I still don't make you out. He turned from the shelves, a defaced volume in his hands. Yes, sir, it was a good deal that way with your lamented grandfather. He always said I puzzled him. Larry, safe behind the fellow's back, made no attempt to conceal a smile. I want to thank you for your heroic efforts to protect the house last night. You acted nobly, and I must confess, Bates, that I didn't think it was in you. You've got the right stuff in you. I'm only sorry that there are black pages in your record that I can't reconcile with your manly conduct of last night. But we've got to come to an understanding. Yes, sir. The most outrageous attacks have been made on me since I came here. You know what I mean well enough. Mr. Glenarm never intended that I should sit down in his house and be killed or robbed. He was the gentlest being that ever lived, and I'm going to fight for his memory and to protect his property from the scoundrels who have plotted against me. I hope you will follow me. Yes, Mr. Glenarm. He was regarding me attentively, his lips quavered, perhaps from weakness, for he certainly looked ill. Now I offer you your choice, either to stand loyally by me and my grandfather's house, or to join these scoundrels Arthur Pickering has hired to drive me out. I'm not going to bribe you. I don't offer you ascent for standing by me, but I won't have a traitor in the house, and if you don't like me or my terms, I want you to go and go now. He straightened quickly, his eyes lighted, and the color crept into his face. I had never before seen him appear so like a human being. Mr. Glenarm, you have been hard on me. There have been times when you have been very unjust. Unjust, my God, what do you expect me to take from you? Haven't I known that you were in league with Pickering? I'm not as dull as I look, and after your interview with Pickering in the Chapel porch, you can't convince me that you were faithful to my interests at that time. He started and gazed at me wonderingly. I had had no intention of using the Chapel porch interview at this time, but it leaped out of me uncontrollably. I suppose, sir, he began, brokenly, that I can hardly persuade you, that I meant no wrong on that occasion. You certainly cannot, and it's safer for you not to try, but I'm willing to let that go as a reward for your work last night. Make your choice now, stay here, and stop your spying, or clear out of Annandale within an hour. He took a step toward me. The table was between us, and he drew quite near but stood clear of it. He wracked until there was something almost soldierly and commanding in his figure. By God! I will stand by you, John Glenarm, he said, and struck the table smartly with his clenched hand. He flushed instantly, and I felt the blood mounting into my own face as we gazed at each other. He baits the servant and I his master. He had always addressed me so punctiliously with the sir of respect that his declaration of fealty spoken with so sincere and vigorous an air of independence and with the bold emphasis of the oath held me spellbound staring at him. The silence was broken by Larry, who sprang forward and grasped Bates' hand. I too, Bates, I said, feeling my heart leap with liking, even with admiration for the real manhood that seemed to transfigure this hireling, this fellow whom I charged with the most infamous treachery, this servant who had cared for my needs and so humble a spirit of subjection. The knocker on the front door sounded peremptorily, and Bates turned away without another word and admitted stoddard who came in hurriedly. Merry Christmas! In his big hearty tones was hardly consonant with the troubled look on his face. I introduced him to Larry and asked him to sit down. Pray excuse our disorder. We didn't do it for fun. It was one of Santa Claus's tricks. He stared about wonderingly. So you caught it too, did you? To be sure. You don't mean to say that they raided the chapel. That's exactly what I mean to say. When I went into the church for my early service, I found that someone had ripped off the wanescoating in half a dozen places and even pried up the altar. It's the most outrageous thing I ever knew. You've heard of the proverbial poverty of the church mouse. What do you suppose anybody could want to raid a simple little country chapel for? And more curious yet, the church plate was untouched, though the closet where it's kept was upset, as though the miscreants had been looking for something they didn't find. Stoddard was greatly disturbed and gazed about the topsy-turvy library with growing indignation. We drew together for a council of war. Here was an opportunity to enlist a new recruit on my side. I already felt stronger by reason of Larry's accession. As to Bates, my mind was still numb and bewildered. Larry, there's no reason why we shouldn't join forces with Mr. Stoddard, as he seems to be affected by this struggle. We owe it to him and the school to put him on guard, particularly since we know that Ferguson's with the enemy. Yes, certainly, said Larry. He always liked or disliked new people unequivocally, and I was glad to see that he surveyed the big clergyman with approval. I'll begin at the beginning, I said, and tell you the whole story. He listened quietly to the end, while I told him of my experience with Morgan of the tunnel into the chapel crypt and finally of the affair in the night in our interview with Bates. I feel like rubbing my eyes and accusing you of reading Penny Horrors, he said. That doesn't sound like the 20th century in Indiana. But Ferguson, you'd better take a care in his direction. Sister Teresa, bless your heart. Ferguson's gone without notice. He got his traps and skipped without saying a word to anyone. We'll hear from him again, no doubt. Now, gentlemen, I believe we understand one another. I don't like to draw you, either one of you, into my private affairs. The big chaplain laughed. Glenn Arm, prefixes, went out of commission quickly that morning. If you hadn't let me in on this, I should never have got over it. Why, this is the page out of the good old times. Bless me. I never appreciated your grandfather. I must run. I have another service. But I hope you gentlemen will call on me, day or night, for anything I can do to help you. Please don't forget me. I had the record once for putting the shot. Why not give our friend escort through the tunnel? asked Larry. I'll not hesitate to say that I'm dying to see it. To be sure. We went down into the cellar and poked over the lantern and candlestick collections, and I pointed out the exact spot where Morgan and I had indulged in our revolver duel. It was fortunate that the plastered walls of the cellar showed clearly the cuts and scars of the pistol walls, or I fear my story would have fallen on incredulous ears. The debris I had piled upon the false block of stone in the cellar lay as I had left it, but the three of us quickly freed the trap. The humor of the thing took strong hold of my new allies, and while I was getting a lantern to light us through the passage, Larry sat on the edge of the trap and howled a few bars of a wild Irish jig. We set forth at once, and found the passage unchanged. When the cold air blew in upon us, I paused. Have you gentlemen the slightest idea of where you are? We must be under the school grounds, I should say," replied Stoddard. We're exactly under the stone wall. Those tall posts at the gate are a scheme for keeping fresh air in the passage. You're certainly have all the modern improvements," observed Larry, and I heard him chuckling all the way to the crypt door. When I pushed the panel open and we stepped into the crypt, Stoddard whistled and Larry swore softly. It must be for something, exclaimed the chaplain. You don't suppose Mr. Glenarm built a secret passage just for the fun of it, do you? He must have had some purpose. Why, I sleep out here within forty yards of where we stand, and I never had the slightest idea of this. But other people seemed to know of it, observed Larry. To be sure, the curiosity of the whole countryside was undoubtedly peaked by the building of Glenarm House. The fact that workmen were brought from a distance was in itself enough to arouse interest. Morgan seems to have discovered the passage without any trouble. More likely it was Ferguson. He was the section of the church and had a chance to investigate, said Stoddard. And now, gentlemen, I must go to my service. I'll see you again before the day is over. And we make no confidences, I admonished. Steff! I believe that is the proper expression under all the circumstances. And the reverend Paul Stoddard laughed, clasped my hand, and went up into the chapel vestry. I closed the door in the wainscoting and hung the map back in place. We went up into the little chapel and found a small company of worshippers assembled. A few people from the surrounding farms, half a dozen sisters sitting somberly near the chancel, and the school servants. Stoddard came into the chancel, lighted the altar tapers, and began the Anglican Communion office. I had forgotten what a church surface was like, and Larry, I felt sure, had not attended church since the last time his family had dragged him to Coral Vespers. It was comforting to know that here was, at least, one place of peace within reach of Glenarm House. But I may be forgiven, I hope, if my mind wandered that morning, and my thoughts played hide and seek with memory. For it was here, in the winter twilight, that Mary and Devereux had poured out her girl's heart in a great flood of melody. I was glad that the organ was closed. It would have rung my heart to hear a note from it that her hands did not evoke. When we came out upon the church porch, and I stood on the steps to allow Larry to study the grounds, one of the brown-robed sisterhood spoke my name. It was Sister Teresa. Can you come in for a moment? She asked. I will follow at once, I said. She met me in the reception room where I had seen her before. I'm sorry to trouble you on Christmas Day with my affairs, but I have had a letter from Mr. Pickering, saying that he will be obliged to bring suit for settlement of my account with Mr. Glenarm's estate. I needn't say that this troubles me greatly. In my position a lawsuit is uncomfortable. It would do a great harm to the school. Mr. Pickering implies, in a very disagreeable way, that I exercised an undue influence over Mr. Glenarm. You can readily understand that this is not a pleasant accusation. He is going pretty far, I said. He gives me credit for a degree of power over others that I regret to say I do not possess. He thinks, for instance, that I am responsible for Miss Devereux's attitude toward him, something that I have had nothing whatever to do with. No, of course not. I'm glad that you have no harsh feeling toward her. It was unfortunate that Mr. Glenarm saw fit to mention her in his will. It has given her a great deal of notoriety, and has doubtless strengthened the impression in some minds that she and I really plotted to get as much as possible of your grandfather's estate. No one would regret all this more than my grandfather. I am sure of that. There are many inexplicable things about his affairs. It seems hardly possible that a man so shrewd as he, and so thoughtful of the feelings of others, should have left so many loose ends behind him. But I assure you I am giving my whole attention to these matters, and I am wholly at your service in anything I can do to help you. I sincerely hope that nothing may interfere to prevent your meeting Mr. Glenarm's wish that you remain through the year. That was a curious and whimsical provision, but it is not, I imagine, so difficult. She spoke in a kindly tone of encouragement, that made me feel uneasy, and almost ashamed for having already forfeited my claim under the will. Her beautiful gray eyes disconcerted me. I had not the heart to deceive her. I have already made it impossible for me to inherit under the will, I said. The disappointment in her face rebuked me sharply. I am sorry, very sorry indeed, she said coldly. But how, may I ask? I ran away last night. I went to Cincinnati to see Miss Devereux. She rose, staring in dumb astonishment, and after a full minute in which I tried vainly to think of something to say, I left the house. There is nothing in the world so tiresome as explanations, and I have never in my life tried to make them without floundering into seas of trouble. CHAPTER XXI PICKERING SERVES NOTICE The next morning Bates placed a letter postmarked Cincinnati at my plate. I opened and read it aloud to Larry. On board the hallowees, December 25th, 1901, John Glenarm Esquire, Glenarm House, Annandale, Wabana County, Indiana. Dear sir, I have just learned from what I believe to be a trustworthy source that you have already violated the terms of the agreement under which you entered into residence on the property near Annandale, known as Glenarm House. The provisions of the will of John Marshall Glenarm are plain and unequivocal, as you undoubtedly understood when you accepted them, and your absence, not only from the estate itself, but from Wabana County, violates beyond question your right to inherit. I, as executor, therefore demand that you at once vacate said property, leaving it in as good condition as one received by you. Very truly yours, Arthur Pickering, executor of the estate of John Marshall Glenarm. Very truly the devils, growled Larry, snapping his cigarette case viciously. How did he find out, I asked Lainley, but my heart sank like lead. Had Mary and Devereux told him, how else could he know? Probably from the stars. The whole universe undoubtedly saw you skipping off to meet your lady love. Va, these women. Tut, they don't all marry the sons of brewers, I retorted. You assured me once, while you were fair with that Irish girl was on, that the short upper lip made heaven seem possible, but unnecessary. Then the next thing I knew, she had shaken you for the bloated masher. Take that for your impertinence, but perhaps it was Bates? I did not wait for an answer. I was not in a mood for reflection or nice distinctions. The man came in just then with a fresh plate of toast. Bates, Pickering has learned that I was away from the house on the night of the attack, and I'm ordered off for having broken my agreement to stay here. How do you suppose he heard of it so promptly? From Morgan, quite possibly, I have a letter from Mr. Pickering myself this morning. Just a moment, sir. He placed before me a note bearing the same date as my own. It was a sharp rebuke of Bates for his failure to report my absence, and he was ordered to prepare to leave on the 1st of February. Close your accounts at the shopkeepers, and I will audit your bills upon my arrival. The tone was peremptory and contemptuous. Bates had failed to satisfy Pickering and was flung off like a smoked-out cigar. How much did he allow you for expenses, Bates? He met my gaze imperturbably. He paid me fifty dollars a month as wages, sir, and I was allowed seventy-five for other expenses. But you didn't buy English pheasants and champagne on that allowance. He was carrying away the coffee tray and his eyes wandered to the windows. Not quite, sir, you see, but I don't see. It had occurred to me that as Mr. Pickering's allowance wasn't what you might call generous, it was better to augment it. Well, sir, I took the liberty of advancing a trifle, as you may say, to the estate. Yeah, grandfather, would not have had you starve, sir. He left hurriedly, as though to escape from the consequences of his words, and when I came to myself, Larry was gloomily invoking his strange Irish gods. Larry Donovan, I've been tempted to kill that fellow a dozen times. This thing is too damn complicated for me. I wish my lamented grandfather had left me something easy. To think of it, that fellow, after my treatment of him, my cursing and abusing him since I came here, great Scott man, I've been enjoying his bounty, I've been living on his money, and all the time he's been trusting in me just because of his dog-like devotion to my grandfather's memory. Lord, I can't face the fellow again. As I have said before, you're rather lacking at times in persipacity. Your intelligence is marred by large opaque spots. Now that there's a woman in the case, you're less sane than ever. Bah! These women! And now we've got to go to work. Bah! These women! My own heart caught the words. I was enraged and bitter. No wonder she had been anxious for me to avoid Pickering after daring me to follow her. We called a Council of War for that night when we might view matters in the light of Pickering's letter. His assuredness in ordering me to leave made prompt and decisive action necessary on my part. I summoned Stoddard to our conference, feeling confident of his friendliness. Of course, said the broad-shoulder chaplain, if you could show that your absence was on business of very grave importance, the courts might construe in that you had not really violated the will. Larry looked at the ceiling and blew rings of smoke languidly. I had not disclosed to either of them the cause of my absence. On such a matter I knew I should get precious little sympathy from Larry, and I had, moreover, a feeling that I could not discuss Marion Devereux with anyone. I even shrank from mentioning her name, though it rang like the call of bugles in my blood. She was always before me, the charmed spirit of youth, linked to every foot of the earth, every gleam of the sun, upon the ice-bound lake, every glory of the winter sunset. All the good impulses I had ever stifled were quickened to life by the thought of her. Amid the day's perplexities I started sometimes, thinking I heard her voice, her girlish laughter, or saw her again coming toward me down the stairs, or holding against the light her fan with its golden butterflies. I really knew so little of her. I could associate her with no home, only with that last fling of the autumn upon the lake, the snow-driven woodland, that twilight hour at the organ in the chapel, those stolen moments at the Armstrong's. I resented the pressure of the hour's affairs, and chafed at the necessity for talking of my perplexities with the good friends who were there to help. I wished to be alone, to yield to the sweet mood that the thought of her brought me. The doubt that crept through my mind as to any possibility of connivance between her and Pickering was as vague and fleeting as the shadow of a swallow's wing on a sunny meadow. You don't intend fighting the fact of your absence, do you? demanded Larry after a long silence. Of course not, I replied quietly. Pickering was right on my heels, and my absence was known to his men here, and it would not be square to my grandfather, who never harmed a flea. May his soul rest in blessed peace. To lie about it, they might nail me for perjury besides. Then the quicker we get ready for a siege, the better. As I understand your attitude, you don't propose to move out until you've found where the Sillars hidden. Being a galleon gentleman of a forgiving nature, you want to be sure that the lady who is now entitled to it gets all the race coming to her, and as you don't trust the executor, any further than a true Irishman trusts a British prime minister's promise, you're going to stand by and watch the bootle count it. Is that a correct analysis of your intentions? That's as near one of my ideas as you're likely to get, Larry Donovan, and if he comes with the authorities, the sheriff and that sort of thing, we must prepare for such an emergency, interpose the chaplain. So much the worse for the sheriff and the rest of them, I declared. Spulkin like a man of spirit, and now we'd better stock up at once, in case we should be shot off from our source of supplies. This is a lonely place here, even the school is a remote neighbour. Better let debates raid the village shops tomorrow. I've tried being hungry and I don't care to repeat the experience. And Larry reached for the tobacco jar. I can't imagine, I really can't believe, began the chaplain, that Miss Diverall will want to be brought into this estate matter in any way. In fact, I have heard Sister Teresa say as much. I suppose there's no way of preventing a man from leaving his property to a young woman who has no claim on him, who doesn't want anything from him. Bah, these women! People don't throw legacies to birds these days. Of course she'll take it. Then his eyes widened and met mine in a gaze that reflected the mystification and wonder that struck both of us. Stoddard turned from the fire suddenly. What's that? There's someone upstairs. Larry was already running toward the hall, and I heard him springing up the steps like a cat, while Stoddard and I followed. Whereas Bates demanded the chaplain. I'll thank you for the answer, I replied. Larry stood at the top of the staircase, holding a candle at arm's length in front of him, staring about. We could hear quite distinctly, someone walking on a stairway. The sounds were unmistakable, just as I had heard them on several previous occasions without ever being able to trace their source. The noise ceased suddenly, leaving us no hint of its whereabouts. I went directly to the rear of the house and found Bates putting the dishes away in the pantry. Where have you been? I demanded. Here, sir. I have been clearing up the dinner things, Mr. Glenarm. Is there anything that matters, sir? Nothing. I joined the others in the library. Why didn't you tell me this feudal imitation was haunted? asked Larry in a grieve tone. All it needed was a cheerful ghost, and now I believe it lacks absolutely nothing. I'm increasingly glad I came. How often does it walk? It's not on a schedule. Just now is the wind in the tower, probably. The wind plays queer pranks up here sometimes. You'll have to do better than that, Glenarm, said Stoddard. It's as still outside as a country graveyard. Only the slassil, and the people of the fairy hills, the cheerfulest ghosts in the world, said Larry. You literal Saxons can't grasp the idea, of course. But there was substance enough in our dangers without pursuing shadows. Certain things were planned that night. We determined to exercise every precaution to prevent a surprise from without. And we resolved upon a new and systematic sounding of walls and floors, taking our clue from the efforts made by Morgan and his ally to find hiding places by this process. Pickering would undoubtedly arrive shortly, and we wished to anticipate his movements as far as possible. We resolved, too, upon a day patrol of the grounds and a night guard. The suggestion came, I believe, from Stoddard, whose interest in my affairs was only equaled by the fertility of his suggestions. One of us should remain abroad at night, ready to sound the alarm in case of attack. Bates should take his turn with the rest. Stoddard insisted on it. Within two days we were, as Larry expressed it, on a war footing. We added a couple of shotguns and several revolvers to my own arsenal, and piled the library table with cartridge boxes. Bates, acting as quartermaster, brought a couple of wagon loads of provisions. Stoddard assembled a remarkable collection of heavy sticks. He had more confidence in them, he said, than in gunpowder, and moreover, he explained, a priest might not with propriety bear arms. It was a cheerful company of conspirators that now gathered around the Big Hearth. Larry, always restless, preferred to stand at one side, an elbow on the mantel shelf, pipe in mouth, and Stoddard sought the biggest chair and filled it. He and Larry understood each other at once, and Larry's stories ranging in subject from undergraduate experiences at Dublin to adventures in Africa, and always including endless conflicts with the Irish constabulary delighted the big boyish clergyman. Often at someone's suggestion of a new idea, we ran off to explore the house again in search of the key to the Glen Arm Riddle, and always we came back to the library with that riddle still unsolved. End of Chapter 21 Chapter 22 of The House of a Thousand Candles This Libervox recording is in the public domain. The House of a Thousand Candles by Meredith Nicholson Chapter 22 The Return of Marion Devereux Sister Theresa has left sir. Bates had been into Anondale to mail some letters, and I was staring out upon the park from the library windows when he entered. Stoddard, having kept watch the night before, was at home asleep, and Larry was off somewhere in the house treasure hunting. I was feeling decidedly discouraged over our failure to make any progress with our investigations. And Bates's news did not interest me. Well, what of it, I demanded, without turning round. Nothing, sir, but Miss Devereux has come back. The devil, I turned and took a step toward the door. I said, Miss Devereux, he replied in a dignified rebuke. She came up this morning, and the sister left at once for Chicago. Sister Theresa depends particularly upon Miss Devereux, so I've heard, sir. Miss Devereux quite takes charge when the sister goes away. A few of the students are staying in school through the holidays. You seem full of information, I remarked, taking another step toward my hat and coat. And I've learned of something else, sir. Well, they all came together, sir. Who came, if you please, Bates? Why, the people who've been travelling with Mr. Pickering came back with him, and Miss Devereux came with them from Cincinnati. That's what I learned in the village. And Mr. Pickering is going to stay. Pickering stay at his cottage on the lake for a while. The reason is he's worn out with his work and wishes quiet. The other people went back to New York in the car. He's opened a summer cottage in midwinter, has he? I had been blue enough without this news. Marion Devereux had come back to Anondale with Arthur Pickering. My faith in her snapped like a reed at this astounding news. She was now entitled to my grandfather's property, and she had lost no time in returning, as soon as she and Pickering had discussed together at the Armstrong's my flight from Anondale. Her return could have no other meaning than that there was a strong tie between them. And he was now to stay on the ground until I should be dispossessed and her rights established. She had led me to follow her, and my forfeiture had been sealed by that stolen interview at the Armstrong's. It was a black record, and the thought of it angered me against myself and the world. Tell Mr. Donovan that I've gone to St. Agatha's, I said, and I was soon striding toward the school. A sister admitted me. I heard the sound of a piano somewhere in the building, and I consigned the inventor of pianos to hideous torment, as scales were pursued endlessly up and down the keys. Two girls passing through the hall made a pretext of looking for a book, and came in and exclaimed over their inability to find it, with much suppressed giggling. The piano pounding continued, and I waited for what seemed an interminable time. It was growing dark, and a maid lighted the oil lamps. I took a book from the table. It was the life of Benvenuto Salini, and Marion Devereux was written on the flyleaf, by unmistakably the same hand that penned the apology for Olivia's performances. I saw in the clear flowing lines of the signature, in their lack of superfluity, her own ease, grace, and charm, and in the deeper stroke with which the X was crossed I felt a challenge, a readiness to abide by consequences once her word was given. Then my own inclination to think well of her angered me. It was only a pretty bit of chirography, and I dropped the book impatiently when I heard her step on the threshold. I am sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr. Glenarm, but this is my busy hour. I shall not detain you long. I came, I hesitated, not knowing why I had come. She took a chair near the open door and bent forward with an air of attention that was disquieting. She wore black, perhaps to fit her better into the house of a somber sisterhood. I seemed suddenly to remember her from a time long gone, and the effort of memory threw me off guard. Stoddard had said there were several Olivia Armstrongs. There were certainly many Marion Devereux. The silence grew intolerable. She was waiting for me to speak, and I blurted. I suppose you have come to take charge of the property. Do you? she asked. And you came back with the executor to facilitate matters. I'm glad to see that you lose no time. Oh! she said lingeringly, as though she were finding with difficulty the note in which I wished to pitch the conversation. Her calmness was maddening. I suppose you thought it unwise to wait for the bluebird when you had beguiled me into breaking a promise, when I was trapped, defeated. Her elbow on the arm of the chair, her hand resting against her cheek, the light rippling goldenly in her hair, her eyes bent upon me inquiringly, mournfully, mournfully as I had seen them where, once before, my heart leaped in that moment with that thought. I remember now the first time, I exclaimed, more angry than I had ever been before in my life. That is quite remarkable, she said, and nodded her head ironically. It was at Sherry's. You were with Pickering. You dropped your fan, and he picked it up, and you turned toward me for a moment. You were in black that night. It was the unhappiness in your face, in your eyes, that made me remember. I was intent upon the recollection, eager to fix and establish it. You are quite right, it was at Sherry's. I was wearing black then. Many things made me unhappy that night. Her forehead contracted slightly, and she pressed her lips together. I suppose that even then the conspiracy was thoroughly arranged, I said tauntingly, laughing a little, perhaps, and wishing to wound her, to take vengeance upon her. She rose and stood by her chair, one hand resting upon it. I faced her. Her eyes were like violet seas. She spoke very quietly, Mr. Glenarm, has it occurred to you that when I talk to you there in the park, when I wrist unpleasant gossip in receiving you in a house where you had no possible right to be that I was counting upon something foolishly and stupidly yet counting upon it, you probably thought I was a fool, I retorted. No. She smiled slightly. I thought, I believe I have said this to you before. You were a gentleman. I really did, Mr. Glenarm. I must say it to justify myself. I relied upon your chivalry. I even thought, when I played being Olivia, that you had a sense of honor. But you are not the one, and you haven't the other. I even went so far, after you knew perfectly well who I was, as to try to help you, to give you another chance to prove yourself the man your grandfather wished you to be. And now you come to me in a shocking bad humor. I really think you would like to be insulting, Mr. Glenarm, if you could. But Pickering, you came back with him. He is here, and he's going to stay. And now that the property belongs to you, there is not the slightest reason why we should make any pretense of anything but enmity. When you and Arthur Pickering stand together, I take the other side of the barricade. I suppose chivalry would require me to vacate, so that you may enjoy at once the spoils of war. I fancy it would not be very difficult to eliminate you as a factor in the situation, she remarked icily. And I suppose, after the unsuccessful efforts of Mr. Pickering's allies to assassinate me, as a mild form of elimination, one would naturally expect me to sit calmly down and wait to be shot in the back. But you may tell Mr. Pickering that I throw myself upon your mercy. I have no other home than this shell over the way, and I beg to be allowed to remain until, at least, the bluebirds come. I hope it will not embarrass you to deliver the message. I quite sympathize with your reluctance to deliver it yourself, she said. Is this all you came to say? I came to tell you that you could have the house and everything in its hideous walls, I snapped, to tell you that my chivalry is enough for some situations, and that I don't intend to fight a woman. I had accepted your own renouncement of the legacy in good part, but now, please believe me, it shall be yours tomorrow. I'll yield possession to you whenever you ask it, but never to Arthur Pickering. As against him and his treasure hunters and assassins, I will hold out for a dozen years. Nobly spoken, Mr. Glenarm, yours is really an admirable, though somewhat complex, character. My character is my own, whatever it is, I blurted. I shouldn't call that a debatable proposition, she replied, and I was angry to find out how the mirth I had loved in her could suddenly become so hateful. She half turned away so that I might not see her face. The thought that she should countenance Pickering in any way tore me with jealous rage. Mr. Glenarm, you are what I have heard called a quitter, defined in common Americanese as one who quits. Your blustering here this afternoon can hardly conceal the fact of your failure, your inability to keep a promise. I had hoped you would really be of some help to Sister Teresa. You quite deceived her. She told me, as she left today, that she thought well of you. She really felt that her fortunes were safe in your hands. But, of course, that is all a matter of past history now. Her tone, changing from cold indifference to the most severe disdain, stung me into self-pity for my stupidity in having sought her. My anger was not against her, but against Pickering, who had, I persuaded myself, always blocked my path. She went on. You really amused me exceedingly. Mr. Pickering is decidedly more than a match for you, Mr. Glenarm, even in humor. She left me so quickly, so softly, that I stood staring like a fool at the spot where she had been, and then I went gloomily back to Glenarm House, angry, ashamed, and crestfallen. While we were waiting for dinner, I made a clean breast of my acquaintance with her to Larry, omitting nothing, rejoicing even to paint my own conduct as black as possible. You may remember her, I concluded. She was the girl we saw at Sherry's that night we dined there. She was with Pickering, and you noticed her, spoke of her, as she went out. That little girl seemed so bored, so tired. Bless me, why her eyes haunted me for days. Lord, man, do you mean to say? A look of utter scorn came into his face, and he eyed me contemptuously. Of course I mean it, I thundered at him. He took the pipe from his mouth, pressed the tobacco viciously into the bowl, and swore steadily in Gaelic until I was ready to choke him. Stop, I bald! Do you think that's helping me, and to have you curse in your blackardly Irish dialect? I wanted a little Anglo-Saxon sympathy, you fool. I didn't mean for you to invoke your infamous gods against the girl. Don't be violent, lad. Violence is reprehensible. He admonished with maddening sweetness and patience. What I was trying to inculcate was rather the fact, borne in upon me through years of acquaintance, that ye are, to be bold, my lad, to be bold, a good deal of a damned fool. The trilling of his oars was like the whirring rise of a flock of quails. Dinner is served, announced Bates, and Larry led the way, mockingly chanting an Irish love song.