Buch lesen: «An Oregon Girl: A Tale of American Life in the New West», Seite 8
CHAPTER X
The sun had traversed half the distance from the horizon to the zenith when Rutley called at Rosemont for information concerning the seriousness of Sam’s injuries, and incidentally to have a chat with Hazel, for he was very fond of the girl.
“We appreciate your lordship’s anxiety to learn of Sam’s condition, and I am sure Sam will express to you his gratefulness for promptly bringing him home,” added Mrs. Harris.
“I am glad he is able to be about,” continued Rutley, looking at the floor, “though I should imagine a few days of quiet rest after such a vigorous shake-up would be attended by beneficial results.”
“I am sure of it,” said Mr. Harris; “for immediately he regained consciousness there seemed to come over him a worry about something – ”
“Dear me!” exclaimed Mrs. Harris, in surprise. “I cannot conceive Sam being worried about anything.”
“Nevertheless, my dear, the boy did appear worried last night, or rather early this morning, and though he spoke and acted quite rational, still it has given me much concern.” Again turning to Rutley, “And imagine my astonishment, too, when on going to his room early this morning I found he had gone.”
“He hadn’t even been in bed – had evidently not undressed – just flung himself down on the couch.”
“You don’t apprehend the wound exerts undue pressure on the brain?” queried Rutley, in the most carefully studied manner, as he looked meaningly at Mr. Harris.
“James, you should have insisted on the doctor remaining with the dear boy over night.”
“My dear, Sam would not listen to it. I think nervousness and a gloriously fresh morning urged him to an early walk, and his return has been delayed by meeting some friends.”
“Quite likely,” responded Rutley.
“If Sam continues to worry, I shall advise a trip to Texas. The bracing air of that latitude has heretofore proven very beneficial to his constitution.”
“A happy idea, Mr. Harris,” and the grave, concerned look that had settled on Rutley’s face relaxed and vanished in a smile of cunning satisfaction, as he thought how agreeable it would be to have that troublesome fellow out of the way. “I have crossed that country and can testify to the purity, dryness and health invigorating quality of its air. Indeed, I do not think you could suggest a more wholesome vacation than a month of rollicking, free life on the Texas plains.”
“A trip to Texas may all be very well in its way, but I know something of the dear boy’s malady and believe that no climatic change, temporary or prolonged, can be of the least benefit to him,” impressively broke in Mrs. Harris.
“Well, well! Now I do remember that when a boy Sam fell and severely hurt his left knee; and so the old complaint is asserting itself again, eh? You see, Your Lordship” —
“Dear me! How stupid men are!” interrupted Mrs. Harris, with much dignity.
“Ah! James, the dear boy’s affliction is of deeper moment. It lacerates the very source and fountain of life. It is, I may add, an affair of the heart.”
“Oh! You don’t tell Sam is – is – ahem, ahem!” – and to suppress a smile Mr. Harris coughed.
“It is possible you misconceive your most estimable lady’s meaning,” suggested Rutley, with a smile. “Perhaps it is a case of heart failure.”
“Nonsense!”
“James!” quickly retorted Mrs. Harris, with asperity.
Mr. Harris looked meaningly at her, then turned to Rutley. “I beg Your Lordship’s pardon. I did not mean to ridicule your suggestion. At the time I used the word ‘nonsense’ I was thinking of the fact, the one of love,” replied Mr. Harris.
“James! I never thought when I plighted my love to you it was nonsense!” and Mrs. Harris brushed a handkerchief across her eyes.
“There, there, dear heart!” and Mr. Harris stepped to her side, tenderly turned her face upward and kissed her lips. “That day was the happiest of my life, though I have been happy ever since.”
“Heart of gold!” exclaimed Mrs. Harris, smiling through her tears. “And I have never wished I had turned from that altar of our happy union.”
“I perceive the cause of Sam’s worry now, dear,” and the irrepressible Mr. Harris turned to Rutley, “You see, My Lord, it is this way, a lovely young lady guest – since Mr. Corway’s strange disappearance – is an inadvertent companion of our Sam, and his troubles were brought on by the sly darts of a little fellow with wings.”
“Wrong again!” asserted Mrs. Harris. “James, let me assure you in all candor that Hazel Brooke is not the lady our Sam is worrying about, as the fair democrat can testify.”
Just then Hazel entered the room, a poem of grace; a rose glow overspread her soft cheeks, while her eyes sparkled with health and vivacity.
Rutley’s eyes at once betrayed his admiration.
The girl was quick to notice it and immediately evinced her pleasure by advancing straight to his side.
“Good morning, My Lord. When I plucked this beauty,” displaying a slender stemmed white chrysanthemum which was held between her fingers, “I instinctively felt that it was to adorn the breast of a distinguished friend, and now see where it flies for rest,” and she smilingly fastened the flower to the lapel of his coat.
“I shall proudly treasure it, for without doubt its chrysalis chastity is jealous of its human rival, hence the parting of the two flowers. Is it not so?” questioned Rutley, with the most winsome, yet grave smile he could fashion.
“Hazel – the Lady Beauchamp, sounds quite recherche,” Mrs. Harris whispered to Mr. Harris.
“Looks as if it might be a go,” he responded in like tones.
“It is white and pretty,” Hazel murmured, casting a demure glance at her own faultlessly white dress and then naively remarked, while a serious question stole over her countenance:
“I have just come from the water front, where I have been watching the men drag for poor little Dorothy.”
“Poor child! So sad to be drowned!” said Mrs. Harris, in a reflective mood.
“Or stolen!” exclaimed Mr. Harris. “I shall not give up hope until that old cripple is located.”
Only Hazel noticed the swift glance Rutley shot at Mr. Harris, but she gave it no significance.
“Poor fellow, he feels the loss of his child very deeply,” continued Mr. Harris. “Yesterday Thorpe was in one of the boats for three hours. My Lord may see them dragging the river from the piazza.” Whereupon Mr. Harris and Rutley went out on the piazza, leaving Mrs. Harris and Hazel by themselves.
“Hazel, dear,” spoke Mrs. Harris softly and confidentially, “there is a lady’s tiara awaiting you, if my judgment is not faulty.”
“He seems to be a nice sort of man,” replied the girl.
“A nice sort of man!” remarked Mrs. Harris, astonished. “Why, Hazel! He is one of the nobility. Superior, distinguished! Do you note his condescending air? It is hereditary, my dear. Conscious of being above us, yet every look and move indicates a study to make a descent to our level.”
“Notwithstanding – I think – well – I prefer Joe!” demurely insisted the maid. “He is not quite so polished, but – I like him better, anyway.”
“What! A commoner to a lord? A straw hat to a lady’s tiara? Why, Hazel!”
“That is my choice,” replied the girl, quietly but firmly.
Hazel’s calm dignity irritated Mrs. Harris, and she remarked with a puzzled expression of countenance, “Dear me! I never could understand the fountain of your democratic ideas, Hazel; and the enigma is deeper to me now than ever.”
Hazel’s reply, muttered with the same quiet dignity, was as puzzling to Mrs. Harris as ever. “I am an American, and I love our country too well to leave it for some foreign land.”
Further conversation was cut short by Mr. Harris, who addressed Hazel.
“Did you notice John Thorpe in one of the boats, Hazel?”
“I think so; they were too far away to say positively,” replied the girl.
“Well, here comes Sam, and – and – yes, it’s Virginia Thorpe!” exclaimed Mr. Harris exultantly turning to Mrs. Harris.
“Did I not say it was possible he had met with a friend? Look how proud and joyous he seems walking by her side. No kink in his knee now. Sound as a bell.”
“James, I beg again to correct you. Sam is not lame. His malady has something to do with the charming lady by his side,” remarked Mrs. Harris.
“Oh, I see. She has a pull on him, eh?”
“Yes, a most strenuous one, I may add, as you mere merchants speak of it.”
When Sam entered the room, he was greeted by Mr. and Mrs. Harris with much fervor.
Sam had removed his hat in the vestibule and unconsciously displayed the evidence of his night’s encounter with the automobile. The sight of the plastered wound on his head caused Mrs. Harris to exclaim:
“Oh, my boy, my boy!” and she put her motherly arms about his neck.
“All right, aunty!” said Sam, as he lightly kissed her on the forehead. “Never felt better. Just a scratch. Might have been worse. Eh? I guess so!” and he held her at arms’ length and grinned at her affectionately.
“Where is Virginia? I am sure we saw her with you, Sam!” questioned Mr. Harris.
“She wouldn’t come in, uncle. Gone on down to the shore. She expressed a wish to find you there.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Mr. Harris, with alacrity. “I shan’t disappoint her. Splendid young lady. Brainy, good-looking, very fetching, eh, Sam?” and so saying, he turned, bowed to Rutley and left the room.
“I am thankful you were not killed, and think how much we owe his lordship for having so promptly brought you home,” continued Mrs. Harris.
Sam looked sharply at Rutley, not having noticed him in the room before.
Rutley met his stare with a most affable bow and remarked, “I am pleased to see that Mr. Samuel Harris is able to be about.”
There was a bit of keen cynicism, a sort of faltering regret in Rutley’s delivery, which did not escape detection by Sam.
It almost confirmed him in his suspicion that My Lord had run him down in a deliberate attempt to kill or disable him. The impression caused him momentarily to withhold speech, even in his aunt’s presence. The incident was noticed by Mrs. Harris, who at once concluded something was amiss with Sam, and visions of dementia occasioned by the wound flitted across her brain.
“Dear me! What is coming over him?” she remarked in an awed voice. “He never acted so queer before. Sam!” and she shook him and looked in his face as though she feared some distressing discovery.
Rutley was perceptibly uneasy under Sam’s steady stare and suddenly assumed a pose of freezing haughtiness, deliberately and with studied ceremony adjusted the monocle to his eye and fixed a stony stare at Sam.
Then he turned to Hazel, the very apotheosis of stilted grace and, offering her his arm, said in his most suave and gracious manner:
“I shall be deeply sensible of the honor of your company for a stroll on the lawn.”
For a moment the girl hesitated, as though undecided between courtesy due her hostess and friendliness to My Lord.
Observing the embarrassed expression of Mrs. Harris caused by Sam’s rudeness, she chose to accept Rutley’s arm, remarking, “It is so very beautiful this morning that I love to be out in the soft sunshine.”
Then through the room they passed – passed Mrs. Harris, to whom Rutley bent his head, passed Sam, who might as well have been in the Antipodes, for all Rutley seemed to see of him, though he looked directly at him, through him, and beyond him, out into the sunshine, with a triumphant smile playing about the corners of his mouth.
“Oh, Sam! you have humiliated me beyond anything I could ever dream of,” said Mrs. Harris, whose pain and bewilderment was plainly evident.
“Aunty!” and Sam stooped and gently kissed her forehead.
“I’m sorry my rudeness got the best of me. I did not mean to offend or pain you; but I shall never apologize to that fellow. Never! Never!”
His earnestness was so intense, so unlike his usual self, that his aunt abruptly arose from the chair and in a startled voice said, “Dear me! Why, what do you know, Sam?”
“Why!” – and Sam’s face broke into a broad smile, his usual buoyant spirit asserting itself – “why, bless your dear soul, aunty, he’s a villain!”
“Lord Beauchamp a villain!” she exclaimed, horrified, and she straightened up in offended dignity.
“Sam, permit me to declare you shock me with your irreverence.”
“Well, he gave me the jolt” —
“Not another word!” and she held up her warning finger. “I perceive it my duty, a duty unhappily too long deferred, to instruct you in the art of proper form, especially when in the presence of the nobility,” and so saying, she swept down the room with all the stately majesty of a grand dame.
At the mantle she turned and continued, “The case being important, I shall read you a lesson on deportment by – by, dear me! I have forgotten the author’s name. But that is immaterial. I shall get the book from the library. Don’t leave the room,” and so saying she entered the library, to his great relief.
Sam was in a very serious frame of mind. The night’s work had developed tragic possibilities, and anything of a lugubrious nature interposing in his trend of thought was dismissed at once.
It was, therefore, no easy task for him to assume readily an air of nonchalance, even in the presence of his aunt, who had schooled him in the art. So the moment he was alone his thoughts plunged again into the absorbing events of the night, and presently he found himself considering the policy of making his aunt a confidant.
“Had I better tell her my suspicions?” he thought; “she will ask awkward questions. No, it will not do! Not yet!”
He was aroused from his reverie by a low, deep whispered “Sst!” Looking up, he saw Smith peeping from behind the half open vestibule door.
Smith dared not enter the room for fear of disturbing Mrs. Harris and exciting her curiosity. He saw her enter the library and then he signaled to Sam. Having caught his attention, he held up a warning finger and again repeated “Sst!” adding in a whisper, “Ave some impartant news to tell yees.”
It was well that Smith enjoined caution, for his eyes were expanded and aglow with excitement, and the muscles of his face, tense with serious import, twitched nervously.
Sam’s exclamation of concern died on his lips, and he at once stepped into the vestibule, alert with expectation. Softly closing the door, he said, “What is it, Smith? Speak low and be quick. Aunty is in there” – and he indicated with his thumb the library.
“Sure, she’s in good company, God presarve them. Will yees listen, plaise?”
“Yes, hurry!”
“Whill. I flim-flammed around the scow dwellin’s an’ shanties on the neck ave lant betwix Giles Lak an’ the river – just beyant the Narth Pacific Mills, but divil a wan be the name ave Garge Golda cud I foind at all. Sure, I was nearly dishartened entirely, so I wus, whin who shud bump forninst me but me frint Kelly.”
“Well?” grunted Sam.
“Kelly is a longshoreman, and he understands his business, too, so he do; but he says he’s too big and fat to wurruk much, an’ I belaive him, too, so I do.”
“Well, go on!” again grunted Sam, impatiently.
“Sure, I showed him the Garibaldi you gave me this marnin. ‘Where did yees foind that?’ says he, careless like.
“‘I didn’t foind it at all,’ says I; ‘my frint found it.’
“‘Where at?’ says he.
“‘In the City Park,’ says I. ‘Some fellow lost it last night.’
“‘Sure?’ says he, an’ he looked at me hard.
“‘Sure!’ says I. ‘Phwat wud I be lyin’ to yees fer?’
“‘An’ phwat was the owner doin’ out in the City Park last night?’ says he.
“‘Divil a bit do I know,’ says I.
“‘D’yees know him?’ says he.
“‘Faith, an’ I do not; d’yees?’ says I.
“‘Indade I do,’ says he.
“‘Yees do?’ says I.
“‘I do,’ says he, ‘fer a black-browed, black-moustached, divil-skinned dago.’
“‘Where may be his risidence?’ says I, not wan bit anxious, but with me best efforts to kape me heart from jumpin’ up in me mout’.
“‘He lives in a scow cabin up beyant there, at Ross Island,’ says he.
“‘He do, do he?’ says I.
“‘He do!’ says he. ‘Sure, ave I not talked wit him over that same bit ave bronze but yisterday?’”
“‘Will yees show me the scow cabin?’ says I.
“‘Indade I’ll do that same,’ says he, ‘and wan thing more,’ says he.
“Hist!” and Smith spoke very low and cautiously. “He heard a child cry – or maybe it was a cat. Kelly didn’t know which, not bein’ interested.”
The two stared at each other for a moment in silence, then Sam said: “How long has your friend Kelly known him?”
“I don’t knaw – sure, I didn’t ax him, but I thought it was impartant to tell yees at once. Kelly is waitin’ down be the shipyard. Will yees come?”
“I’ll meet both of you there in an hour. Sh! Aunty is coming. Mum is the word, Smith!”
“Sure, the ould divil himself cudn’t make me tell it to yees aunt.” As he was leaving, Smith said in a whisper, “We’ll wait for yees.”
“I’ll be along soon,” replied Sam, and he muttered thoughtfully, “May be something in it.”
CHAPTER XI
Suddenly Sam became all attention, for he heard the voice of Mrs. Harris, who then reappeared with an open book in her hand.
“The work is entitled ‘Chesterfieldian Deportment,’ by Garrilus Gibbs, Ph.D. D. D., Now, Sam, I desire your strict attention to this paragraph,” and she read from the book.
“‘Nothing so militates against the first impression of a gentleman as ingratitude for a special service rendered; for example’” – and she looked at Sam very significantly, as she lowered the book, “His Grace was so solicitous about your hurt that, regardless of convenience and also of prior appointments, he hastened to make a personal call, rather than use the ’phone.”
“Particularly so,” Sam added, provoked to grin, “when a right pretty and wealthy maid is in the corral. Eh, aunty?”
“That is my lord’s prerogative, but I shall permit of no digression,” she severely remarked. “To continue – ‘nothing to mind so convincingly proclaims the ignorance of an ill-bred commoner than vulgar liberty in the presence of a peer of England’s realm!’ You follow me?”
“I guess I do, aunty,” Sam replied, with his characteristic side movement of the head, and then, as he stood in an expectant attitude, carelessly fingered, with both hands, his watch chain.
“Sam, stop fidgeting with your watch chain. It is characteristic of a nervous gawk. The very reverse of good form and quite unbecoming a well-bred, polite gentleman.”
“All right, aunty, fire away.” And Sam’s eyes twinkled mischievously, as his hands fell by his side.
“In order that the house of Harris shall not be defamed through an act of discourtesy to one of its guests, I insist, first of all, that you give me an example of your expression of gratitude to his Lordship for his great humanitarian act and kindness to you in your hour of insensibility.”
“Ea – ah! Eh!” ejaculated Sam in laughing surprise, but much as he disliked to comply, he felt there was no use trying to dodge the issue.
His aunt was determined and experience had taught him that in order to retain the indulgence of the “best and fondest aunt on earth,” a discreet concurrence in her whims was imperative. So with an agreeable smile, he added, “All right, aunty, here goes.”
“For the purpose of approach, you may address me as ‘my lord,’” interjected Mrs. Harris.
“Ha! That’s easier, aunty,” and a smile of satisfaction spread over his face.
“Proceed!” exclaimed his aunt, sententiously.
“I beg to express to your lordship” —
“Sam!” said Mrs. Harris, interrupting him, “you have omitted the very pith and essence of initiatory greeting.”
“Ea – ha! How?” exclaimed Sam, surprised.
“By neglecting to make obeisance.”
“To you, aunty?”
“To me. Now, Sam, beware of shyness. Bow naturally and with unaffected ease.”
“All ready?” inquired Sam.
“Proceed!”
With that he bowed – bowed with a charm of grace that brought a look of pleased surprise from Mrs. Harris. It was evident she was already mollified.
“I beg your lordship will permit me the honor personally to express my appreciation, and to tender to you my heartfelt thanks for your kind services to me last night.”
The smile of unaffected pleasure that brightened his face, at the knowledge that his aunt was pleased, assisted him wonderfully through the ordeal, for such he considered it.
“My compliments, Sam!” exclaimed Mrs. Harris, who appeared immensely pleased.
“Aw – deuced well delivered, don’t che know!”
They turned and beheld Rutley and Hazel standing in the doorway.
Sam’s chagrin was very great, and conscious of his inability to conceal his disgusted facial expression, turned aside and muttered, “Wouldn’t that fizz you?”
Mrs. Harris was evidently much gratified, for she pointedly remarked, “Your lordship must now concede that our boy was not intentionally rude.”
As for Sam, his vexation was great, and though he discreetly kept silence, the hot blood reddened his face perceptibly. He had unwittingly humbled himself to a man, who, he felt instinctively, was his enemy.
Just what brought Rutley and Hazel to the doorway in time to hear Sam’s expression of thanks was never explained. But it may be presumed he had some announcement to make which the unexpected apology from Sam had made unnecessary.
Its effect on Rutley was instantaneous, for his frigidity melted as snow beneath a summer sun. The monocle came down from his eye and a gracious, condescending smile overspread his face.
“I am very sorry the accident happened, and I beg you to believe I have been deeply concerned about your hurt.”
“We are sure your lordship has suffered great mental anguish over the unfortunate affair,” responded Mrs. Harris, relieved by Rutley’s condescension.
“Late yesterday evening,” he went on, “I received information that a child resembling Dorothy, and accompanied by a lady whose face was veiled, were seen entering a certain residence out near the park,” explained Rutley, continuing. “I beg you to understand that I entertain a deep interest in the fate of the child, and since the river has not yielded up its secret, and the voice of scandal is rife in innuendoes, I immediately set out to investigate.
“Unsuccessful, I had passed along the road and was returning, no doubt at higher speed than justified by the darkness of the night. Absorbed in meditation, I must have temporarily been negligent of proper vigilance, when to my horror, the form of a man suddenly loomed up a few paces directly ahead.”
“Dear me, how unfortunate!” exclaimed Mrs. Harris, shivering.
“Impossible to stop the swift moving machine, in the short space that separated us, I swerved to the right.
“At that moment the man must have discovered me, for he, too, sprang to the right. The impact was inevitable. I hastened to the unfortunate one’s assistance, and you may appreciate my amazement when I recognized my friend, your own relative. Of course, I conveyed him home at once.”
“How very good of you,” said Hazel, with admiring eyes.
“We shall never be able sufficiently to thank your lordship,” added Mrs. Harris, “and we hope that our dear boy will not expose himself to so great a danger again.”
As to what Sam thought of the explanation, he kept silent; nevertheless he turned half around and would have whistled significantly had he not at that moment checked himself, for fear of again embarrassing his aunt.
It was at this moment Virginia entered the room, insistently ushered in by Mr. Harris, who, profuse in politeness, said:
“Please do me the honor to be seated, for I know you must be fatigued.”
But Virginia, on discovering Rutley, seemed to be suddenly overcome with a timidity quite foreign to her usual self-possession, and shrank away as if to leave the room. Observing her evident embarrassment and, of course, ignorant of the true cause, Mr. Harris concluded she had conceived him as declining her request, and he at once, in a confidential whisper, attempted to reassure her.
“I can accommodate you with a check for five thousand today, and more in a week.”
“Oh, I – I thank you very much,” she replied, and though her nervousness was apparent, she managed to control herself. Mr. Harris gently led her to a seat, remarking in a whisper, “I’ll write the check for you at once.”
She turned upon him very grateful eyes, but almost instantly a shadow crept across her face as she said, “The security I have to offer – ”
Mr. Harris looked pained, and lifting his hand, he interrupted her with, “Don’t, please don’t let the security trouble you.”
Again Virginia’s eyes unconsciously fastened upon Rutley, who at the same time was regarding her with a keen inquiring gaze. It was the first time they had met since the night of Thorpe’s quarrel with Corway, and although Virginia had resolved to cast off all fear of his threat of incriminating disclosures, she nevertheless, while in his presence, felt a subtle influence change her rebellious disposition into a timorous apprehension. The sensation was so strange, so creepy, and at the same time so convincing, that she arose from the seat and muttered in broken accents, “I – I’ll await you outside, Mr. Harris. The air in this room is – is so close.”
She had turned half around toward the door, when Mrs. Harris addressed her.
“Virginia, dear! Don’t go! Most interesting. My lord has just related how last night he accidentally knocked Sam down near the City Park.”
Virginia unconsciously repeated, “Last night, he accidentally knocked Sam down, near the City Park.”
The information was so startling and her curiosity so keen that she stared at Rutley and Sam alternately, while they in turn stared at each other and at her most significantly.
Mrs. Harris observed the wonderment her information had created, but without troubling her easy brains to penetrate the meaning, added, after due pause, “Yes, dear – a bandaged head, as you see, was the result.”
“It was very dark, near midnight, and his lordship was driving an automobile fast.”
Heedless of Mrs. Harris’ further remarks and so absorbed in an effort to solve the puzzle that Virginia thought:
“What business had he out there at that time of night? Did he know I was there? And Sam there, too! It must have been he who followed me,” – and she shot such a swift meaning glance at him that had he caught it the effect must have been disconcerting.
“Queer, how late at night young men carry on their larks nowadays,” broke in Mr. Harris with fine humor.
Mrs. Harris was quick to correct him. “Dear me! James, it was on urgent business, no less than a search for Dorothy, but unfortunately unsuccessful.”
“I myself am also inclined to the belief Dorothy was stolen. No doubt a demand will soon be made for her ransom,” said Mr. Harris.
“Such a notion seems to me as far-fetched, as it is unlikely, for I do not believe the family has an enemy in the world,” promptly rejoined Mrs. Harris.
“Vague insinuations of kidnapping find credence through the estrangement of the parents being given publicity,” suggested Rutley, in a soft, serious, yet bland manner, which brought from Hazel an explosive reply, “I am sure Constance had no knowledge of it.”
“Impossible for Constance to plot at an abduction of her own child, and as for John Thorpe, his grief is too great to permit the faintest suspicion to rest on him,” suavely admonished Mrs. Harris warmly.
“John!” gasped Virginia. She was the first to see Thorpe standing in the vestibule, the doors of which had been left open. John Thorpe had entered so quietly that none in the room saw him approach, and their conversation at the moment was so concentrated upon the mystery of Dorothy’s disappearance that none of them heard his weary footfalls draw near. He was careworn and haggard.
If John Thorpe felt any emotion on seeing Virginia and hearing her startled voice, he gave no sign. Unmoved, he coldly let his aching eyes rest on her, and then he lifted them to Mr. Harris. In that brief space of time, Rutley saw in Virginia’s abashed eagerness to address her brother, a shadow of peril threaten him. The situation called for immediate action. He had previously noted his magnetic power over her and at once brought into requisition the wonderful “nerve” distinctly his heritage, and which had so often befriended him in moments of danger. Under cover of the fresh interest manifested in Mr. Thorpe’s appearance, he coolly, quietly, and without the least hesitation, quickly placed himself beside her, and whispered in her ear: “Beware!”
His tone was so menacing, though concealed by an unctious personality, that Virginia shrank from him, yet with the low, rebellious exclamation: “Scoundrel!”
Nevertheless, she timidly deemed it discreet to arrange a meeting with John alone.
Mr. Harris silently grasped Mr. Thorpe by the hand. They had been close friends, socially and in business affairs for many years, and the hopeless, haggard, careless appearance of his long time friend touched Mr. Harris deeply.
“Poor fellow,” he said, sympathetically. “You look all in.”
“Sleepless nights and wearisome days have doubtless produced results,” languidly replied Mr. Thorpe. “Mr. Harris, I have come to beg your hospitality for an hour’s rest.”
“Welcome to ‘Rosemont,’ thrice welcome, my dear friend. I shall have a quiet room prepared at once. Make yourself comfortable for a few moments until I return,” and the energetic Mr. Harris immediately set out on his mission.
“Dear me!” commented Mrs. Harris, “If we could but unravel the mystery of Dorothy’s disappearance, what a relief it would be. Do you think it possible the child was abducted, Mr. Thorpe?”
“Would to God I could believe it true,” he gravely replied.
“I am loath to believe that the mother was aware of it,” interposed Rutley, in his soft, lazy, drawling voice, “but” —
Surprised, Mrs. Harris promptly interrupted him with: “Dear me, have you heard that Constance had intrigued for her child’s disappearance?”
Rutley fixed his gaze on Virginia, then transferred it to John Thorpe as he falteringly replied to Mrs. Harris’ question: “Circumstances of a – a suspicious character tend to – a – implicate her.”
A dead silence followed. So silent, that Sam suddenly cast an alarmed look at Virginia, as though he feared she had heard him hiss – “The contemptible sissy!” – and was surprised that no response met his silent thought, either by look or word.
Virginia was speechless. Yet she was bursting to tell them Dorothy was alive, but in captivity. She remembered the terrible threat made by the Italian in the park. It burned into her brain and made her tremble with anxiety lest the secret should get out and the child’s life jeopardized thereby.
