Against a champion cased in adamant1.”
Wordsworth.
WHEN we re-entered the parlor2 below, the first sight that met our eyes was Mary, standing3 wrapped in her long cloak in the centre of the room. She had arrived during our absence, and now awaited us with lifted head and countenance4 fixed5 in its proudest expression. Looking in her face, I realized what the embarrassment6 of this meeting must be to these women, and would have retreated, but something in the attitude of Mary Leavenworth seemed to forbid my doing so. At the same time, determined7 that the opportunity should not pass without some sort of reconcilement between them, I stepped forward, and, bowing to Mary, said:
“Your cousin has just succeeded in convincing me of her entire innocence9, Miss Leavenworth. I am now ready to join Mr. Gryce, heart and soul, in finding out the true culprit.”
“I should have thought one look into Eleanore Leavenworth’s face would have been enough to satisfy you that she is incapable10 of crime,” was her unexpected answer; and, lifting her head with a proud gesture, Mary Leavenworth fixed her eyes steadfastly11 on mine.
I felt the blood flash to my brow, but before I could speak, her voice rose again still more coldly than before.
“It is hard for a delicate girl, unused to aught but the most flattering expressions of regard, to be obliged to assure the world of her innocence in respect to the committal of a great crime. Eleanore has my sympathy.” And sweeping12 her cloak from her shoulders with a quick gesture, she turned her gaze for the first time upon her cousin.
Instantly Eleanore advanced, as if to meet it; and I could not but feel that, for some reason, this moment possessed13 an importance for them which I was scarcely competent to measure. But if I found myself unable to realize its significance, I at least responded to its intensity14. And indeed it was an occasion to remember. To behold15 two such women, either of whom might be considered the model of her time, face to face and drawn16 up in evident antagonism17, was a sight to move the dullest sensibilities. But there was something more in this scene than that. It was the shock of all the most passionate18 emotions of the human soul; the meeting of waters of whose depth and force I could only guess by the effect. Eleanore was the first to recover. Drawing back with the cold haughtiness19 which, alas20, I had almost forgotten in the display of later and softer emotions, she exclaimed:
“There is something better than sympathy, and that is justice”; and turned, as if to go. “I will confer with you in the reception room, Mr. Raymond.”
But Mary, springing forward, caught her back with one powerful hand. “No,” she cried, “you shall confer with me! I have something to say to you, Eleanore Leavenworth.” And, taking her stand in the centre of the room, she waited.
I glanced at Eleanore, saw this was no place for me, and hastily withdrew. For ten long minutes I paced the floor of the reception room, a prey21 to a thousand doubts and conjectures22. What was the secret of this home? What had given rise to the deadly mistrust continually manifested between these cousins, fitted by nature for the completest companionship and the most cordial friendship? It was not a thing of to-day or yesterday. No sudden flame could awake such concentrated heat of emotion as that of which I had just been the unwilling23 witness. One must go farther back than this murder to find the root of a mistrust so great that the struggle it caused made itself felt even where I stood, though nothing but the faintest murmur24 came to my ears through the closed doors.
Presently the drawing-room curtain was raised, and Mary’s voice was heard in distinct articulation25.
“The same roof can never shelter us both after this. To-morrow, you or I find another home.” And, blushing and panting, she stepped into the hall and advanced to where I stood. But at the first sight of my face, a change came over her; all her pride seemed to dissolve, and, flinging out her hands, as if to ward8 off scrutiny26, she fled from my side, and rushed weeping up-stairs.
I was yet laboring27 under the oppression caused by this painful termination of the strange scene when the parlor curtain was again lifted, and Eleanore entered the room where I was. Pale but calm, showing no evidences of the struggle she had just been through, unless by a little extra weariness about the eyes, she sat down by my side, and, meeting my gaze with one unfathomable in its courage, said after a pause: “Tell me where I stand; let me know the worst at once; I fear that I have not indeed comprehended my own position.”
Rejoiced to hear this acknowledgment from her lips, I hastened to comply. I began by placing before her the whole case as it appeared to an unprejudiced person; enlarged upon the causes of suspicion, and pointed28 out in what regard some things looked dark against her, which perhaps to her own mind were easily explainable and of small account; tried to make her see the importance of her decision, and finally wound up with an appeal. Would she not confide29 in me?
“But I thought you were satisfied?” she tremblingly remarked.
“And so I am; but I want the world to be so, too.”
“Ah; now you ask too much! The finger of suspicion never forgets the way it has once pointed,” she sadly answered. “My name is tainted30 forever.”
“And you will submit to this, when a word—”
“I am thinking that any word of mine now would make very little difference,” she murmured.
I looked away, the vision of Mr. Fobbs, in hiding behind the curtains of the opposite house, recurring31 painfully to my mind.
“If the affair looks as bad as you say it does,” she pursued, “it is scarcely probable that Mr. Gryce will care much for any interpretation32 of mine in regard to the matter.”
“Mr. Gryce would be glad to know where you procured33 that key, if only to assist him in turning his inquiries34 in the right direction.”
She did not reply, and my spirits sank in renewed depression.
“It is worth your while to satisfy him,” I pursued; “and though it may compromise some one you desire to shield——”
She rose impetuously. “I shall never divulge<............