Chapter Chapter 28 · A WEIRD EXPERIENCE

. A WEIRD EXPERIENCE

“Flat burglary as ever was committed.”

Much Ado about Nothing.

The first thing I did was to inspect with greater care the room in

which I sat.

It was a pleasant apartment, as I have already said; square, sunny,

and well furnished. On the floor was a crimson carpet, on the walls

several pictures, at the windows, cheerful curtains of white,

tastefully ornamented with ferns and autumn leaves; in one corner

an old melodeon, and in the centre of the room a table draped

with a bright cloth, on which were various little knick-knacks

which, without being rich or expensive, were both pretty and, to

a certain extent, ornamental. But it was not these things, which

I had seen repeated in many other country homes, that especially

attracted my attention, or drew me forward in the slow march which

I now undertook around the room. It was the something underlying

all these, the evidences which I found, or sought to find, not

only in the general aspect of the room, but in each trivial object

I encountered, of the character, disposition, and history of the

woman with whom I now had to deal. It was for this reason I studied

the daguerreotypes on the mantel-piece, the books on the shelf, and

the music on the rack; for this and the still further purpose of

noting if any indications were to be found of there being in the

house any such person as Hannah.

First then, for the little library, which I was pleased to see

occupied one corner of the room. Composed of a few well-chosen

books, poetical, historical, and narrative, it was of itself

sufficient to account for the evidences of latent culture

observable in Mrs. Belden’s conversation. Taking out a well-worn

copy of _Byron_, I opened it. There were many passages marked,

and replacing the book with a mental comment upon her evident

impressibility to the softer emotions, I turned towards the

melodeon fronting me from the opposite wall. It was closed, but

on its neatly-covered top lay one or two hymn-books, a basket of

russet apples, and a piece of half-completed knitting work.

I took up the latter, but was forced to lay it down again without

a notion for what it was intended. Proceeding, I next stopped

before a window opening upon the small yard that ran about the

house, and separated it from the one adjoining. The scene without

failed to attract me, but the window itself drew my attention,

for, written with a diamond point on one of the panes, I perceived

a row of letters which, as nearly as I could make out, were meant

for some word or words, but which utterly failed in sense or

apparent connection. Passing it by as the work of some school-girl,

I glanced down at the work-basket standing on a table at my side.

It was full of various kinds of work, among which I spied a pair

of stockings, which were much too small, as well as in too great

a state of disrepair, to belong to Mrs. Belden; and drawing them

carefully out, I examined them for any name on them. Do not start

when I say I saw the letter H plainly marked upon them. Thrusting

them back, I drew a deep breath of relief, gazing, as I did so, out

of the window, when those letters again attracted my attention.

[Illustration: (Cursive letters)]

What could they mean? Idly I began to read them backward, when--But

try for yourself, reader, and judge of my surprise! Elate at the

discovery thus made, I sat down to write my letters. I had barely

finished them, when Mrs. Belden came in with the announcement that

supper was ready. “As for your room,” said she, “I have prepared

my own room for your use, thinking you would like to remain on the

first floor.” And, throwing open a door at my side, she displayed

a small, but comfortable room, in which I could dimly see a

bed, an immense bureau, and a shadowy looking-glass in a dark,

old-fashioned frame.

“I live in very primitive fashion,” she resumed, leading the way

into the dining-room; “but I mean to be comfortable and make others

so.”

“I should say you amply succeeded,” I rejoined, with an

appreciative glance at her well-spread board.

She smiled, and I felt I had paved the way to her good graces in a

way that would yet redound to my advantage.

Shall I ever forget that supper! its dainties, its pleasant

freedom, its mysterious, pervading atmosphere of unreality, and

the constant sense which every bountiful dish she pressed upon

me brought of the shame of eating this woman’s food with such

feelings of suspicion in my heart! Shall I ever forget the emotion

I experienced when I first perceived she had something on her mind,

which she longed, yet hesitated, to give utterance to! Or how she

started when a cat jumped from the sloping roof of the kitchen

on to the grass-plot at the back of the house; or how my heart

throbbed when I heard, or thought I heard, a board creak overhead!

We were in a long and narrow room which seemed, curiously enough,

to run crosswise of the house, opening on one side into the parlor,

and on the other into the small bedroom, which had been allotted to

my use.

“You live in this house alone, without fear?” I asked, as Mrs.

Belden, contrary to my desire, put another bit of cold chicken on

my plate. “Have you no marauders in this town: no tramps, of whom a

solitary woman like you might reasonably be afraid?”

“No one will hurt me,” said she; “and no one ever came here for

food or shelter but got it.”

“I should think, then, that living as you do, upon a railroad, you

would be constantly overrun with worthless beings whose only trade

is to take all they can get without giving a return.”

“I cannot turn them away. It is the only luxury I have: to feed the

poor.”

“But the idle, restless ones, who neither will work, nor let others

work----”

“Are still the poor.”

Mentally remarking, here is the woman to shield an unfortunate who

has somehow become entangled in the meshes of a great crime, I drew

back from the table. As I did so, the thought crossed me that, in

case there was any such person in the house as Hannah, she would

take the opportunity of going up-stairs with something for her to

eat; and that she might not feel hampered by my presence, I stepped

out on the veranda with my cigar.

While smoking it, I looked about for Q. I felt that the least token

of his presence in town would be very encouraging at this time. But

it seemed I was not to be afforded even that small satisfaction. If

Q was anywhere near, he was lying very low.

Once again seated with Mrs. Belden (who I know came down-stairs

with an empty plate, for going into the kitchen for a drink, I

caught her in the act of setting it down on the table), I made up

my mind to wait a reasonable length of time for what she had to

say; and then, if she did not speak, make an endeavor on my own

part to surprise her secret.

But her avowal was nearer and of a different nature from what I

expected, and brought its own train of consequences with it.

“You are a lawyer, I believe,” she began, taking down her knitting

work, with a forced display of industry.

“Yes,” I said; “that is my profession.”

She remained for a moment silent, creating great havoc in her work

I am sure, from the glance of surprise and vexation she afterwards

threw it. Then, in a hesitating voice, remarked:

“Perhaps you may be willing, then, to give me some advice. The

truth is, I am in a very curious predicament; one from which I

don’t know how to escape, and yet which demands immediate action. I

should like to tell you about it; may I?”

“You may; I shall be only too happy to give you any advice in my

power.”

She drew in her breath with a sort of vague relief, though her

forehead did not lose its frown.

“It can all be said in a few words. I have in my possession a

package of papers which were intrusted to me by two ladies, with

the understanding that I should neither return nor destroy them

without the full cognizance and expressed desire of both parties,

given in person or writing. That they were to remain in my hands

till then, and that nothing or nobody should extort them from me.”

“That is easily understood,” said I; for she stopped.

“But, now comes word from one of the ladies, the one, too, most

interested in the matter, that, for certain reasons, the immediate

destruction of those papers is necessary to her peace and safety.”

“And do you want to know what your duty is in this case?”

“Yes,” she tremulously replied.

I rose. I could not help it: a flood of conjectures rushing in

tumult over me.

“It is to hold on to the papers like grim death till released from

your guardianship by the combined wish of both parties.”

“Is that your opinion as a lawyer?”

“Yes, and as a man. Once pledged in that way, you have no choice.

It would be a betrayal of trust to yield to the solicitations of

one party what you have undertaken to return to both. The fact that

grief or loss might follow your retention of these papers does

not release you from your bond. You have nothing to do with that;

besides, you are by no means sure that the representations of the

so-called interested party are true. You might be doing a greater

wrong, by destroying in this way, what is manifestly considered of

value to them both, than by preserving the papers intact, according

to compact.”

“But the circumstances? Circumstances alter cases; and in short,

it seems to me that the wishes of the one most interested ought

to be regarded, especially as there is an estrangement between

these ladies which may hinder the other’s consent from ever being

obtained.”

“No,” said I; “two wrongs never make a right; nor are we at liberty

to do an act of justice at the expense of an injustice. The papers

must be preserved, Mrs. Belden.”

Her head sank very despondingly; evidently it had been her wish to

please the interested party. “Law is very hard,” she said; “very

hard.”

“This is not only law, but plain duty,” I remarked. “Suppose a

case different; suppose the honor and happiness of the other party

depended upon the preservation of the papers; where would your duty

be then?”

“But----”

“A contract is a contract,” said I, “and cannot be tampered with.

Having accepted the trust and given your word, you are obliged to

fulfil, to the letter, all its conditions. It would be a breach of

trust for you to return or destroy the papers without the mutual

consent necessary.”

An expression of great gloom settled slowly over her features. “I

suppose you are right,” said she, and became silent.

Watching her, I thought to myself, “If I were Mr. Gryce, or even

Q, I would never leave this seat till I had probed this matter to

the bottom, learned the names of the parties concerned, and where

those precious papers are hidden, which she declares to be of so

much importance.” But being neither, I could only keep her talking

upon the subject until she should let fall some word that might

serve as a guide to my further enlightenment; I therefore turned,

with the intention of asking her some question, when my attention

was attracted by the figure of a woman coming out of the back-door

of the neighboring house, who, for general dilapidation and

uncouthness of bearing, was a perfect type of the style of tramp of

whom we had been talking at the supper table. Gnawing a crust which

she threw away as she reached the street, she trudged down the

path, her scanty dress, piteous in its rags and soil, flapping in

the keen spring wind, and revealing ragged shoes red with the mud

of the highway.

“There is a customer that may interest you,” said I.

Mrs. Belden seemed to awake from a trance. Rising slowly, she

looked out, and with a rapidly softening gaze surveyed the forlorn

creature before her.

“Poor thing!” she muttered; “but I cannot do much for her to-night.

A good supper is all I can give her.”

And, going to the front door, she bade her step round the house to

the kitchen, where, in another moment, I heard the rough creature’s

voice rise in one long “Bless you!” that could only have been

produced by the setting before her of the good things with which

Mrs. Belden’s larder seemed teeming.

But supper was not all she wanted. After a decent length of time,

employed as I should judge in mastication, I heard her voice rise

once more in a plea for shelter.

“The barn, ma’am, or the wood-house. Any place where I can lie out

of the wind.” And she commenced a long tale of want and disease, so

piteous to hear that I was not at all surprised when Mrs. Belden

told me, upon re-entering, that she had consented, notwithstanding

her previous determination, to allow the woman to lie before the

kitchen fire for the night.

“She has such an honest eye,” said she; “and charity is my only

luxury.”

The interruption of this incident effectually broke up our

conversation. Mrs. Belden went up-stairs, and for some time I was

left alone to ponder over what I had heard, and determine upon my

future course of action. I had just reached the conclusion that she

would be fully as liable to be carried away by her feelings to the

destruction of the papers in her charge, as to be governed by the

rules of equity I had laid down to her, when I heard her stealthily

descend the stairs and go out by the front door. Distrustful of

her intentions, I took up my hat and hastily followed her. She

was on her way down the main street, and my first thought was,

that she was bound for some neighbor’s house or perhaps for the

hotel itself; but the settled swing into which she soon altered

her restless pace satisfied me that she had some distant goal in

prospect; and before long I found myself passing the hotel with

its appurtenances, even the little schoolhouse, that was the last

building at this end of the village, and stepping out into the

country beyond. What could it mean?

But still her fluttering figure hasted on, the outlines of her

form, with its close shawl and neat bonnet, growing fainter and

fainter in the now settled darkness of an April night; and still

I followed, walking on the turf at the side of the road lest she

should hear my footsteps and look round. At last we reached a

bridge. Over this I could hear her pass, and then every sound

ceased. She had paused, and was evidently listening. It would not

do for me to pause too, so gathering myself into as awkward a shape

as possible, I sauntered by her down the road, but arrived at a

certain point, stopped, and began retracing my steps with a sharp

lookout for her advancing figure, till I had arrived once more at

the bridge. She was not there.

Convinced now that she had discovered my motive for being in her

house and, by leading me from it, had undertaken to supply Hannah

with an opportunity for escape, I was about to hasten back to the

charge I had so incautiously left, when a strange sound heard at my

left arrested me. It came from the banks of the puny stream which

ran under the bridge, and was like the creaking of an old door on

worn-out hinges.

Leaping the fence, I made my way as best I could down the sloping

field in the direction from which the sound came. It was quite

dark, and my progress was slow; so much so, that I began to fear

I had ventured upon a wild-goose chase, when an unexpected streak

of lightning shot across the sky, and by its glare I saw before me

what seemed, in the momentary glimpse I had of it, an old barn.

From the rush of waters near at hand, I judged it to be somewhere

on the edge of the stream, and consequently hesitated to advance,

when I heard the sound of heavy breathing near me, followed by a

stir as of some one feeling his way over a pile of loose boards;

and presently, while I stood there, a faint blue light flashed up

from the interior of the barn, and I saw, through the tumbled-down

door that faced me, the form of Mrs. Belden standing with a lighted

match in her hand, gazing round on the four walls that encompassed

her. Hardly daring to breathe, lest I should alarm her, I watched

her while she turned and peered at the roof above her, which was

so old as to be more than half open to the sky, at the flooring

beneath, which was in a state of equal dilapidation, and finally

at a small tin box which she drew from under her shawl and laid on

the ground at her feet. The sight of that box at once satisfied

me as to the nature of her errand. She was going to hide what she

dared not destroy; and, relieved upon this point, I was about to

take a step forward when the match went out in her hand. While she

was engaged in lighting another, I considered that perhaps it would

be better for me not to arouse her apprehensions by accosting her

at this time, and thus endanger the success of my main scheme; but

to wait till she was gone, before I endeavored to secure the box.

Accordingly I edged my way up to the side of the barn and waited

till she should leave it, knowing that if I attempted to peer in

at the door, I ran great risk of being seen, owing to the frequent

streaks of lightning which now flashed about us on every side.

Minute after minute went by, with its weird alternations of heavy

darkness and sudden glare; and still she did not come. At last,

just as I was about to start impatiently from my hiding-place, she

reappeared, and began to withdraw with faltering steps toward the

bridge. When I thought her quite out of hearing, I stole from my

retreat and entered the barn. It was of course as dark as Erebus,

but thanks to being a smoker I was as well provided with matches as

she had been, and having struck one, I held it up; but the light

it gave was very feeble, and as I did not know just where to look,

it went out before I had obtained more than a cursory glimpse

of the spot where I was. I thereupon lit another; but though I

confined my attention to one place, namely, the floor at my feet,

it too went out before I could conjecture by means of any sign

seen there where she had hidden the box. I now for the first time

realized the difficulty before me. She had probably made up her

mind, before she left home, in just what portion of this old barn

she would conceal her treasure; but I had nothing to guide me: I

could only waste matches. And I did waste them. A dozen had been

lit and extinguished before I was so much as sure the box was not

under a pile of debris that lay in one corner, and I had taken the

last in my hand before I became aware that one of the broken boards

of the floor was pushed a little out of its proper position. One

match! and that board was to be raised, the space beneath examined,

and the box, if there, lifted safely out. I concluded not to waste

my resources, so kneeling down in the darkness, I groped for the

board, tried it, and found it to be loose. Wrenching at it with

all my strength, I tore it free and cast it aside; then lighting

my match looked into the hole thus made. Something, I could not

tell what, stone or box, met my eye, but while I reached for it,

the match flew out of my hand. Deploring my carelessness, but

determined at all hazards to secure what I had seen, I dived down

deep into the hole, and in another moment had the object of my

curiosity in my hands. It was the box!

Satisfied at this result of my efforts, I turned to depart, my

one wish now being to arrive home before Mrs. Belden. Was this

possible? She had several minutes the start of me; I would have to

pass her on the road, and in so doing might be recognized. Was the

end worth the risk? I decided that it was.

Regaining the highway, I started at a brisk pace. For some little

distance I kept it up, neither overtaking nor meeting any one.

But suddenly, at a turn in the road, I came unexpectedly upon

Mrs. Belden, standing in the middle of the path, looking back.

Somewhat disconcerted, I hastened swiftly by her, expecting her to

make some effort to stop me. But she let me pass without a word.

Indeed, I doubt now if she even saw or heard me. Astonished at

this treatment, and still more surprised that she made no attempt

to follow me, I looked back, when I saw what enchained her to the

spot, and made her so unmindful of my presence. The barn behind us

was on fire!

Instantly I realized it was the work of my hands; I had dropped a

half-extinguished match, and it had fallen upon some inflammable

substance.

Aghast at the sight, I paused in my turn, and stood staring. Higher

and higher the red flames mounted, brighter and brighter glowed

the clouds above, the stream beneath; and in the fascination of

watching it all, I forgot Mrs. Belden. But a short, agitated gasp

in my vicinity soon recalled her presence to my mind, and drawing

nearer, I heard her exclaim like a person speaking in a dream,

“Well, I didn’t mean to do it”; then lower, and with a certain

satisfaction in her tone, “But it’s all right, any way; the thing

is lost now for good, and Mary will be satisfied without any one

being to blame.”

I did not linger to hear more; if this was the conclusion she had

come to, she would not wait there long, especially as the sound of

distant shouts and running feet announced that a crowd of village

boys was on its way to the scene of the conflagration.

The first thing I did, upon my arrival at the house, was to assure

myself that no evil effects had followed my inconsiderate desertion

of it to the mercies of the tramp she had taken in; the next to

retire to my room, and take a peep at the box. I found it to be a

neat tin coffer, fastened with a lock. Satisfied from its weight

that it contained nothing heavier than the papers of which Mrs.

Belden had spoken, I hid it under the bed and returned to the

sitting-room. I had barely taken a seat and lifted a book when Mrs.

Belden came in.

“Well!” cried she, taking off her bonnet and revealing a face much

flushed with exercise, but greatly relieved in expression; “this

_is_ a night! It lightens, and there is a fire somewhere down

street, and altogether it is perfectly dreadful out. I hope you

have not been lonesome,” she continued, with a keen searching of

my face which I bore in the best way I could. “I had an errand to

attend to, but didn’t expect to stay so long.”

I returned some nonchalant reply, and she hastened from the room to

fasten up the house.

I waited, but she did not come back; fearful, perhaps, of betraying

herself, she had retired to her own apartment, leaving me to take

care of myself as best I might. I own that I was rather relieved at

this. The fact is, I did not feel equal to any more excitement that

night, and was glad to put off further action until the next day.

As soon, then, as the storm was over, I myself went to bed, and,

after several ineffectual efforts, succeeded in getting asleep.