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Page 21
"How pathetic!" I exclaimed. "Do you suppose they have appealed in
the same way to every one who has come in here?"
"No, or some whisper of this lost money would have become current
in the neighborhood. And it never has. The traditions associated
with the house," here her manner changed a little, "are of quite
another nature. I suppose the old gentleman has walked--looking,
possibly, for his lost bonds."
"That would be only natural," I smiled, for her mood was far from
serious. "But," I quietly pursued, "how much of this old woman's
story do you believe? Can not she have been deceived as to what
she saw? You say she is more or less demented. Perhaps there
never was any old wallet, and possibly never any money."
"I have seen the wallet. They brought it in to show me. Not that
that proves anything; but somehow I do believe in the money, and,
what is more, that it is still in this house. You will think me as
demented as they."
"No, no," I smiled, "for I am inclined to think the same; it lends
such an interest to the place. I wouldn't disbelieve it now for
anything."
"Nor I," she cried, taking up her work. "But we shall never find
it. The house was all redecorated when we came in. Not one of the
workmen has become suddenly wealthy."
"I shall no longer begrudge these poor old souls their silent watch
over these walls that hold their treasure," I now remarked.
"Then you have lost your nervousness?"
"Quite."
"So have I," laughed Mrs. Packard, showing me for the first time a
face of complete complacency and contentment.
CHAPTER VI
AT THE STAIR-HEAD
I spent the evening alone. Mrs. Packard went to the theater with
friends and Mayor Packard attended a conference of politicians. I
felt my loneliness, but busied myself trying to sift the
impressions made upon me by the different members of the household.
It consisted, as far as my present observation went, of seven
persons, the three principals and four servants. Of the servants
I had seen three, the old butler, the nurse, and the housemaid,
Ellen. I now liked Ellen; she appeared equally alive and
trustworthy; of the butler I could not say as much. He struck me
as secretive. Also, he had begun to manifest a certain antagonism
to myself. Whence sprang this antagonism? Did it have its source
in my temperament, or in his? A question possibly not worth
answering and yet it very well might be. Who could know?
Pondering this and other subjects, I remained in my cozy little
room up-stairs, till the clock verging on to twelve told me that it
was nearly time for Mrs. Packard's return.
Hardly knowing my duties as yet, or what she might expect of me, I
kept my door open, meaning to speak to her when she came in. The
thought had crossed my mind that she might not return at all, but
remain away with her friends. Some fear of this kind had been in
Mr. Packard's mind and naturally found lodgment in mine. I was
therefore much relieved when, sharp on the stroke of midnight, I
heard the front door-bell ring, followed by the sound of her voice
speaking to the old butler. I thought its tone more cheerful than
before she went out. At all events, her face had a natural look
when, after a few minutes' delay, she came upstairs and stepped
into the nursery--a room on the same floor as mine, but nearer the
stair-head.
From what impulse did I put out my light? I think now, on looking
back, that I hoped to catch a better glimpse of her face when she
came out again, and so be in a position to judge whether her
anxiety or secret distress was in any special way connected with
her child. But I forgot the child and any motive of this kind
which I may have had; for when Mrs. Packard did reappear in the
hall, there rang up from some place below a laugh, so loud and
derisive and of so raucous and threatening a tone that Mrs. Packard
reeled with the shock and I myself was surprised in spite of my
pride and usual impassibility. This, had it been all, would not be
worth the comment. But it was not all. Mrs. Packard did not
recover from the shock as I expected her to. Her fine figure
straightened itself, it is true, but only to sink again lower and
lower, till she clung crouching to the stair-rail at which she had
caught for support, while her eyes, turning slowly in her head,
moved till they met mine with that unseeing and glassy stare which
speaks of a soul-piercing terror--not fear in any ordinary sense,
but terror which lays bare the soul and allows one to see into
depths which--
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