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Page 22
But here my compassion drove me to action. Advancing quietly, I
caught at her wrap which was falling from her shoulders. She
grasped my hand as I did so.
"Did you hear that laugh?" she panted. "Whose was it? Who is
down-stairs?"
I thought, "Is this one of the unaccountable occurrences which have
given the house its blighted reputation?" but I said: "Nixon let
you in. I don't know whether any one else is below. Mayor Packard
has not yet come home."
"I know; Nixon told me. Would you--would you mind,"--how hard she
strove to show only the indignant curiosity natural to the
situation--"do you object, I mean, to going down and seeing?"
"Not at all," I cheerfully answered, glad enough of this chance to
settle my own doubts. And with a last glance at her face, which
was far too white and drawn to please me, I hastened below.
The lights had not yet been put out in the halls, though I saw none
in the drawing-room or library. Indeed, I ran upon Nixon coming
from the library, where he had evidently been attending to his
final duties of fastening windows and extinguishing lights. Alive
to the advantage of this opportune meeting, I addressed him with as
little aggressiveness as possible.
"Mrs. Packard has sent me down to see who laughed just now so
loudly. Was it you?"
Strong and unmistakable dislike showed in his eyes, but his voice
was restrained and apparently respectful as he replied: "No, Miss.
I didn't laugh. There was nothing to laugh at."
"You heard the laugh? It seemed to come from somewhere here. I
was on the third floor and I heard it plainly."
His face twitched--a habit of his when under excitement, as I have
since learned--as with a shrug of his old shoulders he curtly
answered:
"You were listening; I was not. If any one laughed down here I
didn't hear 'em."
Confident that he was lying, I turned quietly away and proceeded
down the hall toward Mayor Packard's study.
"I wish to speak to the mayor," I explained.
"He's not there." The man had eagerly followed me. "He's not come
home yet, Miss."
"But the gas is burning brightly inside and the door ajar. Some
one is there."
"It is Mr. Steele. He came in an hour ago. He often works here
till after midnight."
I had heard what I wanted to know, but, being by this time at the
very threshold, I could not forbear giving the door a slight push,
so as to catch at least a momentary glimpse of the man he spoke of.
He was sitting at his post, and as he neither looked up nor stirred
at my intrusion, I had an excellent opportunity for observing again
the clear-cut profile which had roused my admiration the day
before.
Certainly, seen as I saw it now, in the concentrated glow of a lamp
shaded from every other corner of the room, it was a face well
worth looking at. Seldom, perhaps never, had I beheld one cast in
a more faultless mold. Smooth-shaven, with every harmonious line
open to view, it struck the eye with the force and beauty of a
cameo; masculine strength and feminine grace equally expressed in
the expansive forehead and the perfectly modeled features. Its
effect upon the observer was instantaneous, but the heart was not
warmed nor the imagination awakened by it. In spite of the
perfection of the features, or possibly because of this perfection,
the whole countenance had a cold look, as cold as the sculpture it
suggested; and, though incomparable in pure physical attraction, it
lacked the indefinable something which gives life and meaning to
such faces as Mayor Packard's, for instance. Yet it was not devoid
of expression, nor did it fail to possess a meaning of its own.
Indeed, it was the meaning in it which held my attention.
Abstracted as the man appeared to be, even to the point of not
perceiving my intruding figure in the open doorway, the thoughts
which held him were not common thoughts, nor were they such as
could be easily read, even by an accustomed eye. Having noted
this, I softly withdrew, not finding any excuse for breaking in
upon a man so occupied.
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