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Page 36
"I am not in the habit of repeating my assertions," said Mr. Blake
with some severity, "even when they relate to a less disagreeable
matter than the one under discussion."
Mr. Gryce bowed, and slowly reached out for his hat; I had never seen
him so disturbed. "I am sorry," he began and stopped, fingering his
hat-brim nervously. Suddenly he laid his hat back, and drew up his
form into as near a semblance of dignity as its portliness would
allow.
"Mr. Blake," said he, "I have too much respect for the man I believed
you to be when I entered this house to-night, to go with the thing
unsaid which is lying at present like a dead weight upon my lips. I
dare not leave you to the consequence of my silence; for duty will
compel me to speak some day and in some presence where you may not
have the opportunity which you can have here, to explain yourself with
satisfaction. Mr. Blake I cannot believe you when you say the girl
who lived in this house was a stranger to you."
Mr. Blake drew his proud form up in a disdain that was only held in
check by the very evident honesty of the man before him. "You are
courageous at least," said he. "I regret you are not equally
discriminating." And raising Mr. Gryce's hat he placed it in his
hand.
"Pardon me," said that gentleman, "I would like to justify myself
before I go. Not with words," he proceeded as the other folded his
arms with a sarcastic bow. "I am done with words; action accomplishes
the rest. Mr. Blake I believe you consider me an honest officer and a
reliable man. Will you accompany me to your private room for a
moment? There is something there which may convince you I was neither
playing the fool nor the bravado when I uttered the phrase I did an
instant ago."
I expected to hear the haughty master of the house refuse a request so
peculiar. But he only bowed, though in a surprised way that showed
his curiosity if no more was aroused. "My room and company are at
your disposal," said he, "but you will find nothing there to justify
you in your assertions."
"Let me at least make the effort," entreated my superior.
Mr. Blake smiling bitterly immediately led the way to the door. "The
man may come," he remarked carelessly as Mr. Gryce waved his hand in
my direction. "Your justification if not mine may need witnesses."
Rejoiced at the permission, for my curiosity was by this time raised
to fever pitch, I at once followed. Not without anxiety. The assured
poise of Mr. Blake's head seemed to argue that the confidence
betrayed by my superior might receive a shock; and I felt it would be
a serious blow to his pride to fail now. But once within the room
above, my doubts speedily fled. There was that in Mr. Gryce's face
which anyone acquainted with him could not easily mistake. Whatever
might be the mysterious something which the room contained, it was
evidently sufficient in his eyes to justify his whole conduct.
"Now sir," said Mr. Blake, turning upon my superior with his sternest
expression, "the room and its contents are before you; what have you
to say for yourself."
Mr. Gryce equally stern, if not equally composed, cast one of his
inscrutable glances round the apartment and without a word stepped
before the picture that was as I have said, the only ornamentation of
the otherwise bare and unattractive room.
I thought Mr. Blake looked surprised, but his face was not one that
lightly expressed emotion.
"A portrait of my cousin the Countess De Mirac," said he with a
certain dryness of tone hard to interpret.
Mr. Gryce bowed and for a moment stood looking with a strange lack of
interest at the proudly brilliant face of the painting before him,
then to our great amazement stepped forward and with a quick gesture
turned the picture rapidly to the wall, when--Gracious heavens! what a
vision started out before us from the reverse side of that painted
canvas! No luxurious brunette countenance now, steeped in pride and
languor, but a face--Let me see if I can describe it. But no, it was
one of those faces that are indescribable. You draw your breath as
you view it; you feel as if you had had an electric shock; but as for
knowing ten minutes later whether the eyes that so enthralled you
were blue or black, or the locks that clustered halo-like about a
forehead almost awful in its expression of weird, unfathomable power,
were brown or red, you could not nor would you pretend to say. It was
the character of the countenance itself that impressed you. You did
not even know if this woman who might have been anything wonderful or
grand you ever read of, were beautiful or not. You did not care; it
was as if you had been gazing on a tranquil evening sky and a
lightning flash had suddenly startled you. Is the lightning beautiful?
Who asks! But I know from what presently transpired, that the face
was ivory pale in complexion, the eyes deeply dark, and the hair,--
strange and uncanny combination,--of a bright and peculiar golden hue.
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