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Page 12
"You go down the road over the bridge past the old grist mill, then
you turn to the left; it's the only house for half a mile. You
can't miss it. It has a barn with a ship in full sail on the cupola."
"Well, I'm going. I don't feel easy."
About two hours later Rebecca returned. There were red spots on
her cheeks. She looked wild. "I've been there," she said, "and
there isn't a soul at home. Something HAS happened."
"What has happened?"
"I don't know. Something. I had a warning last night. There
wasn't a soul there. They've been sent for to Lincoln."
"Did you see anybody to ask?" asked Mrs. Dent with thinly concealed
anxiety.
"I asked the woman that lives on the turn of the road. She's stone
deaf. I suppose you know. She listened while I screamed at her to
know where the Slocums were, and then she said, 'Mrs. Smith don't
live here.' I didn't see anybody on the road, and that's the only
house. What do you suppose it means?"
"I don't suppose it means much of anything," replied Mrs. Dent
coolly. "Mr. Slocum is conductor on the railroad, and he'd be away
anyway, and Mrs. Slocum often goes early when he does, to spend the
day with her sister in Porter's Falls. She'd be more likely to go
away than Addie."
"And you don't think anything has happened?" Rebecca asked with
diminishing distrust before the reasonableness of it.
"Land, no!"
Rebecca went upstairs to lay aside her coat and bonnet. But she
came hurrying back with them still on.
"Who's been in my room?" she gasped. Her face was pale as ashes.
Mrs. Dent also paled as she regarded her.
"What do you mean?" she asked slowly.
"I found when I went upstairs that--little nightgown of--Agnes's
on--the bed, laid out. It was--LAID OUT. The sleeves were folded
across the bosom, and there was that little red rose between them.
Emeline, what is it? Emeline, what's the matter? Oh!"
Mrs. Dent was struggling for breath in great, choking gasps. She
clung to the back of a chair. Rebecca, trembling herself so she
could scarcely keep on her feet, got her some water.
As soon as she recovered herself Mrs. Dent regarded her with eyes
full of the strangest mixture of fear and horror and hostility.
"What do you mean talking so?" she said in a hard voice.
"It IS THERE."
"Nonsense. You threw it down and it fell that way."
"It was folded in my bureau drawer."
"It couldn't have been."
"Who picked that red rose?"
"Look on the bush," Mrs. Dent replied shortly.
Rebecca looked at her; her mouth gaped. She hurried out of the
room. When she came back her eyes seemed to protrude. (She had in
the meantime hastened upstairs, and come down with tottering steps,
clinging to the banisters.)
"Now I want to know what all this means?" she demanded.
"What what means?"
"The rose is on the bush, and it's gone from the bed in my room!
Is this house haunted, or what?"
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