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 crimson1 carpet, on the walls several pictures, at the windows, cheerful curtains of white, tastefully ornamented3 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, ornamental4. 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 underlying5 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, disposition6, 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, poetical7, historical, and narrative8, 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. Proceeding9, 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 panes10, I perceived a row of letters which, as nearly as I could make out, were meant for some word or words, but which utterly11 failed in sense or apparent connection. Passing it by as the work of some school-girl, I glanced down at the work-basket standing12 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.
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 primitive13 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 appreciative14 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 redound15 to my advantage.
Shall I ever forget that supper! its dainties, its pleasant freedom, its mysterious, pervading16 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 utterance17 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 throbbed18 when I heard, or thought I heard, a board creak overhead! We were in a long and narrow room which seemed, curiously19 enough, to run crosswise of the house, opening on one side into the parlor20, and on the other into the small bedroom, which had been allotted21 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 solitary22 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 entangled23 in the meshes24 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 hampered25 by my presence, I stepped out on the veranda26 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 avowal27 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 havoc28 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 immediate29 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 extort30 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 conjectures32 rushing in tumult33 over me.
“It is to hold on to the papers like grim death till released from your guardianship34 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 retention35 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 estrangement36 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 injustice37. 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 preservation38 of the papers; where would your duty be then?”
“But——”
“A contract is a contract,” said I, “and cannot be tampered39 with. Having accepted the trust and given your word, you are obliged to fulfil, to the letter, all its conditions. It would be a breach40 of trust for you to return or destroy the papers without the mutual41 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 dilapidation42 and uncouthness43 of bearing, was a perfect type of the style of tramp of whom we had been talking at the supper table.
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