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CES POWE1


CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
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THE HOUSE
ON THE HUDSON





THE HOUSE
ON THE HUDSON
BY
FRANCES POWELL
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1903


COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY
CHARLES SC'BIBNER'S SONS
Published, March, 1903
, LENOX ,
1U0BN WUNDATION;

TROW DIRECTORY
PRINTIHO AND lOOKelNDINQ COMPANY
NEW YORK


THE HOUSE
ON THE HUDSON





THE HOUSE
ON THE HUDSON
"Do you see this ring?
What of it? 'TVs a figure, a symbol, say;
A thing's sign: now for ihe thing signified."
"Some lapidary, in a narrow home of
European cities, had perhaps spent his prime upon the precious
toil, cutting it by dawn and sunset, and retouching it at starlight."
"I repeat it, Mrs. Derohan, I repeat it," cried Lord
Ebbrides, his usually well-modulated voice high and
harsh through irritation. "Every man, woman, and
child has their price!"
"Bad grammar—and a false creed," said my
mother.
Lord Ebbrides's angry tones attracted the attention
of my mother's other guests, who filled almost to
overflowing the narrow strip of garden in front of
our tall French villa, and they ceased their own gay
chatter to listen.
"I'll back my opinion to any amount, Mrs. Dero-
han. You can buy"
But he was interrupted by a clamor of voices.
Everybody had an opinion and gave it loudly.
Everybody talked, nobody listened. I, least of the
company, was unconscious that I did either, being
absorbed in watching my fat puppy, "Prince Hal,"
gobble up a saucerful of bread and cream; but, after
1


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
the odd manner of children, I later remembered
what had been said.
Presently the pretty girl who presided over the
tea-table made her shrill voice dominate all others.
"Grown people may be as horrid as that," she cried,
"but not children."
The tumult died away and the Viscount Ebbrides
was heard to say that children were a rotten lot;
greedy, time-serving, deceitful;—as bad as their
elders and as easily bought. Another babel followed
this trenchant announcement, then I heard my
name.
"Look at little Athena! Look at the little golden-
haired angel's great, steadfast gray eyes, and dare
to say"
I gathered up my over-fed pup and walked away
to the end of the garden. There, in the tall trees
of our boundary line, I found another house-party
engaged in shrill discussion. These were magpies, in
quaint suits of pepper-and-salt. They did not talk of
my looks—a tiresome, never-ending topic—but po-
litely ignored my existence and turned a deaf ear to
the sharp yaps of Prince Hal.
Although it was but May, splendid roses clam-
bered up the brick walls of the villa, and summer
had come. The villa had been rented for a month
that my mother might rest before the London
season, but it was crammed with people, as she dis-
liked being dull. The French coast pleased her
near Dinard. Its fields of cardinal-colored clover
against a background of blue sky, the little waves
dancing about the myriads of golden-brown islets off
shore, the days of brilliant sunshine, suited her. She
found the place gay and she loved gayety—of every
kind. We had no settled home, but flitted from
place to place, rarely pitching our tent anywhere
for longer than two months. My mother had had
2


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
but a dreary girlhood—teaching music all the year
round in a country town—and after her marriage
she indulged her fancy for society and for constant
change. My father shared her tastes and was
equally fond of living in Europe, until the Civil War
began. Then he wished to return home and fight
for the preservation of the Union—the question of
slavery did not interest him—but my mother would
not let him go. This was very natural. She was
not only delicate and tender-hearted, dreading the
horrors of war, but quite alone in the world—an or-
phan, with the memory of relatives who had snubbed
her when she was poor.
So my father remained abroad and they wandered
far a-field, perhaps to be out of hearing of home
echoes. When they were in Athens I was born, and
they named me for that city and its tutelar goddess.
During my childhood I heard nothing of home poli-
tics, but much of Athena; nothing of the rights and
wrongs of North and South, or of the miseries aris-
ing out of the negro question, but much of the wis-
dom and strength that must be acquired by a little
girl who bore the name of a great and good goddess.
Unfortunately, I was but a humdrum child.
My poor mother declared that I had a taste for
the commonplace, even preferring plain-looking,
commonplace people. This was because of my affec-
tion for Percy Stuart, a good-tempered young Eng-
lishman who, like his cousin, Lord Ebbrides, spent
most of his time in our everchanging homes. Al-
though he was over twenty, and I but eight years
old that May, he never teased me, but always treated
me with the consideration due a sensible and much-
liked companion. So I was much pleased on that
May afternoon when he joined me in my end of the
garden.
"Have you been to St. Malo, Percy?"
3


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"No, Athena."
"Then where have you been? Listen to the sea;
how it is singing!"
He paid no attention. I stared at him, wondering.
"Athena," he burst out after a moment, "is there
anything that you want most awfully?"
"Yes," I said without hesitation, "I want a doll."
I had never had a doll. Even the poor make-shift
of a towel with a string tied around its middle, and
pencilled face, was denied me. I possessed but two
toys—a racing-stable with its stud, and a beautifully
rigged schooner-yacht. With these I seldom cared
to play; indeed, I had but little time for playing.
What with studying wise books all the mornings of
the year, and learning to ride, swim, box, fence, or
shoot every afternoon, playtime was crowded out.
Yet I wanted a doll, and fearing Percy had not heard
me I repeated what I had said.
"Yes, Percy, I do wish for a doll most awfully!"
He turned on his heel abruptly and left me, mut-
tering as he went:
"I feel a Judas!"
Presently my mother called to me. She had left
her chaise longue, and I knew, because of the great
brilliancy of her eyes, that she was excited over some-
thing.
"Athena," she cried as I drew near, "Athena, my
little goddess, pray say you do not want a doll."
I could not say so. I remained silent. The curios-
ity of the company was aroused as to why I might
not wish for one. Everybody demanded the reason.
I wished to know, too.
"Because I don't choose to have what is called
the maternal instinct awakened in my daughter,"
said my mother, scornfully. "Maternal instinct, for-
sooth! Say rather the nurse-maid instinct! No, my
beautiful Athena shall never care to weary herself
4


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
with domestic miseries if I can prevent it. There-
fore I banish dolls."
"But if she marries?" someone asked.
"I hope she may never marry." My mother's
sweet voice was less silky than usual. "Thank God,
she will never need to. She will be lovely, rich, and
free as air! I hope she may never wear galling chains
—my little Queen of Hearts!" Stooping, she kissed
my cheek.
Lord Ebbrides was rolling a cigarette. He eyed
my mother curiously for a few moments, then said,
indifferently:
"So our bet is off?"
My mother liked a wager. She hesitated. At
last she said, very slowly:
"N—o; I suppose you may try. It can do no
harm."
Two days passed. On the evening of the third
Nurse Margaret, a hard-featured, soft-hearted old
Scotch body, had just tucked me in bed when my
mother came in. She was wrapped in a white peig-
noir and evidently about to dress for dinner. Her
hair, already arranged, was ornamented with a spray
of fine emeralds. As she came toward me, smiling,
her splendid eyes and the great jewels in her fair
curls seemed to flash and sparkle in unison. I gazed
adoringly up at her as she bent above me, but, as
usual, said nothing. Words come to my lips with
no more readiness when I am deeply moved than
at any other time.
My mother bade me say my prayers and I obeyed,
repeating the same prayer in Greek, Latin, German,
French, and Italian. She was pleased, while I, I
wondered if the Lord God were not a-weary of these
"vain repetitions." Did He think me a very tire-
some child?
5


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
Meanwhile, my mother continued putting me
through my paces.
"When I say, 'The Hand of Douglas is his own,'
what do I mean, darling?"
"That my lips belong to me," I answered, docilely,
charmed to have her with me, "and I need not kiss
anyone unless I choose, but I must refuse politely,
making a civil excuse, even if I tell a fib. Society
fibs don't count as sins, being but White Lies, mean-
ing—" Here I broke off. "Shall you wear all your
emeralds to-night, mamma?"
"Only a few, Athena." And my mother went on
to tell how, some day, I was to have her collection
of these green gems—it was said to be unrivalled—
some day when I should be a young lady and she—
an old one. As she kissed me good-night she bade
me never forget the meaning of "The Hand of
Douglas."
"When I raise my hand—so—Athena," lifting
her hand as she spoke; but a burst of jolly laughter
cut her short as my father entered the room. Catch-
ing her around the waist he shook her playfully.
"Is this fair play, wicked girl?" he cried. "Creep-
ing into the favorite's stall and slipping a powder in
among her oats!"
I sat up in bed, wide awake and eager, but Mar-
garet, asking angrily if they wished to keep "the
bairn fra' her night's sleep wi' their daffin?" turned
them out and shut the door. The following morn-
ing, Sunday—when no wearisome lessons were to
be learned—my mother told me that I might accept,
if I wished, the next doll offered me. Many had
I been obliged to decline. I think I never was hap-
pier in my life than at that moment. "Perhaps some
one may give me a doll on Christmas," I hazarded.
"Perhaps," said my mother, "who can say?"
In every odd moment I thought of that doll.
6


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
Christmas was a long way off, but the pleasure of
anticipation was already mine, and I had a large
store of patience to draw upon.
On Friday afternoon of that week I found Percy
Stuart waiting to accompany me on my daily ride.
As he swung me into my saddle Lord Ebbrides called
to him to wait a moment. My high-spirited mare—
I had long outgrown ponies—refused to stand, and
I rode on. As Percy rejoined me he called back
to his cousin irritably:
"Yes, yes, I said I'd be back in time, but for the
rest of your beastly plot manage it yourself—and be
hanged to you!"
"You don't like him, either, do you, Percy?" I
said, very sorry for my friend because of the cousin-
ship.
"Not very much. Why doesn't he please you,
Athena?"
I had been taught that Derohans were never tell-
tales, and that the great Minerva was not a gossiping
•goddess. But I had been instructed as well that a
gentlewoman was always civil—even greeting Death
politely when he called. To be strictly truthful, yet
polite, was sometimes, I found—for I disliked white
lies—extremely difficult. Percy's question posed
me. At last I said:
"He has the Evil Eye."
Percy burst out laughing and exclaimed, "Oh,
bosh!"
I thought him rude, and he, realizing that he had
been so, quickly apologized. I then explained
further. "Some people, Percy, have the Evil Eye
and can't help it."
"Like being born with a squint," he suggested.
"Yes. Poor people! It makes them unhappy,
Percy. When they find it out they try to live
alone."
7


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"Hermits," said Percy. "I've often read about
'em."
"Lord Ebbrides is not that kind," I went on, "but
he may not know he has it, Margaret says."
"He certainly is not an old-style anchorite."
I looked earnestly at my companion. Was he tak-
ing the matter seriously? His expression was grave,
even solemn.
"Percy?"
"Yes, Athena."
"I think Lord Ebbrides has the Evil Eye, and
knows he has, and enjoys having it!"
"It's as plain as the nose on your face," said Percy,
soberly, "which is a vulgar expression and you
mustn't use it, Athena."
I said I would not, and fell to thinking of Lord
Ebbrides—of the kindness he showed me in pub-
lic, of the small torments he inflicted when no one
was near. Often I dreaded going from my nursery
to the drawing-room, knowing he might be lurking
behind some half-open door, or crouching in some'
dark corner ready to pounce upon me as I passed.
"Now, then, little Minerva," he would whisper as
he caught me, "how many kisses am I to have? Not
one? Oh, but I'll help myself! Where's your owl,
wise goddess? What, no helmet! No spear to hurl!
Why don't you arm yourself or cry out for help?
I know why. Because you love me, though you pre-
tend you don't."
This last taunt rankled, and he knew it, as he also
knew that I would not tell or cry for aid, while,
well aware of my skill with my fists, he held my arms
close clasped at my sides, avoiding punishment.
"He is a scoundrel," I said to myself. Then our
horses broke into a run and I forgot Lord Ebbrides.
My father was waiting to lift me from the saddle
when we got home. He bade me run upstairs and
8


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
be dressed quickly, as I was wanted in the drawing-
room. Storm-signals were so plainly visible in the
nursery that I did not ask questions, but hurried
down to the drawing-room as I had been bidden.
There, all our guests were assembled. As I entered
the conversation stopped abruptly, and my mother
slipped from the room. My father came to meet
me. He patted my cheek fondly as he said:
"I told you to be quick, Athena, because a beau-
tiful present has come for you." And he led me to
a small table placed in the middle of the room. I
looked, and looked again. I could hardly believe my
eyes. There, close before me, lay the most exquisite
doll I had ever seen, and my father said it was for
me!
A doll with flaxen hair and blue eyes—in a frock
of white lace over a blue silk slip! Beside her stood
her trunk, wide open, disclosing her dainty wardrobe.
And this angel was for me! Wide-eyed and solemn
I gazed in rapture at my treasure, forgetting that I
was not alone. The sound of Lord Ebbrides's voice
roused me. Glancing up I saw him standing oppo-
site me at the other side of the table.
"See, little Athena," he smiled as he spoke—I
did not like his smile—"here is a doll from Paris—a
gay little lady. Will you accept her from me?"
The Viscount Ebbrides was considered handsome,
because of his black eyes and hair, and his wonderful
complexion, which did much to relieve the coarseness
of his features. He was of medium height, broad-
shouldered, and very strong. His love of sport
recommended him to my father, whose intimate
friend he was. As I looked at him across the table
I thought him the ugliest man in the world, and, so
thinking, forgot to answer his question. I turned
to seek my father. He had vanished. Percy Stuart
was nowhere to be seen. I suddenly felt very much
9


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
alone. The silence of the people crowded about me
weighed my spirits down.
"Look! See all the pretty things Dolly has to
wear!" Lord Ebbrides was again speaking. "All for
you, my beautiful little playmate."
"Thank you."
I spoke with chill civility. I did not offer to touch
the doll. Very lately I had read of the deceitful
mirage of the desert. The doll, I thought sadly, was
a mirage—nothing more.
"Do you really want a doll, Athena?"
"More than anything in the world, Lord Ebbrides."
"Then take this one"—he took her up and tried
to place her in my arms—"and give me a kiss in
return."
As he advanced I retreated.
"Why do you wish to give me a doll when you
don't like me?" I asked.
At this there was much laughter among the spec-
tators.
Lord Ebbrides looked displeased. Then one of
the men present—men were always greatly in the
majority in our house-parties—spoke rather sharply:
"Give her a plain answer, Ebbrides. You can't
expect a child to understand innuendoes. I vote for
fair play."
A murmur of approval followed. Lord Eb-
brides's brow darkened still more, but he paid no
attention to the speaker.
"I love you dearly, Athena," he said, "and I want
you to love me in return. That is why I sent for
this doll. Take her, and give me, in return, twelve
kisses every day, six in the morning and six at
night. Come, is it a bargain?"
Alas! at that moment I forgot my daily lessons
on politeness, forgot that the Recording Angel was
understood to overlook Society Fibs, forgot every-
10


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
thing, in short, that I should have remembered, and
spoke my mind:
"I would rather never have a doll than take one
from you."
"Why?"
A quick-witted child might have evaded a direct
answer. Even I, remembering that he was my
father's friend and guest, might, I now think, have
replied civilly. But I was deeply moved, and so
told the rough truth, saying, quietly:
"Because you are a coward and a liar."
Making my little reverence to the company, I
walked proudly from the room.
Once out of the house I ran, trying to escape
from the strange sensations of grief, loneliness, and
resentment that filled my heart to bursting. Like
a wounded animal I sought blindly for a hiding-place,
and might have fled far had not Percy Stuart caught
me as I rushed through the gate. As he lifted me
in his kind arms and carried me back into the house
and to his own room, I burst into a bitter flood of
tears.
"There, there," whispered the good-hearted young
man as he placed me in an easy-chair, "you needn't
say a word, Athena. I understand." And he mut-
tered, "Butchered to make a Roman holiday!"
His sympathy did more to restore my peace of
mind than the splendid doll he presently took from
its box and laid in my arms.
"Tell you what it is, Athena," he said, cheerfully,
"two can play at every game, and this I've won.
You and I have come out ahead, haven't we, in spite
of Evil Eyed Anchorites?" I thought we had.
Lord Ebbrides, pleading a business engagement,
left for London the next day. I had been the cause
of his losing a great deal of money, as I had been
heavily backed to win. He had to endure, as well,
11


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
-
much chaffing from the men and reproaches from
the women.
On our way to London we stopped in Paris where,
with her winnings, my mother bought herself a ring,
an antique intaglio. In the gem, a large emerald
of great beauty, was carved the bust of a winged
woman—a Psyche, the jeweler said. The face was
exquisite, its expression one of sadness so intense as
to seem severe. The emerald was set in diamonds
that never ceased sparkling—so I thought. At first,
because it reminded me of past pain, I disliked the
ring. Later, because of the rare beauty of the face
in the emerald's heart, I learned to love it well. My
mother wore it constantly, always on the fourth
finger of her right hand.
12


n
Nurse Margaret read but three books: the Bible,
Burns's Poems, and Uncle Tom's Cabin. This last
I was never permitted to read, but I knew its few
illustrations well, and because of the one where Eliza
was shown crossing the river on the ice-blocks, her
child in her arms, my doll lost her looks. I was
not told Eliza's story, nor that she was not white.
Nurse merely said that she was a brave woman, sav-
ing her child from worse than death. So later in
the summer, when stopping near Baden-Baden—a
favorite halting-place with my parents, the gaming-
tables not being suppressed until nearly two years
after—a convenient brook being, unluckily, at hand,
I must needs play Eliza's part.
With big stepping-stones for cakes of ice, Prince
Hal and two dachshunds for bloodhounds, I started
across. My foot slipping, I fell in, and Percette
Stuart Derohan was submerged. When she was res-
cued and thoroughly dried her complexion was gone,
and her flaxen curls came out in spots. My mother,
shocked by her ugliness, begged me to throw her
away; then suggested a new head. But to me Per-
cette was—Percette. I insisted that she should re-
main as she was.
"Should you cease to love me, mamma," I asked,
"if I had the small-pox and grew ugly?"
I can never forget the pallor that overspread my
mother's lovely face at this, or the shudder that she
could not repress as she told me not to suggest so
13


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
great a calamity. She had an exquisite nature, a
pure and tender soul. Rough thoughts hurt her.
Poor Percette! I kept her only two years. We
were in England visiting friends who lived in a
grand old castle—much celebrated in song and story
—when I lost her. Several children were of this
house-party, and royalty condescended to be present.
A few days before our departure we children lunched
with our elders in the great dining-hall, whose walls
were panelled from floor to ceiling in white and gold.
I thought that my mother in her gown of pale green
muslin, covered with a net-work of wonderful em-
broidery, a rope of pearls around her throat, was
the most beautiful woman present. His Royal High-
ness agreed with me, apparently, for he joined her
as she entered the deep-set window of the cedar
drawing-room—so called because of the carvings in
that wood around windows and doors—and began
paying her graceful compliments. But my mother
pouted.
"I feel cross, and disappointed," she said, com-
plaining that I would not talk or be gay like the
little Lady Gladys Trevor, whose witticisms had kept
the table in a roar of laughter. I, meanwhile, looked
from the window to the river, gray and sluggish,
sliding slimily past far, far below (for the castle
stood with its feet in the water), and felt ashamed.
The Prince was kind, trying to comfort my mother
by praises of my beauty, admiring my level eyebrows
and fair hair.
"Curiously enough, I feel that I must have met
the child before," he said at length; "her face is
strangely familiar to me—yet I never forget a name.
I confess I am puzzled."
My mother smiled. An odd, far-away look came
into her dark eyes.
"My Athena is a Greek, Monseigneur," she said,
14


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
dreamily, "and her kinsfolk—marble people—are to
be met with in the great art galleries of the world."
The poor gentleman looked bewildered, but, kiss-
ing my cheek, bade me run away and play.
In the court-yard—where screaming peacocks had
supplanted the old-time pages and men-at-arms—
Gladys waited for me. In her arms she held Per-
cette with respectful care, while she dangled her own
doll carelessly by what she called its "hind-leg."
Sighing with relief, she relinquished Percette to my
keeping.
"She's a care!" she said. "Not because of her
face, which is most awfully knocked up, but because
of your embroidery on her frock. Mamma says she
never saw such needlework—says the flowers look
real enough to smell sweet—says she wonders you
could do 'em—says you're such a stupid little thing.
Oh, Athena! I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to say
that—it just slipped out. Please forgive me."
I had nothing to forgive. She had spoken the
simple truth.
We stopped on a stretch of greensward that topped
a steep bank above the river. Here a dolls' fete-
champetre was soon in full swing. All the children
had brought all their dolls. It was like a real party,
we decided. Such a crowd! Thinking ourselves
well concealed from castle and flower-gardens by a
screen of young larches, our dismay was great when
a young Frenchman, whom we detested, bounced
suddenly into our very midst. Grinning with delight
over our evident terror, he stood in the centre of our
green ball-room seeking a prey. A doll, a wall-
flower for the nonce, was sitting out the dance.
Her he seized, and began to spring about in a strange
and alarming manner.
"La-la-la," sang the sallow-faced little dandy,
gayly pirouetting and bounding high in air. "Tiens,
15


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
I go to dance the can-can to make amusement to
the petites demoiselles Anglaises!"
The doll was Percette. First, she was held by
an arm, then a leg, next by her waist, and all the
time so banged and whirled about that each moment
I feared to hear her stitches give, to see the air filled
with her sawdust insides. All tried to rescue her
in vain—he eluded us with fiendish dexterity. Sud-
denly our hopes rose. Monsieur le Marquis ceased
leaping up and down. Picking up a doll's table,
made of iron, he fastened it to Percette's sash and
sprang to the top of the bank overhanging the
river.
"You reely wish, tres chere Ateena, to me separate
from this your lofely child?"
"Oh, please give her to me!" I entreated, running
toward him.
With a mocking laugh he lifted Percette high in
air, and calling out, "She say jamais, nevare! Bet-
ter ze death than ze life wizout me," flung her into
the middle of the stream, then stood stock-still, star-
ing stupidly at the spot where she had disappeared.
Before Percette touched the water I was down the
bank and tearing off my shoes; as she sank I struck
out to her assistance. But the little table held her
down, the river bottom was muddy, and dive as I
would I could not find her. My father came in
time to pull me out before I was drowned, but not
before my strength was exhausted, for to give up
what should be achieved is a heart-breaking matter,
and—I loved Percette.
It was Lady Gladys who had run for my father.
It was Lady Gladys who, roused to wrath by the sight
of the evil-doer standing idle on the bank, rushed
upon him with such furious onslaught that her child's
push sent him toppling into the river. There, amid
rough sedges, in but two feet of water, the Marquis
16


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
splashed about in real terror, believing himself to be
drowning.
The gay crowd from the flower-garden, where
Gladys had found my father, had followed to the river
and now greeted with mocking laughter the piteous
cries of the French bully. None lent him aid. He
scrambled out, and slunk homeward alone. But to
me they were very kind. I tried to thank them, but
could not. Percette was dead.
"Never mind, darling," cried my mother, helping
Nurse Margaret wrap me in shawls brought in haste
from the castle, "I will get you a new Percette."
"Percette? What an odd name!" exclaimed a
sympathetic bystander.
"Yes, named for young Stuart," someone ex-
plained. "Awfully sad about him, isn't it? Good-
hearted chap."
"What about him?" asked the other.
"Dead. Hadn't you heard? Crushed by the roof
falling in at the Shaws's fire. You had not? Why,
it was all in the papers. Whole house gone—pict-
ures, furniture, jewels, laces—Lady Shaws had a
stunning lot of lace; showed it me once. Well, it's
all gone now. Young Stuart? Oh, yes! Well, he
went in after the youngest boy's dog, a collie. They
say the howls of the creature turned you sick and
the boy, lame you know, insisted on going back for
it, so Stuart went. There, don't let's talk about it—
crushed to death, and so young. They say the crowd
worked like devils to get him out—why, look at that
child! Athena, what is it, dear?"
I did not answer. A great black wave seemed to
roar above, around me. I lost consciousness.
I never owned another doll. I did not wish for
one. Percy was dead, and his gift, Percette. I
turned my face away when people, meaning to be
17


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
kind, offered to replace her, seeming not to realize
that the place of the dead may never be filled. Nurse
Margaret, learning that Lord Ebbrides was heir to
Percy's large fortune, mourned openly over the
strange ways of Providence.
"The flow'r ta'en," she complained, "the weed left
to nourish!"
Poor nurse! A year later she was sent back to
Scotland, and I had a French maid. I missed my
Margaret sadly.
We had a house in Paris the May I was thirteen—
a large house, that my mother might entertain. The
ball-room was very splendid, and my mother's bou-
doir resembled a bonbonniere with its frescoed ceil-
ing and hangings of green satin. In it was an
armoire that I thought beautiful. It was of oak, the
tall mirror of its door supported on either hand by a
nymph or dryad, whose diaphanous drapery, cling-
ing closely to her graceful limbs, was drawn, where
it floated free, just above the head, by an upcurved
arm. From under these veils each sister looked
forth upon you as if, well-knowing the past, she
might foretell the future. They fascinated me, and
I felt that the sad-eyed dryads were the guardians of
my mother's emeralds, since she kept them on the
upper shelf of the armoire.
Her collection grew each year. My father's in-
come had yearly increased since, his former man of
affairs dying, our fortune had been placed in the
hands of a brisk young lawyer. Then, too, Lord
Ebbrides added many gems to my mother's store.
These she disliked accepting, for she could not es-
teem him and realized, I feel sure, that they were
given only because of his friendship for her husband.
Lord Ebbrides was with us always—he and my father
had become inseparable. That May he had apart-
ments in our neighborhood and we saw him daily.
"18


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
Although my old nurse, Scotch Margaret, was
very superstitious, she had failed to imbue me with
her quaint beliefs, and I state but a plain fact when
I say that misfortunes have generally befallen me
in the month of May, and always on a Friday. It
was on a Friday afternoon when, crossing the hall
to dress for my daily ride, I met my father, his cheer-
ful, high-colored face so drawn with pain that I
feared he was dying.
"Papa!" I cried, running to him, "what is it? Are
you ill?"
For answer he caught me in his arms.
"My poor little daughter!" he groaned, "my
beautiful, helpless little child!" and staggered as if
he would have fallen.
Just then the door of the boudoir—on the floor
above—opened, and I heard my mother's musical
laugh.
"In that case I might," she said in sweet, low
tones; "but now a truce to your folly—cela m*en-
nuie."
My father's heavy sigh echoed through the hall.
Startled by the sound, my mother came to the head
of the staircase, behind her Lord Ebbrides.
"Hurry, mamma!" I cried. "Papa is very ill."
Slowly, as if deprived of her strength, she de-
scended the stairs. Lord Ebbrides would have sup-
ported her, but she thrust him away.
"Oh, Millicent, Millicent!"—my father's voice
was hoarse and strange—"that damned scoundrel—
I trusted him!"
"Go away, Athena," said my mother, in a fierce
whisper. "Go to your room and—be silent."
Without a word I obeyed.
It was, indeed, a great calamity that had broken
my father down. His fortune was gone, lost in mad
19


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
speculation. I feel sure that for himself ruin would
have mattered little, but the thought of wife and
child reduced to penury—a mere pittance remained
to us—wrung his heart. To a vigorous young
creature like myself poverty meant little, but, like
my father, I dreaded it for my sensitive mother.
She bore the blow bravely, making no complaint,
though each day her lovely face grew more haggard,
her great eyes more feverishly bright.
Lord Ebbrides placed his purse at my father's dis-
posal for immediate expenses. As soon as possible,
everything of value was to go under the hammer,
save the emeralds. These Lord Ebbrides offered to
buy. This sale was particularly bitter to my father.
It was an additional blow to deprive my mother of
her jewels, and for that reason, perhaps, he was
eager to have them go at once. It was on the last
Friday in May that, entering the green boudoir, I
heard him ask if they had been sent to Lord Eb-
brides. My mother answering in the negative, he
showed displeasure. "I grudge them to him, of
course," he said, irritably, "but he's paid up hand-
somely, Millicent, and I wish to God you'd give 'em
to him and be done with it."
"As you please, Charles," she answered, coldly.
"Is he to have the ring, too?" half-drawing the in-
taglio from her finger.
"No, no! Not Athena's Psyche—God forbid!"
He hurried from the room.
My mother lay back among the pale green cush-
ions of her sofa, staring with sombre eyes at the
flashing jewels on her finger. Her golden hair
gleamed like sunshine, a red spot burned on either
cheek. She was surpassingly beautiful. Presently
she became aware of my steady gaze.
"Well," she said, a note of contempt in her voice,
"are you discovering the worm?"
20


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"The worm, mamma?"
"Yes, the nasty, crawling, evil worm! That's
what is left when the butterfly's wings are pulled
off." With a dreary laugh she rose and surveyed
herself in the armoire's mirror. "I see it plainly,"
she continued, "for, thank God—or the Devil—I
have never blinked plain facts. Come here, Athe-
na, stand beside me—so. Now look well at those
two reflections and learn a lesson in physiognomy.
Ah! I am grown a hag already—in two short
weeks!"
"Short weeks?" I echoed thoughtfully. "They
seem years!"
"Athena! Is it possible you feel that way? But
no, like all children, you only repeat what others
say. You resemble a statue—like a statue, will rest
content forever in some dusty, out-of-the-way niche!
I—like my kind—need warmth, sunshine, flowers!
I must have them. Well for you that you care for
nothing, since nothing is left you to care for! Pov-
erty is like death."
I remember I flung my arms around her, crying
out, in a very passion of love and pity, that while I
had her I had everything, everything—that to pur-
chase her happiness I would gladly die!
"Then hold me close, Athena, do not let me go!"
she spoke breathlessly, clinging to me as if in terror,
"while you are near me"
"A note for Madame."
Julie, my mother's maid, stood in the doorway,
disapproval in her hard, dark eyes.
"A voice from the Pit!" said my mother, laughing
hysterically. "Well, agent of the Devil, what does
your master want?"
Julie was handsome—tall, dark, imposing. In
the Reign of Terror she might have led a mob. She
stood before her mistress erect and calm, holding
21


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
out the note. My mother put both hands behind
her and stepped back.
"I shall not touch it, Julie."
"Is it, then, to be returned, Madame?"
"Wait—" cried my mother. "If I only knew
what to do! Who was it, Athena, that was pursued
by Death and the Devil?"
"Sintram, mamma."
"Poor creature! If I could but decide""
"Perhaps with a coin," suggested Julie.
"The very thing!" Taking from her purse a ten-
franc piece my mother called out, "Heads, Death!
Tails, the Devil!" and tossed it high in air.
It fell with a soft rustle on the gay rug at her
feet. She knelt to examine it. The glitter of fierce
excitement gleamed in Julie's eyes. Slowly, very
slowly, my mother rose, her face ghastly white. She
stretched out her hand for the letter.
"Go, Athena," she said.
"Yes, but first let me kiss you, mamma."
"Noj no!" she cried, shrinking back. "Don't
touch me, don't come near me!"
Seeing that her nerves were on edge I went quietly
away. When, at midnight, a frightful storm broke
over the city, waking me, I remembered my mother's
excited condition, and could not sleep because of
my anxiety until the noises of the tempest died away.
She breakfasted always in her room, and when she
failed to appear at luncheon I believed that she was
but taking a much-needed rest, and felt no alarm.
Neither was my father uneasy until Julie, pale-faced
and wild-eyed, startled us.
"The door of the boudoir has been locked since
daybreak, Monsieur," she cried, entering unan-
nounced. "Perhaps Madame is ill!"
Fearing we knew not what, we hurried upstairs.
My father knocked softly at the door.
22


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"Millicent!"
No answer. In the silence I could hear my heart
beat. Again—knocking loudly, peremptorily—
"Millicent! Millicent! Open the door!" entreat-
ingly—violently—despairingly. Then, to the hud-
dled group of frightened servants: "Stand back,
damn you! Can't you do something besides stare?
Athena, can you hear anything?"
I shook my head.
"Stand aside, then," he commanded hoarsely, and,
driving his shoulder against the door, broke it down.
It crashed, splintering, inward. He covered his face
with his hands. "I can't do it!" he whispered, and
—I entered. The atmosphere was close, tainted with
the odor of a dying night-lamp. When, groping
my way to a window, I flung it wide and looked
about me, I thought the room empty. But the
armoire had fallen forward. It was flat upon the
floor, its door, the great mirror, showing to one side
and cracked from end to end. I ran forward, strove
to lift it. The servants came to my aid. Under-
neath lay my mother—dead.
She wore a travelling dress. Beside her was the
small bag in which the emeralds were carried when
we moved. Some were in it, others scattered about
the floor. Her right hand, palm outward, was
pressed close against her mouth. When, tenderly
lifting the beautiful head I pillowed it on my breast,
her hand slipped aside, and I saw upon her lips the
imprint of the intaglio.
One of the many doctors, summoned in vain, re-
turned the next day to talk with me, an old man,
with beetling eyebrows and a mane of iron-gray hair.
"Thy mother, dear child," he said, gently, "had
lost her mind. Had she lived she would have been
parted from thee—always. Thy sorrow is, then,
truly a blessing. See, it was like this. The storm
23


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
came. She arose, imagining she was to make a
journey. She seeks her jewels—in the armoire. As
she draws them from the shelf she feels it totter,
lifts her hand quickly to push it back, but—it falls!
The hand against the shelf's edge is forced down
upon her face, and the ring— Ah! this is the ring
upon thy small right hand? It is permitted—yes2"
He drew it from my finger, and, taking a small
magnifying glass from his pocket, examined it
closely.
"A Psyche, Monsieur," I faltered, as my tears
flowed fast.
The old man shook his head.
"Mais non, mais non!" he cried, with sudden im-
periousness. "The Psyche wears butterfly wings,
while these—" he transferred his gaze from the em-
erald to me, was silent for a long moment, then said,
quietly: "This is—Nemesis!"


Ill
My father was never the same again. The loss
of fortune had tried him, but if my mother had lived
he might have become his old genial self once more.
Without her, however, life lost its charm. Only
the necessity of caring for me prevented him from
killing himself. This he frankly acknowledged.
Lord Ebbrides, his sworn friend, deserted him.
Perhaps Charles Derohan poor proved too dull a
companion for so gay a man. Lord Ebbrides neither
came to my mother's funeral nor expressed sym-
pathy for us in our sorrow. He left Paris at once,
and my father never saw him again. Cray, his valet
and confidential man, came for the emeralds and—
married Julie. My father gave her a handsome dot,
though he could ill spare the money.
"She served your mother faithfully, Athena," he
said.
Our house in Paris was given up and my father,
before sailing for New York, placed me in the care
of a melancholy French lady who lived in the
country. He had hoped to retrieve his shattered
fortunes, but his efforts met with no success. He
was not fitted for business. Poverty, the necessity
of asking favors, broke him down. When I went to
him, ten months later, he had grown an old man.
I was fourteen when I first saw the flat, green
meadows and gray dunes of Long Island. I love
the eastern end of that strange length of sand better
than any place on earth. In an old gray farm-house,
25


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
half a mile from the sea, we set up housekeeping.
For five years, winter and summer, I lived there,
often quite alone, but too busy to be lonely, as I
took entire charge of the house. I grew proud of
my skill in cooking. My cake was in demand at the
village fairs.
My father spent most of his time, and all his
money, in Wall Street. He took no comfort in being
with me, realizing too keenly the change in my posi-
tion. He was pleased when I learned to launch the
fishermen's dory through a high surf, to understand
the weather signs and the management of crops; re-
joiced that my complexion stood wind and weather,
and sighed because, disliking the noise of firearms
and taking the lives of birds, I refused to go shooting.
He predicted that I should lose my skill.
Boxing I was not allowed to forget. Prize-fights
still aroused his enthusiasm, and when one came off
he read me every detail from his sporting-paper. If
he returned from town in a happy mood he always
renewed my lessons, calling me to the barn where
they took place. Thankful to give him pleasure, I
tucked up my long braids, rolled up my sleeves, and
drew on the gloves with feigned zest.
The barn was a pleasant place to loiter in, smelling
sweet of the hay that Mr. Welborn, our landlord,
stored there. But on the broad floor I found a
square chalked out—the ring, in fighting parlance—
and there was no loitering for me! Sometimes, be-
cause of the swallows and pigeons circling past the
wide-flung doors, the sunshine checking the dusty
floor, the cadence of waves on the distant shore, I
would grow dreamy, forget myself, and so get a
fall! Again, my father forgot that his adversary
was his daughter and I, remembering, fell again. I
did not mind the bruises, but boxing is an unwomanly
exercise, and this I often hinted.
26


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"Nonsense, Athena!" he would cry, indignantly.
"No woman is the worse for understanding the art,
the noble art, of self-defence! Say you met a tramp,
would you run away screaming? Or become helpless
through terror if you saw he meant mischief? Not
much," chuckling, "not much, my dear! You'd
simply play for his- head, smartly, with your left,
hitting straight. Or, better still, if you could man-
age it—mind what I'm saying, Athena—give him
two hard rights over the heart, driving him back,
then send a straight left to the neck and—you'll have
him guessing in no time!" Sighing, he would add,
"If you'd only let yourself go, not be so infernally
anxious to spare your old dad hard knocks, you'd
daze me, have me helpless straight off! Few men
could get the better of you, my girl, though you look
so dainty. What you lack in weight you make up
for in skill. Your style's perfect, if I say it who
shouldn't! You're supple as an Indian, your grip
is iron, your muscles steel. Tell you what, my
slender goddess, you'll do!"
But moments of contentment—when he rejoiced
in my strength—were rare. The thought of my
nun-like existence harried him perpetually since he
wished to see me launched in the gay world. My
nineteenth birthday was approaching fast when, bent
upon making money for me, he took the small sum
he had in hand and went up to town. He was absent
some time. When he returned he looked startlingly
ill.
"I'm all right," he said in answer to my questions;
"for God's sake, don't badger me!"
But he could not eat, and later I heard him pacing
his room, up and down, up and down, till he came
back to me and said, his eyes averted, his voice low
and husky:
"Athena, I must raise money on the ring. Put
27


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
her kinsfolk—who had ill-treated her—and never
spoke of them. My father often told me that I had
no "kith nor kin." When he left me there was
no one either to share my grief, or, save for kind
neighbors, hold out a friendly hand. I knew I must
support myself, and this knowledge held no terrors
for me, but when I opened my father's desk to find
its pigeon-holes stuffed with unpaid bills, my heart
sank within me.
It was a lovely morning in May, but I sat like
a stone before the old-fashioned secretary, uncon-
scious of the beauty of the outside world. I stared
from the window without seeing the stretch of fresh,
green meadows, the blue waters sparkling in the sun-
shine, or the spray of apple-blossoms tapping gayly
against the pane. I saw only a mountain of debt,
and realized, with a sharp pain at my heart, that
for the past four years we had lived upon charity.
I knew that had my father lived he would have paid
in full, but—did his creditors understand? A firm
knock at the door startled me to my feet, and I turned
to face the chief among them, our landlord, Mr.
Welborn.
They were his unpaid bills that I still held in my
hand. He saw them, and, taking them from me,
vanished with them into the kitchen. I followed in
time to see them thrust into the stove. Refusing to
listen to my remonstrances, to my eager assurances
that I had money with which to pay my debts—
Nemesis remained to me—he insisted that I should
make my home under his roof until I saw fit to
leave the island.
It was noon when he left me. I went to the
barn-yard to feed the poultry, my heart almost light
again, through the fresh courage instilled by the
splendid generosity of this kind friend. But where
might I find a purchaser for the ring? The crisp
29


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
sea-breeze blowing back my hair, the soft May sun-
shine, the sweet May scents, brought me comfort,
but no solution to this difficulty. It was hard to
puzzle my brains, in the sudden reaction that had
come with the knowledge of the world's kindness.
I tossed a handful of corn into the air for my
doves. The chickens, rushing pell-mell from every
direction, crowded about my feet, scolding, push-
ing, gobbling—a greedy lot! The pigeons, appear-
ing less so because of their beauty, flashed and
whirled about me in the sunshine, alighting now
on my shoulders, now on my outstretched arm with
soft rustle of furling wings.
Suddenly I heard a step, and, glancing around,
saw a town-bred man, of easy carriage, standing by
the fence. He was watching my doves with evident
admiration, but, when I turned, took off his hat and
entered the yard.
"Miss Derohan?"
I bowed.
"I am Richard Thorpe, junior partner in the firm
of Beverley and Thorpe," said the stranger, smiling
so pleasantly that I forgot to think him plain-looking.
I bowed again and he looked a trifle embarrassed.
I had been expected to know about him and his firm,
I saw. Since this failed, he tried again.
"I come from your cousin, Mrs. Spuyten."
"From Mrs. Spuyten?" I echoed as I led the way
into the house. "But I fear you have made a mis-
take, Mr. Thorpe. I don't know Mrs. Spuyten, and
I have no cousins."
The situation had grown comical. Mr. Thorpe
laughed, but ruefully, then said, "May I ask if you
are not the daughter of the late Charles Derohan?"
I bowed.
"Then, I am sorry to say, Mrs. Cornelia de Rohan
Spuyten is most certainly your cousin, and I, equally
30


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
certainly, must deliver a most unpleasant message
—one I was very unwilling to have anything to do
with. But on junior partners falls the dirty work."
"Tell me of Mrs. Spuyten first," I said, trying to
make matters easier.
Then I learned that my grandfather had taken a
poor orphaned niece to live with him, but, when
he died, had failed to provide for her. My generous
father had at once settled a large sum of money
upon her, that she might be quite independent. She
had not been grateful, but had quarrelled with him,
and Mr. Thorpe at last gave me to understand that
this was because of slighted affection. Cornelia
Derohan had loved her handsome young cousin—
eight years her junior—and her love had not been
returned. Later she had married a rich widower,
Mr. Spuyten, who had died a few years before my
mother. Mrs. Spuyten, so Mr. Thorpe hinted, again
hoped to gain my father's affection, but failed. She
lived in New York with her two step-daughters, and
had sent Mr. Thorpe to invite me to spend a week
with her—to tell me that she had obtained a position
for me, as housekeeper and companion, in a wealthy
family, and to hand over to me a cheque for one
hundred dollars.
When Mr. Thorpe had placed the slip of paper
in my unwilling fingers a silence fell between us
which lasted a long time. He stood by the western
window, staring into the orchard, an uninviting spot
in spite of its gay blossoms. A stout pig, with a con-
templative eye, its feet buried in dank earth, luxu-
riously rubbed its side against the rough bark of a
tree, its fellow-pigs rooting and grunting hard by.
I envied them as I fought my pride down inch by
inch. They need not accept favors from a stranger.
"With regard to that old pig," Mr. Thorpe began.
"Pig?" I interrupted.
31


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"I beg your pardon, I said Mrs. Spuyten."
I smiled.
"Well, never mind if I did say pig, the name suits
her. If you should decide to visit her—and all that,"
waving his hand vaguely, "please remember that she
owes you a lot of money."
I shook my head. "What is given is given."
"I don't see it in that light, Miss Derohan. I wish,
before you decide upon anything, you'd consult your
legal adviser."
"I have none."
Mr. Thorpe's face flushed as he said, eagerly yet
a trifle shyly, "I wish you would accept my services,
Miss Derohan."
"As adviser?"
"Yes, and lawyer—all that sort of thing. I'm
said to understand my business pretty well. Won't
you give me a try?"
I liked Mr. Thorpe's frank manner and honest
face. He looked good, as well as clever. Mr. Wei-
born was as ignorant of business matters as I, yet
I needed advice. Should I trust this young man?
I wished to very much, and I recollected that, what-
ever my decision, I alone should be involved. If
only he were elderly!
"If you don't mind, how old are you?" I asked.
"Twenty-three"—then, seeing my disappointment,
"but I'll grow! It's not age that counts, Miss
Derohan, but experience, and I've had a great deal,"
and he smiled. His smile was really charming.
Suddenly I remembered that lawyers must be paid.
I had not a cent in the world. This I told Mr.
Thorpe, and I thanked him for his interest.
"Is it as bad as that, Miss Derohan? I'm awfully
sorry. As for paying me—yes, yes," as I would have
interrupted him, "I quite understand. I'll send in
my bill, never fear, but there's no hurry about it,
32


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
is there? And now, may I go through Mr. Derohan's
papers? Unless," stopping short and looking rather
haughty, "you prefer trusting them to someone else."
When Mr. Thorpe's task was ended I gave him
luncheon. I enjoyed his enjoyment of my omelet—
for it was good. When he found I had made it—and
the bread—and everything—he seemed annoyed,
and gave me no peace till I let him come into the
kitchen and wash the dishes! He did it extremely
well, and when I praised his dexterity, said he had
learned how when camping, and that he was "a dab"
at cooking, too!
He had supper and stopped over night at the
Welborns', and discussed my affairs with them. He
was to dispose of my ring for me, and came for it
with Mr. Welborn. As I stood on the old porch
saying good-bye to my visitors, I opened the shabby
leather-case and looked once more at Nemesis. The
moon had just risen, flooding meadow and sea with
its light. The air was full of sweet spring scents.
From the distant pond came the plaintive cry of a
whip-poor-will. It was very lovely, but my heart
ached. The circle of diamonds sparkled brilliantly,
but the emerald, translucent in the moonlight, gave
forth no ray.
33


rv
The ring was bought by Mr. Thorpe's uncle, Mr.
St. John Beverley, a collector of curios. Very
wealthy, he was able to give a fancy price, and with
this money, added to Mrs. Spuyten's loan, my debts
were settled. I never quite understood, although
given elaborate explanations, how it was done, since
the debts were many and large, but Mr. Welborn
assured me that my creditors were satisfied.
A week after Mr. Thorpe's visit, saying good-bye
to my friends and to Long Island, I started on my
journey into the unknown. It was the first of June
—a sad, rainy day, the landscape blurred, the sea
sobbing on the shore. The wind sighed through the
dark cedars of the tiny grave-yard, but swept gently
across the one new-made grave.
The Welborns waited with me on the wet plat-
form of the country station until the train thundered
in, when they introduced me to their cousin, the
conductor, saying, "Have an eye to her, Sam!" and
left me in his charge. He was a kind young man
and, meaning to do his duty, bought me all the "Il-
lustrated Weeklies"—so he called them—and count-
less prize packages of candy. Although grateful, I
should have been glad to be quite alone. Not hav-
ing left home in five years I felt oddly, and the dread
of meeting Mrs. Spuyten added to my discomfort.
As we drew near New York these disagreeable sen-
sations increased, and it was with a feeling of intense
relief that I saw Mr. Thorpe come on board the
34


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
train. He was much surprised to meet me, but took
charge of me at once, in his kind way.
"I'd give anything to go with you to Mrs. Spuy-
ten's," he said, as he put me in a cab, "but I think
it may be easier for you if you arrive alone. To
speak frankly, she's a trying old party—and, in
short"
I held out my hand to say good-bye. I thought I
understood—I did not in the least—and I told him
I should get on nicely.
"May I come to see you, Miss Derohan?"
I only hoped he might find the time—I was
already lonely. Leaning through the window, he
again shook hands, told me that the fare was paid,
and bade the man drive on.
The lack of air in the streets stifled me—a savage
fresh from the wilds! It seemed but a moment
before the cab stopped in front of a tall, brown-stone
house. I climbed its steps slowly, summoning all
my courage, and rang the bell. I was told that Mrs.
Spuyten would receive me upstairs, and, following
the butler, was in the dreaded presence. By one of
the lace-draped windows was seated a stout, fair-
haired woman. I saw, with disappointment, that she
did not resemble my father. Until then I had not
realized how much I had hoped that she might, at
least, look like him. He had been handsome and
pleasing. His cousin was plain. Her flattened,
aquiline nose, hard eyes, and broad-lipped mouth
promised an uncertain temper.
As I advanced toward her, my black draperies
hanging heavily about me, she did not rise, but, hold-
ing out a short, soft hand, said, peevishly:
"So this is Charles de Rohan's daughter! Dear
me! "Well—I might have expected nothing better!"
The insolence of this greeting shocked me. I
looked at Mrs. Spuyten in haughty surprise.
35


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"You may sit down." She spoke as to an inferior
inclined to be impertinent. "I was surprised to see
you in a cab."
"I did not know my way, Mrs. Spuyten," I mur-
mured, at a loss how to answer. I had never been
so spoken to before.
"Why didn't you pay the driver?"
"A friend did so for me," I said, coldly, "since
you sent no one to meet me. I have no money.
What you were good enough to lend me is spent,
but I hope very soon to return it;—in a few months,
if the situation that you have kindly secured for me
brings in sufficient money."
It was a long speech for me. Mrs. Spuyten sat
and stared, intense dislike in her small green eyes.
Erect and indignant I endured this disapproving
scrutiny, then—I felt my hair beginning to come
down! The crape veil hanging down my back
dragged on my bonnet, the bonnet on my hair. I
sat very still, hoping my hairpins might stay in. Sud-
denly a long yellow snake slipped over one shoulder
and coiled in a heap on my lap.
"Hoity-toity!" exclaimed my hostess, her eyes
flashing in anger, "high-falutin nonsense! If you
earn enough to keep out of the poor-house or from
coming back on my hands like a bad penny, I'll give
you the money! Because you're a de Rohan I'll help
you, and I'll tell you how to show you're grateful.
Drop that name. No de Rohan has ever been a
servant—not that you will really be one"—thinking
she had gone too far. "An excellent situation—
housekeeper and companion to an old lady, an in-,
valid. Lives up the river, somewhere near Drone-
ton. Mrs. Erranti. Fifty dollars a month! Few
impoverished country girls could get such a home."
I thanked her.
"The advertisement and de Rohan's death were
36


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
in the same paper. God's providence!—for I knew
you'd come upon me. His guiding hand has al-
ways led me. I strive humbly to follow in all meek-
ness."
Moistening her lips, she leaned back with a fat
sigh.
Since she was one of my father's beneficiaries I
might eat her salt, I told myself, without loss of
self-respect. It was none the less trying, however.
"I suppose de Rohan often talked of me? What?"
for I hesitated. "Can't you speak out? Have you
lost your wits—as well as your hair-pins?"
I had. Mr. Thorpe had frankly confessed that
no kind message accompanied Mrs. Spuyten's offer
of assistance, had warned me that she was charitable
only through fear of the world's tongue, yet—I was
unprepared for her brutality of manner. She was
old; I wished to be civil, but I was shocked into
answering her question by a rude "No."
"No?" she echoed, incredulously. I marvelled
that so fat a person could have a voice so shrill.
"Do you mean to say, Miss, that he never spoke
of me?"
"Until your lawyer came I had never heard your
name, Mrs. Spuyten."
A carriage stopped before the house as I ceased
speaking. Mrs. Spuyten rang her bell and a prim
maid appeared. "Gregson, the young ladies are
home. Show Miss de Rohan to her room quickly.
They will need you."
Mrs. Spuyten's voice was hard, her face very pale
—the blow had gone home.
I met the Misses Aurora and Eva Spuyten at din-
ner. My mother would have called them "old
young ladies." Oddly enough, the elder resembled
her stepmother. The younger was pretty, with
curly hair and pink cheeks. They treated me with
37


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
cold indifference, not caring to conceal that they
thought me a nuisance.
"What made you so late getting home, girls?"
asked Mrs. Spuyten.
"Eva was talking to young Brown. I couldn't get
her away." Aurora darted a spiteful glance at her
sister.
"Mary Grace's fiance? What were you saying
to him, Evie?"
"He did the talking," Miss Eva pouted, looking
cross.
"What did he say?" Mrs. Spuyten spoke pleas-
antly. Eva was evidently her favorite.
"Nothing."
"Nothing!" repeated Aurora. "I heard Dick
Thorpe's name."
"Let's hear about Richard Thorpe, dear." Mrs.
Spuyten's smile was arch and knowing. "What's
your friend, Master Dick, been doing?"
"Dancing attendance on Princesses, wasn't that
it, Evie?" said Aurora.
"Since you listened, tell yourself," was the tart
rejoinder. "I like to hear about beautiful women—
though I suppose it's hard for ugly old maids to un-
derstand my taste!"
"Hush, hush, girls!" besought Mrs. Spuyten, as
the butler entered. "Dear me, what a hot day it's
been!"
Her feeble attempt to preserve peace failed.
Aurora, taking the bit in her teeth, was off—au
grand galop!
"I'll tell you if Evie won't, mamma," shooting a
wicked glance at her sister. "I'm not above liking
a bit of gossip, and not selfish enough to refuse to
pass it on—but, dear me," pretending to hesitate,
"it may hurt dear Evie's feelings. Poor child—per-
haps Dick"
38


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"I don't care a button for Dick Thorpe!" cried
Eva, her voice shrill with irritation. "What's it to
me if he does escort other girls and put them in
cabs? She was a married woman, most likely, any-
way!"
"Mamma," said Aurora, impressively, "Eva is
over-excited. Brown only said he saw Dick on the
train when he was coming up from Babylon. He
got on at Jamaica, Brown said, and joined the most
perfectly beautiful girl he'd ever seen—'a daughter
of the gods, divinely fair!' Dick was so 'mashed,'
Brown said, 'he couldn't see straight'—was as rude
to him as 'get out!'''
"One of the Lympet girls, I dare say," commented
Mrs. Spuyten, uncomfortably. "They're related to
the Thorpes through the Beverleys."
"No," said Eva, with sudden sharpness, "Mr.
Brown said Mr. Thorpe said she wasn't."
I was ill at ease, dreading questions. I was suffi-
ciently disliked already by the Misses Spuyten, who
had a perfect right to resent my presence in the
house. They were under no obligation to my father.
Aurora was unpleasantly shrewd. She suddenly
fixed me with her bright, malicious glance.
"You came on that train, Miss Derohan?"
"Yes."
"It was you Mr. Thorpe put into a cab?"
"Yes, Mr. Thorpe was so kind."
Aurora laughed disagreeably.
"Young Brown's a fool!" cried Mrs. Spuyten.
"Dick Thorpe's a shrewd fox! I'll have to pay for
his forced civility—he'll put it on my little bill. Go
to bed," turning fiercely upon me, "go to bed!
Your mother's own daughter! I've heard enough!"
I was obliged to remain a week under Mrs. Spuy-
ten's inhospitable roof. I had but little over a
39


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
dollar in my purse. Mrs. Erranti had not engaged
me to come to her immediately, so there was noth-
ing for it but to stay. Gregson, the maid, took me
about on her shopping excursions. When indoors
I spent my time in a dismal upstairs library. Mr.
Thorpe called twice, but did not ask for me, Mrs.
Spuyten said. She gave me to understand that he
was the same as engaged to Eva, only this was not
yet announced. He had been kind to me because
of his affection for her.
I was ashamed that I felt Mr. Thorpe's neglect
keenly. I regretted that he had been kind—that I
had liked him so much—that I was under obligations
to him. I despised myself for these feelings, and
tried not to think of him at all. The task was dif-
ficult.
The last evening I was in town the house was
fragrant with flowers—every vase and bowl the
drawing-room contained heaped high with lilies-of-
the-valley.
"How lovely!" I cried, leaning over a forest of
the tiny bells to inhale their exquisite perfume. "I
thought they were done blooming."
Mrs. Spuyten stared at me oddly.
"Yes," she said, slowly, "their season is over here,
but—men are fools when they lose their heads about
a girl. These have come from farther north, sent
for—" she paused as if out of breath, "sent for—
by Mr. Thorpe—for Eva."
That evening Eva wore a spray, with its sheaf
of glossy leaves, in her fair curls. They looked
pretty there. When I said so she flushed painfully,
and I saw I had displeased her. Later, when I told
Mrs. Spuyten that T could not change my name, I
was equally unfortunate. She was very angry, be-
coming violent when, trying to comfort her, I sug-
40


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
gested that no one would guess our relationship,
since I never used the small d.
"The last touch," she screamed; "insulting the old
name! I wish you were not a de Rohan! With
God's help, you sha'n't be thought one much longer!"


From the time I was a little child my beauty
had been constantly talked of. To my mother good
looks were of vital importance. She rejoiced daily
over mine. The gay people among whom she lived
discussed my points as though I had been a valuable
colt, unable to understand. Later, my beauty was
an added distress to my father, who felt it needed
a rich setting. During childhood my good looks
were my most tiresome possession, and as I put on
my bonnet for my journey, I feared they might prove
an unfortunate one. Because of them I had failed
to please the Spuytens. Mrs. Erranti might share
their prejudices.
The day was depressing, with drizzling rain and
heavy mist. Gregson, who went with me to the
station, bought my ticket, and put me on the train,
was in low spirits. With many apologies for the
liberty, she gave me some good advice as to the
management of servants. Then, handing me a letter
and saying:
"For you to read when started—and may Heaven
bless you and keep you, my dear young lady, and
bring you to your own again!" she ran away, and I
knew she was crying.
I had an odd, breathless sensation when Gregson
left me. I suppose it was caused by fright. I felt
exactly as one does when swung too high. I looked
42


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
about me at my fellow-passengers and then at the
note in my hand, and in a few moments recovered
my breath and my composure. An apparently un-
ending succession of tunnels and startling flashes of
daylight now and again, prevented my reading Mrs.
Spuyten's letter, and even when we were once more
in the open I put off breaking the seal. The contents
were sure to be unpleasant.
It was a disappointment that rain and mist blotted
out the view. I had heard much of the majestic
beauty of the Hudson. All I saw from the car-
window was a stretch of gray water lapping a muddy
shore.
I opened the letter. It ran thus:
"MY DEAR ATHENA:—After sincere prayers for
guidance, I decide to overlook your obstinate ingrati-
tude. Without thought of self I do my duty as a
true Christian. I have written to Mrs. Erranti that
Miss Augusta Dean will arrive at Droneton at twelve
this morning. The girls helped in the selection of
your future name. It will save changing the mark-
ing of your clothes. Gregson informs me that yours
have richly embroidered initials! We know no
Deans, so awkwardness will be avoided.
"Strive to do your duty in the position to which
Providence has called you, with the voice of His
humblest instrument. Strive to overcome your be-
setting sin, sullen pride. Strive to forget the in-
iquitous years spent among gamblers and reprobates.
Under Mrs. Erranti's sober guidance, in a remote
country-house, you will have time for meditation
and prayer.
"Do not answer this. I have done all that is pos-
sible to help you. 'Heaven helps those who help
themselves'—so spare me begging letters.
"I send no messages to your employer. I have
43


THE HOUSE OX THE HUDSON
not the pleasure of her acquaintance, nor do I wish
for it, under present circumstances.
Your sincere well-wisher,
< 'OUNM.IA DE ROHAN SPUTTEN."
"Friday morning."
I glanced at the envelope. It was addressed to
"Miss Augusta Dean."
Rigid with displeasure, I re-read the letter, hoping
I had made a mistake; but no, I was indeed intro-
duced under this hateful name to Mrs. Erranti. In
the first flush of indignation I determined to explain
Mrs. Spuyten's motive, to enter into full particulars,
to tell my employer the truth. A half hour of sober
reflection taught me this could not be done. Mrs.
Spuyten vouched for me as Augusta Dean. A
stranger might look upon me as an impostor if I
called myself by my own name. Then, without
money, what should I do? How obtain another sit-
uation? I decided to remain quiet, to work very
hard, to pay Mrs. Spuyten what I owed her. After
that—the Deluge!
The car was disagreeably close. Because of the
rain the windows could not be opened; only cinders
seemed to filter through the ventilators. My long
veil tugged at my bonnet—clung, sticky and uncom-
fortable, about my throat and shoulders. The heat
was intense. A tired baby began to wail. From
its various discomforts the short journey grew in-
terminable, but at last the brakeman shouted,
"Droneton!" Again feeling very breathless I drew
my veil across my face and, as Augusta Dean, left
the car.
A coachman, in a heavy rain-coat, stood on the
steps of the long station scanning each passenger
who left the train. A neat young woman preceded
me. The coachman stepped forward.
44


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"Miss Dean?" he asked, touching his hat.
"No, I ain't!" replied the young woman. She
tossed her head and scurried away. The man looked
disappointed.
"You are from Mrs. Erranti?" I said, stopping
beside him.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Sent to meet—Miss Dean?"
The name fairly stuck in my throat. An alias
was too new, too unaccustomed a garment. It fitted
me ill.
"Yes, ma'am."
I gave him my check and went to the waiting-
room, where he came for me almost immediately.
Oppressed by the heat, I had thrown back my veil,
and, as I followed my guide to a shabby, covered
wagon, he began to apologize.
"I'm sorry, Miss"—wrenching open the curtained
door—"that I didn't fetch the brougham. The
master he's away to-day, and I got my orders from
Madam's maid. She said I could as well bring you
up in the market-wagon, but she's a French woman,
and them furriners don't be knowin' much, I'm
thinkin'! The seat's dry, Miss, and I'll have them
baskits out to once."
The things he had put in were not in my way,
and I said so, but out they came and in I got.
My trunk and the baskets shared the damp front
seat with him, and off we drove. Because of the
rain and the curtains, I saw very little of the country.
The coachman told me that Highgrove Hall, the
Erranti place, was five miles north of Droneton, and
added, with pride, that the private avenue was over
a mile long! From the glimpses I caught over the
man's shoulders I judged that the road was a lonely
one, bordered by meadows and woodland, with here
and there the gate-house of some estate. We were
45


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
whirled along at a rattling pace by an excellent
roadster. The wagon might be shabby, but the
horse was thoroughbred. In a surprisingly short
time we drew up before a tall, iron gate, swung
between giant pillars of red brick, and a cry of
"Gate!" brought a sour-faced man limping from the
lodge hard by.
"Come, hurry now, will ye?" cried my driver, as
the gate was slowly unfastened—to my surprise it
was chained and padlocked. "Here's the beast
soakin' wet, an' the lady perishin' with the damp!"
"Lady!" ejaculated the lame man, with a harsh
laugh, as the gate swung wide. "Lady!"
We dashed through into a dark avenue winding
under trees dripping with moisture. The woods ad-
vanced close to the road on either side, thick, over-
grown, melancholy-looking.
"You'll not be mindin' old Pat, Miss," apolo-
getically; "he's an ugly divil."
I made no reply. I did mind old Pat!
The long avenue was monotonous, unchanging.
No attempt had been made to open up views, yet I
felt sure we were following a high ridge command-
ing, but for the impenetrable woodland, a prospect of
the river. At last there came an opening in the trees;
we passed a mass of buildings on the right, a long
garden wall, and in another moment stopped in front
of a large, square house.
Highgrove Hall was a red brick mansion, three
stories in height, a ponderous structure with great
windows, and a broad veranda encircling it on three
sides. On the east, the side away from the river,
what had once been veranda had been built up to
make a new room. The window looking toward the
front in this addition was heavily shuttered, but
through a glass door which led from it to the veranda
shone a bright pink glow. Evidently the occupant
46


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
of this room, finding the day too dark and dreary,
had had recourse to lamplight. Inside the glass door
hung a pink silk curtain. This was the one cheerful
object anywhere to be seen.
To the east of the house rose a steep, rocky knoll,
surmounted by a grove of pines. This the driver
pointed out to me, saying it was the grove for which
the house was named. As he spoke, the heavy front
door swung open, a tall, sallow-faced young man ap-
peared on the threshold and languidly invited me to
enter and sit down.
"I'll see to your trunk," he said, with an air of
gentle endurance of the evils of life. "My, ain't
your horse awful wet, Larry. This damp goes right
straight to my throat;" then, in answer to some re-
mark of Larry's, "Oh, you're a tough, you are—in
every sense of the word!"
The hall into which the butler ushered me was
very large and handsome, running the length of the
house. The end opposite the front door was entirely
of glass, through which one caught a glimpse of dis-
tant woodland. One might have seen more had not
a mass of palms and flowering plants, in big, green
tubs, filled this immense window. They formed a
charming background, however, for a beautiful mar-
ble statue of Fortune, with her wheel, which stood
before them. The goddess looked as though just
emerging from this bower of greenery, to smile a
greeting to incoming guests, a graceful figure, with
the air of being the presiding genius of the place.
The floor of the hall was of white marble—in great
square blocks—and the lofty frescoed ceiling was
supported by slender pillars of the same cold, shining
stone; six on either side. Two rooms opened off the
hall on the left—the river side of the house—but
their doors were shut; to the right, but one, at the
back of the hall, the space in front being occupied
47


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
by a great staircase. It rose, massive yet graceful in
its deep recess, to a broad landing, above which was
a large window of stained glass. There it branched
to right and left, winding to the second story. Un-
derneath the window, in a spacious niche, gleamed
another white statue—the Venus de Medici.
So far the hall was perfect—imposing in its spa-
ciousness, and cold severity of marble—but the fur-
nishings were barbarous and out of keeping. Between
the pillars were broad divans, covered with rich, red
satin, or white-and-gold brocade, piled high with lux-
urious cushions, while above them great mirrors in
/ • broad gold frames covered the walls nearly to the
ceiling, reflecting the marble pillars, great staircase,
and smiling Venus, until one lost oneself in endless
vistas.
On the white floor—a shining floor of ice it might
have been—were strewn richly colored rugs, tiger-
skins, and one great Polar bear-skin, this last not out
of place on the ice-like marble. Because of the ori-
ental magnificence, I might have imagined myself in
the hall of some Indian potentate—a mighty Rajah!
I was so much interested it did not seem long before
the butler reappeared, coming from the back of the
recess which the staircase filled. He advanced toward
me with slow and languid tread, and remembering he
was one over whom I was to hold authority I looked
at him curiously. He was tall, slender, and melan-
choly-looking, but with something comic in his ap-
pearance—as if the air of dejection might be an affec-
tation merely. His brown hair was worn long in
front to allow of its being arranged in a love-lock,
curling loosely over his high, sallow forehead. His
eyebrows were raised, as if in constant surprise that
anyone should care to exist in so sad a world, and his
long nose seemed contemptuously a-droop in its pro-
found disgust with its surroundings.
48


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"Madam will see you now, Miss Dean," he
drawled, as he approached, adding, as I rose and fol-
lowed him across the hall. "It's one of her bad days
—but you needn't mind—'rooms to let,' you know!"
and he tapped his forehead, significantly.
He led me to the door from which he had just
entered the hall, to the left of the staircase at the
back of its recess, and I knew it led to the part of
the veranda that had been enclosed. He opened it,
and I found myself in a narrow passage with three
doors—besides that by which I had entered—leading
from it. The butler, noticing my glances of interest,
pointed with his long thumb from one to the other,
saying:
"This to the left, pieazza; in front, Madam's
maid's room—oh, she's a caution, she is!—that one,
down the entry, Madam's own apartment," and,
flinging open this last with much ceremony, he
ushered me in, saying impressively, "Miss Dean,
Madam!"
I entered—and found myself in a new world.


VI
The little entry had been very dark, as was the
great hall, in spite of its huge window, for the June
day itself was sombre. The dull mist which hung
over woodland and river had stolen into the house,
filling it with dark shadows. But the room I entered
was so brilliant in its pink radiance that for a mo-
ment my eyes were dazzled and I could hardly see.
In every nook and corner lamps and candles were
burning brightly, each provided with a pink shade.
Like the great hall, the walls were lined with mirrors
in broad gold frames; beneath these again were
ranged divans covered with pale pink silk and heaped
with cushions. The ceiling was gayly painted with
garlands of roses, over which hovered myriads of
bright-winged butterflies and birds of dazzling plum-
age. The windows were curtained with pink silk
under white lace; the bed of highly polished rose-
wood wore a counterpane to match.
In the bed, propped up by lace-edged pillows, in
lace cap and dressing-gown a-flutter with pink rib-
bons, sat a little, old lady, taking her mid-day meal;
a pretty old lady—although her head was too large,
her cheek-bones too high, and her features irregular
—with clear, olive skin, large brown eyes as bright
as diamonds, and cheeks as pink as her room.
On a table by the bed was the lunch-tray, and
bending over it, her back toward me, the old lady's
maid, a gay figure, in pink cambric frock and snowy
50


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
cap and apron. When I entered she had just given
her mistress a chicken pinion. Madam Erranti,
holding it in her fingers, was gnawing it with luxuri-
ous enjoyment, when she heard me announced. She
stopped eating to look, but directly her eyes fell on
me she shut them tight, like a child who sees some-
thing frightful, and cried out in French:
"She is like the day! All black, all black! I won't
look at her! Send her away!"
She turned her head from me, warding off my ap-
proach with the half-picked pinion. At this the maid
rose from her stooping posture to see the cause of
the commotion, but no sooner had she glanced at me
than, growing very pale, she exclaimed:
"Mon Dieu!—Mademoiselle Derohan!"
I was no less astonished to find in Mrs. Erranti's
attendant, Julie, my mother's maid.
"You, Julie!" I cried, in my turn. "In America!
—and Cray?"
"He, too, mademoiselle. And why? Ma foi, as
all the rest, for money!"
We had forgotten the autocrat in the bed. She
recalled us to a sense of our proper positions by say-
ing, sharply:
"Take off her bonnet, Julie! Cover her black robe
with my white shawl. So—now I will look at her.
Dieu! Qu'elle est belle!"
After staring for some moments, she added:
"I would see her hair. Take it down, Julie."
Julie obeyed, silently, swiftly. She was a perfect
maid.
I sat quite still, submissive, uncomfortable. The
room was warm, the silken shawl was warm, my
hair, hanging over the shawl, was more than warm:
it was suffocating.
But Madam Erranti was pleased.
"Magnificent!" she cried, in sudden excitement.
51


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"It is gold! Pure gold! It is like rays of sunshine!
-No red—I detest red—pure, golden sunshine!" In
English—she had spoken in French—she now quoted
the line:
"'A little sunshine in a shady place.' You know
that, n'est-ce pas? But yes, of course, for you are not
a common person—like Julie here—no, no, no! You
are a lady, an aristocrat, une grande dame—comme
moil"
She leaned back among her pillows, dropping the
chicken-bone on a plate on her bed-tray. "Yes, yes,
I, too, am a lady.—Julie, wash my hands."
Julie, as impassive as I remembered her always to
have been, offered a finger-bowl. I could not see
that she had altered in any way—the same handsome,
hard-featured Julie of six years ago.
"Yes, yes, I am a lady," Madam Erranti went on,
holding out her dripping fingers to Julie, who dried
them carefully; "a lady, a true lady—so I never ask
rude, tiresome, disobliging questions, but I use my
eyes; yes, yes, and my ears, too!" She screwed up
her eyes, looking cunningly at me. "I know you
have changed your name! Philip said Miss Dean
was coming, but—Julie called you something else,
de—something—what was it? Julie knows you,
Philip does not. De—something—de—de?"
Glad to be found out, I told her of Mrs. Spuy-
ten's wish, and why she wished it, and the reason
Julie knew me. In spite of her remark to the con-
trary she asked very many questions, then nodded
her head gravely and approvingly several times.
"Your cousin is quite right," she said, "so Philip
and the servants shall know you as Miss Dean.
Augusta! What a name! Gussie! I detest it!
For a girl of thy remarkable grace and beauty—ah,
Mon Dieu! horrible! Julie may call thee Mademoi-
selle, it is sufficient; but I, I shall call thee Athena,
52


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
for we are of the same class, we two, and can under-
stand each other. I have been lonely, yes, very
lonely! A solitary old woman—all, all, alone!"
Her eyes began to glitter strangely; she beckoned
me to come nearer.
"Come close, closer still, let me touch thy pretty
hair."
As I obeyed, leaning over the bed, she drew a long
lock caressingly through her fingers and I saw that
they were badly swollen and twisted by rheuma-
tism.
"Pure gold," she said, "pure gold—so pale, yet
shimmering like sunshine." Then, lowering her 'voice,
she whispered, hastily, "If you would hide your name
you must do as I did—first shoot it, then bury it
deep, then run, run, run!—and never tell."
Julie's voice sounded close at my elbow.
"Madame must eat her strawberries," she said, dex-
terously edging in so that I had to draw back, "Be-
hold them then! They are magnificent," and she1
placed a plate of great red berries on the tray across
which her mistress was leaning.
"May hell engulf thee!" cried the old lady fu-
riously as, lifting a swollen hand, she struck at the
intrusive maid. "Que t'enfer t'engouffre!"
Julie avoided the blow with a dexterity born of
long practice, while Madam began to eat her straw-
berries as if nothing had happened, and for a time
nothing was heard save the cracking of the seeds as
she ground them between her strong teeth.
"The music?" she demanded presently—speaking
always in French—"you love it, yes?"
She was pleased to hear that I did, but unhappy
when she learned that I could neither sing nor play.
"Mon Dieu, what a pity! But I will play for you
—the guitar to-day, the piano to-morrow. I am a
fine musician, truly. But I am naughty, I do not
53


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
study enough. I will begin soon now, very soon.
I'll study my scales to-day—no, to-morrow. I will
teach thee, Athena. Julie!" turning suddenly upon
the Frenchwoman, "Pig! Imbecile! Give me my
guitar."
Julie obeyed in silence, but her eyes flashed dan-
gerously.
Madam took the beautifully inlaid instrument
without troubling to say "Thank you," and began to
strum with nervous, uncertain fingers.
"Philip keeps it in tune for me," she explained;
"keeps it ever ready."
She began to sing, in a thin, cracked voice, inex-
pressibly pathetic, "La Depart Pour La Syrie."
"Partant pour la Sy-ri-e,
Le jeune et brave Du-nois,
Venait pri-er Mari-e
De-de-de—"
She could get no further, seeking vainly for for-
gotten words and notes.
"De—mais de quoi? Which fret was I pressing?
This—no—that? ISTo—oh, bon Dieu! Why may I
not remember?"
She looked helplessly at me, tears blurring the
brightness of her eyes. Julie came forward.
"Monsieur will sing it for Madame when he re-
turns," she said, an odd note in her voice, "Monsieur
who sings so beautifully! I speak of Monsieur
Erranti, Mademoiselle, the son of Madame—Mon-
sieur Philip. Ah, but Mademoiselle should hear
him! He sings as the birds! So handsome, also,
though not with the look of Madame, his mother. A
grief to Monsieur Erranti, doubtless, that he should
not resemble Madame, Monsieur is so entirely de-
voted to Madame—sa mere!"
Julie's handsome face through this rhapsody re-
54


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
mained as coldly expressionless as usual. I looked
at her mistress. She had lost her color, the sweet
old face wore a hunted, frightened look. Then I
knew that in some hidden way the maid had revenged
herself for insults endured. Madam held out the
guitar in two shaking hands.
"Take it away," she said feebly. "I am tired. I
want my nap." I rose to go. "No," she cried,
motioning me to sit down again. "No, I forgot.
See, Julie, open the oak chest there—the third."
Going to a divan, Julie pushed aside the cushions,
removed its cover, and disclosed a large chest of oak.
"Eh bien, Madame!" she said, awaiting further
orders.
Madam looked at me.
"For whom do you mourn, my child?"
I told her.
"But I can't live with black people!" she cried
pettishly, "I don't like black people! And you, do
you like black people?"
"Black people?" I repeated stupidly, bewildered
both by the heat and Madam's oddities. "Do you
mean negroes, Madam?"
She burst out laughing.
"Absurd child! I mean—" she stopped laughing,
frowned, looked at me suspiciously. "Negroes?
What did I say about negroes? Nothing, nothing,
nothing! What do you know of negroes? Speak,
child, what, what, what?"
"Nothing at all," I said, ashamed of my dulness
as I realized she had but alluded to my black clothes.
"I have never known any negroes—I have seen very
few."
"Grand Dieu!" exclaimed the old lady. "Never
known a nigger! Seen very few! Grand Dieu!
What a strange child—while I, I"
"Perhaps Mademoiselle will consent to wear white
55


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
when with Madame," broke in Julie, unconscious,
apparently, that she was rudely interrupting. "See,"
pointing to her pink frock with a shrug of her
shoulders, "when I had the honor of serving
Mademoiselle's mother I wore always black, as a
femme de chambre should—while now, behold me!"
she raised her eyebrows, spread out her hands. "To
please Madame! A livery—rien de plus!"
"May I think it over, Madam?"
Every moment the room grew warmer and I more
befogged.
"Yes, yes," said the old lady peevishly, "This
afternoon, when I have had my siesta—"
Julie drew from the chest a number of morning-
gowns, pink, blue, many-tinted.
"All mine!" cried Madam proudly, "and many,
many more! Every box is full—yes, they are all
great boxes"—a sweeping gesture toward the divans
—"and heaping, heaping full! Open some, Julie; let
Mademoiselle see."
Nothing loath, Julie complied. Soon the floor was
covered with displaced cushions, while chairs and bed
disappeared beneath mountains of finery. Madam
Erranti was evidently a magpie, since many of the
gowns were cut after a fashion of twelve years
before. Brocades, rich silks that would stand alone,
shimmering satins, India muslins, shawls, laces, em-
broideries, undergarments, even gloves came out of
the chests that lined the walls.
Julie had two passions, money and dress. In her
element among Madam's treasures she forgot their
owner, who now lifted her voice in complaint.
"I am so tired, so tired!" she wailed. "I want my
nap—I want it immediately—I want it now! Put
up her hair, send her away. Vite, vite, vite!"
Julie came to herself with a start, and hurrying to
me coiled up my hair with nimble fingers.
56


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"I will ring for Claude, Madame, Mademoiselle
will desire her luncheon."
"Mais oui, oui, oui!" screamed Madam, irritable
through fatigue. "Vite, vite, vite!"
As I left the room Julie whispered: "When
Madame sleeps I will come, that together we may
arrange this little matter of the toilette, n'est-ce pas?"
I said yes, quickly, only anxious to escape from the
heat and the weary old lady. It was with a keen
sensation of relief that I re-entered the cool marble
gloom of the great hall. Mentally, I was very, very
tired.
57


VII
It was quite two o'clock when I left Madam
Erranti's room. The butler, who had come to fetch
me in answer to Julie's summons, led the way at once
to the dining-room, a handsome apartment in oak
on the same side of the hall as the staircase. It
boasted as many mirrors as the hall and Madam
Erranti's bedroom. On the table was spread a slen-
der luncheon of cold chicken, bread and butter, and
tea. To my surprise the butler did not leave the
room after he had gone through the ceremony of
seating me, but took up his position by the chimney-
piece, against which he lounged in a would-be elegant
attitude. He looked supremely ridiculous.
"I imagine this is your first place, Miss Dean," he
began, in his gentle drawl.
"Yes."
"Think you'll get on with the old lady?"
I said I could not tell yet. The bread, I noticed,
was abominable, and I foresaw trouble with the cook.
"She ain't bad if you get on her right side, though
she does say awful things when she gets mad—cusses
like fury!" and he giggled suddenly. "But then my
mother does the same. I guess likely it's a way all
old ladies has. My mother's a Irish-woman, and my
father, he was the same—he's dead. I was born in this
country. I ain't a bit Irish myself. Are you
American?"
"Yes."
58


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"Parents, too?"
"Yes."
He was silent. I wondered if my short answers
had hurt his feelings. I hoped not, but he looked
all feeling, somehow. In spite of his affectation, and
his familiarity, there was something kindly and
pleasing about him. Presently he removed my plate,
asking if I would have some pie, and I was glad to
see from his manner that I had not offended him.
"It's custard pie," he said, sadly. "Norah makes
splendid pie. Not that I've eat any, but I know by
the look of it. I guess it's goin' on two years since
I've eat a piece of pie. Dispepsy. Do you have
it?"
Explaining that I was always well, but did not care
for pie, I rose to leave the room.
"Say," he burst out with an excited titter, "the
girls are in a terrible way about you! No house-
keepers allowed on the premises—and so forth!"
Winking knowingly, he pointed downward with his
thumb.
I stared at him bewildered. He was very strange.
"A thousand pardons!" came Julie's voice from
the door-way. "Mademoiselle is finished?"
"Can't you speak English, Jewlee?" asked the but-
ler, with a teasing grin, "What do you want comin'
parlezvooin' 'round here for? Miss Dean don't
understand your gibberish no more than me."
She turned upon him fiercely.
"When you address me, sir, have the kindness to
remember that I am Mrs. Cray!"
"That's somethin' Cray would as leave forget, I
guess," said the man with a delighted giggle.
"Mr. Claude Melnotte Raffarty, you are imperti-
nent," retorted Julie, "but you are a fool! It matters
little what you say. Mademoiselle permits that I
accompany her to her room?" she asked with exag-
59


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
gerated respect. "It is the wish of Madame that
I do so. For you, butler—you may carry the
basket!"
"Oh, come off!" remonstrated Claude. "What are
you givin' us?"
He stood aside to let me precede him in leaving the
room, not from respect to a superior—he thought me
of his own class—but as a man of gallantry and fine
manners! I could not but feel lowered by his air
of equality, though indignant with myself for my
inward objections. What did it matter, so long as
I paid my debts and earned my bread? Yet Julie
seemed to share my discomfort. She hated aristo-
crats and, thinking me one, enjoyed seeing me
brought low. Still she disliked seeing a fellow-
servant—as a Frenchwoman she felt immeasurably
superior—too familiar with the daughter of her
former mistress. Desiring to treat me with the free-
dom allowable in an old servant, longing to put the
butler in his proper place, she became captious
toward him, absurdly respectful to me.
At the foot of the great staircase was a clothes-
basket overflowing with silks, muslins, laces. To my
surprise Claude's long sallow face lighted up at sight
of this finery.
"For the Land's sake, Mrs. Cray," he ejaculated,
fingering the silks caressingly, "what's up? What
ever are you go in' to do with all this elegant stuff?"
"Help me to carry it to the room of Mademoiselle
and you shall see, grand enfant!" said Julie, taking
a handle of the basket.
"Call me pet names, dearest!" giggled Claude as,
seizing the other, he ran upstairs so quickly that
Julie—panting, shrieking remonstrances in French
and English—had much ado to keep up with him.
I followed slowly, admiring the beauty of the stair-
case and examining with interest the upper hall. This
60


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
was arranged as a smoking-room with divans, easy-
chairs, and, in a handsome cabinet, a quantity of
pipes of all shapes and sizes. On the wall hung a
wonderful collection of weapons, and beside a door
stood a huge iron safe. As I was gazing at this
Claude appeared, out of breath, but grinning with
delight.
"Thought you might not know the way"—he spoke
very loudly—"so I told the old girl I'd run down and
show you up."
He pointed a flexible thumb over his shoulder
toward the door from which he had emerged. An
indignant exclamation floating down from above in
answer to his speech told me that Julie was waiting
for me at the top of a back staircase. Claude gig-
gled again, then, seeing my interest in the safe, said,
more soberly, "That's where we keep our valuables.
Peggy—she's the mastiff, lives at the stables day-
times—is chained to that ring you see clamped in the
side there at night. That's Mr. Erranti's room it
stands by. If he hears anyone tamperin' with it, or
with Peg, he'll just step out and giv' 'em kingdom
come. He's an awful light sleeper—sleeps mighty
little, too. 'Twould bust me all up to live the way
he does, but then I ain't as strong as I'd like to be,
I ain't"—he gave himself a languid thump on his
chest. "Want to see the rooms? 'Twon't take a
minute; there's only five of 'em, see"—he opened the
door on the left.
I entered. It was a large room with two great
windows, the furniture handsome but uninteresting.
I saw that it had been left entirely to the upholsterer.
Everything possible was draped in cream-tinted
cretonne sown with pink roses—the "Pink Room," as
the butler now announced.
"Sweet, ain't it? The view across the river is
lovely—fine days. Exposure, southwest. I'm told
61


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
it's the healthiest. Drawing-room is under this—
'tain't much used, though."
He led the way through a small dressing-room into
another corner room, where big poppies took the
place of the roses. "Red room," said the man;
"handsome, very. Boss's apartment; exposure,
northwest. Grand view across and up river, good
weather. This damp goes to my throat, it's real
weak"—coughing slightly. "You can see old Mr. Bev-
erley's estate from this window, when this horrid fog
ain't mizzlin' down. His land's north of ours. Got
a gorgeous big house, gray stone; Beverley Towers
they call it. He's awful rich, they say. This"—open-
ing another door—"is the Boss's dressin'-room. Mon-
strous big for a hall room, but, you see, the hall is
wide. Seems a pity to use it for a dressin'-room, but
then there's only one window, and it's north, so
'tain't to say so desirable for bedroom purposes—that
is, if health's considered. This"—with an air of still
greater importance—"is the Blue Room, the last of
the suit. Has a dressin'-room, too, t'other side.
Handsome large room, but kinder gloomy, this win-
dow bein' north and that other, though east, under
the hill—sort of shut in, ain't it? My! Just listen to
that French woman tiradin' in the distance! Ain't
she fearfully mad! Taking on in her native tongue,
I guess—Hail Columbias and big D's ad libertum!
Comin'—comin' directly, lady fair! What, can't
you live without me one minute?"
He opened the door into the hall, which was near
the narrow dark passage leading to the back stair-
case. At its end a steep flight of stairs led upward.
"You open the door just behind and you'll find the
way down, but you might as well use the front stairs
while the Boss is away," said my companion, good-
naturedly. Then addressing Julie, angry and impa-
tient at the top of the narrow flight, "No, I can't stay
62


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
another minute with you, Mrs. Cray, so there's no
use coaxing. Dear me! and you a married lady, too!
I'm astonished at your goin's on!"
"Canaille!" fiercely, from the stair-top.
"Can I? No, it's can't I, this time, Mrs. Cray—
so adoo, adoo!"
Giggling wildly over his own witticisms, he opened
the door he had pointed out to me and vanished
below.
The third story of Highgrove Hall was as plain as
the others were handsome. Around the small hall
as many bedrooms as possible had been made. A
little corner one fell to my share. I was glad that
it was simply furnished. Julie asked permission to
unpack my trunk, and, though she made no com-
ments, I saw that its slenderness and shabbiness
astonished her.
"These frocks of cotton," she observed, as she put
my ginghams in a drawer, "Mademoiselle may wear
in the morning, very early, when superintending the
affairs of the household—the menage. Not later than
ten of the clock. At that hour Mademoiselle will do
well to rearrange her toilette. I have Madame's
orders to see Mademoiselle well supplied with toilettes
—and of a pleasing variety; voila /" indicating, with
a superb gesture, the contents of the basket.
I did not wish to accept garments of silk and lace
from a stranger. This I told Julie, but she refused
to listen to my objections. Madame, she said, was
old, whimsical, out of health. Her physicians
ordered that she should be humored in every way.
Her son insisted that these orders should be carried
out to the letter. Madame would never consent to
my appearing before her in black. If I found the
situation not to my taste—"Ma foi, might Mademoi-
selle not leave the robes behind when she went away?
The materials were not, after all, of a richness so
63


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
remarkable—pas du tout! As a child Mademoiselle
had ever been robed as a princess, she was
accustomed"
Here I interposed, saying the very servants might
be expected to look askance at a housekeeper flaunt-
ing such fine feathers.
"Not at all!" cried Julie, "I myself will explain—
they will comprehend. Mademoiselle was ever gen-
tle, amiable, as a child. Will she now deny pleasure
to an old lady—une vrai dame—solitary, souffrante?
Ah, jamais!"
At last I consented, feeling that she was in the
right.
After all there was nothing so miserable, so flimsy
as false pride. I put mine behind me while Julie
rummaged among the silks and muslins.
"Eh bien, Mademoiselle," she exclaimed, gayly,
"it is necessary to make a beginning! Ah, if Made-
moiselle could but sew as she embroidered when a
mere child! Ma foi, I remember yet that embroid-
ery! Marvellous, truly—but sewing, that is dif-
ferent."
I exclaimed that I could also sew, having made all
my clothes for years.
"Juste del!" cried my mother's ci-devant maid, in
tones of real horror, "is it then possible!"
We set to work together. Seeing Julie reminded
me of something Mrs. Spuyten had told me—that
Lord Ebbrides had been robbed of my mother's
emeralds shortly after he had gained possession of
them, but the thieves had replaced them almost imme-
diately, putting them back in the very safe from
which they had taken them; a strange story, hardly
to be believed. Since Cray had been in Lord Eb-
brides's service at that time, and had taken Julie, as
well as the emeralds, back to London with him, I
asked her about this robbery. She seemed disin-
64


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
clined to talk about it, protesting that she knew noth-
ing of the matter.
"It is all so long ago, Mademoiselle. A thousand
pardons for turning thus"—rising to place her chair
close in front of the window—"with my back to
Mademoiselle—a great rudeness truly, but what will
you? It is like night, so dark!"
"Did it happen while you were there, or after you
left, Julie?"
"Did what happen, Mademoiselle? Hark! What
was that? Did I hear calling?"
I listened, but heard nothing save the drip, drip,
drip of the rain upon the veranda roof, a story
below.
The afternoon was, as Julie said, like night. The
thick mist hung heavily about the house, the rain fell
soft and fine, making no sound save that of its cease-
less dripping, dull, monotonous, never-ending—a
death-watch drip.
"About the robbery, Julie?"—I was interested—
"Had you and Cray already left Lord Ebbrides's
service?"
"Yes, Mademoiselle, and—I know nothing. It
will be well," she gathered up her work, "if we
descend and sew in Madame's room. There it is
always light, while here, mon Dieu, the darkness is
horrible!"
I followed, though dreading the heat of that gay,
scented room. All the afternoon and, after supper
until nine o'clock, we sewed and sewed and sewed!
Madam, bright and cheerful after her nap, kept us
hard at work. It amused her to see the garment
grow under our fingers. In the fashioning of fine
Taiment for her companion she had found a new
diversion; in me, the companion, a new toy—a doll.
And I—I longed with a feverish intensity, foreign
to my nature, for my old life on Long Island; for
65


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
the shabby old gray farm-house, where I was mis-
tress—as well as maid. I longed for the breeze
sweeping in off the breakers; for the wild, sweet song
of the sea.
As I looked about the strange luxurious cage in
which I found myself, my spirit beat in rebellion
against the bars of my poverty. I grew desperate
in my longing to be free.
66


VIII
At half-past six the next morning I was awake and
astir. The moment I opened my eyes I saw that the
world was bright again, and, anxious to see the river,
I ran at once to the window and looked out. Ah,
what a view! I stood, fascinated, till the wild north
wind drove me to dress in haste. The great river
was as blue as a sapphire, and the turbulent wind had
whipped it into angry, foam-capped waves. Broad
and majestic, it flowed grandly southward to join the
sea, obeying tidal-laws without nervous hurry. It
satisfied and half cured me of my home-sick longing
for the sea.
The opposite banks, backed by fine hills, seemed
very far away. To the south, over the mass of trees
which shut out the view, I caught a glimpse of a dark,
straight line against the horizon—the Palisades.
Close beneath my north window a stretch of lawn
ended in a belt of woodland, beyond which, on the
summit of a gentle eminence, two lofty gray stone
towers showed themselves above a mass of trees.
These I recognized as "Beverley Towers," and knew
I was looking at the home of Richard Thorpe's uncle
—and of Nemesis.
Highgrove Hall was so buried in its encircling
woods that I was thankful for my room in the third
story, where I had an outlook over the river. The
lower rooms were completely shut in. Wishing to
67


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
see more, I determined to go down to the river, and
as it was but seven, and breakfast would not be ready
till eight, I had plenty of time. Stealing softly down-
stairs, I saw the butler standing before the front
door, which he had evidently just opened. Under
his arm he carried a duster, and his long, slim per-
son was enveloped in a long, white apron.
It covered him almost completely and was fastened
by a great number of narrow, white strings. As I
crossed the hall he was gazing, with an air of gloomy
abstraction, at the antics of a young mastiff on the
road before the house. The big puppy was lumber-
ing around and around in pursuit of its own tail, with
an earnestness comical enough.
"Good morning," I said, not knowing whether to
call the man Raffarty or Claude.
"Oh!" he said, turning, "so it's you, Miss Dean.
Good morning! Just look at that purp! Ain't he a
fool! A great, big dorg, two years old next May! I
should think he'd be ashamed of himself! There"—
in deep tragic tones, as the puppy, having succeeded,
was brought suddenly to a sitting posture and yapped
dismally over the pain his own teeth had inflicted—
"there—I knew he'd be sorry if he done it! Don's
an awful silly creature, and his mother's as wise as
wise."
I tried to comfort the foolish, jolly, young dog,
who advanced to meet me wagging the bitten tail and
looking absurdly sheepish and self-conscious.
"Where is his mother?" I asked.
The butler, strolling to the veranda edge, watched
me as I petted the mastiff and tried to avoid the long
pink tongue thrust out to lick my face.
"She's in the stable. It's Peggy, the one I was
tellin' you of yesterday. He"—pointing at the
puppy—"is called Don. His name is Don Jew-Anne
.—Don June some folks pernounce it, I'm told—but
68


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
no one calls him that, and no wonder. It's a queer,
heathenish name. Spanish, they say."
"What am I to call you," I asked, "Claude or Raf-
farty?"
"You may suit yourself, Miss Dean"—he spoke
solemnly, it was evidently a matter of importance.
"The Boss calls me Raffarty. He says Claude and
Melnotte are too absurd for a butler. They are ro-
mantic"—he folded his arms and looked melancholy
—"but my mother is romantic. Some—ladies of
my acquaintance—think it suits me rather well.—
He arranged his curl on his forehead, and sighed.
"Very well, then, I will call you Claude."
"Thank you, Miss Dean; you are very considerate
and kind."
A moment of silence followed; then, exclaiming,
"Lordy! It wants a whole hour till breakfast! Just
wait here a minute, Miss Dean," Claude hurried
away, returning almost immediately, bearing a tray
aloft on his outspread hand, after the wonderful
fashion of waiters. On the tray was a pitcher of
milk and a glass. "An empty stummick's a bad
thing," he said, "'specially if you're thinkin' of a
stroll. So you'd better drink a glass of milk. It's
what you call 'fresh from the cow!' It makes me
sickish, myself, but most folks seem to like it."
It was a kindly action and I was grateful. So
might Don have been had he been allowed to dip his
black muzzle into the glass, but Claude politely
warded him off with the toe of his highly polished
shoe. While drinking the milk I looked about me
with much interest. Everything, hidden in mist the
day before, now showed so clearly in the early morn-
ing sunshine. But even sunshine could not make
Highgrove Hall, or its surroundings, look cheerful,
because of the dense woods which closed in, dark and
impenetrable, scarce a stone's throw from the house.
69


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
To my left rose the high brick wall of the garden,
and beyond, almost buried in trees, the stables and
gardener's house.
Little of the northwest wind, racing at such a mad
pace down the river, penetrated to the veranda of
the Hall. The tops of the trees rustled finely, but
the leaves of the underbrush scarcely stirred. The
air was cold and pure, what there was of it, but I
longed for the rush of the wind. I had felt choked
ever since leaving Long Island.
"My, ain't it chilly!" said my companion, shiver-
ing. "Who'd think 'twas June! If you're going to
the river, Miss Dean, you'd better take a wrap of
some sort. I'll run get you one if you say the word."
I thanked him, but declined, saying the exercise
would keep me warm. At the mention of a walk Don
pricked up his ears and asked to go along, and of this
Claude approved. "There's a precious lot of tramps
in these diggin's, and though Don June is nothin' but
a purp, still"—eying the big creature dispassion-
ately—"he don't show at first sight what a ever-
lastin' fool he is. He looks fierce—yes, his appear-
ance is awfully ferocious, and appearances is the
main thing after all, these days."
I am fond of dogs and was glad of Don's company.
Together we crossed the short lawn and, traversing a
thicket of firs which topped the steep bank above the
river, found a flight of steps which led down to the
railroad track, and beyond, by another flight, reached
the shore. On either hand the shore was rocky, but
directly in front a pretty, grassy point stretched out
into the river. On its south side was a red brick
boat-house, a miniature Highgrove Hall. Where
the point joined the land were tiny, pebbly beaches,
and on one of these lay a fisherman's dory, drawn up
just out of reach of the mimic ocean surges, which
were beating against the pebbles with great violence.
70


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
The wind rushed upon us as we struggled out to
the end of the point, as though it wished to fling us
into the water. It exhilarated me, but Don, by turns
barking angrily at the noisy waves and bouncing
away from them when a drop chanced to strike him,
told me plainly he would prefer returning home,
though determined not to go without me.
Few craft were to be seen. Far to the right a
tug was laboriously dragging a line of canal-boats up
stream, while as far away to the left a big sailing
vessel, close-reefed, was scudding southward. But
one other boat was in sight. This last, a tiny cat-
boat, was dancing in a dangerous fashion upon the
stormy river half a mile off shore. A few moments'
observation convinced me that it was sailed by one
ignorant of boat-craft, and I knew that little short
of a miracle could prevent its capsizing in one of the
sudden squalls that swept the river. The crisis came
even sooner than I had expected. Down rushed the
wind upon the pretty toy and, as if in wanton sport,
flung it down upon the water. The waves lifted the
shining side into view, but no one was to be seen
clinging to it.
I raced for dear life to the old dory on the beach.
It was half full of water, and the oars were gone.
As, thinking they might be hidden in the bushes
growing among the rocks, I searched eagerly for
them, Don, delighted by my activity, tripped me up
in his endeavors to join the game. At last, when I
had given up hope, I came upon them. The blade
of one was broken, but it was better than none. I
heaved the old boat over on its side, but before the
water had time to run out had righted her again and
launched her, in my desperate fear of arriving too
late.
I had to fight my way inch by inch to the wreck.
The heavy dory leaked—I had to stop to bail—the
71


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
wind buffeted me, the tide dragged me sideways, and
all the time a horror of what I might find entangled
in the sail sapped my courage. This was spared me,
for although the face of the young man whom I
found clinging to the hull, was already blue with chill
and exhaustion, he was alive, though little more.
When I had succeeded in dragging him by main
strength into the boat, for he helped himself but
little, he fell in a heap on the bottom and showed no
inclination to move.
"You had better take an oar and try to row, even
if you don't know how," I said, "the effort may start
your circulation."
This insult stung him into life, and crawling feebly
upon a seat he took the oar I offered, in his shaking
hands. On one there blazed a splendid ring—an
emerald of great beauty, set in diamonds. It was
Nemesis! But I had no chance to look at her wearer
in my struggle to get the boat safely to shore, where
Don, who had begun to howl the moment I had left
him, still stood wailing dismally. He had not howled
in vain, for by his side I saw the ubiquitous Claude,
his long apron fluttering in the wind, gazing
toward us with intense anxiety. The butler was
emotional and did not hide his feelings. As we drew
near I saw that he was wringing his hands in his dis-
tress, and his agitation, more than the wind, seemed
to cause the numberless strings of his apron to shiver
in sympathy. By his side was one of the under-
gardeners, who rushed with him, knee-deep, into the
water and dragged the boat high and dry upon the
shore.
"If it ain't Mr. Randal St. John!" Claude ex-
claimed at sight of my shivering companion. "For
the land's sake, sir, run up to the house and change
your clothes. There's plenty of Mr. Erranti's things
in his dressin'-room, and I'll come with you and
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
get you a drink. No, no, don't stop to thank Miss
Dean," as the young man would have spoken to me.
"Don't you see she's soaked through, too, 'long o'
savin' you? Go 'long up to the Hall, do, sir! Dolan'll
see to your boat; and you too, Miss Dean, 'fore you
catch your death of cold." Then, seeing me petting
Don, who whimpered with as much delight over our
reunion as if we were old friends, he turned upon
Mr. St. John again. "Will you have the goodness
to run ahead, sir, and get off them wet things? I'll
see to Miss Dean," and as Mr. St. John obeyed,
"He's awful sickly, ain't he? Why, he couldn't have
been immersed very long, yet just look at him! As
white as chalk, and as blue as an indigo bag! And
you looking as ca'm and steady—not to say rosy
cheeked, for that I should judge you seldom be, Miss
Dean—but as nice and cool and healthy-lookm' as
usual."
I began to walk homeward briskly. My wet
clothes were uncomfortable, but as yet I was not
cold. Like Claude, I had been astonished, and not
a little alarmed, by the evident delicacy of my
whilom companion. If I had not reached the boat
when I did I fancied he might have dropped into the
water and sunk—from exhaustion and cold. I was
thankful I had arrived in time to save him—and,
yes, I had to admit to myself that I was almost, if
not quite, as glad to have saved Nemesis.
"I was real mad," said Claude, joyously stepping
along beside me—"I was real mad when I sounded
the gong for breakfast, and you never showed up at
all! And just as I was tearing out to see if you was
never coming I heard Don howling his big head off
down here. Says I to myself, 'Somethin's up, Claude
Melnotte Raffarty, you may bet your life, and 'stead
of raising Cain round here you'd just better waltz
down to the shore and see. It's tramps, like as not!'
73


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
so down I run, and, Land o' Goshen, there you were
in the midst of those raging billows saving a hu-
man life! Never have I experienced such shame!
'Claude,' I says to myself, 'you'd better do some-
thin' to help, 'stead of howlin' like poor Don, here!'
So I skipped up to the stable like a house afire, and
yelled to Jimmie Dolan to come quick, for there was
wrecks off shore, and mercy me, here we be at the
house already—and, dear me, I was forgettin' your
wet things—do change 'em. I'll fetch you up some-
thin' hot when I bring the same to young St. J."
As for me, I thought of Nemesis—of Nemesis on
the finger of a careless young man! I had imagined
her guarded carefully in the velvet-lined drawer of
some cabinet, treasured as a rare antique. There
came a tap at my door. "Cup of coffee, Miss Dean!
Hot as hot—you'll please drink it at once. Open
your door on a crack which you can haul it in when
I'm gone, which I'm goin' d'rectly, only please come
down as soon as able to preside over the breakfast
which I'm about to offer to our guest, Miss Dean."
I said I would come very soon.
"Can you hear me through the door, Miss Dean?"
''Yes, Claude."
"Then I just want to say," came through the key-
hole in a hoarse but dramatic whisper, "that if
R. St. J. acts queer, don't you mind. He's full to the
brim with whiskey! My remonstrances met with no
success, Miss Dean, though I went so far as to men-
tion a lady's presence. His insides is copper-lined,
that's evident. But don't you worry, Miss Dean,
for it may go to his legs alone—and anyway I'll be
there."
He tramped away heavily, to let me know that he
was gone. I took in the coffee; it was hot and
comforting.
When I went downstairs Mr. St. John, rising from
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
the divan on which he was lolling, came forward
with both hands outstretched to greet me. This I
failed to see, thinking an ordinary hand-shake quite
sufficient. The whiskey had not gone to his legs.
Mr. St. John was tall and slender, small-featured,
with pale blue eyes, and fair hair which curled closely
about a very white forehead. As he smiled down
upon me he showed a row of very perfect teeth, but
his smile was disagreeable because of the scantiness
of the upper lip, which disclosed much of its lining
as it drew back, transforming the smile into a sneer.
"How can I thank you enough, Miss Dean," he
said, in well-modulated tones, "for risking your valu-
able life to save my worthless one? I shall be, believe
me, eternally grateful"—he squeezed my hand very
hard and gazed tenderly into my eyes. I remem-
bered the whiskey and made allowances. From the
door of the dining-room came a discreet cough, be-
traying the presence of my self-elected chaperon. "I
scarcely know what to say to you," he continued;
but I cut him short by asking him to stay to break-
fast. This he declined with effusive regrets.
"I should love above all things to breakfast with
you, Miss Dean, but I must see to getting the boat in
trim before my uncle, Mr. Beverley, of 'Beverley
Towers,' gets wind of my adventure. I hope to keep
the affair a secret from him, for he is old, Miss
Dean"—with a look expressive of tender considera-
tion for the aged—"and I should hate to have him
upset, one upset being enough in a family, don't you
think?"
Again remembering the whiskey I begged him to
eat something before he left. The idea of so much
liquor without food was appalling.
"Raffarty gave me a glass of milk, with a teaspoon-
ful of whiskey in it, Miss Dean, to keep off cold, so
I really don't need anything more. Erranti and I
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
are great chums, Miss Dean, and neighbors into the
bargain, so I'll hope to see you often—when I'm not
so deadly dull as I am now, after my soaking in that
beastly ice-water," and, saying good-bye, he went
away.
Claude at once bounced out of the dining-room in
a whirlwind of indignation.
"A teaspoonful! A ^eospoonful!" he exclaimed.
"Well, if he ain't the greatest I ever saw! But it
was just like him—just exactly like him! And milk,
too! Not one drop of milk, Miss Dean, and so little
water you couldn't scarcely see it! I don't mind
sayin' to you, Miss Dean, that I ain't got no sort of
use for that young man—he's the biggest fraud
goin'. I hope to gracious you won't be deceived by
his high-pocricies."
In this fashion Claude ran on all the time I was
eating my nice, hot breakfast. I did not know
whether to stop him or not. I did not want to hurt
his feelings. I had begun to like him. His famil-
iarity was but the ease of one free-born American
citizen toward another. No impertinence was in-
tended. He was frankly and simply my equal. I
said to myself, why not?
"What do you s'pose?" with a wild giggle of
amusement, "he's goin' to be a minister! Leastways
he's foolin' his old uncle up yonder," indicating
Beverley Towers, with a motion of his curved thumb,
"by pretending that he's goin' to be one. Him a
minister! It would just make a ordinary cat laugh
to think of it! Not but what he could play at bein'
one good enough. Yes, he could. Mr. R. St. J.,
Miss Dean, is the best out-and-out mimic I ever saw!
His talent is something extryordinary. Why, he
can do the old Madam at her guitar to perfec—tion!
You'd think 'twas her, playin' and singin'—and
cussin', when she couldn't just remember—to the
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
life! Kinder mean, too, I call it, makin' fun of a
poor, loony old lady! You just bet he don't dare
do it when the Boss is 'round! No sir-ree! He'd
give him fits, the Boss would—though he only laughs
when Mr. St. John mimics him! He does that good,
too. He could mimic anyone. I'm always glad
when he's 'round that I ain't peculiar. I'd sorter
hate to have him take me off—folks laugh so."
77


IX
Two weeks had passed since my coming to High-
grove Hall. June, the month of roses, was nearly
over. Mr. Erranti was still absent. I wished he
would come home, for until then I might not enter
upon my duties as housekeeper. The servants neg-
lected their work. The bread was uneatable; often the
shining floor of Madam's room was strewn with the
bits thrown from her in disgust, yet she would not
allow me to teach the cook or to make it myself.
"Wait till Philip returns to 'back you,' ma chere,"
she insisted, "though he may not wish to. AVho dare
say? He likes Norah's cooking, does Philip, but of
her he has no fear—no, none at all; but then he
fears not the devil himself—I saw him shoot the
devil once! Hush, that I must not speak of; my head
then grows hot, so hot! Norah is a devil, an Irish
devil—I fear her. If Philip says, 'You may make
bread, you may keep house!' he'll see you have your
way. Philip never gives up, never, never, never!"
Madam was herself headstrong, imperious. I
had to obey. I did not earn my salary. Free until
ten in the morning, for an hour after luncheon, dis-
missed at nine in the evening, I was too idle, and
wished for the return of Mr. Erranti, who, more
courageous than most men, stood in no awe of his
cook.
In the meantime I tried to find something to do.
Books possess no attraction for me, but Mr. Erranti
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
had a fine library, and I knew I should take ad-
vantage of it. My mother had wished me to excel
as a linguist, and I was forgetting every language
save my own. I began to rub up my Italian by se-
lecting a volume of short stories and reading one
every morning. It was because of de Amicis that
my friend the butler ceased to regard me as his
equal. One morning he followed me to the library
to complain of the dulness of Highgrove Hall.
"You see, before I came here, Miss Dean," he
began in his plaintive drawl, "I lived the winter in
town with Mr. Erranti. He only bought this place
this last March because of the Madam's poor health,
and he kept the ball a-rollin' lively, I can tell you!
Stag-parties he called 'em, meaning only gentlemen
present, and if I wished to pun I might say it did
come very 'dear' to some of 'em. Cards?" ironically,
with eyebrows raised, "Oh, no! not at all!" Then,
very solemnly, "The way them brokers play for
money, Miss Dean, is enough to turn your hair
gray!"
I asked if Mr. Erranti was a stock broker.
"You may rest assured he is, Miss Dean," was the
languid response—Claude's usual manner was lan-
guid—"and I'm thankful I ain't, that's all! A life
of excitement wears me out," forgetting his com-
plaint of its lack. "I was glad enough to come into
a quiet neighborhood to rest. I was in a refresh-
ment-room to a railway-station once. A place where
you changed cars for everywhere most—a junction.
My nerves couldn't stand the wear and tear of it,
so I just lit out. Trains comin' in at all hours of
the day, and over a hundred people all yellin' for
different things at once. Only fifteen minutes for
you to serve an' them to gobble the vittles down—
all told! It was sickenin' to see the way folks for-
got their manners. Behavin' like so many hogs!
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
Hustlin', callin' names, an' swallerin' pieces of pie
whole—I simply had to get out!" He broke off to
inquire what I was going to read. "7-talian, did
you say, Miss Dean? For the land's sake, can you
read that queer gibberish? My! You'll be readin'
Latin and Greek next—p'raps you do now?"
I smiled as I said I should be able to, seeing I had
studied them until I was fourteen.
"Land o' Goshen!" Claude ejaculated, his air of
languid indifference gone. "Did you attend night-
school 'sides goin' daytimes? Seems to me you must
have burned the candle to both ends, as the saying
goes, to have learned so much by the time you was
fourteen!"
I smiled, but remained silent, and Claude burst
out:
"If you won't think me impertinent or—or—
snooping, Miss Dean, I should like to know why
you studied Greek. Was you thinkin' of being a
teacher?"
"No," I said, "I never expected to teach;" then,
thinking it could do no harm to gratify his burning
curiosity: "You see, I was born in Greece, Claude,
in Athens, so my mother wished me to understand
the language of that country. I have never been to
school. I studied at home. When I was .fourteen
my father was not able to give me teachers, for we
had become very poor. I don't know so much as I
should—only a few languages."
"Well, I never!" murmured the butler.
"Please don't repeat this, Claude. It hurts me to
talk of the past."
"Not for worlds, Miss Dean."
He had become very solemn and pale, being.the
kindest, most sympathetic of creatures. After a
long silence he sighed and said, in low, mournful
tones:
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"I feel proud to have been thus far honored of
your confidence, Miss Dean. If it ain't cheeky I'd
like to ask one question."
I smiled an assent.
"Did you know that Julie Cray before you came
here?"
"Yes."
"And—and, as how, Miss Dean?"
"She was my mother's maid," I said, thought-
lessly, and was sorry the moment after.
"H-um! That accounts!" was the mysterious
comment, as Claude gently withdrew.
This conversation changed his attitude toward me.
He was still my friend, but, because of my educa-
tion, my very humble friend. For good birth
Claude cared nothing, being, indeed, incapable of
seeing any difference between well-bred people and
the vulgar rich. The finely clad were all "gentle
people" to poor Claude. I have since noticed that
the children born in this country of Irish parents
are totally lacking in the subtle penetration which
characterizes their parents. The newly arrived im-
migrant recognizes at once the "raal quality." Their
children born on American soil, never.
But Claude, though he had no respect for old
families, fairly reverenced knowledge, and he chose
to think me very learned. When, by dint of ques-
tioning, he discovered that, besides French, Greek,
and Latin, I understood German and Spanish, his ad-
miration knew no bounds.
"And yet," he would occasionally say, in a burst
of confidence, "you can't play the pie-anner! It
does beat all! I b'lieve you could good enough if
you only tried, and this house is just stuffed full of
'em!"
This last was quite true—the Hall was overfull
of pianos and mirrors. They were everywhere, and
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
there was enough music in the house without my
"trying." Poor Madam Erranti had days when
she was haunted by music she had played when
young. Opening her piano, she would sit for hours
striving to recall old pieces, forgotten exercises, even
scales, till my heart ached for her. She could not
learn the new music—arranged for children—that
her son brought her. The poor, bewildered brain
could master nothing new, and its power over old
knowledge was gone.
It was my most trying duty to sit beside Madam
while she tried to practice, a bright, pink spot
flaming in each cheek, her eyes sparkling feverishly,
the knotted, swollen hands wandering over the keys,
seeking vainly for the melody they might never
again call forth. At such times she complained bit-
terly of her son's absence.
"I love much," she would say in French, the
language she preferred, "the music that fills the
house when Philip is at home. He sings like a night-
ingale. Didst ever hear the song of the nightin-
gale? Yes? I, never, never in my life; but I am
told the bird sings less well than my Philip.
Listen, belle et bonne. I will tell thee of his voice.
It is rich, sweet, tender, pathetic, and—passion-
ate!" emphasizing each adjective with a pat of her
hand against my cheek. Then, lowering her voice
and nodding her head with energy, "If ever Philip
sings of love to a woman he will wile away her
heart; yes, her poor, sick, feverish, weary heart!
Not thine, tres chere, ah, no! Thou shalt not
listen; if thou didst, what matter after all? Ma
foi"—smiling, patting my cheek again—"what mat-
ter, I ask? Thou art an ice-maiden, a Lorelei, as
cold as—as you appear! Have I not seen thee with
young Randal, whose life was saved by thy efforts?
Is he not charming, winning—of an intelligence ex-
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
treme? I, an old woman, admire him, while you,
young, without experience, therefore to be pleased
easily, regard him without favor! Cold, indifferent,
unmoved by his efforts to please! And he tries to
please, the young Randal, tries hard! Oh, I see, I
see—tries hard—in vain! I admire thy hard heart,"
she added, in a mysterious whisper, "and I am glad!"
Leaning forward, she kissed me; leaning back,
smiled with strange approval.
A very singular old lady, but she was kind in her
whimsical, selfish way.
Randal St. John did spend much of his time with
us. For a few days after his ducking he was kept
at home by a feverish cold, but when he recovered
he almost lived at the Hall. He strolled about the
garden, lounged on the veranda, strummed on the
pianos, and was generally on hand when Madam
went for an airing in her wheeled chair, when he
walked beside her. An idle young man, he found
Madam amusing.
I did not like him, and avoided him when I could.
He wearied me with his nonsense, talking almost ex-
clusively about himself and me, discussing, compar-
ing, and commenting upon what he called "our com-
plex natures," till I was fain to wish neither of us
had ever been born!
83


Madam Erranti's feelings toward her son were
of a variable nature. Some days she would seem
very proud of him, boasting of his beauty, superb
voice, strength of character, and fine education.
Yet it seemed to me the deep affection felt by most
mothers for an only child was lacking. Her senti-
ment appeared rather a compound of pride, admira-
tion, and wondering awe. The days when this feel-
ing swayed her I learned to call her good days.
On her bad days his name might not be men-
tioned. It was as if she hated to be reminded of
his existence. She would close her eyes and turn
her head away if he were even distantly alluded to.
Julie told me that if the subject were pursued
Madame had, later, "an attack of the nerves." It
did not escape my notice that Julie availed herself
of this peculiarity to avenge herself for slights re-
ceived. I remembered her praises of Mr. Erranti
on the day of my arrival, after Madame had insulted
her by the epithets "pig" and "imbecile."
Unfortunately, Mr. Erranti chose to return on
one of his mother's bad days. The letter announc-
ing his coming arrived late, not till noon, owing to
the carelessness of the men about going for the
mail during their master's absence. I had been
called a half-hour earlier to Madam's room that
morning than was customary, and found her very
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
irritable and hard to please. Seated in her wheeled
chair, clad in a morning-gown of lilac silk a-flutter
with lace and ribbons, her white-lace cap gay with a
fresh pink rose, she was amusing herself playing
with her many handsome rings. These she could
not wear because of her swollen fingers. She ac-
knowledged my salutation on entering, coldly, and
when I asked if I should read to her or get my em-
broidery she did not answer, but broke out into
peevish complaints.
"Mon Dieu! No one loves me! Ah, that I were
dead! The bread that one gives me to eat is dis-
gusting. The femme de chambre who serves me is a
fool—of a wicked temper, without heart; and thou,
Athena, for whom I have affection, deniest me the
small thing I ask of thee, and demand, 'Shall I
read? Shall I sew?' I tell thee no, no, no!"
"Dear Madam," I asked, gently, "what is it you
wish? I am anxious to please you."
She turned her head away, saying, "But no, thou
wilt not consent. I have asked thee again and yet
again. It is always 'No!' Thou art beautiful, but
cruel. Thou hast no heart!"
This meant that I refused to wear her rings, an
old grievance. That I might not do so because I
could not replace a gem should I lose one she
thought no reason, arguing that the rings were hers,
to throw away even, should she see fit. Why might
she not wear them by proxy? I could not yield, and
she would not, returning on her bad days to the
charge.
"I am sorry," I said; "think of something else I
might do for you, Madam."
Her brown eyes twinkled with malicious mis-
chief.
"Go, then, to the green door in the wall and wait
the coming of young Randal. I like him well, the
85


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
young Randal. He is always amiable and polite.
Say to him he shall accompany me in my promenade.
Go quickly, my child."
Julie looked at me and shrugged her shoulders
despairingly. Following me to the door she whis-
pered, "Mademoiselle will not go there alone! But,
no. Pretend only, and return."
I did not answer. She opened the door for me;
she seemed very eager to advise.
"It is not comme il faut!" she whispered. "Mon-
sieur is young, and Mademoiselle also!"
"It does not matter, Julie, and it may quiet Ma-
dame."
The woman's handsome eyes flashed.
"Mon Dieu!" she exclaimed, "what folly! But
these Americans—they are all the same. Bar-
barians!"
Stepping from the veranda, I struck into a path
skirting the knoll, which rose above the house to
the east, and was soon in the belt of woodland di-
viding the lands of the Hall and Beverley Towers.
Don, rising lazily from his nap on the veranda, trot-
ted after me, his clumsy, puppy feet scuff-scumng
along the gravel in slovenly fashion. It was a beau-
tiful but intensely hot day, and the heat brought
out the sweet scents of the woods. Few sunbeams
contrived to shoot their quivering darts through the
thick network of leaves overhead, and, in contrast to
the outside world, the little forest seemed cool. It
was refreshing, and I caught myself hoping that Mr.
St. John might be long in coming.
The path divided at the summit of the hill, sweep-
ing to right and left. Following the left division I
found myself before the green door in the high
brick wall which was our boundary line. Opening
it I peeped through. The path descended rapidly,
and I heard, far below me, the musical tinkle of a
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
brook, but I saw nothing save trees and ferns and
mosses. Returning to the top of the knoll I seated
myself, carefully, for fear of staining my pretty new
frock, on a moss-cushioned rock, and waited for Mr.
St. John.
I had three new frocks, all white, however—two
filmy muslins and one silk, this last yellowed by its
long retirement in one of Madam's chests. They
were oddly made, Madam's fancy being followed in-
stead of the fashion of the year.
"Open at the throat, Julie, and flowing sleeves—
angel sleeves—and yes, plaits, Watteau plaits, fall-
ing from between the shoulders; a train, yes, for
Athena has dignity—and plenty, plenty, plenty of
lace and embroidery!"
Distinctly a livery it was, an absurd one for the
wearing of a companion and housekeeper!
I had not waited long before I heard the door
click to sharply, and presently Mr. St. John lounged
into sight As he saw me he called out, in his gentle
voice:
"You here, Miss Dean! What a pleasant sur-
prise! I wish I dared hope you came to meet me.
What"—to Don, who, hair bristling, teeth bared,
and growling fiercely, had planted himself before
me—"don't you know me, you young goose? That
pup dislikes me, Miss Dean, and I can't imagine why.
Can you? No, don't get up," as I moved, "it's
lovely and cool here, and hotter than thunder every-
where else. I vote we spend the morning in the
woods." But I was already upon my feet. "You are
the strangest girl I ever met," he spoke, peevishly;
"you don't care a button what I say to you. Most
women like me awfully. Their gentle hearts go out
to me!"
I laughed. Mr. St. John behaved like a spoiled
child.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
filled to the brim with a bubbling spring of limpid
water, in whose cool shallows gold-fish darted gayly.
Under the birch-trees were rustic benches, a pleas-
ant lounging-place in hot weather, and here we found
Madam in her wheeled chair.
"You have been gone a very long time," she cried,
as we drew near, "a very long time indeed! Well,
sir," to Randal, who lifted her hand to his lips as he
greeted her, "well, sir, what have you got to say for
yourself? Did you linger on the road, mauvais
sujet?"
"It was cool in the woods, dear Madam,"—a swift
side glance at me; "we could not hurry back into
the heat. How sweet you look with that rose in
your hair! May I have it by and by to keep as a
souvenir?"
"It is not in my hair but in my cap," said Mad-
am, peevishly, "and if you stayed long in the
woods you stayed alone. You had best speak the
truth to me. People try to deceive me in vain. Miss
Dean never tries, that is why I love her. I love her
dearly."
"So do I," murmured Randal; "you and I always
agree, dear Madam."
Julie was standing behind her mistress, her hands
on the pushing-bar of the chair. At this moment she
jerked it suddenly, by accident, I supposed. Not so
thought Madam, but turned fiercely upon her maid,
her eyes bright with anger.
"Go away, you spiteful French cat!" she shrieked;
"go to the servants' hall and scratch your equals!
What, you stand listening behind backs to discover
our secrets! Eavesdropper, jealous fool, begone!"
Julie, her usually impassive face distorted with
anger, darted away and vanished through the gate.
"I'm tired of it here, Randal," said Madam; "call
Dolan, and go with me down the avenue."
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
Dolan, a sad-faced young Irishman, came hastily
at the summons, and we were soon in the cool shade
of the avenue, less melancholy on sunny, summer
mornings than at other times.
"Athena is so quiet," complained the older lady;
"she never talks at all."
"She is a sphinx—and a Medusa," said Randal,
smiling across Madam's head at me.
"She is a very beautiful girl, but old Pat doesn't
like her. I hate old Pat, but he keeps the gate locked
tight and fast so they can't get in, even if they try."
"Who can't get in?" asked Randal, curiously.
"You are a rude, inquisitive young man," was the
reply; "send him home, Athena, I'm tired of him."
"Oh, no you're not," said Randal, gently; "I'm
going to be very attractive and entertaining. I want
to see old Pat."
When we arrived at the gate-house we saw its cus-
todian cutting grass on his tiny lawn; but, pretend-
ing not to see us, he hastened around the corner of
the lodge and disappeared.
"Do you hear wheels?" asked Madam. She
looked scared. We all listened. There was noth-
ing to be heard.
"Pat!" shouted Randal, "will you come and see
Madam, or must I come and fetch you?"
Dolan chuckled as old Pat slowly limped into
sight, and, gruffly saluting his mistress, stood await-
ing orders. He was a surly, sour-faced man; a very
Cerberus.
"Yes," said Madam, speaking to herself, and
quite unaware that she was overheard, "he is a
dreadful old man! A gatekeeper for the devil! I
am sure he will go to hell by and by. The devil
will find him useful!" Then, very graciously, and
as if speaking for the first time, "How do you do,
good Patrick? You look faithful and true. Keep
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the gate carefully, good Patrick, and I will come
again to see you. Home, Dolan, home! Good-by,
good old man," again to herself. "An evil old ruf-
fian, I hate the sight of him! Hurry, Dolan, hurry,"
turning to the man, "I want to get home."
The subject of this strange speech scowled an-
grily after us. Randal and Dolan had, during the
interview, been at no pains to conceal their amuse-
ment, thus adding to Pat's discomfiture. I was
sorry for him; but in my sympathy I stood alone.
We had reached the stables on our way home
when Madam suddenly called a halt.
"Dolan," she said, "I must go back. I forgot to
give old Pat orders to admit no one."
"Sure, you told him that same when we was
there," remonstrated Dolan, unwilling to retrace his
steps.
"I want to say to him," continued the old lady,
as if Dolan had not spoken, "Patrick, in case ladies
come to call, say to them very respectfully, 'Mad-
am Erranti regrets that the delicate state of her
health prevents her receiving visitors.' Hurry back,
Dolan. People may come before I can tell him.
Hurry, I say."
But Dolan was obdurate. "Best go home,
ma'am," he said, comfortably, "it's getting toward
noon. It's tired out you'll be; an' as for them or-
ders, sure you've give them to Pat twinty times an'
more. See them gray squ-urls beyant! They're
dancin' to plaze you!"
Madam looked at the pretty little creatures scam-
pering away into the thicket, but reiterated obsti-
nately that she would "go back, go back, go back!"
Randal next tried his powers of persuasion.
"Dear Madam Erranti"—he used his gentlest
tones—"pray don't over-tire yourself. Erranti'll
never forgive us if we allow you to overdo. That
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
handsome son of yours is capable of scalping the lot
of us if we let you get sick. He may be home at
any moment now! Do think of him!"
At the first mention of her son's name she turned
her head away and closed her eyes. I tried in vain
to stop the flow of Randal's eloquence. He did not
—or would not—see my signals; but however un-
welcome his words were to Madam they served their
purpose.
"Athena," she said, when he had finished speak-
ing, opening her eyes again, "Athena, I want to go
home. I am tired. I want my luncheon. I want
my nap, and," turning sharply upon Randal, "I want
to be alone. You had better go home. Go home
and study something. You have no tact; go home
and study tact—tact, tact, tact! Do you hear, Ran-
dal St. John? Good-bye!"
He smiled, and taking his departure preceded us
to the Hall. There Julie met him, and I saw they
spoke earnestly together. Then he vanished around
the corner of the house, and Julie, her good temper
apparently quite restored, came to meet us, and
made herself agreeable to her mistress. Later, when
Madam had been made comfortable in her cool,
darkened room, Julie, motioning me to follow,
slipped into the hall.
"Mademoiselle," she said, taking a letter from her
pocket, "behold a letter from Monsieur! What
shall I do? I dare not give it to Madame at present,
but—it must be read. Perhaps he returns to-day,
even, and we must know to make preparation. Will
Mademoiselle read it? Why not! Mademoiselle is
already as a daughter to Madame"
Covert impertinence lurked in her manner, usu-
ally so respectful. Slow of speech, I did not
answer at once. When I did I ignored her insolent
suggestion, saying only that the letter might be
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
given Madame after her nap, when, it was to be
hoped, she might have recovered her serenity—and
then turned my back upon Julie. My duties were
over for the morning.
After luncheon I settled myself in a great basket-
work chair on the veranda for an hour's reading. I
opened my book with an effort, feeling I should
improve my mind—my lazy mind refused to be im-
proved. Then, a tall, slim young man lounged into
sight, on the path from the knoll, and in another mo-
ment had stretched himself on the edge of the
veranda at my feet, his back against a pillar, a cigar-
ette between his teeth.
"I may smoke, serene-eyed lady?"
"Yes;" and, after a moment of silence, "I won-
der you felt like a stroll so early in the afternoon;
I thought you found the heat disagreeable."
"If any other member of the fair sex had made
that remark," said Randal, "I should think she
yearned for a compliment from yours truly. I came
because I find your lofty presence cooling—not to
say freezing."
No reply being necessary, I made none. Mr. St.
John smoked industriously for some time, in silence,
then he said, smiling so broadly that a great deal of
the lining of his upper lip came in view, "Grandma
was in a fearful state of wax this morning, wasn't
she? A dear old lady! So gentle, with such win-
ning ways! Why does she call you 'Athena'? Be-
cause you look like a goddess? I never see you that
I don't think of who-do-you-call-him's lines:
Solemn and sweet was her smile, and their hearts beat
loud at her coming!
"My heart always beats loud at your coming. I
often wonder you don't hear it! You're such a
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
queer, silent, reserved girl! I defy anyone to make
out what you hear and see, and what you don't. Er-
ranti may. He's a queer Dick, himself."
"I wish he would come home."
"Why?" asked Randal, greedy curiosity in his
blue eyes.
"I wish to keep house," I said, seriously; "I
haven't enough to do."
"Well, you are a queer girl! I wonder if Er-
ranti will—well, never mind what. Anyone told
you about him?"
"Only his mother."
Randal leaned back against his pillar, blowing a
thin wreath of smoke from his lips. "I feel largely,
generously conversational," he said; "to tell the
truth, that's why I happened in. I knew the old
tigress would be asleep, and you probably here. I
feel like telling you 'all, all, everything!' Here goes
for a portrait of Erranti. Ask what questions you
choose, but please keep awake!"
He lighted another cigarette—he smoked inces-
santly—and Nemesis flashed grandly as he lifted his
left hand.
"You're looking at my ring, Miss Dean. A
beauty, isn't it? My beloved uncle has lent me the
loan of it for a year. If during that time I abstain
from my pet weakness, the ring becomes mine.
Won't you look at it?" drawing it from his finger
and offering it to me. "It's Nemesis. The jewels
are splendid. Come to think of it, Nemesis is not
unlike you. Just turn your head a little, will you?
Yes, the profile is almost the same. Strange I never
noticed it before!"
"You were speaking of Mr. Erranti," I said, giv-
ing back—with what reluctance!—my mother's ring.
"Erranti?" slipping it on his finger with a sigh.
A very white finger, but with an ugly pink lurking
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
under the whiteness. "Erranti—oh, yes! Well,
here's his portrait, and you'll see at once that he's
almost as handsome as you and I, only he's dark,
and I prefer blonds myself. Erranti is tall, and his
figure just about perfect. Broad shoulders, small
hands and feet, well-shaped head. Carries himself
splendidly. He don't strike one as tall somehow,
he's so confoundedly well-made. Awfully graceful
chap, and as romantic-looking as the dickens! Not
that he knows what that word means. I believe he
could play the very deuce with the women if he
wanted to, but he don't care a rap about them," and
Mr. St. John sank into meditative silence.
"What does Mr. Erranti care for?" I asked.
"Money," was the prompt response; "money—and
games of chance."
"You mean stocks?"
"I mean games of chance of every kind."
I remembered Claude's description of the card-
parties in town.
"The beggar has a handsome face, too," Randal
went on; "splendid eyes—dark, long, gleaming.
Hair like black velvet—wears it cropped close; too
short, you know. Skin's dark—tanned a deep brown
—but it's clear and smooth. He wears gorgeous
togs. I like giddy garments. You wear fetching
raiment, Miss Dean."
"Please finish the portrait."
"Oh, well, let's see—nose? Delicate aquiline;
chin, stunning, cleft in it! His sole defect is his
mouth—his lips are awfully full, I think, but some
fellows don't object to 'em. Men admire Erranti,
you know. There's nothing he can't do—all 'round
chap, so to speak."
"Tell me now of your uncle, Mr. Beverley," I
said; "are you to live with him always?"
Randal sighed. "I'm sure I don't know," he
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
said, "and I wish I did. Sometimes I feel I'm set-
tled for life, sometimes I know I'm on trial still.
Uncle B.'s a bachelor, and he has a pile of tin to
leave! Grandpapa left him and his two sisters
plenty to begin with, but my mother would marry
my father, you see, and he, a good fellow no doubt,
but a merry, merry artist, let the money slip through
his fingers. My parents died when I was a tiny
child, Miss Dean. Had my mother lived I might
be a better sort of chap."
He sighed again, and, opening the back of his
watch, handed it to me, saying, "My mother's pict-
ure."
It was a faded likeness of a small-featured, pretty
woman, Randal, without Randal's disagreeable ex-
pression. I admired the gentle face, and then asked
about the other sister—Richard Thorpe's mother;
she was in my thought.
"Both sisters married cousins, Miss Dean. A mis-
take, I think—narrows down the family connections.
When Uncle Thorpe died—for die he did—she was
goose enough to marry again, and a foreigner into
the bargain, a fat German baron! It was partly
her son's fault, though. Dick Thorpe's the most
obstinate chap I ever saw! Wouldn't live abroad
with his mother, and enjoy life, loitering around Eu-
rope. No, sir, not he! Cut up an awful shindy
when he was fourteen! Swore he was an American,
born and bred, and he must come home—and work!
'Stars and Stripes! My Country, 'tis of Thee! Co-
lumbia's the Gem of the Ocean!'—that sort of rot.
Oh, yes; home he came, and to work he went—all
the uncles backing him up no end. His mother
promptly gave her hand—and her yearly stipend—
to Baron Fat German—I forget his name this min-
ute."
I listened with deep interest. It was the first
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
time Randal had ever spoken of his cousin. Still
very grateful to Mr. Thorpe for his kindness, still
unaccountably hurt by his later neglect, I thought
of him much more often than was wise, and listened
with controlled eagerness to all Eandal had to say.
"Dick's a good-natured chap," he continued, "but
queer. Sharp as a razor in a business way, and
bound to get on, because of his frightful obstinacy;
yet"—he laughed gently, then said, in his sweetest
tones—"a very foolish fellow, after all. Uncle B.
wanted him to study for the ministry—the old man
is a bigoted Episcopalian—and Dicky had scruples!
Said he wasn't good enough! Stuck to the law, and
lost his chance of coming in for Beverley Towers
and a pot of money!"
"And you?"
"Oh, I'm grateful to the old chap for paying my
bills in the past, so I mean to make him happy in his
own way by studying for the ministry, when I'm in
better health."
In spite of his sweet, sad expression Mr. St. John
failed to impress me by this generous devotion to his
uncle's wishes.
"I'm twenty-two," he said, presently. "I know I
don't look it."
I thought he did, but was silent.
"Three years older than you, Miss Dean;" and his
eyes said, "Ask me how I know."
I did not gratify him, and, Claude appearing in
search of me, our interview was over.
"You're in for a terrible time, Miss Dean, I'm
'fraid," said Claude, as I followed him into the hall.
His brow was dark with care—he had ostentatiously
ignored Mr. St. John's presence upon the veranda,
pretending not to see him—and he had retreated
into the house immediately after summoning me.
"Looks as if the old lady was goin' to have one of
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
her screechin' fits. Julie, she's read her a letter
from the Boss. He's comin' up the river on his
yacht some time this evening—time not known!
I'm to sit up for him. What that French woman's
said or done I don't know, but Madam is raisin'
Cain in there. The fat's got into the fire some way
or 'nother. You can hear it sizzlin' through the
door!" pointing toward that object with his flexible
thumb, and adding, as he opened it for me, in a
dramatic whisper, "You'd better watch out!"
It was as he said. Madam Erranti was in a
painfully excited condition. I soon found that it
was because of me she so dreaded her son's arrival.
He had really engaged me as housekeeper, and Ma-
dam had herself prevented me from assuming my
duties as such. She feared, too, that he might dis-
approve of my rich toilettes, yet she would not per-
mit me to exchange the fine gown of her providing
for one of my own simple ones. A strange old lady,
sometimes as easy to understand as a wayward child,
at others concealing her thoughts with the cunning
said to accompany insanity.
A fresh breeze, springing up at five o'clock, did
us all good—while it lasted—quieting Madam's
over-excited nerves; but it died away after supper,
and there followed an ominous stillness, betokening
storm. By nine the atmosphere had become almost
stifling, and Madam, allowing Julie to put her to
bed as usual, commanded us both to remain with her
and to amuse her.
"I am afraid," she said, "I feel thunder in the
air. Divert me, you two light-hearted young people,
quick, divert me!"
We eyed each other helplessly, Julie and I. Since
three o'clock we had striven to amuse, to distract her
mind.
"If you could only make music, Athena," she
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
cried, fretfully; "but thou art good to look at only.
Thou canst do—nothing, nothing, nothing!"
She was quite right, I could do nothing.
"Shall I read to you?" I faltered, ashamed of my
incompetence.
"No! I am weary of thy reading. Go, put on
the gown of white silk. Julie shall do thy hair a la
mode."
Hastening to my room I obeyed, glancing from
time to time with dread at the ink-black sky. Sud-
denly a low growl of thunder, like the snarl of a
wild beast about to spring, stirred the heavy atmos-
phere. I ran swiftly back to Madam's brilliantly
lighted room. How might she endure that threat-
ening sound! She sat up in bed, fingers in ears,
when I entered, but withdrawing them at sight of
me ordered Julie to rearrange my hair. I seated
myself obediently before the dressing-table, and
Julie, throwing a peignoir over my shoulders, un-
braided my hair and shook it free. Hardly had she
done so when there came a clap of thunder so vio-
lent and terrible that I started to my feet in alarm,
and with it an almost blinding flash of lightning, its
blue glare dominating the rosy lamp-light.
Uttering scream after scream, Madam Erranti
writhed in terror upon her bed, one moment striv-
ing to bury her head in the pillows, the next staring
about her with wild, awful eyes, as if expecting to
see horrible things lurking in the corners of her
gay, luxurious room. Julie, her courage gone, cow-
ered on the floor, and cried aloud on God to save
her, for the storm was upon us in all its strength.
During an hour it raged about Highgrove Hall, as
if with intent to destroy both house and inmates;
but it was as nothing when compared with the tem-
pest of fear and agony that racked the half-crazed
brain of Madam Erranti. Deeply pitying her suf-
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
fering I did what little I could to soothe her, but
without avail. To prevent her springing from her
bed in her mad efforts to escape the horror which
pursued her, I was obliged to hold her close within
my arms, and, at times, to exert all my strength to
prevent her wresting herself free.
"Hush!" she would whisper, when there was a
momentary cessation of the uproar without, "hush!
do you hear them coming—or is it only the wind
in the trees? Ah, what was that?" holding herself
rigid to listen. Then, as the storm broke loose again,
came the wild cry, "The dogs! The dogs!—they
are coming! Philip, Philip, Philip—save me!"
striving, after, to free herself from my encircling
arms, with a wild frenzy that made me uncertain
whether it were best to loose or hold her, fearing she
might, in either case, do herself serious mischief.
After such a paroxysm had passed she would hide
her head on my shoulder, and, drawing my loosened
hair over her, would bid me keep very still, that they
might pass us by.
"He has sharp eyes," she would murmur, "and
he is very cunning, but these tangled vines hang
close. I wish Philip would not leave me so long
alone."
Another moment she would recognize me, and
remember where she was; but before I had time to
congratulate myself on her being herself again, she
would again cry out that the dogs were baying
close at hand. This lasted until nearly eleven
o'clock, when, the storm ceasing as suddenly as it
had begun, she fell asleep from exhaustion. She
lay beside me on the bed, her arms about my neck,
her head pillowed on my shoulder. I dared not
move for fear of awakening her. From the floor
came the sound of heavy snoring, where, in the
farthest corner, Julie lay. Soon I, too, slept, but
ioo


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
not peacefully. I was troubled with horrid dreams,
owing to the trying scene I had just experienced, and
also because my arm, on which Madam Erranti
rested, was becoming cramped. Her weight lay
heavy upon it, and I was tired.
I dreamed I was in some jungle or tropical
swamp. Underfoot grew tangled grasses and
rankly luxuriant ferns. The earth, wet and black,
seemed anxious to suck me down. Overhead,
branches and vines had woven themselves into a
close, dark canopy, shutting out light and air and
sunshine. Behind me, at the foot of a gigantic tree-
trunk, crouched Madam Erranti, trembling with
fear, for advancing toward us, through lush grasses
and nodding fern, came two great dogs—Siberian
bloodhounds. Even in my dream I wondered that
I feared two creatures belonging to the canine race;
but in the eyes of these so stealthily advancing upon
me there was none of the intelligence belonging to
their dog brothers—these were wild beasts.
I thought Madam called to warn me of our danger,
and because I did not answer, fancied me un-
aware of the dogs' approach. In reality I made no
sign, because I was absorbed in preparation for the
coming struggle. I could fight but one—which
one? My hands, trained to activity and usually so
strong, felt strangely weak. I looked anxiously at
the beasts as they drew nearer, staring at me with
dreadful, glaring eyes, striving to decide which was
the stronger of the two. In the eyes of the smaller
there was an expression of slyness, of furtive doubt.
Should I conquer his companion, he would run. I
dreamed I turned, with a feeling of relief, to ex-
amine the larger dog—and shuddered. The look
which met mine from those strange, blood-shot eyes
made me sick with horror—the look of a devil! I
braced myself for the coming struggle, for I knew
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
which dog I must fight—and I was at bay. If but
my hands would obey, and squeeze the breath from
that ugly throat—or beat out those devilish brains
—or— He was close upon me—I sprang forward
—ah!
I was again in Madam's bright room, and awake.
At the foot of the bed two men were standing
—Claude, staring with an expression of intense
scorn at the prostrate form of the snoring French-
woman, and a tall, handsome man, with long, gleam-
ing, dark eyes. He was scrutinizing me closely. I
tried to move, but could not—Madam still lay
within my arms. The dark eyes understood my dif-
ficulty. Instantly their owner moved to Madam's
side, and, lifting her with the gentleness possible
only to those who possess great strength, laid her
among her pillows. Still I was powerless to rise,
and I did not wonder when, the clock on the mantel-
piece chiming half-past three, I realized that I had
held Madam over four hours. Mr. Erranti, for I
had at once recognized him, saw my predicament
also, and, lifting me firmly and gently from the bed,
placed me on my feet. I murmured my thanks and
slipped from the room, where I was no longer
needed. Claude was rousing Julie with no gentle
hand!
As I reached the first landing of the great stair-
case I heard a step behind me, and turning saw the
master of Highgrove Hall close at my elbow.
"I fear you are tired out, Miss Dean," he said,
and his beautiful dark face wore an expression of
great kindness; "may I send you a glass of wine?"
Thanking him, I assured him that I needed no
refreshment. "I am very strong," I said.
"Raffarty has told me, Miss Dean, what I owe to
your kindness. He saw your tender care of my
poor mother, this evening. Believe me, I am grate-
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
ful. I knew she was happy in your companionship,
but it was left for me to learn to-night that she had
found a guardian angel," and, raising my hand to
his lips in old-time fashion, Mr. Erranti bowed low,
and was gone.
Turning to continue my way upstairs, I chanced
to glance at the statue of the Medicean Venus in
her niche above the landing. The flickering light
from the hall lamps played strange tricks with her
handsome, sensual features. The full lips seemed
twisted into an ugly smile. I shivered. Someone
was "walking over my grave." I hurried to my
room and to bed.
103


XI
I was up betimes the next morning—a bright,
fair morning after the storm. The river, blue and
gay in the early morning sunshine, danced merrily.
The tree-tops rustled fresh and green. It was as if
the storm of the night, with its attendant horrors,
had been but a dream. I enjoyed the feeling of
homely ease and comfort that the day brought.
On my table lay the last volume borrowed from
the library—a richly but gravely bound little
book: "Locke's Essay of the Conduct of the Under-
standing." This, I had hoped, might benefit my
understanding, together with the Essays by Fran-
cis Bacon—Baron Verulam, Viscount St. Alban,
and Lord High Chancellor of England—which
were in the same book. The two wise men, Locke
and Bacon, hunting in couples, as it were! It oc-
curred to me that Mr. Erranti might object to my
reading his books. This thought worried me, and
picking up the little book—so light to carry, so heavy
to read—I ran downstairs and into the library, never
dreaming I should find it occupied. I was the one
early riser in Highgrove Hall. In the window stood
its owner and Claude.
Claude was talking earnestly. He had the air of
a person engaged in the performance of a solemn
duty. His very apron seemed to say, "It is our
duty, and we will." He emphasized his remarks
with the large feather duster, which he always car-
ried in the mornings.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"You may not care to hear what I now say to
you," said the duster, "but hear it you shall."
Mr. Erranti, handsomer than ever in his suit of
spotless white duck, stood listening with an air of
patient submission. Claude was, when once em-
barked on the flood of his own eloquence, not to be
stopped easily; but when I entered he ceased ab-
ruptly, looking so caught and conscious that I knew
I was the subject of his discourse. On the stage
Claude would have made an excellent conspirator;
the youngest, dullest boy in the most distant part of
the house would have known from his expression
that he was conspiring.
Mr. Erranti, an amused smile lurking about the
corners of his mouth, came forward to meet me. The
guilty Claude beat a hasty retreat.
"I hope you feel none the worse for the fatigue
of last night, Miss Dean," said my employer, kindly.
"No? I am very glad. You don't look tired, but
like the morning itself—so fresh and bright and
fair!"
I explained my errand to the library.
"Ah!"—taking the book from my hand and
glancing at the title—"you like these Essays?"
"No," I said, simply, "I find them wearisome."
"Then—if I may ask—why read them?"
I thought the question absurd. "To improve my
mind."
"You are fond of reading, Miss Dean?"
"No," and I sighed, ashamed that I had to give
such an answer.
"Only of novels, perhaps?"
I shook my head. "I like to listen to reading,
and," remembering my duties as companion, "I
don't mind reading aloud."
Mr. Erranti looked at me curiously.
"When you do feel inclined to improve your
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
mind, as you are pleased to call it—I doubt very
much if there is any room for improvement myself."
(I bowed.)—"Pray remember that my small collec-
tion is quite at your disposal."
I thanked him and turned to go, but begging me
to remain for a moment, he placed a chair for me
and seated himself opposite. For an instant I
thought I was to be scolded, then I saw that the
dark face wore a very friendly expression. It was
a very remarkably handsome face, in spite of the too
full lips, as Randal had said; with something odd
and foreign-looking about it—and the man. Mr.
Erranti used few gestures when talking, and his face
was—almost always—as expressionless as a mask,
yet I knew instinctively that if he let himself go, both
face and hands would tell his thoughts plainly to all
the world. His was a cultivated composure, and I,
because I was really cold, slow-thinking, and calm,
recognized it as such.
"I wish to apologize to you, Miss Dean," he be-
gan, "for the burden laid upon you last night. When
I learned from Raffarty that all care and respon-
sibility had been thrown upon you, I was very angry.
It is Julie's business to look after Madam Erranti
when she is suffering. I have spoken to the woman.
She won't forget her duties again."
"She was badly frightened by the storm," I said,
gently. "She lost her head, poor thing."
"And you, Miss Dean, you were not fright-
ened?"
"Not by the storm."
"Ah!" Mr. Erranti rose abruptly, and, going to
the window, stood with his back toward me, looking
out. "Raffarty tells me my mother had one of her
worst attacks last night. Did she talk wildly?"
turning swiftly and eyeing me keenly. "Were you
terrified by what she said?"
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"I feared she might hurt herself. The thunder
and lightning gave her nightmare fancies."
"That is it," he spoke with some eagerness,
"nightmare fancies, nothing more. My mother
has had much trouble in her life, many sorrows to
endure. Ten years ago she was very ill. She has
never been the same since. Sometimes she is not
quite herself. Her mind—but you were with her
last night, and understand. Poor child! How white
you looked as you lay beside her, your protecting
arms around her! As white and fragile as a lily—
a lily flooded in sunshine—the sunshine of your
golden hair!"
I had been looking past Mr. Erranti out upon the
summer sweetness of trees and river. At this high-
flown speech I turned my eyes full upon him. He
smiled faintly, but appeared neither embarrassed
nor discomfited. Evidently he had not meant to be
impertinent. He was, as Randal had said, very ro-
mantic looking, the kind of person whose ordi-
nary conversation might be expected to be flowery,
highfalutin, romantic. I wondered if Erranti pere
had been an Italian.
"I am very strong, Mr. Erranti—rarely tired.
But I should tell you at once that I am slow-witted.
I was worried last night that I did not know how to
calm Madam. I was stupid about it—that is the
truth."
To my surprise he appeared pleased, smiling
kindly and approvingly upon me.
"You don't look dull, Miss Dean, but very intel-
ligent. One might, I think, call you large-minded.
Your great gray eyes are so passionless—so
calm."
Deciding that Erranti pere had been a Spaniard,
I rose to go, but again Mr. Erranti stopped me.
"Oh, by the way, Miss Dean, will you be so very
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
kind as to continue to preside at my table while the
Hall is empty? Later I shall have a raft of men
coming, when you'll be more comfortable in your
own room, but at present"
"Certainly, if you wish," I said, and I colored.
Until that moment I had forgotten that housekeep-
ers always eat and live in the "Housekeeper's
Room."
Waiting in the garden for the breakfast-gong to
sound, I reflected that I did not even know if there
were a housekeeper's room at the Hall! I was
ashamed. Mr. Erranti had every right to regard
me as an impudent upstart, returning to find the
new housekeeper dressed in lace and silk, and taking
her meals in the dining-room! Perhaps his flowers
of speech had been in mockery of my false position.
I was thankful that I had on a plain gingham frock.
Madam must explain why I was dressed like a lily
of the field. Was that Mr. Erranti's reason for com-
paring me to a lily? Having always been accus-
tomed to hearing praises of my beauty, I had failed
to detect the sarcasm hidden in my employer's
honeyed speech. I was, in truth, I said to myself
severely, a very stupid girl—a very remarkably stu-
pid girl; and, the sweet tones of the bronze gong
floating out upon the air, I slowly returned to the
house, dreading the necessity of meeting Mr. Er-
ranti at breakfast.
Upon entering the hall I saw that Claude was, in
imagination, sounding a psean of victory. His sal-
low cheeks were slightly flushed, and he thumped
the gong with a rapturous energy. When he saw
me he stopped short, and gave vent to an excited
'Say, Miss Dean," he whispered, as he followed
me into the dining-room, "I've settled it all for you.
The housekeeper's room ain't a fit place for you,
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
downstairs among the help, so I just up and told
the Boss as much, and he said, 'Certingly; of
course!' My"—with another wild giggle—"won't
the girls be mad!" Then, seeing Mr. Erranti coming
from the library, he became exceedingly dignified
and stately, and relapsed into deferential silence.
Little was said at breakfast. Mr. Erranti was pre-
occupied, and I rarely have anything to say. Less
that morning than usual, because of my bitter
thoughts. By and by Mr. Erranti, pushing away his
sour, flabby roll with an air of disgust, caught my
eye, and said:
"I like good bread, Miss Dean, but Norah can't
make it. I must see if there is a good baker at Drone-
ton, or import bread from town—I can't stand this
stuff."
"Yet it's so easy to make," I said, and sighed.
"You think so, perhaps," smiling good-humor-
edly, as if tolerant of a child's nonsense; "but it may
be more difficult than you imagine."
I looked at my employer gravely. It was many,
many years since I had been treated as a child.
There was a teasing light in the dark eyes. I, and
my remark, amused him.
"I have never found it difficult," I said, quietly.
Mr. Erranti laughed. He thought I was talking
for effect.
"I wish you'd give Norah a few hints on the sub-
ject, then. You might teach her how!"
He spoke in jest, but I seized my opportunity.
"I have your permission to try?"
"Indeed you have, my child!" was the laughing
answer, as he rose and left the room.
I looked at Claude. Would he be my witness
downstairs, if my right to enter there were ques-
tioned?
"You bet I'll stand by you," he said, understand-
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
ingly. "Land o' Goshen, Miss Dean, but you're in
for it!"
I quite agreed with him. Asking to be told when
breakfast belowstairs was over, I went out on the
veranda to await the awful interview. Some time
passed before Claude—his sallow face white with
suppressed excitement—reappeared, and solemnly
beckoned me to follow him. As he crossed the hall
with mincing step it came to my mind that I had
heard he was "keeping company" with Nor ah. Do-
Ian had imparted this information to Anthony Cray,
who had told Julie, who had told Madam, who had
passed the intelligence on to me. I had hardly time
to realize that this might complicate matters before
I was in the head-quarters of the enemy.
Norah was a handsome creature, stout, rosy, blue-
eyed. Pretty brown hair curled thickly about her
broad, white forehead. Her cotton frocks, spot-
lessly clean, fitted neatly, and instead of a collar she
wore a chain of thin gold, twisted many times
around her throat. She was thirty, seven years older
than Claude, a point on which she was said to be
sensitive. She was a picture, standing, arms folded,
in the centre of her great kitchen, awaiting my com-
ing that warm June morning, with fierce defiance in
her blue eyes.
"Miss Dean, this is Norah," said the excited
Claude, solemnly performing the ceremony of intro-
duction. "Norah, here's Miss Dean come to see
you."
"Oh, indeed!" ejaculated Norah, tossing her head
angrily.
She neither offered me a chair nor vouchsafed
any answer to my civil words of greeting.
Two maids were in the kitchen, one embarrassed,
the other, Ellen, a housemaid, eagerly expectant of
battle. While I stood silent, wondering how I might
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
rid myself of these women and speak to the cook
alone, Claude, nettled by his lady-love's rudeness,
took her to task.
"For the land's sake, Norah," he exclaimed,
"ain't you never goin' to ask Miss Dean to be seated?
If you won't, then I will," angrily seizing a chair
and placing it behind me with a thump. "One would
think, to see you, you'd never been learnt manners!"
"I don't need you to teach me, anyways, Claude
Raffarty," cried the indignant Norah, her eyes flash-
ing. "I'll thank you to walk out of my kitchen and
mind your own business! Manners indeed! Where's
yours, I'd like to know!"
"I'm ashamed of you, No rah Milligan!" was the
sharp retort. "I should think you was old enough
to know better!"
This shot told. Face flushed and arms a-kimbo,
Norah turned upon her "young man."
"I mayn't be so young as some folks"—with with-
ering scorn—"but, thank God, I've got me own
teeth in me head yet, anyways!"
This sally won applause from Ellen, Claude's
showy set not being his own. I felt the time had
come for me to bring the unpleasant scene to a close.
Holding up my hand to impose silence, I bade Claude
return to his duties in the pantry; then, turning
swiftly upon the housemaid, I reminded her of her
neglected work.
"Mr. Erranti is at home," I said, severely; "neg-
lect will no longer pass unnoticed," and when she,
with Claude, had left the kitchen, I told the cook
plainly of his comments upon her bread. "How shall
you like your master's going to a baker for bread?
Yet he must, when you send up rolls that are both
sour and flabby. A strange combination, Norah."
"P'raps you's thinkin' you could make better!"
she cried, ironically, with a shrill, angry laugh.
Ill


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"I can, Norah."
"An' it's meself as would like to see you do that
same!" screamed poor Norah, the brogue of her
childhood shaken uppermost in her wrath.
"Then you shall," I said, taking prompt advan-
tage of her words. "I will make my own yeast, and
be ready to set the sponge to-night. I expect fair
play from you, Norah. You will do nothing to spoil
my work, I am sure."
Nor did she. Sullen, angry, disdainful, she kept
carefully in the background, and though she would
not help, did nothing to hinder me. I have always
been lucky about my cooking, and my luck did not
fail me at Highgrove Hall. I was successful in my
breadmaking, pleasing both Madam and Mr. Er-
ranti, and that part of the cooking fell, henceforth,
to my share. I was, after this incident, allowed to
assume my duties as housekeeper, and time no longer
hung heavy on my hands.
A week before the Fourth of July the number of
servants was greatly increased. Guests were ex-
pected. We were to have a house full, over the
Fourth. I had seen little of Mr. Erranti, save at
breakfast and dinner each day, since his return. He
went to town every day, sometimes by train, and
sometimes in his yacht, the Charlotte, named for
his mother. He was invariably kind, but absorbed
in his own affairs. A few days before the house-
party I was summoned to the library, to consult
about the preparations necessary. The bedroom ques-
tion was the difficulty. There were only three, each
with a dressing-room, in the second story, and but
six on the third. One of these, I reminded Mr. Er-
ranti, I was occupying, when he counted them all as
vacant."
"I'm afraid you've been lonely," he said, "shut
away up there by yourself. I'm sorry I didn't know
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
of it before. One of the maids might have slept near
you. Are you timid?"
I smiled. "No, Mr. Erranti, I am accustomed to
being alone."
"The men who are coming are a noisy lot," he
said, musingly; "I wish you were somewhere else.
What do you say to moving down into the second
story, Miss Dean? Into the northeast room—the
Blue Room? It seems to me that would be an ex-
cellent plan."
The idea was kind, but ridiculous. I had no in-
tention of occupying the finest room in the house.
When I refused, Mr. Erranti asked permission to
see my room, and at once ran upstairs to examine it.
Returning, he surprised me still more by saying he
should order a new bolt put on the door. I looked
for an explanation, but none was given. The next
morning, running in for my work-basket, I found
Claude, his mouth full of screws, busy putting on
the bolt. His countenance expressed deep gloom,
and when I said cheerfully that I hoped bolts and
bars did not mean burglars, he only sighed heavily,
vouchsafing no reply.
"Why, Claude," I cried, in astonishment, when I
had really looked at his work, "you are putting on
two! Why that chain-bolt? You may be sure I
sha'n't wish to hold parley with midnight maraud-
ers!"
Removing the last screw from his ample mouth,
Claude surveyed me severely for a moment, and
then said:
"I should hope—not, Miss Dean,"—when, resum-
ing his former stooping position, he screwed away
with great energy.
I stood and watched him in silence. I had
nothing more to say. Suddenly he remarked,
gloomily:
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"I guess you ain't seen much of Noo York brokers
or Westerners come East on a toot, Miss Dean!"
I acknowledged my ignorance.
"Well, fresh ain't no name for 'em! Their go-
in's-on is what I call disgustin'," curling up his long
nose, "and, if I had my way, they'd never get in-
vited here. Bolts!" he exclaimed suddenly, with vio-
lence. "Yes, indeed, and a good thing, too! When
the Boss mentioned your needin' one—seein' there
was nothin' but this lame old lock on your door—I
just procured two, and I hope, Miss Dean, you'll
so far favor me as not to forget to use 'em. And—
if you'll pardon my taking the liberty, Miss Dean—
I'd suggest your takin' a back seat while them ram-
pagin' ruffians is visiting these diggin's. By which I
mean the back staircase as much as possible—avoid-
in' the hall and front."
So saying, and nodding gloomily, he picked up
his basket of tools and departed, whistling a mourn-
ful air.
114


XII
At six, on the afternoon before the Fourth, our
guests arrived. They came from town on the
Charlotte, and we watched them, Madam, Julie,
and I, from Madam's glass door as they crossed
the lawn, to the house from the river. Madam was
greatly excited, and had been so all day, demand-
ing more attention than usual, although she knew
I was very busy, superintending the new servants,
and arranging sleeping-quarters for the coming
party. The drawing-room had to serve as a bed-
room, for the nonce. Three cots had been put up
there, and the large bedrooms were to be crowded.
Mr. Erranti had assured me that the men would con-
sider every discomfort in the light of a frolic. Later,
rooms were to be fitted up in the gardener's house,
for any overflow. Claude grumbled to me in con-
fidence that he should "Just dump 'em in the sty,
the whole kit and boodle of 'em, Miss Dean, the fit-
ting place for pigs, ain't it?"
The men, fifteen in all, accompanied by their
handsome host, came, laughing and talking uproar-
iously, toward the house, a fashionably clad, red-
faced, noisy crowd. The afternoon was hot, and,
judging from appearances, cooling drinks had been
freely resorted to by these very jolly gentlemen.
"Pull in the blind-door, Julie! Viie, ma fille!
They advance rapidly, and I would not be seen,"
said Madam, shrinking back as her son's guests drew
near.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
Julie obeyed, and we peeped through the slats
unobserved. As they crossed the veranda and en-
tered the hall I noticed that in one way they re-
sembled each other closely. They were all sporting
men. This was a look I knew well, having learned
it in my childhood.
"Ma foi, but they are handsome—ces messieurs!"
exclaimed Julie, watching them eagerly, eyes shin-
ing, cheeks aflame.
As she spoke, three whom I thought especially
disagreeable looking were directly in front of our
door: a large man, resembling a buffalo, with his
chunky shoulders and heavy beard; one middle-sized,
whose vacuous, white face was pitted and scarred;
and a short, young fellow, whose retrousse nose, mop
of black curls, and fiercely waxed moustaches, gave
him an odd likeness to a French poodle. These
three excited Julie's particular admiration.
"They handsome!" cried Madam, "they hand-
some! Look, then, at Philip, thy master! A god
among satyrs! A crowd of dissipated, chattering
chimpanzees! Take me away, Julie—look not upon
them, Athena! I detest them—noisy buffoons—
wicked men—pah!"
Dinner was over. I had had mine in my room.
On my way downstairs I heard the men noisily leav-
ing the dining-room and entering the hall. I drew
back, not wishing to be seen on the grand staircase,
and was turning to retrace my steps when curiosity
impelled me to peep through the banisters at the
scene below. The stately beauty of the hall, with
its richly colored furnishings, made a fitting back-
ground for the master of the house. As he stood,
surrounded by his guests, in the soft light shed by
the myriads of lamps and candles, he might have
been an Eastern prince receiving the homage of
116


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
some Western embassy: He was magnificently
handsome. Beside him most of the men looked
coarse, ill-shaped, or washed-out.
"A song, Erranti, a song!" cried the man who was
like a poodle.
"Yes, yes," was heard on every hand; "give us a
song to cheer!"
"Sing, sweet bird!" called one.
"Of 'Love' only, sing!" quoted another; "and
here's the boy to play your accompaniment," and the
speaker, laying his hands on the shoulders of a blond
young man, playfully pushed him toward the piano.
It was Randal St. John. He was flushed, and
looked less weary of life than usual. Philip joined
him at the piano, they consulted together, and Ran-
,dal began the simple, rhythmic prelude of Schu-
bert's Serenade. It was time for me to go to Mad-
am, but Philip began to sing—and I remained.
"Leise flehen meine Lieder
Durch die Nacht zu dir,
In den stillen Hain hernieder,
Liebchen, komm zu mir.''
The exquisite words floated up to me borne on a
melody more exquisite still. I forgot Madam, for-
got my duty, forgot everything—save the perfect
voice which filled the night with its passionate sweet-
ness. I closed my eyes, and, leaning my head
against the banisters, gave myself up to the raptu-
rous ecstasy of the moment.
The music ceased. The audience, applauding
loudly, demanded another song.
"Give us something English this time, will you?"
shouted the Buffalo; "I can't catch on to Dutch!"
"Plain American's good enough for us all, I
guess," said another.
Philip good-humoredly sang what they chose, and
I was amazed at their choosing, for they asked for
117


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"The Bridge," "A Warrior Bold," and many Scotch
and English ballads. The faster the man the simpler
his taste in songs, Philip said afterward. When the
music ceased Claude, with his white-aproned assist-
ants, brought many little tables into the hall, placing
chairs around them and cards upon them.
"Come, Randal," cried the Poodle, "come, take
a hand with me, and we'll whip the lot of them!"
He wore eye-glasses, and spoke with a slight Ger-
man accent.
"No, no," said Randal; "can't possibly. I've
sworn off."
This elicited a burst of laughter, and everyone
remonstrated with him at once. Randal listened,
smiled, and said nothing, but as I rose to go I saw
that he had yielded to temptation, and had seated
himself at the table with the curly headed man. It
was three in the morning before these merry-
makers sought repose. I heard them skylarking in
the hall outside my heavily barred door, and it
seemed to me but a few moments later that I was
roused again from sleep by someone knocking.
Glancing at my clock I saw that it was five, and,
throwing on a wrapper, I opened my door, to find
Claude, worried and nervous, waiting.
"For the Land's sake, Miss Dean," he whispered,
hoarsely, "do dress as quick as you can and come
down. Norah's awful sick and Ellen's a born fool—
can't do nothin' for her, and who's to get break-
fast the Lord only knows!" and he wrung his hands.
"I will, Claude," I said, and he went away com-
forted.
Poor Norah was in bed, with Ellen beside her, re-
lating awful tales of sudden death. I thought her
suffering from a severe bilious attack, and this, she
assured me, was the case, begging me not to send for
a doctor.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"It's only one of me bad sick-headaches, Miss,"
she said, faintly; "an' it's not the pain but thinkin'
of me work that's killing me! Sure, I can't stand
on me feet when I'm took like this, and how all
them meals is to be cooked this day it's God Al-
mighty that maybe knows, but not poor Norah Mil-
ligan," and she began to cry.
Assuring her that I would take her place, I thought
to comfort her, but professional jealousy made the
moment bitter.
"Sure, the maynoo cards is all wrote out," sug-
gested Ellen, wearying of the role of sick-nurse;
"Miss Dean can follow them."
So it was settled in the kitchen, but with Madam
I had difficulty. I could not play cook and com-
panion both, the duties of the former being no
sinecure. Breakfast dragged on till twelve o'clock,
when it was time to prepare for half-past one lunch-
eon! With Julie's help I finally persuaded Madam
to dispense with my services, and to promise to keep
Norah's illness a secret from her son. This last
pleased the strange fancy of the whimsical old lady.
Claude did much to help me, telling me what was
expected.
"Coffee at seven sharp for the Boss, and he'll
want his breakfast at eight, Miss Dean."
I expressed the surprise I had long felt, and said
I wondered how Mr. Erranti could stand rising so
early, when he went to bed so late.
"That's his way, Miss Dean! He never seems to
need his sleep like other folks. I only wish I was
the same," yawning prodigiously, and covering his
large mouth with delicately uplifted fingers. An
hour later he burst into the kitchen, giggling de-
lightedly. "Boss says coffee's Al this morning!
Says he's glad Norah's woke up at last, and as she
ain't done well lately! Oh, my, I thought I should
119


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
ha' bust! Norah'll be mad enough to bite!" and he
tittered wildly.
To make a diversion I asked what was in the wine-
glasses he was carrying on his try.
"Cocktails, Miss Dean! And you wouldn't catch
me astonishin' my insides with any such stuff in the
mornings—nor at night, neither! But the gents
upstairs thinks different. It'll be sody-water and
cocktails from now on till one or two o'clock,
maybe," and he stalked away, his whole person ex-
pressing the liveliest sensations of disgust and
scorn.
Breakfast and luncheon were over, and Norah was
feeling better, though still unable to cook the eight
o'clock dinner, or late supper at twelve. I was to
devote the afternoon to Madam, but after lunch-
eon was out of the way I found I should have an
hour to myself before she expected me. Still in
kitchen trim—gingham frock, linen apron, sleeves
rolled up, and braids snugly bound about my head—
I betook myself to the garden to rest. The kitchen
had been uncomfortably hot on that blazing July
day. All the morning our guests had been setting
off giant fire-crackers, the early risers striving to de-
stroy the peace of the sluggards. It was pleasant to
have them engaged at luncheon, and the place quiet
for a time.
I was a little tired. The responsibility had
weighed rather heavily upon me; I had worked
hard. Under the shade of a mass of evergreens—
pungent-scented arbor-vitse—at the end of one of the
garden paths, was a rustic sofa, and on this I lay
down. Just outside this green bower splendid car-
nations exhaled their spicy odors, luring a host of
drowsily humming bees to sip their honey. The
warmth, the sweet scents, and the bees' slumber-
song lulled me to sleep. From this nap I was roused
120


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
by the smell of tobacco and the sound of feet crunch-
ing on the gravel near by.
"Some of the gardeners," I thought, lazily; "they
will not come in here," and lay still, loath to be dis-
turbed. The footsteps stopped directly in front of
the arbor. I kept my eyes shut. "It is Dolan," I
said to myself. "If I pretend to be asleep he will
go away," and I did not move.
"Jove, what a picture!" said a coarse voice.
"Now's your chance, Sturgis! Go in and win a pair
of gloves!"
"You bet I will," came the drawling answer.
Opening my eyes at last, I saw, within a few
inches of my own, the vacuous, pock-marked face of
the man I had seen the day before. With him were
his boon companions, the three blocking up the en-
trance to my retreat. The Buffalo and the one with
the black curls were egging on their friend, making
bets as to his ultimate success. When I opened my
eyes Sturgis drew back, daunted by my unexpected
wakefulness. He was a pale, faded-out blond, look-
ing both weak and vicious.
"Go it, Sturgis!" shouted the big man, with a fat
laugh. "What, you ain't afraid of a pretty girl, I
hope!"
"If—at—first—you—don't—succeed,
Try—try—again,''
jeered the Poodle.
Sturgis, sniggering feebly, stood still. I rose
slowly to my feet, looking straight at him. He
avoided meeting my eyes, tittered again, and backed
in between his two friends.
"Well, well," remonstrated the Buffalo, "I'd no
idea you had so little go in you, Sturgis! Better
stand aside and make room for a better man," step-
ping forward.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"No, no; she's goin' to pay toll to me," cried Stur-
gis, recovering himself. "You like me best, my
beauty, don't you!" extending both arms to prevent
my passing.
I did not speak. Of what use to appeal to such
half-tipsy creatures! Instead, I examined Sturgis
swiftly, saw he was not properly balanced on his
feet—few people are—stepped quickly forward,
and struck him heavily on the side of his head with
my open palm. He fell with some force into the
arms of his stout companion, who sat down at once
in the bed of carnations behind him. The curly
headed man burst into frantic laughter as his friends
rolled among the flowers. I hurried homeward, my
heart sick with disgust.
Was this what I must look forward to, I asked
myself, as I swept through the garden, cold with
anger. To be insulted by every stranger who
chanced to turn his insolent eyes upon my much-
praised face? At this moment I saw Mr. Erranti
strolling toward me, on his way to join his friends.
Classing him with his associates, I felt I hated him,
and would have passed without a word, but he
stopped me. A look of pleasure at first lighted up
his handsome face, but this changed to one of alarm.
"Athena!" he cried, "what is it? What has hap-
pened? Your face frightens me, it is so set—so
white. I insist upon knowing—speak!" and he
grasped my arm.
I stood quite still, looking him full in the eyes.
It was difficult for me to articulate.
"Nothing has happened," I said at last, in low,
even tones; "kindly remove your hand, and let me
go," but he held me fast. "If you must know, Mr.
Erranti"—laughing coldly—"I have been learning
a lesson—as to incidents likely to occur in the life
of an upper-servant."
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"You speak in riddles," he said, slowly, paling
under his tan; "pray what are the lives of upper-
servants to you, Athena?"
"I am one"—icily—"and learning how to meet
the exigencies of my position. How, you would ask?
Plainly, then—with a box on the ear!"
He stood close to me, searching my face with his
clever dark eyes, but there now leapt into them so
tigerish an expression I drew back involuntarily.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, under his breath, "I under-
stand. It will not occur again," and releasing me, he
went on into the garden.
Fortunately Madam slept late that afternoon,
and I had time to slip upstairs and think awhile, as
well as to dress, before I joined her.
That was a typical Fourth of July on the Hudson!
—very hot until six, then with gathering clouds grad-
ually obscuring the sky, as under a heavy pall, and
by nine o'clock rain descending in floods, putting out
all fireworks save those of heaven's providing.
"Mon Dieu!" cried Julie, as the time for cook-
ing the dinner drew near, "what a day have I
passed! Alone all the morning with Madame, and
now, behold, a storm approaches, and what to do I
know not! I fear the lightning! I fear Monsieur,
who commands me to soothe Madame! Ah, juste
ciel, quelle journee!" and the usually impassive
Frenchwoman wrung her hands. "Hush!" she ex-
claimed suddenly, staring out of the window. "Be-
hold Monsieur! He walks with Monsieur Sturgis!
What does he say?"
It had grown so quiet every sound was distinctly
heard. As Mr. Erranti with his friend approached
the house from the avenue we heard him say in
sweet, silky tones:
"You'll give me my revenge to-night, Sturgis?"
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"Certainly, Erranti, if you wish it," replied Mr.
Sturgis, but he laughed uncomfortably.
Julie's eyes gleamed as she said, "Monsieur Stur-
gis will do well to beware." Her smile was unpleas-
ant, but I had no time to wonder at it or her words.
Madam had detained me so long that I was forced
to return to the kitchen in my delicate muslin, which
worried me. The maids pinned my flowing sleeves
behind my shoulders, and, tucking up my train, I
enveloped myself in a huge apron and went to work.
When, at half-past nine, I hurried back to Madam,
I found her in bed, shivering with terror at the noises
of the storm, the wailing of the wind through the
trees, and the rumbling of still distant thunder.
"God be praised!" cried Julie; "you are come at
last, Mademoiselle! Hear, then, the thunder which
approaches! Ah, Mademoiselle, remain with Ma-
dame, I beg, I implore!"
"Athena!" cried Madam from the bed, "come
close to me. Don't leave me to the care of that
woman, ma bien-aimee! She fears the devil, her
master, who comes for her in the storm!" Taking
my hands she drew me down beside her. "Lay thy
sweet face by mine, cherie"—stroking my cheek
with her poor swollen hand—"and leave me not. I
love thee, dear child, and fear nothing when thou
art near, for thou art one of God's angels." Then,
with swift change of tone, cowering with sudden ter-
ror in my arms, "Ah, the thunder! Hold me fast,
Athena, I am afraid!"
At that moment Mr. Erranti entered, calm, smil-
ing, and handsome. As his eyes encountered mine
there came into their lustrous depths an expression
I failed to understand. Madam, making a great ef-
fort, sat up in bed, greeting him with a tremulous
smile. She clung to my hands, keeping me beside
her.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"Philip," entreatingly, her voice trembling,
"Philip, I want Athena to stay with me to-night."
"If she will be so kind," added her son, looking
down upon me with the odd expression in his eyes.
"She has cooked for thee and those noisy men all
day," said Madam, vehemently; "surely she might
stay with me all night."
Julie and I exchanged glances. Was this how
poor Norah's secret was kept!
"What?" questioned Philip, sternly, yet as if he
could not believe his ears. "What are you saying,
ma mere? Miss Dean cook for me? I don't under-
stand."
"Thou art usually quick enough, Philip," whim-
pered Madam, observing my startled glance at
Julie, "seeing all about thy house with those great
eyes of thine! Yes, Athena, cherie, I now remember
thou didst say I was not to tell; but I am old, and
the old forget. Yes, old, old, old! A feeble old
woman, rien de plus!"
She covered her face with her hands, but watched
us all through her fingers.
"Is this true, Miss Dean?" Philip asked.
Much annoyed, I replied in the affirmative.
"Norah is ill. I am housekeeper. C'est mon me-
tier!"
"It shall not occur again," said Philip. I thought
of our interview in the garden. "Cray can get sup-
per, grill bones, devil lobsters—what you order. He
cooks well, though not as you can, Miss Dean. I
know now what I have to guard against in this—foe
of mine own household! We can't have this lovely
child killing herself in our service, Maman."
"No," said Madam, under her breath. She looked
frightened, unhappy.
"Try to spare her, Maman, to control thyself
for her sake. Try not to dim this sunshine that has
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
come to brighten our dull home. Promise me to be
calm and kind." He stooped and kissed her cheek.
"Yes, Philip," Madam spoke meekly.
"You consent to remain here for to-night? I
would rather know you to be here than upstairs,"
said Mr. Erranti, turning to me.
I disliked the tone the conversation had taken.
After saying coldly that I should, of course, do as
Madam wished, I asked him not to rebuke the
servants for obeying my orders in keeping silent
about the illness in the house.
"They must always obey your orders," was the
suave answer. "I myself will be the first to set them
an example."
There came a tap at the door, and Claude thrust
his head in.
"Mr. Sturgis a-hollerin' his head off for you, sir.
Hadn't you better come along?"
Mr. Sturgis was not kept waiting.
126


XIII
Madam endured the noises of the storm quite
bravely that night, even falling asleep while the
thunder still growled. But I, who slept so well at
all times, lay broad awake for many hours. Every
time I almost drowsed I saw, close to my own, the
face of Mr. Sturgis, and waked with a shudder of
disgust. I could not forget the insult offered me.
I felt degraded. I had always been treated with re-
spect; how had I changed that strangers now dared
deny it me? Mr. Erranti's manner displeased me.
He called me by my first name as if he had the right
to do so. His very expression when he looked at
me I resented, although why it angered me I could
not say; there was a certain freedom in his way of
speaking to me—as to a petted child. In short, his
manners grated on me, and, resolving to put him in
his proper place, should it cost me my position, I
finally fell asleep.
I waked early. Faint light was stealing through
the slats of Madam's blinds. The dawn was near.
A great disgust for my surroundings swept over me
as I glanced about the gayly furnished room. I
was sick of luxury. It choked me. I longed for
fresh air and solitude. Still fully dressed, in my
dinner toilet, I picked up an old white silk, swan's-
down bordered, opera cloak—Madam's latest gift—
from off the couch where it had been flung, and
wrapping it around me slipped from the house.
The eastern sky was flushed with pink; in the
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
heart of its rose-colored splendor trembled and
sparkled the morning star. I stood still, awed by the
beauty of the scene, and folding my hands, prayed
for the true courage of a humble spirit. Cares and
vexations suddenly became petty, in the peace of this
new day. I banished all angry thoughts—unworthy
now—and was at rest.
The birds in the garden chirruped and sang on
every hand. The flowers beside the path, still limp
from the evening's shower, gave forth a faint fra-
grance. I went to the spring under the birch trees
to see the rosy dawn reflected in its limpid depths. . . .
On its surface there floated a dead thing—a man
in evening dress.
He lay face downward, his head a little under
water. Around the neck was twisted a leathern
strap; below, at the bottom of the basin, a small
dark object, the weight of iron on the other end
of the horse-tether, which had been used to make
death certain. A frightful water-weed, with root
and ghastly flower!
For a moment everything reeled about me, then,
dropping my cloak, I flung myself on the wet flag-
stones edging the basin, and, every nerve tense,
strove to drag it out. All my strength and will were
needed, for I was sick with the horror of it. At
last, beside me, staring with sightless eyeballs up
at the morning sky, lay the man who had offered
me insult—Mr. Sturgis.
Some moments passed before I could force my-
self to place my hand on his heart. It had ceased
to beat. The man was dead. Still, every means to
revive him must be tried. I strove to rise, but could
not. Then, to my great relief, I heard steps upon
the gravel.
"The bird's plumage!" said a sweet, rich voice,
Mr. Erranti's. "Where is the bird? The Swan of
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
Highgrove Hall! Ah, little Athena—my God,
child, what have we here?" Seizing me almost
roughly, he drew me back to a rustic bench beneath
the birches. "You found him? The damned coward,
to do it here! There, sit still, till I make sure."
He went to examine in his turn, and, for a mo-
ment, giving way to my horror, I covered my face
that I might not see. Steadied by the presence of
Philip, I was soon able to offer the help he needed.
"You there, Athena! Don't look at him again,
child. Yes, he's quite dead, no use trying to re-
vive him. Don't take it hard—he was a vicious
beast." He began to go through the dead man's
pockets with marvellous rapidity. A handful of
small silver, a few old letters, a bunch of keys—
nothing more.
"Humph!" muttered Philip to himself, "worse
than I thought. Damn the silly fool!" Then, very
sharply, "Still here, Athena! Run away, child—or,
no, stay a moment," and, drawing me again to the
bench, he laid his hand on my shoulder and looked
steadily into my eyes. He was weighing me in the
balance. I shivered. "Cold? But of course you
are." Seizing my cloak he wrapped it so tightly
about me that I could not move. "Poor little
woman! It's enough to make you ill—yet I must
beg for your help. Will you help me, Athena?"
"Yes."
"Then listen—I wonder if I dare trust you"—
sighing impatiently—"well, I suppose I must. That
fool yonder, who might at least have shown some
regard for decency in the manner of his death, has
a wife and children. They must never know how
he died—do you understand?"
"I think so," I murmured.
"Think so," echoed Philip; "surely you must
know so, dear child! You wouldn't have a good
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
woman and innocent children bear the disgrace of
that man's suicide, when it can be so easily pre-
vented?" He spoke with great gentleness, pity for
those injured in every intonation of his sweet voice.
He was so handsome in his white morning suit,
strong, clever, determined; a contrast, indeed, to the
dead man by the spring.
"You will aid me in keeping this secret, Athena?
Martian must not know. It would agitate her ter-
ribly—perhaps might kill her. Promise me you will
keep silence."
I gave my word.
His manner changed. A load seemed lifted from
his shoulders. Taking a note-book from his pocket
he wrote rapidly, and tearing out the leaf folded
and gave it me. This, with his bunch of keys, I was
to give Cray.
"Cray is in the kitchen," he explained, "making
coffee for the men who are leaving on the early
train. You will have to take his place, to do his
work—I am so sorry, Athena!"
Sorry! The very idea of nice, humdrum coffee-
making was a happiness. Different indeed from the
nightmare horror surrounding me. I turned to go
without a word. I wanted to run, in my anxiety to
escape. Philip stopped me.
"One moment," he spoke hurriedly. "You should
know what will happen. At breakfast I shall ex-
press surprise that Sturgis is absent. Cray, hurry-
ing in, will bring news that his body has been found
in the river. Drowned while taking an early bath.
Cramp, it will be supposed. The body shall remain
in the boat-house. I won't have it brought near you
and Maman. Now run, dear child! For the sake
of that poor wife be swift and secret."
The sun had risen. Its bright rays shone through
the branches of the forest trees which topped the
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
eastern wall. Skirting the house, I ran down the
steps of the basement area into the kitchen, where I
found Cray noiselessly preparing breakfast. He re-
ceived my news and his master's orders as coolly as
if such events were of daily occurrence in his life.
Telling me what remained to be done, he vanished,
like the shadow he had grown to be. America did
not agree with the man, if one might judge by his
dispirited appearance;—a strange man, Anthony
Cray, but an excellent confidential servant.
I was in the kitchen when Claude brought the
news I expected. Bursting in, his face ashen, his
eyes starting from their sockets, and wringing his
long hands, he exclaimed:
"Oh, for the Land's sake, Miss Dean, such a awful
tragedy as has taken place!"
He sank into the nearest chair, the excited ser-
vants crowding close about him.
"Oh, mercy me! It's too awful! There sat the
Boss eatin' and drinkin' his coffee as usual when he
up and says, 'By the way, where's Sturgis?' says he!
Oh, my Land"—poor Claude covered his face with
his hands—"it's too horrid and blood-curdling for
anythin'!"
The eager crowd surrounding him urged him on,
crying:
"For goodness' sake, Claude, don't stop!"
"'Where's Sturgis?' says the Boss, ca'm, never
suspectin' nothing." Claude, uncovering his face,
looked around with eyebrows raised, giving an ex-
aggerated imitation of Mr. Erranti's composed man-
ner. "'Where's Sturgis?' says he"—the servants
held their breath—"and with that in comes Anthony
Cray"—rising so suddenly that his audience shrank
back—"in comes Anthony Cray, and I will say Tony
done it well, so quiet and decent—'May I speak
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
with you, sir?' says he, lookin' at the Boss. 'Yes,
yes; what is it?' says the Boss, kinder impatient, but
you know his way"—the servants nodded violently
—" 'I'd better see you alone, sir, I think,' says Cray,
still very ca'm and respectful, you know his way"—
a chorus of nods with cries of "Do go on!"
"Cray glances around the table at the other
guests, kinder doubtful. 'Speak out, man!' says
the Boss; 'is the house on fire?' 'Worse than that,
sir,' says Cray; 'I wish 'twas only fire, but I'm
afraid it's death!' 'My God!' says the Boss under
his breath, in a kind of awful whisper, 1Mamong!'
—you know what he calls Madam. 'No, no, sir,'
says Cray, mighty quick, 'it's Mr. Sturgis, sir; early
swim, sir; cramp, sir. I think he's dead, sir,' and
with that everybody round the festal board looked
kinder queer and green, and we all trailed down to
the dock as fast— Sure enough, 'twas him—dead
—drown-dead! I wish I hadn't seen—it, I do," and
again poor Claude hid his face with his long hands.
"I have doubts if I ever forgit that sight! When
they begun to examine the—the—corpse, I just lit
out for home as fast as get out. Somehow I feel
mighty sickish and—and—queer!"
A cup of strong black coffee, piping hot, that I
hastened to give the poor fellow, revived his courage.
The servants huddled together like frightened sheep.
I was obliged to speak sharply to them, reminding
them of their duties and telling them that Madam
must not learn of the accident.
"Such a shock might kill her," I said. "You
must control yourselves."
"Sure, it's Miss Dean as is right," said Norah,
who had become my friend and ally. "If the Mad-
am hears a whisper 'twon't be my fault. Them
as has long tongues in their heads had best be care-
132


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
ful"—glancing significantly at a talkative house-
maid.
"If Madam should learn of this most unpleasant
circumstance," drawled Claude, "I shall make it
my business to find out who done the deed. And—
I shall feel it my bounden, if painful dooty, to in-
form the Boss of what I know!" He stared severely
around him, and left the kitchen with dignified tread.
But they all behaved well, poor things, and Mad-
am was kept in ignorance. As Mr. Erranti had
promised, everything was done at the boat-house.
The necessary unpleasant formalities were gone
through with there, and the Charlotte served to
transport people to and from Droneton.
At noon that day I was again in the garden, un-
der the birches by the pool. As I embroidered tall
lilies on the dull, green silk of Madam's new cur-
tain, I forced myself to glance now and then into
the depths of the spring. Its clear waters bubbled
up as fresh and limpid as if they had never borne
the burden of that awful weed. Goldfish darted
gayly hither and thither in its sun-illumined depths.
In the branches rustling above me birds twittered in
subdued, mid-day fashion. It was all so peaceful,
while in the boat-house
"Athena," said Madam, breaking in upon my dis-
agreeable thoughts, "Athena, thou art very pale to-
day! Yes, yes; I know I need not to be told that
thou art always pale—to-day it is different; but yes,
of a difference to be seen. Thou hast wearied thy-
self in that hot kitchen. Obey Philip, and do no
more cooking. Except for the bread," she added,
mindful of her own comfort, "that does thee no
harm. A womanly occupation, the making of bread,
n'est-ce pas? Thy arms and hands are very strong,
yet they do not look so. They are beautiful,
Athena; but that is not for you to remember, my
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
child. 'Handsome is as handsome does'—have I
said that right? 'It's better to be good than pretty,'
'All that glitters is not'—no, that's not it; 'Beauty is
only skin deep!' They are untrue, these sayings; I
don't believe them! / am pretty, and good also.
Thou art beautiful—and as the angels!—though
dull. (Dost suppose the angels are dull, ma belle?
But they can play. I like the harp, but not too many
harps—played all at once, as in Heaven.) Julie is
handsome and she is—but no, Julie is bad. A
devil. My mother used to say"—she stopped short,
confused—"No, no,"—in a whisper—"I must not
think of her! When I was young, Athena, the peo-
ple used to say—for I was born and bred up in—
no! no! no!!"—a look of terror in her bright eyes
—"never mind where I was born, I did not say, did
I, ires chere? But no, of course not. I am old. I
forget of what I talk. Look at the little lake,
Athena! How lovely, with the sunbeams sparkling
on the water! It is the Heart of the garden, n'est-
ce pas, ma bien-aimee? A pure heart, like thine,
with no black secret to hide! No horrid dead secret,
to shoot, and bury, and—" Her voice rose high and
shrill. I leaned forward and caught both her hands.
"My lilies, dear Madam! Don't they please you,
that you refuse to watch them grow?" I laid my
cheek against hers.
"I am ashamed!" she cried, gayly, forgetting her
strange fancies. "In looking at the garden flowers
I did forget thy silken lilies for a moment! Let me
see them now."
By evening Highgrove Hall was empty save for
its master, its mistress, and the servants. The vis-
itors had left. Claude was wandering about the up-
per hall when I went to dinner.
"Say, Miss Dean," he began, in a mysterious whis-
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
per, "just hold on a minute, will you? I want to
tell you something."
"About the house, Claude?"
"Lord, no; we ain't thinkin' about houses and
as how they're kep these days—my Landy, no! It's
about the Boss. What do you suppose them gentle-
men friends of his had the cheek to say this morn-
ing, when they heard of that poor creature's tragical
demise?"
"What, pray?"
"Said as he done it himself, 'cause the Boss had
cleaned him out last night! Case of sue-side, they
said!"—and Claude snorted with scorn.
I was silent, not knowing what to say.
"Had the cheek to say the Boss had roped in his
little all! Said he tempted him to play when the
corpse had swore off to please his wife! Said the
Boss meant mischeef last night—that the corpse
didn't want to play. Tornted him into it—askin' for
his revenge; and so on, an' so forth!"
"How dreadful!" I exclaimed, horrified by
Claude's story.
"Yes, sir-ree! But they had to take it all back.
Had to eat humble pie, chunks of it"—and Claude
giggled nervously—"and it's the pie as gives me dis-
pepsy worst of all!" Then, severely and mourn-
fully, "I should think they'd be ashamed; but Lord,
them fellers don't know the first meaning of the
word. Well, to perceed—when that corpse's pockets
come to be investigated, over five hundred was found
in them!"
"Five hundred—dollars, Claude?" I was aghast.
"Yes, ma'am, five—hundred—dollars! And some
change; but that ain't worth mentioning, of course.
So you see he wasn't to say busted clean through!
And them men sung small, I can tell you! I thought
you'd be interested to hear, Miss Dean, for you do
135


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
love fair play. A baby could see that. And the
Boss he tore up the I. O. U.'s he had from the dead,
and behaved honorable all round. He's a kind man,
Mr. Erranti—a very kind man. Has his faults, like
the rest of us—I know I got plenty, but I ain't seen
yours yet, Miss Dean. Yes, he's a kind man. Good
to his aged mother, and generous to all. There's
nothin' mean about him; I guess."
"Claude."
"Yes, Miss Dean."
"Is Mrs. Sturgis poor, do you know?"
"Lord, no, Miss Dean! An only child, they say,
and her parents just rollin' in their wealth!"
"I'm very glad," I said, thoughtfully.
"So'm I," said Claude; "and I'm mighty glad,
too, that he had a pocketful of money—him, the
corpse, I mean. If he hadn't—well, things would
have maybe looked ugly for the Boss. He is fond
of playing for money, and he does most generally
win! But that ain't his fault—he's smarter than
most, that's all. But it's time I gonged for dinner,"
and Claude ran lightly downstairs.
Mr. Erranti had something taken to the library
for him, and sent polite messages begging me to ex-
cuse his absence. He was very busy, Claude said.
But when I left Madam's room that night I found
him waiting for me in the hall. And I was not glad
to see him.
"Dear child," he said, very gently, taking my
hand as he spoke, "do you think you can sleep after
the sad adventure of this morning, or shall I mix
you a sleeping-draught?"
I tried to draw my hand away, but pretending not
to notice my effort he only held it the closer. Not
choosing to have a scene at the foot of the great stair-
case I let him have his way, but declined the sleep-
ing-draught.
136


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"Strong little hand," he said, looking deep into
my eyes, "strong little hand! Swift to succor those
in peril, swift to avenge an insult!"—and lifting it
to his lips kissed it before releasing me. "Are you
sorry, now, that you struck him, Athena?"
"No."
Philip laughed. And I did not like his laugh. It
was fatuous with proprietary pride.
"Good-night," I said, coldly, and bowing slightly
turned to the staircase.
"One moment, Athena! Let me tell you that our
plan worked smoothly. Thanks to your sweet help-
fulness Mrs. Sturgis will never know the truth."
"I am glad she is not poor, Mr. Erranti. Good-
night."
"No, not poor, Athena. Don't go just yet. How
did you discover that?"
"Claude told me."
"Indeed!" Mr. Erranti frowned slightly. "Did
he tell you of the money I stupidly overlooked?"
"Yes. I did not know people ever carried so much
about with them."
"They do when they want to play on the sly"—
he smiled grimly. "Cheques and I. O. U.'s are tell-
tales—not so, dollar-bills!"
I stood still, thinking, then said, slowly, "Weak
people who do what he did usually leave letters say-
ing why they did it, don't they?"
"Usually."
"It is fortunate he did not."
"Very fortunate."
I looked earnestly at Philip. His eyes were bent
upon the rug at our feet, his face expressionless,
yet I knew as certainly as if he had told me that
there had been letters—and that these letters had
been destroyed.
I turned and ascended the staircase, forcing my-
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
self to walk slowly. I wished to run. I forced
myself to bow an acknowledgment to his "Sleep
well, sweet child!" but I drew a long sigh of re-
lief when I reached my room, and shot the many
bolts of its door into place.
It had been a trying day, and this interview with
Philip was the last straw. My mind was tired out.
I sat down by my open window to rest, hoping the
cool night air might enable me to regain my accus-
tomed serenity before I tried to sleep. I wished to
forget, for the time, the events of the day, to
cease thinking of its horrors—and of Mr. Erranti.
But this last seemed impossible. In spite of remind-
ing myself that I was at Highgrove Hall to earn my
living, and not for the purpose of enjoying the so-
ciety of its owners; in spite of telling myself that
because Mr. Erranti's manners offended me, there
was no need for me to go over and over what he
had said, how he had looked and acted; still I sat
by my window and thought of him. I wondered
about his father—an Italian adventurer, probably.
Madam was a gentlewoman, but her son was not
quite a gentleman. He had odd ways—Italian
ways?—loved to bask in the sun, bareheaded.
Would his complexion be white, or olive, were it
free from tan? He was tanned so evenly, a clear,
pale brown, on face, throat, and hands. I thought of
his sporting tastes, his passion for gambling;—then,
my mind reverting suddenly to what I had found in
the pool, I hurried to my prayers, and to bed.
138


XIV
"I wish a kindly Providence had seen fit to en-
dow me with a humdrum, jog-trot nature—like Dick
Thorpe's, for instance, instead of giving me the sen-
sitive organization I now possess."
Randal St. John was the speaker. He lounged
comfortably in his favorite place, on the edge of the
veranda at my feet, and, as usual, was smoking a
cigarette.
"Mine is a complex nature," he continued, "and,
I must say, I find it hard to get on with."
I remained silent.
"You are thinking that other people find me hard
to get on with, Miss Dean. You never do me jus-
tice!"
"Perhaps not," I acquiesced, composedly.
"I wish"—he spoke with sudden energy—"I were
like Dick. He always knows what he wants, and
goes for it, saving your presence, tooth and nail!
Now I"—becoming reflective—"know what I want
in the big, but I'm continually led off in pursuit of
the little. I'm like a lovely butterfly, Miss Dean,
who sees in the distance an enormous rose, filled to
the brim with honey. The charming creature—I
allude to the insect, of course!—goes for the rose as
fast as it can skip; but right and left it sees smaller,
but equally fetching flowers, which lure it from the
straight and narrow path along which it is clamber-
ing. That butterfly is your devoted admirer here
present, and he's what I call in a hole! What do you


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
I had nothing to say, for my mind was troubled
by my own concerns. Randal's never interested me.
Several days had passed since the death of Mr. Stur-
gis. Everything was peaceful and serene at the
Hall, which was well, as Madam's birthday was to
be celebrated on the morrow. What troubled me
that lovely Friday morning was that I had nothing
to offer Madam as birthday gift. The fete day, Sat-
urday, was that on which my salary fell due. My
first month at Highgrove Hall was over.
I had no money in my purse with which to pur-
chase a trifle for my kind mistress. I could not de-
mand my pay at peep of dawn, and run to Droneton
to buy one! Randal complained of being "in a
hole!" I was in a dilemma! I sighed. Randal
thought I paid tribute to his sad reflections.
"It's a comfort to know I've got your sympathy,
at any rate," he said, echoing my sigh. "It's so rare
I appreciate it doubly when you do honor me with a
little. I'm awfully fond of you, Miss Dean."
Randal talked nonsense constantly.
"Yes," stretching his legs out still more com-
fortably, "I'm much to be pitied. My nature de-
mands variety in life, and I'm doomed to be a clergy-
man, to grow insipid and solemn. Don't say what
you wish to, please, for there isn't a particle of the
'Onward, Christian Soldier' in my make-up. I
know you're awfully religious, though you don't talk
about it. I dare say I shock you. Quite right—it
suits your style. Not mine, by a long shot. My
nature demands variety. I like the mazy dance, a
game of cards, the theatre, the race-course, etc. And
I like quiet chats with a serene-eyed goddess!"
This last meant he liked the freedom of High-
grove—and its veranda. It was very pleasant. The
glimpses of the river, with its distant background of
blue hills, were charming. Between the pillars that
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
supported the veranda roof, trellises of wrought iron,
the width of a ladder, were massed with vines, turn-
ing the veranda into a bower of green.
"When I become a serious divine"—Randal loved
to discourse about himself—"I may never again en-
joy a good ballet! As for holding converse with
the gentle denizens of the green-room—no, no, a
descent into hell! As for playing cards for money—
gambling is such a nasty word—angels and minis-
ters of grace defend us! Not that I do play any
more—given it up, Miss Dean."
"How long since?" I asked, remembering he had
joined the game I had watched begin in the hall a
few nights since.
"Not for ages, Miss Dean. I swore a solemn
swear to the old gentleman that I wouldn't, never-
no-more! I wear this giddy ring" — indicating
Nemesis — "as a reminder. Should I break my
promise—a thing / couldn't do, Miss Dean"—look-
ing earnestly at me with innocent, blue eyes—"I
lose Nemesis. Looks severe enough to keep a fel-
low straight, doesn't she?"—making the jewel flash
in the sunshine. "To tell the truth, I'm half afraid
of her! The Goddess of Vengeance! I'll bet you
were the image of her when you clipped poor Stur-
gis over the head, and sent him and Dodd flying into
space! There, you needn't open your big eyes so
wide—Von Schlange told me, curly haired chap—
little black-poodle man. Said you couldn't have laid
Sturgis out better if you'd been in training for a
boxing match! Wish I'd seen it." He was silent a
moment, then said, "You're a very strange girl,
Miss Dean. I can't make you out."
"Is there any reason that you should?" I asked,
not unnaturally; but he went on as though I had
not spoken.
"You're so wise about some things and so—well.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
so simple about others. You like to work! To
cook! To sew! Yet, about languages, you're a
walking Tower of Babel! Come"—coaxingly—"tell
me, Miss Dean—are you awfully deep, or only"
"Only shallow," I said, finishing his sentence for
him.
Randal smiled very broadly. Much of the inner
lining of his upper lip came into view. A dis-
agreeable curiosity was in his eyes. There came the
noise of wheels on the veranda, and Madam ap-
peared, pushed by Julie, whose face darkened at
sight of us.
"Eli bien, mes enfants!" cried the old lady, as
she approached. "But no, no French at present!
This Vaurien does not understand!"
"When you swear at me in French, I do," said
Randal, rising with languid grace and going to
Madam's side. "What was the little cuss-word you
used just now? Something very naughty-bad?"
Madam laughed, in high good humor. Her
pretty brown eyes sparkled, her cheeks wore the
pink of a half-faded rose. A handsome old lady was
Madam, when well and gay—as on that summer
morning long ago.
"To-morrow is my birthday, Randal"—she spoke
with childish glee—"and all the world will do my
bidding! I have asked much of Philip—and to all
he said yes, yes, yes!" She clapped her hands.
"Of course," said Randal, "who wouldn't? I
always obey you because I'm so awfully fond of you,
dear Madam!" smiling sweetly as he spoke.
"Go away, Athena, for a moment. I would speak
alone with Randal."
"You see," said Randal, as I turned to obey, "I
have cut you out, Miss Dean!"
I walked to the end of the veranda. Something
was coming up the avenue—a large furniture van.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
I hurried back to Madam; the sound of wheels on
the avenue always alarmed her. To my surprise
she was still gay.
"What is coming, ma belle? A carriage with
boxes or a truck with furniture?" She broke into
a little mischievous laugh at the surprise in my face.
"You, too, must promise, like Randal here, to do as
I wish to-morrow. Will you, my Athena?"
"With all my heart, dear Madame," I said
quickly, but rather sadly; "if only I had something
besides my obedience to offer!"
She stretched out both hands to me, and, drawing
me to her, kissed me fondly.
"Dear child," she murmured, "dear, lovely child!
Thou hast already given me much! Thy sweet, un-
grudging service, thy gentle companionship. I want
nothing more. Only remain ever with me, Athena."
She spoke in French. Randal watched us curi-
ously. Madam, releasing me, saw his expression.
"Philip says, Randal, that he feels as if Athena
were some lovely young niece, or cousin, come to
brighten our quiet home. He thinks we should do
our best to make her happy and contented." Fold-
ing her hands in her lap she leaned back, with a
childish air of importance.
"Erranti is quite right," murmured Randal, with
eyes cast down. "Oh, very right indeed."
"Athena, go with Julie to my room, and remem-
ber, you have promised obedience! No, no, the
other way"—I had turned toward the front of the
house—"through the door which leads into my room
past Julie's from the veranda. Randal"—smiling
graciously—"will take charge of me; won't you,
Randal?"
"Gladly," was the ready answer; but Mr. St. John
looked seriously alarmed as he watched us depart.
In Madam's room a strange woman was opening
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
two large paper boxes and spreading their contents
upon the bed.
"Here is Mademoiselle," announced Julie, as I
entered; then, turning to me, "The person sent to
try on the new evening gown, Mademoiselle."
I bowed, and asked an explanation. Julie crossly
snapped out a few ill-humored words about Ma-
dame's "jour de fete," "toilette extraordinaire!"
"sortie du bal," until I stopped her, none the wiser,
but not caring to hear more.
"This is the dress ordered," said the woman, tak-
ing up a mass of exquisite white brocade and hold-
ing it for me to admire.
It was, indeed, very beautiful, splendid enough
for a princess, far too magnificent for me. Through
the fabric ran a wonderful pattern of lilies, each
flower delicately outlined by a thread of silver that,
catching the light, added to the shimmer of the stuff.
The silk was so soft, a fold could be gathered and
crushed into a ball without wrinkling, yet so rich it
could stand alone. The gown was fashioned simply,
as the material required. A fall of rich lace trimmed
the low corsage and served as an apology for sleeves.
Julie's ill-humor melted away as she dressed me.
Fine clothes to her were rapture. "Ah, heaven!"
she cried, in ecstasy, "but that is beautiful!"
I stood before one of Madam's long mirrors, and
looked at myself earnestly. I had never worn a
ball gown, and saw myself for the first time with
arms and shoulders bare. I thought of my mother,
and my eyes filled with a sudden rush of tears. Had
she lived what might not this gay attire have meant
to me—a happy home, my mother's tender pride—
while now! I turned from the mirror, sick at heart.
What to me was the costly finery worn to gratify
the whim of a kind but strange old lady?
"Mademoiselle is not pleased?" broke in the anx-
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
ious voice of the dressmaker. "But the fit is per-
fect! Perhaps the brocade does not suit."
"Yes," said Julie, authoritatively, "the fit is per-
fect. I saw myself to the measurements sent. The
material suits Mademoiselle a merveille!"
"Monsieur Erranti," went on the other French-
woman, "was indeed particular. The pattern must
be of lilies, he would have no other. And no time
given us—a few days only! To speak truth, we were
allowed to set our own price—one must pay well to
be served so quickly. I hope Mademoiselle is
pleased"
"A great success," I said, sorry for the woman's
distress.
"One moment," she cried, beaming with satisfac-
tion, "the evening wrap—behold it!" And she
slipped over my shoulders a mantle of the same bro-
cade, fringed with silver.
This, too, I praised, reflecting that if I was un-
comfortable there was no reason others should be.
The woman then measured me, saying she would
hope for further orders. I did not tell her that this
must never be, but went at once in search of Mad-
am, who had, Julie said, mounted to the second
story. Owing to her rheumatism Madam never
went upstairs, and I wondered what could have
taken her there. I found her seated on a divan in
the upper hall, Randal lounging beside her. Scat-
tered about the floor was a quantity of twine and
paper, showing that unpacking had been going on.
From behind the closed door of the Blue Room came
the sound as of many people at work, and against
the opposite wall was pushed the furniture of that
room. Madam watched my evident surprise with
pleasure, Randal with a curiosity he strove vainly to
hide.
"Eh ~bien, tres chere," cried Madam; "you find
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
us busy, yes? We are making changes, great
changes, in our new home—and all for you, mign-
onne! Sit down beside me"—patting the divan
with her poor, swollen hand—"and Randal and I
will tell you what is doing to please you. Yes, yes,
I am an old woman, 'tis true, but I have my way
once a year!" She laughed like a child. "See,
then," pointing to the door of the Blue Room, "that
room has on one side the corridor leading to the
third-story stairs, on the other Philip's dressing-
room, n'est-ce pas?"
"Yes, Madam."
"Then the very room for you! Hush, do not in-
terrupt me, it is well arranged. Philip moves into
his dressing-room—a well-sized room, truly—giving
up his own room to his guests. He will be on one
side of you, the corridor on the other, the noisy men
can have the third story to themselves, which is quite
what should be."
I remained silent, being ever slow of speech. "I
have been anxious," Madam went on, in low, con-
fidential tones, "but have said nothing"—nodding
her head and looking very wise—" till I could talk
the matter over with Philip. We decided you were
too young to be left alone in that out-of-the-way
third story."
"Dear me, yes," murmured Randal, "much too
young—and too handsome! Erranti will make a
lovely chaperon"
Madam stared at him, puzzled. "I am Miss
Dean's chaperon," she said, severely; "she needs no
other."
"Dear me, no," Randal made answer, "of course
not!"
"You see, Athena," said the old lady, giving up
the effort to understand Mr. St. John, "if you
should feel alarmed in the night you can tap three
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
times on the big mirror that shuts off your room
from Philip's—you remember there was a door of
communication, cherie? Shut now, forever, tight
and fast, by a great mirror! But Philip would hear
the tapping, and vite!—out into the hall he would
run, his revolver ready! He shoots well, poor Philip.
I saw him shoot the devil once"
"Madam, dear Madam," I cried, interrupting
her, for I not only feared the effect of this sad fancy
upon her nerves, but wished to guard her from Ran-
dal's cruel curiosity, "how thoughtful you are for
me! Please—why is the Blue Room furniture out
here?"
Her look of painful excitement vanished, Randal
looked disappointed.
"Why, ma chere?" She spoke gleefully. "Be-
cause the room is being done over—to please me!
Philip has chosen everything; but, since his taste is
sometimes odd I have advised him. Your room will
be perfect. I am here now, with young Randal, to
view the effect."
"Yes, oh, yes, to view the—effect!" echoed Ran-
dal, gazing with an air of profound abstraction at
the tips of his highly polished shoes.
The door of the Blue Room was now cautiously
opened on the merest crack, and a man's head
thrust through the aperture. At sight of Madam
the body followed, and the foreman stood before us.
His manner of closing the door behind him, as if
his small secret were a wild beast bent on escape, so
tickled Randal that he laughed aloud. Owing to the
intense interest of the moment his mirth passed un-
noticed.
"We've done all we can, ma'am," said the up-
holsterer to Madam, in a deferential whisper, "only
the bric-a-brac remains to be set round. Mr. Er-
ranti '11 see to that, I guess."
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"No, no," cried Madam, imperiously, "finish the
room yourself."
"We've done about all we can, ma'am,"—cough-
ing gently behind his hand. "I should like to get
back to N'York by an early train, if possible. We're
driven with orders just now."
"That's nothing to me," said Madam, sharply.
"I suppose you are paid to attend to this."
"Oh, yes, ma'am, I've no complaint to make, I'm
sure. We had a real scramble to get the things,
Mr. Erranti being so set on a certain pattern; but
he gave us carte Uanche"—then, looking at me—
"Perhaps this is the young lady for whom the room's
being altered? I hope, miss—ma'am"
"Nonsense!" interrupted Madam, "it's done to
please me! My birthday gift!"
"Oh, indeed," stammered the foreman, confused
by Madam's irate manner. "I understood it was
for a young—that is—for a—a very young lady."
Madam stared disapprovingly, and began to think
aloud.
"The man's a fool!" she grumbled. "A fool re-
turns to his folly as a dog to—to what he's thrown
up! He don't understand his business. I know the
room is badly done—I'll look at it before he runs
away. A sly rogue, I'll be bound!"
Affecting a gracious manner, Madam begged the
unhappy foreman to accompany her on a tour of in-
spection, commanded Randal to lift her into her
chair, and vanished, with her victim, into the Blue
Room.
"Please follow her, Mr. St. John," I said, "she
wished to have you with her. I am the only one
who is not to see it to-day."
"I'd rather stay with you," was the plaintive an-
swer.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
I crossed to the long railing which edged the gulf
between the two branches of the staircase, leaned on
its broad top, and stared down into the cool hall be-
low. I was disturbed, ill at ease. Why, I could not
quite understand. My mind works slowly. Pres-
ently Eandal joined me.
"If a chap were shut out of Paradise with you,"
he said, peevishly, "he'd never need to complain of
hot weather! If Dives had caught a glimpse of you
he'd have preferred your icy society to the drop of
water he wanted old Thing-um-bob to fetch him! I
never saw such a hard-hearted lovely girl! Never,
no, never!"
He, too, rested his elbows on the railing, and
looked down.
"Fortune with her wheel downstairs"—he spoke
less peevishly-—"Venus on guard over yonder"—
nodding toward the statue in the niche—"meaning,
I suppose, that the Goddess of Love is Queen up
here!"
I was silent.
"If I had been Paris," he continued, "I'd have
bestowed that historic apple upon—Athena!"
"Then you don't care for a beautiful wife?"
"That's so, Miss—Athena! I forgot they'd each
made a bid for that apple. Curious what a mis-
chievous fruit the apple has always been, from Eve's
time down!"
"Not now," I said, earnestly. "It's a very healthy
fruit. So many nice dishes, desserts especially, can
be made with apples."
He burst into wild laughter, exclaiming, when his
strange mirth was over:
"You'll be the death of me some day! I never
saw anyone to beat you! But, as you just reminded
me, Paris got a wife for that apple—such a wife! I
wonder the offer tempted him!"
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"His price," I said. I thought of Lord Ebbrides
—and the doll.
"I'd give a great deal to know yours!" cried Ran-
dal. He was in earnest.
"Nemesis?" I said, glancing at the emerald.
"No"—very slowly—"no, I think not. To con-
fess the truth, I have a very strange feeling about
this ring—a creepy feeling. However"—laughing
rather affectedly—"I'm determined that nothing but
death shall part us. Death—or the pawnbroker! As
for your price, Miss Dean, I shall learn it simply by
waiting."
I smiled, if a little sadly. I wished to be civil,
but his nonsense wearied me.
"Instead of being shallow—as you say you are—
you are very deep," he continued. "You play your
cards with consummate skill."
There was, I fancied, a sneer lurking in the sweet
tones of his carefully modulated voice. Could he
imagine that I liked the favors heaped upon me, I
wondered. Did he believe me capable of truckling
to Madam Erranti for the sake of obtaining silken
raiment and refurbished rooms? Impossible, I
decided, but I sighed. Such thoughts were un-
pleasant.
"Don't sigh," said Randal; "you have, for once,
your sister goddess on your side." He pointed
toward the Venus. I looked with cold dislike at her
sensual face. How might anyone admire her?
"She's a beauty, Miss Athena; but she's not a patch
on you! Come"—coaxingly—"what did you do to
gain her good-will? Offer her a pair of turtle doves,
or a basket of flowers?"
"In the company of three such powers you should
tremble," I said, lightly.
"Three?" Randal looked at me searchingly.
"Oh, you count in Fortune. Why, when we can't
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
see her from here? I'd like to have her with me
for once. I do have the most beastly luck! Lose
straight along. And Erranti, who doesn't need
money—he's rich as a Jew—always wins. He
needn't tremble, as you call it, in presence of the
three divinities. Fortune is for him; Venus—loves
gold. As for the third"—he smiled into my eyes—
"what about her, Athena?"
I did not smile back, but looked at him gravely.
He was indeed ignorant.
"The gods themselves cannot buy Nemesis, the
Avenger."
"By Jove! I forgot her," he cried, his eyes upon
the ring. "I was thinking of you."
"She will not forget," I said, slowly, "and you
will do well to—remember."
The door of the Blue Room opened, and Madam's
chair whirled into the hall. She was turning its
wheels herself with a strength born of anger.
"Vite, Athena!" she cried. "Come to me, help
me away! Ah, the disappointment! It cannot be
changed—too late! It is in Philip's blood, this love
of rich stuffs, I cannot quell it—born in him! 'Let
all be simple,' I said, 'and white, for a young girl,'
thinking of muslin only. White it is, but of the
richest silk, the costliest lace—and lilies everywhere!
Philip is mad! No, no"—as I would have entered
the room—"not till to-morrow. Philip would be dis-
pleased—as you are now, who love simple things, as
a young girl should."
She gave the wheels another violent push. Her
hands shook, her eyes were full of tears. The chair
turned the wrong way, and, like some vicious
creature, rolled swiftly to the staircase. There was
an instant of suspense, then—I had distanced it in
its race and stopped its headlong rush downward.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
Randal, realizing the danger a second too late to
catch the chair, ran forward to help me.
Madam clung to me, moaning, her feeble nerves
upset by the near approach to disaster.
"It was death," she muttered, "death, death,
death!"
"Wine," I said to Randal, who was as white as
Madam. He brought it quickly, and tried to soothe
her by recurring to her remarks about her son. This
was unfortunate, frightening anew the poor old
lady.
"Send him away," she whimpered. "He says I
talked too much, and of Philip, of Philip's blood.
Send him away, Athena." He went, gladly.
Next the upholsterer appeared. Not having seen
the almost accident, he thought Madam's agitation
due to disappointment, and tip-toed about uneasily,
anxious to be off yet not daring to go. Something
had to be done, and quickly. Madam was making
herself ill.
"I shall see the Blue Room for myself," I an-
nounced, abruptly. "Will you come with me, Mad-
am, or remain here?"
Madam sat upright, stopped moaning, and brushed
away her tears, that she might see clearly.
"Philip will be angry. Mon Dieu, he will be fu-
rious!"
"What matter?" I spoke placidly. "The room is
for me, n'est-ce pas?"
Madam laughed. Her eyes, tear-stained, began
to sparkle with mischief. She clapped her hands.
"A secret from Philip!" she cried. "And to-mor-
row thou shalt affect surprise!—wonder!—pleasure!
Come quickly, cherie, I cannot wait for thy opin-
ion."
The Blue Room was no longer blue, but white and
gold. Windows, bed, toilet-table, were draped alike
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
with rich, white silk trimmed with heavy lace.
Through the silk ran a pattern of white lilies, while
lilies of gold looped the draperies into place. There
were white rugs on the inlaid floor, white cushions in
the basket-chairs; on the walls enormous mirrors,
framed in dull gold. The effect was handsome, if
odd.
"How does it please thee, Athena?" said Madam.
"Too elaborate, rich, heavy—for a young girl,
yes?"
"It is beautiful," I said; then, to the unhappy
foreman, "You deserve credit, sir, for your swift-
ness and skill."
The idea of living behind such a mass of drapery
made me feel faint. I detested every kind of suf-
focating luxury. Yet, how could I be ungracious
when everyone meant to be kind! Since I must sub-
mit to being smothered I determined to do so with
a good grace, and I admired everything. Madam
and the upholsterer were pleased. The latter, in-
deed, became garrulous, describing his difficulties un-
til cut short by Madam.
"It is done," she cried, impatiently, "so why talk
about it? I am pleased that this young lady is
pleased, and Philip will be pleased because—
Athena, I am getting mixed up in my head! And
it's your fault"—turning upon the astonished fore-
man. "You worry me to death! Go away, do! Have
luncheon and return to your shop, good man, only
go, go, go!"
He obeyed, thankfully.
"I see that sly cat, Ellen, in the hall, a sneaking
creature!" Madam went on. "Call her to stay with
me, and go thyself, dear angel, for Julie. She may
now see thy room. Go, Athena, else she will be
spiteful all day—the French devil! I detest her, but
go!"
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
I met Claude in the lower hall coming for orders
about luncheon. He opened the door into Madam's
private corridor for me. This corridor ended on
one side in a glass door, like that in Madam's room,
which opened on the veranda. It now stood wide,
and I looked through. Beneath a vine-covered trel-
lis stood two people, Julie and Randal. I hesitated
before calling her, and Randal, putting his hand
under her firm chin, tilted her face upward and
kissed her.
Involuntarily I drew back into the main hall, and
Claude closed the door of the corridor noiselessly.
"What was you wishing, Miss Dean?" He spoke
in subdued tones.
I told him.
"Then you just go upstairs again, Miss Dean, and
I'll deliver your message. Don't you mind about
what you just seen—Land, they're always goin' on
like that! Julie, she's French, so I s'pose she don't
know no better, poor thing, and as for that R. St. J.
—that embri-o D.D.—which, I'm told, stands for
minister—he's no more nor less than a bad egg!"
154


XV
It was Madam's birthday, and seven o'clock in the
morning; a lovely day, with sunshine and a soft
little breeze from the southwest. I stood by my
window enjoying the beautiful view, and regretting
that it was my last morning in my little sky-parlor.
The new room was at the back of the house, its east-
ern windows overhung by the knoll, its one north
window commanding a view of Beverley Towers
only. I said to myself that doubtless Mr. Erranti
was as much disturbed by the change as I. In spite
of his flowery speeches and compliments, he prob-
ably considered me a very great nuisance. Did he
grudge the affection Madam showed for me? I
looked ruefully at my lace-trimmed muslin—Ma-
dam had commanded me to be fine, and idle, on her
birthday—and wished she were less oddly kind.
The sweet tones of the gong, languidly tapped
by Claude, here put an end to my reflections. Philip
met me in the dining-room. I looked at him a little
wistfully. Was he vexed because of the room? He
answered the look with a kind smile, and said, "You
have been with us a month to-day, Miss Dean. I
dare hope the first month of many years to come."
I thanked him for his wish. I did not share it.
"I bring you a rose, one of your near relations."
He placed a half-open tea-rose—the dew still upon
its lovely petals—by my plate.
I admired its beauty, thanked him again, and laid
the flower down.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"I hoped you might wear it." He looked disap-
pointed.
"Have a pin?" drawled Claude, taking a pin-cush-
ion, a red silk heart, from his breast-pocket.
Accepting the pin, I fastened the rose in my
gown.
"Thank you," murmured Philip. "I wish it were
a white moss-rose; it would suit you best. I am fond
of roses. Once they were my favorite flowers—but
not now."
For politeness' sake I inquired his present prefer-
ence.
"Lilies—white lilies! When I look at you, Miss
Dean, I always think of lilies. I'm sure you were
a lily in a previous state of existence. A pure white
garden-lily. There is nothing lovelier," and he
looked affectionately across the table at me.
Claude slipped swiftly into his pantry, either feel-
ing de trop or on the verge of one of his giggling
fits. If I had not been angry I might have shared
his feelings. What did Mr. Erranti mean by talk-
ing such arrant nonsense to his mother's companion?
"I have displeased you, Athena." He spoke
earnestly, but there was a gleam of amusement in
his brilliant eyes. "I won't offend you again—by
thinking aloud."
Erect and haughty at the head of the table I sat
silent, ignoring both speech and man. Something
in his manner grated upon me far more than fool-
ish compliments warranted. These, born of his
Italian blood, meant nothing; but his way of look-
ing at me— In vain I strove to understand my re-
sentment, but it remained. I rose from the table,
thankful the meal was over.
"Come into the library and let me make peace
with you, Athena," said Philip, holding out his
hand. "I can't be happy when you are displeased."
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
faintest idea what you ought to receive! Have
you?"
I shook my head. "No," I said, "I know noth-
ing about such positions as mine, only I am sure
you give me more than I have really earned, Mr.
Erranti."
"Nonsense, arrant nonsense, Athena! I don't
know how we managed to live at all before you came.
I wanted a housekeeper, but when maman asked
for a companion, I thought it but one of her mo-
mentary whims. I told Julie to attend to the matter,
and gave it no further thought till coming home I
found—you! I wonder your friends and relations
didn't make better arrangements for you!"
"My few friends," I said, sadly, "are simple folk,
as ignorant of money matters as I. I have no near
relations, only one cousin, not an agreeable person.
She, also, dislikes me."
"Then you are quite alone in the world?" Philip's
voice sounded as if he hoped I might be. I looked
at him in astonishment, but his handsome face was
mask-like, expressing nothing.
"Quite alone," I said.
"Well, you shall have all the money you want,
at any rate. God knows I don't lack that, if other
good things are denied me! Here, child"—and my
strange employer tossed the fat roll of bills into my
lap—"put it in your pocket, and when you want
more come to me. I ask no greater happiness than
to be your banker—the more you ask at my hands
the better pleased I shall be, if only you will be—
kind, Athena!"
I was at my wits' end. Mechanically I replaced
the money on the desk. Madam had said that
Philip was always kind, but sometimes—odd! Did
odd mean daft? Had he, as the Scotch say, a bee
in his bonnet? His behavior pointed that way. Or,
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
since Madam had said, that he looked upon me as
a niece, did he wish me to understand that I was now
formally adopted into the family? I was silent for
some time after his remarkable speech. He did not
disturb my thoughts, but watched me closely. I
raised my eyes and met his steady gaze. He smiled
faintly.
"Weighing me in the balance, Athena? May I
not be found wanting!"
His voice was very sweet, but I did not want him
for an uncle. I did not quite like him. Did he
know, I wondered, that he treated me too famil-
iarly?
"Mr. Erranti."
"Yes, dear child."
"May I ask you not to call me"
"No, no, Athena, don't ask me that! Please don't
look stern any more! There"—putting the money
back in his pocket—"if you don't want it now, come
for it when you do. If money doesn't please you—
I thought all women were spendthrifts—perhaps
something else may. This, for instance."
He took from a drawer in his desk a stiletto, long,
sharp, terrible, and laid it before me. "Look at the
emerald in the hilt, Athena. A beautiful one, in
spite of its nicked corner. Shall I have it taken out
and set in some other way? It is yours, my child, to
do with as you please—only let me use my mother's
pet name for you."
Madam had kept my secret, since he thought
me Augusta Dean! I sighed. What a trying pair
they were, mother and son, with their rich gifts
and strange whims. Then, examining the emerald,
I forgot them both, it was so like one my mother
had worn as a brooch. Not only the same size,
shape, and color, but nicked in the same way. Slip-
ping my finger over its smooth surface, touching its
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
one roughened corner, I was again a little child,
playing with my mother's well-remembered gem.
"You will keep it," murmured a sweet voice at
my elbow, "and grant me the favor I beg?"
As I returned to the present, with a little shiver
of discomfort, someone knocked.
"Come in!" cried Philip, sharply, angry at the in-
terruption, and Julie entered.
She had opened her lips to speak when her eyes
fell upon the deadly bauble in my hand, and the
words died away unspoken. A look of terror crept
into her eyes, her color faded. She shrank back as
if to leave the room, but her master stopped her.
"What is it, Julie? You surely did not disturb
me for nothing?"
I glanced quickly at him, for there was cruel
amusement in his voice, and his smile expressed
cruel enjoyment of her fear. She made another ef-
fort to speak, and again failed. I was sorry for her.
"See, Julie," I said, holding up the stiletto, "this
emerald is exactly like the one in my mother's fa-
vorite brooch—you remember? The one set in dia-
monds—she wore it constantly! It had a notch in
one corner, you have not forgotten, I am sure, and,
strangely enough, this one has, too. Curious, n'est-
ce pas, Julie?"
I had done my best. Rarely did I string so many
words together. Julie tried to collect herself.
"Madame Derohan's brooch?" she faltered, "Ma-
dame Derohan's brooch ?"—then grew paler than be-
fore.
"You must be ill—or crazy!" cried Philip,
sternly, and pushed her from the room, bidding her
ask Claude for a glass of wine. Then, resuming his
former place, he leaned both arms on his desk and
looked questioningly at me. "And now," he said,
his voice silky, but an oddly fierce expression in his
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
with my nature. I have been called obstinate. I
made another effort to gain my own way.
"Mr. Erranti."
"Yes, child."
He remained looking out of the window, his back
toward me, as if unable to give me his entire atten-
tion; but I continued:
"Mr. Erranti, since it pleases your mother to keep
my name a secret, I think it might better remain
one. She has little to amuse her."
"Your will is my law, Athena."
I looked at him in despair. Another foolish
speech!
"It is kind of you to say so, Mr. Erranti. I need
not hesitate, then, to ask this favor"
"Name it!"—his voice was vibrant with pleasure,
his eyes shone, he left the window.
"Please call me Miss Dean in future."
He sat down again by his desk.
"Athena," he said, quietly, and as if he weighed
each word before speaking, "Athena, a belief so
sweet has arisen in my mind I hardly dare yield to
it, for what if I should be disappointed! Athena,
my dear child, are you the daughter of Charles De-
rohan?"
"Yes," I said, wondering what was coming.
"Of the Charles Derohan who died—in May?"
"Yes."
"Athena"—holding out both hands to me—"your
father was my dearest friend — I loved him."
Philip's voice shook, his eyes were full of sadness,
his expression was one of almost passionate regret.
"You knew my father?" I exclaimed in amaze-
ment. "When and where?"
"In Wall Street."
I shrank back, involuntarily
"Athena! Surely you won't do me so gross an
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
injustice as to think that of me—of me, his most
sincere friend!"
The rare color stained my cheeks. I was ashamed
of my suspicion.
"If he had listened to me"—Philip spoke very
gravely—"he would never have dabbled in those
wretched speculations. He was too generous in his
belief in others, too noble-hearted for such work.
To think"—taking my hands in his—"that Charles
Derohan's daughter has found a home beneath my
roof! It is almost too great a happiness to be true!"
Then I had the joy of listening to a very beauti-
ful tribute to my dead. It was sweet to me. If,
now and again, Philip dwelt lovingly upon little
characteristics that I had never observed, little
ways that I had not known I inherited from my
father—I was never thought to resemble him greatly
—I realized but the more clearly how much more
discerning strangers are than kin, on points of re-
semblance. Philip did not say how much I was like
him. It was from his description that I learned of
my inheritance.
Ashamed of my past doubts of one who had been
my father's friend, anxious to atone for secret dis-
trust, I went against my nature, which is reserved,
and, of course, went too far.
"I hope you may always call me Athena," I said,
smiling through a mist of tears. "I am sorry I spoke
as I did just now. You see, I did not know."
The sadness cleared from the handsome dark face.
"And you—you won't say 'Mr. Erranti' in that
formal way again?"
Once more my color rose. This was more than I
had bargained for, yet how draw back?
"When you think of me, Athena, do you call me
'Mr. Erranti'—or 'Philip'!"
Because of Madam's constant use of his Christian
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
name I did think of him as "Philip." I flushed
crimson. Philip's eyes sparkled.
"I am answered!" he cried, gayly; then, with sud-
den seriousness, "No, call me what you please,
Athena, only give me the right to be your friend,
as I was your father's."
I made a great effort, conquered my reserve—and
a certain incomprehensible feeling of repugnance—
rose to my feet, and, holding out my hand, said, very
gravely:
"Because of your affection for my father I accept
your friendship—Philip."
He bent low over my hand, raising it to his lips.
He did not look at me, and I saw he had paled
slightly under his tan. Seeing him so deeply moved
I tried to help him recover himself.
"Lock up the stiletto, please," I said, lightly, "and
never offer it to a friend. Knives cut friendship."
He laughed, a little unsteadily.
"I may settle with that Mrs.. Spuyten, Athena?"
"Certainly not."
"Your father's own daughter!" he murmured.
"Please remember that Madam is not to know—
that you know!" I said, anxious to preserve her small
amusement. Then I recollected another secret that
must be shared. To tell it was unpleasant, some-
how. I felt suddenly a strong desire to run away
from my father's friend. I took my courage in both
hands.
"I must tell you that I have seen the room you
and Madam were kind enough to have refurnished
for me." I stopped, a little out of breath.
Philip laughed. His eyes flashed.
"Little daughter of Eve! So you couldn't wait!
I'm thankful you possess some of the ordinary femi-
nine weaknesses! I began to believe you a veritable
little goddess of stone," and again he laughed.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
To be thought a second Mrs. Bluebeard—a woman
I had always despised—was unpleasant, but with-
out betraying Madam's little adventure I could not
explain. Then I remembered Madam wished her
son to think the room a surprise to me. I found my-
self tangled in a mesh of falsehoods.
"If you don't object," I said, shamefacedly, "I
will pretend not to have seen it before."
"Just as you choose, dear child." Philip looked
astonished. "Of course I'll keep your little secret.
What I don't understand is why you told me at all."
"I am a poor actress."
"You thought I should see through you, so told?"
—very much amused. "I had no idea you were
such a crafty little person! As for this toy"—play-
ing with the dagger—"I must find you a less deadly
gage d'amitie."
"The top of the morning to you both!" cried a
gay voice, and Randal strolled in by the window.
"What's that, Erranti? By all the gods, a dagger!
Better not play with edged tools, old man, or you'll
get your fingers cut." He glanced at me.
Philip smiled, and locked it away in his desk.
"Dear me," said Randal, plaintively, lounging
into a chair, "I should like to know what you two
quiet people talk about when you're all, all alone!
Do you talk or simply—" He broke off, glancing
inquisitively from me to Philip. "She's a sphinx"
—pointing a solemn finger at me—"and you"—
turning upon Philip—"are a volcano! You're quiet
enough now, old man, and we, so to speak, sport
gayly about you, and gather flowers on your manly
brow; but some day you'll explode—and may I be
there to see!"
"I'll blow you into fragments," laughed Philip.
He was in high spirits. "You deserve to be knocked
to bits for your nonsense!"
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"How about the Sphinx? I doubt if even hot
lava would melt her. Is she a sphinx, or only a
pagan, caught young and educated among Chris-
tians? Do you know what she says, Erranti, when
I tell her I can't make her out? 'Is there any rea-
son that you should, Mr. St. John?'"
I started, for it was my own voice that I heard.
Randal was a marvellous mimic. Philip frowned.
"Enough of that." He spoke sternly, not hiding
his displeasure. "Confine your nonsense to me, if
you must indulge in it."
"I'm sorry you're mad, Erranti," said Randal,
quickly. "I didn't mean to be saucy. Miss Dean
has such a wonderful voice—the kind of grave, sweet
tones that belong to goddesses. I couldn't help try-
ing it on. Please forgive me, Miss Dean."
I smiled my forgiveness, and said I must go.
"No, please, not yet," said Randal. "Just stay
long enough to prove you're not offended. Say, 1
bet you five dollars that, for all you're such a sphinx,
I can tell what you've been saying to Erranti. May
I give a guess?"
Had he been eavesdropping? He was, I thought,
none too scrupulous. Before I could answer Philip
cried out:
"I bet you fifty you can't"
"Done!" Randal was overjoyed. "She was tell-
ing you how she saved your mother's life yesterday."
A profound silence followed. Randal, thinking
he had hit the mark, prepared for new triumphs.
"I'll bet another five that I know something she
has not told you."
"Fifty that you fail," said Philip, an odd inflec-
tion in his voice.
"She has seen the changes in the Blue Room,"
said Randal, smiling in his unpleasant way.
"You have lost in both—as you deserve," said
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
Philip, coldly. He followed me to the door, opening
it for me. "This evening"—speaking so softly that
even Randal's sharp ears must fail to catch his words
—"I shall try to tell you how grateful I am,
Athena."
I found it difficult to meet the admiration in his
eyes, and was glad to hasten across the hall to Mad-
am's quarters. I went so swiftly I nearly collided
with Julie on her way to fetch me. She still looked
pale and shaken. I asked how she felt.
"Better, Mademoiselle." Then, with evident ef-
fort, "May I be permitted to ask a question?"
"Yes."
"That—that dagger! It is'yours, Mademoiselle?"
"No," I said, "it belongs to Mr. Erranti. Was it
the dagger that frightened you, Julie? Or were
you ill?"
"The cold steel"—shivering as she spoke—"the
sight of the cold steel. From a child I have been so.
A sharp knife, a dagger's point, makes me ill. I re-
joice this weapon belongs not to Mademoiselle."
She darted into Madam's room, as if wishing to
be rid of the subject. Yet she had looked, in spite
of her words, as though sorry the dagger was not
mine. I remembered that when, as a child, Julie
had been sent with me to my fencing-master, she had
watched with much interest, and no symptoms of ill-
ness, the play of the rapiers. However, people were
said to change as they advanced through life. Prob-
ably Julie had lost her nerve. Poor Julie!
167


XVI
On Madam's birthday her one anxiety was that
everyone might rejoice that she had been born. To
that end she gave largely to all her dependents, and
was amiable and easy to please all day. I was in-
stalled in my new room with much ceremony, Philip
so cleverly taking it for granted that I saw it for
the first time, that I had nothing to do save admire.
At six o'clock Julie was sent to dress me in the bro-
cade. To please Madam I had consented to wear
her diamonds as well, and I was very magnificent.
"Are you satisfied with me, Julie?" I asked, walk-
ing to the end of the room that she might judge the
better.
"Mon Dieu, oui!"—surveying me through half-
shut eyes, as an artist his work. "But it is ever
agreeable to make the toilette for Mademoiselle.
Some, though beautiful, are unable to do credit to
a work of art, but even as a child Mademoiselle
might be depended upon."
The silver thread outlining the lilies caught the
light as I moved, gleaming in a dozen places at once.
The brocade was a work of art.
"The ornaments are old-fashioned," she contin-
ued, eying with disapproval the low-hanging zig-
zag necklace, "and Madame and I contend for pow-
dering the hair. Monsieur protests, however.
'Dress it high, weave through it the riviere, but no
powder, Julie.' Madame argued in vain. Monsieur
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
said it, the hair, was 'of shining gold!' So—no
powder!"
On the staircase landing, when I went to dinner,
I stood enchanted. For the gardeners had trans-
formed the great marble hall into a forest of flowers
and climbing vines. Fortune's wheel was clogged
with blossoms—stopped for the hour. I glanced
over my shoulder. Had Venus been forgotten? I
caught myself hoping so—but no. She wore a
crown of roses, and a long wreath of ferns and flow-
ers hung over her naked limbs.
Opposite the staircase, between two pillars, was a
low platform covered with tiger-skins, the stuffed
heads thrust out as though guarding the easy-
chair, Madam's throne, placed above them. Then
two cavaliers emerged from the library and came
to meet me—Philip, with Randal St. John. Both
men wore powder. Philip was in white satin, dia-
mond buckles on his high-heeled shoes; Randal in
pale-blue silk, a gold-laced hat under his arm,
enamelled snuff-box in his hand. A gay pair! They
bowed low, I courtesied profoundly, and Philip, step-
ping to my side, placed in my hand a fan with jew-
elled sticks.
"The gage d'amitie" he whispered.
I thanked him. I was pleased. I never used a
fan.
Madam now appeared, magnificent in her white
silk brocaded in pink roses, and lace cap fastened
with diamond pins. Claude pushed her chair, and,
conscious that all eyes were upon him, advanced
with mincing step and fiercely solemn demeanor.
He wore a red velvet coat, black satin knee-breeches,
and silver-buckled shoes. He was superb, but
grandly overlooked the fact, while Madam was at
no pains to conceal her enjoyment of her own and
her footman's magnificence.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"Charming, charming!" she cried, looking about
her. "Ah, you, too, all are charming, as I, also,
and this good Claude here! But, mon Dieu, Athena,
thou art the Queen! Ma chere, how wonderful
thou art! My diamonds suit thy splendid beauty
well. Give her a name for to-night, Randal."
"The Queen of Hearts, of course."
"'The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts'—
no, no, vaurien! It's bread, not tarts, that Athena
makes! Excellent bread! Made for me because
she loves me. Like me, she is a grande dame, and
that is why she makes it so well; for the well-born
can cook better than cooks, sew better than our
maids—yet are ever great ladies! But come"—
nodding her head at Randal—"a name for to-
night."
"She might be Jack Frost's wife in that gown. It
gleams like frost-work. The diamonds would do for
icicles."
Madam clapped her hands.
"The Frost Queen! You are a good lad, Ran-
dal."
"What's that sparkling in your lap, Maman?"
asked Philip.
"My rings—for Athena to wear. You won't re-
fuse to-night, Athena?"
Her eyes sparkled with mischief. She was like
an elfish child. I slipped them on my fingers. They
were many, and my fingers felt heavy and clogged.
Madam beamed with satisfaction at gaining the
long-disputed point. Randal watched her curiously.
"You're very different from most women, Mad-
am Erranti"—he spoke in honeyed tones—"when
you have a daughter-in-law you won't mind handing
over your jewels."
Madam pursed up her lips, frowning.
"I shall never have a daughter-in-law, sir!"
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Dinner was announced, and the question in his
eyes was not asked. Madam had my usual place
at the head of the table, while I sat at Philip's right
hand. It was a merry party. Madam and Randal
talked, Philip and I listened. The dinner was not
long because of Madam. Her cake was to be cut
in the hall in the presence of the servants, who were
each to have a piece. Suddenly we heard music.
"The band from Droneton," explained Philip.
"The servants are to dance in the carriage-house
later. I am to open the ball with Norah!"
"What a pity it's Saturday night!" said Madam,
delighted with the music.
"I'll make that all right—I understand clocks—
but don't tell," laughed Randal. He had drunk a
great quantity of wine, but appeared little affected
by it. I hoped his legs might prove as strong as his
head.
"Athena, you won't refuse to drink my health?"
cried Madam, anxiously.
"Are you a temperance girl? Do you wear a
blue ribbon, color of my eyes, in your bonny yellow
hair?" demanded Randal.
I did not answer, but, clinking a glass of cham-
pagne against Madam's, drained it, with best wishes
for her health.
"You'd make a splendid wife for me," said Ran-
dal, plaintively. "I've all the vices, and you've
none! You'd cure me of my evil habits and turn
me into a sweet little parson. Wish I could muster
courage to pop the question this very minute!"
"Nonsense!" cried Madam, vehemently. "You're
not good enough for my Athena, and far too young
—Sower of Wild Oats!"
"How about Erranti?"—a wicked look in his blue
eyes. "He must be old enough. It's time he settled
down—to reap what he's sown! Won't he do?"
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
Madam pushed her chair back from the table.
She looked frightened.
"I want to cut my cake," she whimpered. "Philip,
push me into the hall, quick!"
He obeyed instantly, and, placing her in the chair
on the platform, had the servants summoned. Ran-
dal and I following, found that during our absence
at dinner the hall had been lighted by dozens of
Chinese lanterns, hung very artistically among the
vine-draped pillars. Glancing through the front
door, which stood wide, I saw their gayly colored
lights outlining the avenue as far as the stables.
The musicians now struck up a lively march, and
the servants entered, headed by Claude, who car-
ried the cake on a silver salver. Solemnly he de-
posited his precious burden upon a little table in
front of Madam, and joined his fellows, drawn up
in two rows on either side. They all wore fancy
costumes, Philip's surprise for his mother. He had
shown skill in his selection. Julie was a vivandiere,
her stealthy husband, a bandit; the meek Dolan, a
shepherd with his crook, and handsome Norah, La
Belle Chocolatiere.
It was a pretty scene, the gay figures grouped
against the background of greenery. Madam was
as happy as a child. But one anxiety marred the
joy of the moment. The fear lest her favorites
might not secure the prizes hidden in the cake! This
last was a masterpiece. It had occupied Norah's
thoughts for days past. It was a gigantic pink heart,
the depression at the top graced with a large bow
in pink candy. I saw at once that Claude's pocket
pincushion — probably Norah's gift — had been
taken for a model. Compliments were showered
upon the happy cook, who beamed with triumphant
satisfaction.
No candles burned around the cake. For some
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
reason Madam would not have them. She said she
feared them. Philip and Randal lifted the salver,
and, stepping up on the platform, held it across
Madam's lap, while, holding the knife with difficulty
in her crippled hands, she made a slight incision.
"I want Athena to divide it," she said. "Cut it,
dear child, and give it to my people."
As I obeyed, Randal stepped forward.
"My friends," he began, "I hope you admire as
much as I do the great good sense Madam has
shown in her selection of the fittest to divide this
cake! Pray observe the skill and dexterity exhib-
ited by Miss Dean in making a lasting impression
upon the large heart prostrate before her! Only
long practice in the cutting up, and lacerating of
hearts, could give her such deftness and precision of
touch! My own organ"—clasping both hands on his
silken waistcoat—"which Miss Dean has already
made mincemeat of, aches in sympathy with the one
she is calmly slicing." The bashful Dolan here gave
vent to a loud guffaw, to his own and his compan-
ions' distress. "I have a sweet vengeance in pros-
pect," continued Randal, elated by this applause—
he had drunk far too much champagne. "To-night
that cruel young lady will repose in a new bed, the
posts of which, after the fashion of girls, she will
name, and the name of which she dreams will be
that of the happy man. But to every post I'll hang
my card, so"
Mr. Erranti pushed him gently aside.
"My mother wishes you to know that in the cake
there are three prizes—a gold ring, a gold horse-
shoe, and a gold piece."
"The latter worth ten dollars!" struck in the ir-
repressible Randal. "Going, going, going! Ladies
and gentlemen! Love, good-luck, and the promise
of wealth! Who will have a try? Whoever finds
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
the ring will shortly be united to the beloved of his
—or her—heart! The horseshoe, as we all know,
brings good luck. As for the ten-dollar gold piece
—well, I guess we all have a use for such a find!"
—a titter of delighted amusement from the servants
—"I mean to have three pieces, so's to be sure to
get something. Miss Dean says I may have hers."
"No, no," cried Madam, much disturbed. "You
can't have more than your share, Randal. I want
Athena to keep her own."
"He's only joking, maman" said Philip, sooth-
ingly.
"I don't know," grumbled Madam; "he seems a
greedy fellow."
To prevent further discussion I told Claude to
distribute plates, while I followed with the cake. I
was careful that after everyone had a slice none
should be left, and had cut it to that end. Like
Madam, I found I was devoured by anxiety lest
the prizes should go wrong. It was with a sharp
pang of regret that I saw Ellen, the sly housemaid,
draw the gold piece from her slice. Next I feared
that I might be unlucky enough to get something;
but Claude found the horseshoe, which he gallantly
presented to Norah, and Dolan, a notorious woman-
hater, got the ring! Loud was the laughter and
many the jests when this happened. Randal at once
offered to propose for him, in case he had not
courage. The ring must be used. While this non-
sense was going on Madam begged me to grant her
one more favor. Julie, she said, had told her I
could dance the minuet. Would I dance it for her
on this, her birth-night?
"Philip will be thy partner."
I could not plead forgetfulness, although I had
not danced since I was thirteen. I have a retentive
memory. I did not like to refuse her. So the
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
servants ranged themselves on either side the spa-
cious hall, the musicians played the old-time meas-
ure, and Philip and I went through with the stately
dance. Philip was grace itself. His splendid cos-
tume set off his dark beauty to the greatest ad-
vantage. Never had belle a more gallant cavalier.
I could not wonder at the hum of admiration that
came from the little group of spectators when, the
dance over, he led me before his mother's dais and
bowed low. But Madam, strangely enough, had
only praise for me.
"You swam through the dance like a swan,
Athena," she said. "Never have I seen so stately,
so beautiful a creature!" Then, turning to her son,
she told him, coolly, that he had really done very
well. He seemed content, for he smiled and kissed
her hand.
"Now, good people," she continued, "you may
each ask a favor at my hands, and, if possible, it
shall be granted. I hope and pray"—speaking to
herself—"they'll ask something easy! Athena"—
raising her voice again—"lovely child, you may be-
gin."
Kneeling before her I whispered my wish, which
was instantly granted.
"Poor child, poor child"—patting my cheek—
"I'm a selfish old woman not to have thought of it!
Forgive me!"
It was amusing to watch Madam's expression as,
one by one, the servants made their requests. I
knew at once who gave trouble and who not. Philip
often came to her assistance. The curious little cere-
mony over, they bade their mistress good-night,
thanked her, and departed for the stables in com-
pany with the musicians.
"I'm so tired," said Madam, suddenly petulant.
"I want to go to bed."
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"May I care for you to-night?" I asked. "Julie
wants so much to see the ball opened."
Philip's face darkened, and he called sharply to
Julie, who was vanishing through the door with Ran-
dal.
"Attend to your mistress," he said, sternly, "and
don't attempt again to shirk your duties."
She murmured that I had promised, that she had
wished for the first dance.
"You forget yourself strangely to-night," said her
master. "Remember what your position is here—
what it would be elsewhere. No more of this. Mad-
am is tired; take her to bed."
Pale and frightened, she wheeled her mistress
away without a word. I was sorry, but might not
interfere.
"Where is your wrap, little woman?" Philip
asked. He looked kind and affectionate, but his
manner had lost the something that jarred upon me
before. Since learning my true name it had van-
ished, and because of his friendship for my father
his familiarity was natural enough. He fetched my
wrap, and, insisting that I should wear it, led me
out upon the veranda and placed me in a big chair
by Madam's glass door.
"Wait here for me until I have done my duty by
Norah," he said, "then I will enjoy myself if I may."
I urged him to remain for the ball. He laughed.
"A great inducement! Dancing with a crowd of
servants—and you here. I shall be gone but a few
moments. Peggy is in the upper hall, and"—
whistling shrilly—"here's Don to stay by you. Are
you afraid, Athena? I shouldn't leave you if there
were the least danger."
I was not afraid. Don settled himself with a
thump at my feet, and Philip disappeared beneath
the black arch of the avenue, that, in spite of the
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
brilliant moonlight, looked like the mouth of a cav-
ern. The lanterns' feeble glimmer had the effect
of fire-flies, hardly lighting it more. The avenue
was dark even on summer noons, and because of
the green mould which clothed the north side of
the trees, and the moss and fungi spreading beneath
the tangled underbrush, looked damp even when it
was not. Its mile of impenetrable shade I found in-
expressibly dismal. Indeed, the woods shut in the
house so closely, that from my position near Mad-
am's door I saw little of the heavens. I sat quite
still, Don slumbering at my feet. The moon shone
down upon us, a faint breeze brought the sound of
the dance-music, and an odd sensation as of one
awake in a world of dreams took possession of me.
Then the glass door opened and Julie appeared.
"Madame wishes for you, Mademoiselle. I may
go?"
She spoke crossly, evidently feeling I was to blame
for her disappointment.
"I have tried to be good all day," whimpered
Madam, as I sat down beside her; "it has tired me
so! I am sick of it."
"You have made everyone happy," I said, sooth-
ingly.
"Not you," she cried, "not you, Athena! In
mourning, and I made you dance—clad in brocade
and jewels! A wicked old woman! The devil's
own! You are an angel—and I made you sin."
Surprised that she had seen so clearly when I had
imagined I had successfully hidden my distaste for
my role, and not a little mortified hy my failure, I
said what I could to comfort her. This set her on a
new tack.
"It's made Philip grow more fond of you," she
went on, "and that's a good thing. It will make me
more comfortable. He says he feels you belong to
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
us. I hope he may not change. Try to please him,
Athena. Do as he wishes in everything. His anger
is terrible. Never rouse it. Still, he is also wise,
and old enough to be trusted. Forty, yes, forty,
next month!" Then, relapsing into French, "Thou
art beautiful; but, since he is old, thou canst be his
companion without fear. To him thou art but a
lovely child. With Randal, now! Ah, the differ-
ence! A vaurien, Randal—amiable, charming, gen-
til— But, be careful, Athena. Ah, I know, I
know"—she wagged her head wisely—"what do I
know? Ah, God"—with a swift change of tone—
"too much, too much, too much! Kneel down and
pray, Athena! God is angry, and I—I have forgot-
ten how. Pray, pray, pray!" She flung herself
down among her pillows, then, lifting herself and
looking cautiously around, she whispered, "Did you
know the devil was dead? Hush! I'll tell you who
shot him"
Pressing her hands close in mine, I knelt beside
her bed, praying earnestly for the poor restless
heart, and before long her regular breathing told me
sleep had come. I heard Philip's step on the
veranda. When I could release my hands and join
him I found him leaning against the post of the
veranda near my chair. He had flung aside his pow-
dered wig. In the moonlight his close-cut hair
looked like black velvet. His rich satin coat shim-
mered as he turned to meet me. He was mag-
nificently handsome — unlike anyone else. As I
looked at him, wondering at his odd beauty, Mad-
am called, again awake. Philip went to her. When
he returned he carried her guitar.
"She wishes me to sing," he said.
For an hour he sang to her, continuing long after
she had fallen asleep—sang as though pouring out
his heart in melody. Again, as on the night before
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
the Fourth, on the staircase, I forgot where I was
—time, place, and everything—in listening to the
magic of his voice. First, there were lullabies,
French, Italian, German, then old ballads, at the
last love-songs. When these ended the singer fell
into long fits of musing, accompanying his thoughts
with light touches on the strings, humming softly
to himself. It was then I became conscious that he
was not composed, as usual, but evidently laboring
under some strong excitement which he strove to
suppress.
"Athena," he said, breaking the long silence with
the air of one who has come to a decision, "do you
remember what Randal said at dinner to-night?"
"He said so many things."
I knew at once the remark to which he referred.
"He spoke about my having sown my wild oats"
—leaning forward and looking up into my face. My
expression evidently disappointing him, he contin-
ued:
"No, of course you don't remember—why should
you? As Randal says, you are as calm, serene-eyed,
passionless, as the goddess whose name you bear."
"Hush, what was that?" A distant shriek pierced
the air.
"The whistle of a locomotive. The train rumbled
past some time ago."
Another long silence. The moon slipped away be-
hind the tree-tops, the music in the distance rose and
fell on the night breeze. Philip swayed toward me,
his hand on the arm of my chair.
"Athena, little Athena, will you"
"Hush!" I whispered, "there is someone lurking
in the wood-path."
Before the words had more than crossed my lips
Philip was running lightly across the intervening
stretch of grass to the little opening in the trees. I
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
heard an exclamation of surprise, a friendly greet-
ing. Then Philip and a man walked slowly past in
the shadow of the trees. Don, roused from his
heavy sleep—heavy only because of Philip's pro-
tecting presence—got up, growling and staring.
Fearing he might bark and wake Madam, I rose
and caught him by the collar. My mantle slipped
from my shoulders; the night-air was refreshing,
but, remembering Madam's diamonds, I hastily
muffled myself again. The two men, who had
stopped to chat in the entrance to the avenue, moved
on around the corner of the house. I had a mere
glimpse of the stranger, a tall, broad-shouldered
man, of graceful carriage, but I was haunted by the
fancy that I had seen him before. Don flopped
down at my feet, seeing all was well, and resumed
his nap. I sank into my chair, as sleepy as he. It
was long past my bedtime. When Philip returned
the hall clock was chiming twelve.
"Well, Queen of the Night, you have added to
the number of your slaves," he said, pushing Don
aside and taking his place at my feet. "I thought
I'd never get rid of the chap; he was too much fas-
cinated by your beauty to move!" He laughed, as
if triumphant—exultant, even. "I had to forgive
his having startled you, Athena, his admiration was
so whole-souled. You are the most beautiful of
women always, but to-night you outshine yourself!
When, just now, you stood, glorious in the moon-
light, your white splendor was almost unearthly.
Hair, gown, and jewels gleaming, a fitting setting
for the gem-like purity of your perfect face! This
great beast, charmed by your loveliness, crouching
at your feet. God! What a picture you were—and
are!"
I did not interrupt this highfalutin speech. There
was never any use in trying to stop Philip. He only
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
began all over again directly. When he had ex-
hausted his adjectives I asked the name of his
friend.
"Randal's cousin, Dick Thorpe."
At this I experienced an odd pang in my heart,
a strange sensation, and unpleasant. I was ashamed
that the name of a man who had been rude to me
could so affect me. I assured myself that it was a
pang of mortified vanity—nothing more.
"It is half-past twelve," I said, "Sunday morning.
They seem to be dancing at the stables yet."
"Randal has set the clock back. He can't get
enough, the young idiot! Are you tired, Athena?
Yes, I see you are; but give me one moment. Let
me ask the question Dick Thorpe cut in two—a
short question, but one that means—" He broke
off with an odd laugh. "Curious how much courage
it requires. Athena, my fair child"—speaking very
gravely—"will you be"
A piercing shriek rang out upon the tranquil
night, followed by Madam's awful cry for help.
"The dogs! the dogs! Philip, Philip, save me!"
For an instant Philip was as if turned to stone,
the words he would have spoken frozen on his lips;
the next he was in Madam's room, and had caught
her in his arms.
"Don't shoot!" she screamed, catching at his
hands; "remember he is—" But Philip pressed her
face against his breast, smothering her outcry.
"Go to your room, Athena," he commanded, "go,
and close the door behind you."
As I obeyed I saw the dancers returning from
their revels. The place had suddenly all grown sad.
The ferns and flowers which decked the great hall
so bravely were unwithered, yet it looked desolate,
forlorn. Madam's birthnight fete—was over,
181


XVII
The favor I had asked of Madam was to be per-
mitted to go to church the next morning. Since
coming to Highgrove Hall she had never suggested
my going, and had always seemed in special need
of my services on Sunday. Her readiness to grant
permission made me regret I had been too shy to
do so earlier. I was excited as I made my toilet
for church, resuming for the morning my own black
bonnet and gown. I had not passed the gates since
the rainy day when I had come to the Hall. It
seemed more than a month ago. Madam could
never be induced to leave the shelter of her high
brick walls, although she liked driving, she said, and
proved by her frequent visits to the stables her
fondness for horses. Almost every day, her pockets
filled with sugar, she was wheeled into the box-stall
of her favorite, "Captain Kidd," Mr. Erranti's sad-
dle-horse, a light chestnut of splendid appearance
and most uncertain temper. I sometimes trembled
to see her chair pushed close to his very active limbs,
but he always controlled himself in her presence. A
thoroughbred, he showed his breeding by his respect
for the old lady. Often I longed to ride him. The
putting down of my saddle-horse was the one dep-
rivation that had caused me a tear when poverty
came.
To my surprise I found Mr. Erranti on the
veranda when I went to look for the carriage, evi-
dently intending to accompany me to church. He
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
looked very staid and conventional, quite unlike my
partner of the night before.
"Don't say I mayn't go, Athena," he said, smiling
at my very visible astonishment. "Surely you won't
throw cold water on my good intentions!"
I should have preferred going alone, but said I
was pleased he wished to go. I did not say it nicely,
white lies never slipping gracefully from my lips.
The carriage, a Victoria with wheels picked out in
yellow, swept up to the house, and we dashed away
down the avenue. The men on the box wore yel-
low liveries, the harness was brass-mounted, Philip's
gay taste showing everywhere. But the horses were
perfect, going like the wind. I delighted in the rush
through the warm, sweet-scented air, and sighed with
relief as we dashed between the brick pillars of the
gateway out into the broad white highroad beyond.
"Poor caged bird," said Philip; "she is glad to
escape for a time from behind the bars! You shall
have freedom to-day, Athena. I think you need it.
Take to-day to rest, tired child, and forget your
chain."
I thanked him, but said I might not leave Madam
for so long.
"Not with her devoted son?" he asked, smiling.
"I shall spend the afternoon with her myself. No"
—as I would have remonstrated—"the matter is set-
tled. Let me talk to you of something else. Did
you know I had been brought up, like you, in Eu-
rope?"
He told me of leaving home when a lad of nine to
go to Eton; from there, later, to Heidelberg for
a year, then to Paris, finishing with a long stay in
Italy, and after, for pleasure only, seeing many for-
eign lands.
"I came home when I was nineteen, and left
again when I was twenty—in August, 1861."
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
Here I stupidly dropped on the floor of the car-
riage a piece of money I had held tight in my hand
all the way. It was to put in the plate, and my
pocket being hard to find I had carried it. My awk-
wardness stopped Philip's story, in which I was much
interested. He picked up the money, but did not
return it.
"You didn't know I was going," he said, an odd
smile playing around his full lips, "so brought your
mite? I shall confiscate," putting it in his pocket.
Failing to see how his going affected my offering, I
asked an explanation, but got none. He said I was
an "absurdly generous child!"—which meant noth-
ing. Glad of a pocket to keep the silver in, even if
not my own, I let him harbor it.
We finally stopped before a handsome church in
Droneton, and were ushered into a pew well in front.
Scarcely were we seated before my feelings of de-
votion were suddenly put to flight by my catching
sight of Richard Thorpe. He was behind us, on
the opposite side of the aisle, between Randal and
an upright little old gentleman, Mr. Beverley, I
said to myself. The owner of Nemesis was soldierly
looking. His long upper lip was hidden by a stiff
white mustache, his stiff white hair was brushed up
fiercely; from beneath stiff white eyebrows gleamed
a pair of steely blue eyes. Yet he showered favors
upon Randal St. John!
It was in turning to give Mr. Erranti a prayer-
book—he carried none—that I caught this glimpse
of Mr. Beverley and his nephews; but, though so
brief a glance, it sufficed to show me that all three
men were staring intently at Philip and me.
For a moment I felt conscious of their scrutiny,
for a moment felt regret that Mr. Thorpe was no
longer my friend. Then the service began, and I
forgot them—forgot Mr. Thorpe's lost friendship,
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
forgot everything save the joy of the hour. When
the collection was taken up I was recalled to the
petty vexations of life. I held out my hand to Philip
for my silver, and he placed in it a bill for a large
amount.
"I wish my own," I said, still holding out my
hand. He leaned toward me till his cheek almost
touched mine and, crushing my fingers together
over the bill, murmured:
"This is your 'own,' foolish little Princess!"
My obstinate pride caused the church to lose the
money. I let the bill fall on the seat between us.
I would put nothing in the plate, then, and sat, erect
and angry, unmindful of my prayers. This seemed
to amuse Philip. After he had put in what he
wished he took up the money dropped, and tucked it
into his pocket, smiling as he did so. By the time
the service was over I had softened. What was I,
in Mr. Erranti's eyes, but the spoiled child of an
old friend, whom he wished to help?
On our way down the aisle we came up with the
Beverley party. Randal turned, greeting us in
friendly fashion; Mr. Beverley marched straight
ahead without looking round; Mr. Thorpe bowed
stiffly. He had changed since I had last seen him.
His face was thinner, less cheerful. Although I had
intended to salute him formally, I was hurt by his
assuming the same role.
"So you know Mr. Thorpe," said Philip, as we
drove away; "but no, his bow was because of Ran-
dal's knowing us, I suppose."
I remained silent. Why need I correct this im-
pression? My acquaintance with my aunt's lawyer
was indeed a thing of the past.
Philip took off his hat, leaning back luxuriously
against the soft cushions of the carriage. I stared
at the noontide landscape, hot, drowsy, and peace-
185


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
ful, and Philip stared at me. I was neither drowsy
nor peaceful, yet the sight of me seemed to soothe
and please him as much as the fields and woods did
me. Presently I broke the long silence which had
fallen between us.
"I am sorry I was disagreeable about the money.
I wish very much that you would try to understand
how I feel, however."
"You are always agreeable to me, Athena, and to
all the world, I should judge, from the way in which
the crowd stare." He smiled lazily, and I thought
what a pity his lips were too full. Otherwise, the
dark face was perfect.
"I'm like the crowd," he went on, "so don't won-
der at its rude staring. What I do sometimes won-
der, is if you know how beautiful you are."
"Yes," I said, composedly, "just as you know that
you are remarkably handsome. How can one help
knowing? And what does it matter—after all!"
The languor vanished from Philip's voice and at-
titude. He sat erect, and looked eagerly at me.
"Do you really like my—well, think me not un-
pleasant looking, Athena?"
I smiled.
"As I just said, you are very remarkably hand-
some, Philip. How might anyone think otherwise?
And—why should you care?"
"I care very much," he said, earnestly, "very
much indeed. I feared, Athena, that to a lily-like
creature like you I must be almost repulsively
dark."
"We had reached the Hall, and I was glad. I had
no liking for the conversation, and little patience for
what I considered ridiculous self-depreciation on his
part. I capped his foolish remark with one equally
so.
"Not so very dark," I said, stepping from the car-
186


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
its centre a grove of maples sprang from the split
masses of a tall rock. In past ages some farmer
must have tried to rid himself of the gray giant by
blasting, and failed. The maples had taken pos-
session. I quickly scrambled up among them, and,
seating myself near the edge, my back against a
tree, opened my book, Celia Thaxter's poems.
I read of the little sandpiper, and could almost
hear the waves upon the beach. I leaned my head
against the friendly tree. I closed my eyes, the bet-
ter to imagine myself on the beach—I fell asleep.
I was roused by a noise very near me—a rus-
tling, a muffled tread, heavy breathing. I sat up
and looked about me, then sprang to my feet in
alarm. Close to the rock, staring wickedly, were
thirteen cows! Thirteen! Where had they been
when I entered the meadow? In hiding, probably,
behind the trees on its edge. I was sure it was time
to go home—I must have slept long—and I was a
prisoner. Fortunately, I was safe on the rock. The
cows could not climb it. Then I began to imagine
disagreeable possibilities—the alarm my non-ap-
pearance might occasion; Madam's terror; Philip,
with, perhaps, Randal—Randal would enjoy the ex-
citement—scouring the woods, searching the river's
edge, collaring innocent tramps;—and I—a ridicu-
lous Andromeda, chained to a rock by vicious cows!
Stung into activity, I looked around for a weapon.
There lay my sunshade—a large one. I picked it
up, and, opening it suddenly at the cows, cried
"Shoo!" at the top of my lungs. My effort was a
failure as far as the cows were concerned. They
gazed languidly and fearlessly at the umbrella, but a
loud "Hallo!" as if in answer to my shout, came
from the opposite direction. Looking toward the
river I saw a man crossing the field. As he came
188


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
nearer, evidently thinking I had called him, I saw
it was Mr. Thorpe.
I sat down instantly in my old place. I had not
called, and should tell him so. Rather than ask
him to drive away the cows, I would sit where I
was all night. He advanced to the foot of the tiny
precipice and looked up at me.
"Good-afternoon," I said, sedately. "It is warm,
is it not?"
He took off his hat. "I thought you called."
"I only cried shoo to the cows."
"Is it possible you are afraid of them?"
His surprise at my cowardice displeased me. I
was ashamed of my fear.
"I am," I said, haughtily; "and it is time for me
to go home."
"If you will come down"—he spoke stiffly—"I
will walk with you to the door in your wall."
"Thank you," I murmured, knowing I must ac-
cept.
As I got up the heel of my slipper caught in a
crevice of the rock. In haste to be gone I tried to
jerk it free quickly, with the result that it came out
and off at the same time, and bouncing over the
edge fell at Mr. Thorpe's feet. He picked it up
and stood turning the aggravating high-heeled thing
over and over in his hands, eying it strangely. It
was part of the Erranti livery, of white kid and
saucy-looking. Presently he sprang nimbly up the
rock, and, kneeling, replaced it on my foot.
"It does not fit well," he said, in an odd voice.
"Either the little shoe is too large—or the little foot
too small!"
I remained silent.
"Won't you sit down?" he asked, as if we had just
entered a room together. Wondering at myself I
189


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
complied, and he seated himself facing me, his back
to the river.
"The view from here is very lovely," I said, feel-
ing somebody must say something.
"Yes, very," but he did not turn his head to look
at it, and spoke absently, as if he had scarcely heard.
Absorbed, apparently, in contemplation of the rich
growth of moss that spread a soft green carpet over
the surface of the rock between us, he touched it
gently with strong, well-shaped fingers, as if admir-
ing its elasticity and thickness. At last, raising his
keen blue eyes to mine, he said:
"Am I speaking to Miss Derohan—or to Miss
Dean?"
Surprised, I did not answer at once. Then I said:
"Mrs. Spuyten thinks Athena Derohan too fine a
name for my position in life. She has rechristened
me Augusta Dean. Pray call me whichever best
pleases you, Mr. Thorpe."
"And, if I am not asking too much, your position
at Highgrove Hall?"
I was, somehow, glad that he had not questioned
Randal. But why, I wondered, was he so stern and
care-worn, as if suffering from some poignant anx-
iety?
"I am Madam Erranti's housekeeper and com-
panion, Mr. Thorpe. She is very good to me. Last
evening's gayety was because of her;—her birth-
night fete. You noticed, perhaps, my ball gown and
the jewels—her diamonds? She has been kind. I
wished to please her, yet"—I could not help my
voice quavering suddenly—"I am in mourning."
"This pretty white frock," he asked gently, but
eagerly, "is worn to please her?"
"Yes," becoming confidential in spite of myself,
"she is not very well, and black terrifies her."
His sombre look vanished. He leaned forward.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"Miss Derohan" — speaking very earnestly —
"may I know why you refused to see me when I
called?"
For answer I only stared at him.
"Does that look mean I'm not to know?"
I found my voice.
"They said you did not ask for me. Did you?"
He moved nearer, crushing the gently fingered
moss.
"And the flowers I sent you?"—his voice had a
ring of excitement—"the lilies-of-the-valley?"
"I saw your beautiful flowers. Mrs. Spuyten sup-
posed you sent them to Eva. If they were meant for
me, I thank you."
Mr. Thorpe's plain face became handsome, il-
lumined by his sunny smile.
"I've been a fool," he cried, "and have suffered
bitterly for my folly. How dared I believe you
would forget anyone to whom you had promised
your friendship! Will you shake hands, Miss De-
rohan, as token of forgiveness, and let me make a
fresh start?"
I went through the ceremony gravely.
"Duped by a miserable old woman!" said Mr.
Thorpe. "But I won't revile her—I'm too big an
idiot to have the right. In such a jolly place as
this"—stretching himself at my feet and looking up
at me with happy smiling eyes—"with such a per-
fect view to enjoy, I don't mean to think about any-
thing disagreeable."
I laughed. I was absurdly happy. I discovered
that Mr. Thorpe was very like Percy Stewart—
strong, good, whole-souled.
"I wish you'd tell me everything you've done,
Miss Derohan, since I put you into that dirty cab
half a lifetime ago."
After I had finished my story he took his turn, and
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
not till after six o'clock did I remember Madam.
Then I started to my feet conscience-stricken. I had
meant to spend that hour with her. As we crossed
the meadow — the cows had disappeared — Mr.
Thorpe gathered for me the few daisies left bloom-
ing-
"May I come with you?" he asked, when we
reached the door in the wall. The little path looked
gloomy indeed after the meadow.
"Weren't you on your way somewhere when you
heard me shout?"
"Only walking off a fit of the blues."
"I am sorry you are not happy, Mr. Thorpe."
"I am now. To tell the truth, I was worrying
about you."
"About me! Why, pray?"
He colored fiercely.
"Never mind why," he said. "I told you I'd been
a fool. I hope you may never know how big a one.
Now, may I come with you through this dark
wood?"
"I shall be very glad if you will," I said, simply.
"Mr. Erranti doesn't like me to walk here alone on
account of tramps."
"I don't doubt he looks after you carefully," he
said, dryly. "I'll give him that much credit."
"You don't like Mr. Erranti?"
"Naturally not, Miss Derohan."
So they had had a falling out! Yet Mr. Erranti
had spoken of Mr. Thorpe good-naturedly.
"Let's sit down here and rest, Miss Derohan."
We had arrived at the bench midway. "You must
be tired."
I explained why I had not time.
"Then will you go for a row this evening? It's
moonlight. The river will be lovely."
I explained that my time was no longer my own. .
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"Will you go some other evening?"
"Do you expect to be here again, Mr. Thorpe?"
I was both surprised and pleased.
"Every Sunday. I shall spend my vacation with
my uncle, too."
"You are fond of him?"
"Very. He's a kind old chap, and always makes
me welcome. I mean to spend all my spare time
with him in future—at the Towers, I mean."
We had reached the house. Julie, looking from
Madam's window, spied us.
"Madame is in the garden with Monsieur," she
cried, shrilly. "Will Mademoiselle go to her?"
I nodded. Mr. Thorpe declined to accompany me.
"May I hope to see you next Saturday?" he asked.
"I shall be very glad if you will call."
"Should you refuse to receive me, Miss Derohan,
I sha'n't behave well. Past experience will lead me
to strangle the butler and shout for you till you ap-
pear."
"Not this butler, please," I said, smiling, "for he
is my friend."
Mr. Thorpe surveyed the bulky pile glooming
above us with small favor.
"Well," he said, slowly, "the more friends the
better, I should say, in this prison," and he re-
luctantly took his departure.
193


XVIII
I found Madam under the birch trees by the
pool. On benches drawn on either side sat Philip
and Randal. The old lady looked tired and sad, and
a Sunday-afternoon-atmosphere, of quiet boredom,
seemed to envelope the group. At sight of me Mad-
am's face cleared.
"Athena!" she cried, "I have been weary with-
out you! Ah, daisies! The pretty things. Come
sit by me, close, close, and I will tell your fortune
with one."
The men sprang to their feet, offering me a choice
of seats. I chose Philip's bench. Randal's vanity
was too easily fed.
"How cool and radiant you are, dear child," said
Madam, looking wistfully at me as I gave her a
daisy. "You have had a happy afternoon—all
alone, n'est-ce pas?"
I said I had been happy. I did not tell her of my
lack of loneliness. With Randal at my elbow I did
not feel expansive. He did, however.
"Don't she look sweet?" he drawled, staring in-
nocently. "But there's no use in my telling her so!
She don't care for my compliments. Please, dear
Madam, name that daisy 'Athena,' and try if she
likes me a little."
Madam pursed up her lips, glancing doubtfully
at me.
"Please do," urged Randal, "and then you can
try Erranti's luck. We're both in the same boat,
you know."
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"It will take three daisies to try fairly," said Mad-
am, who evidently had faith in the test. She had
become very solemn. "Can you spare so many,
Athena?"
"She can spare all," said Randal. "What does
she want with common field-flowers? Come, my
fortune, Madam!"
I tucked a few daisies into my belt, yielding the
rest to Fate.
"I'm fearfully agitated," cried Randal, pretend-
ing to shiver.
"Un peu, beaucoup, passionnement, pas du tout,"
recited Madam, monotonously, and with each sen-
timent a leaf fell.
"Translate somebody, quick!" Randal whispered,
hoarsely. "I don't understand, and my nerves are
in an awful state!"
Madam, really excited, paid no heed. Her ex-
pression told me that if the daisy showed favor she
would cheat to gain her way, and pull off two leaves
at once, to do so.
"Un peu, beaucoup, passionnement, pas du tout"—
Philip's rich sweet voice chimed in with his mother's
—"meaning, a little, much, passionately, not at all!"
"A little what?" asked Randal, pretending to be
stupid.
"A little love," said Philip, looking at me instead
of at his friend. "Not so good as 'much,' but far
better than 'not at all!' And who dare hope for—
'passionately'?"
"Pas du tout?" cried out Madam, her sing-song
stopping suddenly. "Pas du tout!"
She clapped her hands, laughing with delight.
Then, fearing she had been rude, hung her head
like a child, glancing sideways at Randal to note if
he were angry.
He was displeased. He could not endure being
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
relegated to the background, though for me he cared
nothing.
"One more trial—no, two more, Madam! It
must be two out of three to win or lose," he cried.
Another daisy was stripped of its petals, with the
same result as the first. The old lady's delight in-
creased, an angry light gleamed in Randal's eyes.
"Now for Erranti's turn!" he said, irritably. "He
looks very calm and satisfied, but I bet you the
daisy'll knock the conquering hero out of him!"
"No, no," said Madam, quickly. "Philip does
not believe in nonsense. I will try for Athena. She
shall name her daisy softly, very softly, so that none
may hear. Later I may know his name, n'est-ce pas,
petite?"
I took the flower to do as she wished, when Philip
laid his hand lightly on my arm.
"I name the daisy," he said, quietly. "Pray be-
gin, maman."
I was about to remonstrate when Randal laughed
softly, as if in pleased anticipation of this remon-
strance, and I kept silence.
"Passionnement /" said Madam, finishing her task.
Philip placed another daisy in her hand.
"Once more, maman."
The same answer—passionnement! Philip leaned
back, smiling.
"I protest!" said Randal, crossly. "It's not fair
to name it after Miss Dean without her leave! It's
deuced mean, Erranti!"
"My dear boy, you are laboring under a mistake,"
said Philip, coolly. "I only did what I saw Miss
Dean wouldn't do. I didn't name the daisy after
her. I named it for a man, of course."
Randal thought Philip had paid him the compli-
ment of calling the flower for him! His vanity was
hugely tickled, and the spirit of teasing reawakened.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"I'm going to be like the little acorn, Miss Dean!
'Little by little' I'll grow in your esteem. First
'not at all,' I'll end up 'passionately/ see if I don't!
You'll be adoring me in no time! I won't remind
you of past ill-treatment, so don't worry." He
grinned broadly, showing nearly all the lining of
his upper lip.
I thought both men silly and lacking in good taste.
Madam, also uncomfortable, shut her eyes tight and
ordered a return to the house.
In the evening, after nine o'clock, Philip came to
her room. I was still there.
"Maman," he said, gently, "may I take Athena
for a row? She has never been upon the river."
"You would atone, mediant, for the trick you
played in the garden? To name the flower 'Randal!'
That vaurien her suitor! Too bad, indeed! But
she has been upon the river, Philip, as Randal should
remember. Go, my child," turning to me. "Philip
will take care of thee. Quick, Julie, my crepe de
Chine for Mademoiselle, and the white lace for her
head, vite, ma fille!"
I did not wish to go, after refusing Mr. Thorpe;
but this I might not explain, and I submitted in si-
lence while being swathed in the shawl and scarf I
did not need. Once outside, however, I thought to
be free of the wraps at least, but Philip interposed.
"No, no, your arms and throat are bare, Athena,
and the air of the river is chill."
It was a beautiful night. As we crossed the rail-
road track I could see it gleaming far into the dis-
tance, two long lines of silver thread. The grassy
point, with boat-house and willows, the steep wooded
banks on either hand, and the great stretch of river,
were all bathed in a white splendor. Philip un-
locked the boat-house door and stood aside for me
to enter. A lighted lamp hung in its little corridor.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
I hesitated. I thought of the dead man who had
lain there.
"Foolish child, what do you fear?" said Philip.
He took my hand and led me through to the steps
beyond, where a boat lay ready. Another moment
and we floated out upon the moonlit water.
"Are you glad you came, Athena?"
So he had noticed my reluctance!
"It was kind of you to bring me," I said; "but
you and your mother are very good to me, always."
"Before my mother was ill she was always kind.
Now she is sometimes a little thoughtless of others,"
he said, pulling the boat with long, smooth strokes
northward along the shore. "I am glad you find her
kind, for you are very sweet to her, Athena. You
gave her great happiness last night. Wearing her
diamonds pleased her very much. I know you dis-
liked doing so—they have been little worn."
"Because of her illness, I suppose."
"No," said Philip, with sudden fierceness, "be-
cause of my father, who was a fiend incarnate. Ah!
your beautiful eyes tell me you pity her, Athena!
May I tell you her story here, upon the river, where
no tattling eavesdroppers lurk to carry tales?"
"You are sure she would be willing?"
"Quite sure," he said, smiling kindly. "Your
ever active conscience may be at rest, but please
don't talk to her of the past—I want her to for-
get. She lost her parents when a mere child, and
was brought up by her uncle, her guardian. His
household was a gay one, and she led a happy life,
among a host of young cousins and friends. My
mother was not only bright and pretty but, un-
fortunately, an heiress as well. This was what at-
tracted my father, who had squandered his own
patrimony. He was handsome, well-born, agreeable,
with a dashing manner that easily pleased the ro-
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
mantic fancy of a girl of seventeen. She was only
that when she first met him, poor child! At eigh-
teen she came into her fortune. He waited until
then to declare himself, and, when her guardian vio-
lently opposed the match, persuaded her to run away
with him. Am I tiring you, Athena?"
I shook my head. I was absorbed.
"As you may imagine, her fortune soon followed
his—he was a spendthrift, a scoundrel! Too poor
to live in the gay city of her birth, he took my poor
mother to a lonely plantation which was still his
only because he could not sell it, having a life in-
terest in it merely. Her life became hideous—but
she never told, she was brave. She gave up all com-
munication with relatives and friends—she would
not have them know of her misery. For the slaves
who worked the plantation she did what she could.
Miserable, suffering creatures, slaves of a devil, they
lived in hell!"
The silence that followed became oppressive. To
break it I asked of the diamonds.
"Ah, yes," said Philip, "I was forgetting. My
father was away often, carousing with his boon
companions. Once, before leaving for one of these
orgies, he demanded the diamonds. My mother re-
fused them. There was a frightful scene. She
thought he would kill her, but her blood was up,
she would not yield. He rode away, vowing ven-
geance, swearing he would have them yet. When he
returned he learned that they had been stolen by
river thieves. He chose to be amused that his wife
had been plundered! Had he guessed that she was
the thief, and the diamonds safe in her possession,
his sense of humor might have failed him."
He ceased speaking, brooding on the past. After
a time he resumed the subject.
"My father died suddenly—a violent death. A
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
should, after you had answered my question, have
told you then. Since, I have decided that it was due
you to let you know first that—I am a nameless
man."
I sat quite still, as though turned to stone. I
knew what was coming, and my heart died within
me.
"You are poor, Athena"—he spoke in low meas-
ured tones—"and I am very rich. I can give you
everything you desire. I regret bitterly that I can't
offer you an old and honorable name, like your own,
my Princess. Oh, Athena, Athena," he cried, sud-
denly, giving rein to his passion, "turn your great
starry eyes from the cold river and look at me, your
lover! Tell me, my darling, that you will be my
wife." He seized my hands in his, covering them
with kisses. I tried in vain to free them. "You will
marry me, sweetheart?" he pleaded, his splendid eyes
a-light, his face white beneath its tan in the moon's
rays.
"No," I said, coldly. "No. I thank you, but I
can never be your wife."
I was unreasonably angry. The old feeling of
repulsion swept over me anew, and I strove to draw
my hands from his. Yet I knew I had no right to
resent his behavior. He was not to blame for ask-
ing me to be his wife, nor might he be expected to
realize that his words meant my dismissal. I could
no longer remain at the Hall. Where should I go?
As these thoughts crowded through my mind,
jostling each other, Philip, regaining his composure,
released my hands and sat down beside me.
"Let us talk the matter over quietly," he said.
"You will at least do me the justice of hearing me
out?"
I bowed. That was only fair.
"Tell me first why you refuse me, Athena?"
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"Because I don't love you."
He laughed. "My dearest child, I haven't asked
you to."
I stared at him, bewildered.
"I never thought you loved me, Athena. I am
not such a conceited fool. I only ask you to be my
wife. If, by and by, you can give me a little af-
fection—but that will come! Listen. You shall
live where you like, and as you like; travel, or re-
main at home, as you please. You shall have your
own way in everything, and be served and tended
like a little queen. All I ask is the right to be near
you. Marry me, ma bien-aimee, and I swear you
shall be happy."
"No, no," I repeated, " it cannot be. I will go
away. You will forget me and this idle fancy."
I believed what I said. That Mr. Erranti's feel-
ing was but a passing fancy for a pretty face. I
thought, in my youthful ignorance, that the matter
lay entirely in my hands, that I was mistress of the
situation. My name was Athena, but I lacked wis-
dom greatly.
"Nonsense!" said Philip. "I sha'n't permit you
to leave us! Would you punish my mother for my
fault, Athena? I know you better. Forget what I
have said, since it displeases you, and everything
shall be as it was before."
"That cannot be," I said, sadly, "for then I did
not know."
"You did not know that I loved you?" Philip
spoke incredulously. "You can't have been so blind,
child! God knows I have been at no pains to hide
my feelings!" He laughed, a short, hard laugh.
I lost patience.
"Why, only this afternoon," I cried, indignantly,
"you named my daisy for Randal St. John! Mad-
am thought so—and he was sure!"
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"I'm not responsible for the vain imaginings of a
foolish boy," said Philip, composedly. "I was sure
that you knew the daisy spoke for me. It did—and
but too truly."
"I wish to go home," I said, imperiously. "I have
remained here too long already."
I rose and walked toward the house. In that last
hour the relations between us had changed. With
my father's friend, a man of twice my age, I had
needed no chaperon. After his declaration the con-
ditions were altered. I had grown up without guid-
ance or knowledge of social laws, but instinct told
me I should hasten home. At the foot of the stair-
case Philip stopped me.
"If you leave," he said, in low tones, "I swear I
will follow you—should you fly to the uttermost
end of the earth! If you are kind, and remain, I
promise not to worry you. All shall be as before
I spoke to-night."
"I will stay till the last of the month," I said, and
ran upstairs.
I really had to stay—I had no money.
203


XIX
Philip kept his promise. He did not "worry
me"; but since I knew of what he thought when he
brought me a flower, when he sang to me, or watched
me, busy with my embroidery at Madam's side, I
was no longer quite at ease save during his absence
from the Hall. Still, I believed he would soon cease
to care for me, and strove myself to forget what he
had wished.
That week a great "green" table—a gaming-
table—arrived, and was put into the drawing-room,
that Mr. Erranti's guests might enjoy "rouge-et-
noir." A large party of men were coming for Sun-
day. The gardener's cottage had been garnished
and turned into bachelor quarters. Highgrove Hall
could not shelter so many.
At the stables there had been a new arrival also,
a beautiful mare, bought for me. Madam had
decided that I was too closely confined to the Hall.
The mare had been purchased, a riding-habit or-
dered, and I was to accompany Philip in his morn-
ing rides before breakfast. I objected strenuously,
but in vain. Madam swept away all opposition,
and I gave way. As riding is my passion, I suppose
there was a traitor in the camp.
"Larry"—the groom—"shall always go with you
when Philip is away," said Madam, "as of course
you are to ride every day whether he is at home or
not. It is for your health. Larry must follow, how-
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
ever, in any case. Outside the gate you are not our
little girl, but a young lady—and must be properly
attended."
In all the arrangements I recognized Philip's
hand; even Madam's words were prompted by him.
Larry's presence was meant to reassure me, as it
did. We rode every morning from six till half-past
seven, breakfasting at eight, and explored the coun-
try for miles around. Few were abroad at that
early hour. The whole world, with the freshness of
the morning glorifying it, belonged to us. Philip
was kind and courteous, a friendly companion, noth-
ing more. After ten days had slipped away, con-
vinced that he had forgotten his folly, I regained
confidence. I was again at my ease when alone with
him. What was past was past, and I found the pres-
ent very absorbing.
Mr. Thorpe had reappeared at the end of the week,
and Madam was pleased with him. "He is not so
amusing as his cousin, the vaurien," she pronounced,
after his first call of ceremony; "but to be amusing
is not everything! Thou art not amusing, my
Athena. I sometimes wonder that I am never
wearied by thy lack of conversation. Often thou art
silent for hours, yet not dull. The great calm of
thy nature gives repose—for I know, though so
quiet, thou art ever ready. Young Thorpe is strong.
But for his smile he would be ugly—yet I like him
much, much, much!"
She insisted that I should accept his invitations to
go out on the river after breakfast, when I was free,
and made time for me to walk with him on Sunday
afternoons. But she did not allow me to drive with
him, and told me not to mention my morning rides.
"Philip might be displeased," she said. "He sees
many people daily. The early ride rests him—alone
with a silent child."
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"Mr. Thorpe would not wish to join us, Madam."
"I think differently," said Madam, screwing up
her eyes and wagging her head. "I know young
men, ma chere! Yes, yes, I know young men!"
So I held my peace. Mr. Thorpe must know all
our habits, I thought, for he had begun to haunt
the Hall. Claude with difficulty repressed a grin
when he announced him. The morning rides con-
tinued without his asking to be one of the party, or,
indeed, ever alluding to them. My pleasure in
them was very great. I had become fond of the
beautiful mare, Czarina, a high-spirited yet gentle
creature, with many virtues. Her one fault was
obstinacy about jumping. She hated it, and some-
times refused a fence for a half-hour before yielding
to coaxing. Captain Kidd flew over anything and
everything Philip put him at, like a bird—to my
aggravation. I thought his readiness added to the
mare's obstinacy.
When I had ridden her for a month she knew and
loved me well enough to do my bidding as a gen-
eral thing, with only occasional relapses. One morn-
ing when one of these had occurred and I had, by
determined gentleness, gained my point, Philip
asked me if I never gave up.
"Very seldom."
"Then why go to work so quietly with the mare?"
he said. "Why not teach her quickly with whip and
spur?"
"How little you know her!" I exclaimed. "Try to
force her and you would gain nothing. She would
die sooner than give up. I sympathize with her,
and she knows it,"—patting the glossy neck—such a
rich dark bay—fondly.
"This is the sixteenth," said Philip, absently.
"The middle of August," I added, thinking that
Dick Thorpe's vacation began in two weeks.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"It is my birthday."
"I am sorry I did not know, Philip," I said, with
real regret. "Now I have only my best wishes to
offer!"
"Meaning you would otherwise have made me
something?"
"Yes."
"Thank you just the same, Athena. But I want
no gifts on my birthday. I hate it, and generally
let it pass without mention. I should like a present
on Christmas very much."
"What, for instance?"
"Anything you were kind enough to make."
"You don't wear slippers," I said, musingly.
"Pocket pincushions are such ugly little things.
You never smoke anything but cigars, so a tobacco
pouch would be useless. As for embroidering initials
on handkerchiefs—why, you've millions already!
Never mind, you shall have something, Philip!"
"I think, on second thoughts, I'd like a birthday
treat, Athena. Will you go now with me to see the
little glen I told you of yesterday?"
I acquiesced at once, glad to celebrate the day.
The little glen proved charming. To reach it we
rode through lanes and across fields, and at last,
leaving the horses with Larry, were obliged to
scramble up its narrow entrance on foot. After
pushing through a dense growth of trees and under-
brush we came upon a rocky basin, filled to the brim
with the water of a little cascade that trilled over
the cliff beetling above. The tall trees arching
their branches over the water made it look black
and mysterious. I was enchanted with the wildness
of the place.
Flinging hat, gloves, and whip on the mossy bank
behind me I knelt close to the water's edge and drank
from a cup made of my hands.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
hair. I could not move or speak, so closely did he
hold me, so heavy was the rain of kisses. Indeed,
my anger was beyond words. When he released me
I dropped the handkerchief, gathered up my belong-
ings, and motioned him to let me pass.
"My birthday treat!" he said, a triumphant smile
on his handsome, dark face.
I hurried back to the horses. I allowed him to
mount me, as usual, because of Larry; but I did not
speak during the ride home, and swung myself from
the saddle before he could get to my side, when we
reached the Hall. He overtook me at the staircase.
"I have sinned past forgiveness?" he asked.
"I shall not ride again."
He stood aside, and I went to my room.
209


XX
For nearly two weeks after this episode Philip
tapped gently at my door each morning, saying:
"The horses are ready, Athena; will you come?"
And each day I made the same reply:
"I shall not ride again."
He then went alone, dropping the subject until
the next morning, when the same formula would
be repeated. Otherwise all went on as quietly as
before. To my surprise and relief, Madam ques-
tioned me little on the subject.
"When thou art rested thou wilt ride again, ma
chere," she said several times, looking at me wist-
fully. "Philip is lonely without his young compan-
ion."
At the end of ten days he lost patience. One
morning he stopped me on my way to the garden.
"Athena," he said, "if you are really determined
not to ride again I shall sell the mare."
"Very well."
I spoke coldly, but my heart sank. Though I did
not ride my pretty Czarina I saw her every day. I
should miss her sadly—if I remained at the Hall. I
had almost resolved to leave—almost! Madam's
happiness had begun to depend upon my companion-
ship. I had become attached to her, and, for an-
other reason, I was not anxious to be gone.
"I beg your pardon, my child, for my violence.
Please forgive me, Athena, and ride with me again."
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"No."
"Then I sell the mare."
"Very well."
"It is not very well but very ill, and you know
it, Athena! But you are as cold, as stern, as un-
forgiving as Pallas Athena herself! I am a fool to
try to soften marble."
He turned and left me, but before I reached the
garden gate he was again at my side.
"I am going to town, and I shall tell all the
men I see that Czarina is for sale. Several want
her already. If, however," speaking slowly and im-
pressively, "you should in the meanwhile change
your mind, even at the eleventh hour, tell Burke and
the mare is yours." Burke was the head coachman
and my friend.
I bowed.
"You quite understand, Athena?"
I thought I did.
"Even if a purchaser comes to see the mare and
decides to buy, the casting vote is still yours. And,
if you wish to keep her—well, you become the owner
of Czarina."
He was gone; I, left to regret that I was the ar-
biter of the mare's fate. I tormented myself by
imagining her in the hands of a cruel master, then
laughed at my fears. So valuable a creature would
be well treated for money's sake. When Madam
and I paid our daily visit to the horses Czarina had
never looked more lovely, nor shown more affection,
I thought. She leaned her gentle head against my
shoulder before searching in my pocket for her lump
of sugar. Why had Philip made parting with her a
necessity? Burke, a solemn person, eyed me re-
proachfully, I thought.
Three days passed. On the morning of the fourth
I descended to the kitchen. Norah was to teach me
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
how to make a wonderful cake;—a great favor, as
she was loath to part with the secrets of her art.
"It is Friday, Norah," I said, gayly. "Shall I
have any luck, do you think?"
"I'm not shuperstitious meself," said Norah, loft-
ily. "Friday's as good as another, I do be thinkin'."
"To-morrow is the first of September," I said.
"Yes," sighing. "Summer's gone, sure enough,
Miss Dean. I think, maybe, we'll make wan patty-
pan, or tree or four. Some of your friends will be
glad an' proud to taste this same!" She looked
slyly at me. "We won't be after puttin' all our
eggs in wan baskit!"
I knew of whom Norah was thinking. Mr.
Thorpe's vacation began that night.
"It's a queer thing, Miss Dean," she went on, as
she bustled about making preparations for our great
work, "that me own cake don't never please me!
It's me mother's that suits. Sometimes I feel I must
have a bit, and then I can't seem to get me fill! I
remember last March whin the Boss give me a
couple of days off to visit me parints, I ate so much
me mother thought I'd bust wid the cake I put in
me!" She laughed. "Me parints live further up the
river—a bit back in the country, forninst the High-
lands, as they mountains do be called. 'Tis on a bit
side-track of a railroad, after you quit the New
York train, not far from the flag-station in the
fields. 'Lend me the loan of your lantern,' I says to
the station-master, 'an' I'll go cross-fields home.'
I'd on me black silk, me velvit cape, an' me Sunday
hat fine with feathers, and them barbed-wire finces
giv' me some tall trouble, Miss Dean, but the
ploughed field forninst the house was worst! I'd
on me new kid boots; they was snug in the fit of
them, an' me feet that tinder! First wan foot sunk
in, then t'other, an' on I wint like an old cow in a
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
bog till I reached me parints' door! Murphy, he
barked. 'Be quiet, there, ye noisy spalpeen!' says
me mother—an' in I wint. 'Glory be! 'Tis Norah
hersilf!' says my mother. 'For the love of hivin,'
says I, 'giv' me some cake,' afore she'd finished let-
ting the great screech out of her from surprise at
the sight of"
Norah stopped speaking, her face grew scarlet,
she contorted her features into a horrible grimace,
darting out her tongue repeatedly. My back was
toward the window that she faced. Turning quickly,
I caught a glimpse of a man's back disappearing
along the path outside.
"Who was it, Norah?"
"That dirty, black-faced little Dutchman!" she
cried, angrily; "him with the woolly head! I'll
teach him to come sassin' me in me own kitchen!"
From which I knew that Mr. Yon Schlange had
arrived.
"What can he want when Mr. Erranti is away?"
"It's little good the like of him is afther I'll go
bail," said the indignant cook. "Kissin' his hand at
dacent girls!"
Then we became absorbed in our work. Before
an hour was over we were interrupted by the hasty
entrance of Claude and Larry. They came from the
pantry, where the former had evidently been at
work, as he was enveloped in his huge, be-stringed
apron. Larry had a curry-comb in his hand.
Claude's manner, as good as a weathercock in show-
ing from what quarter the wind blew, foretold a
storm. His sallow face was several shades paler
than usual, his big eyes dilated, his eyebrows raised
in indignant protest, while Larry, red-faced and
angry, showed his mental disturbance by tightly
clenched fists.
"Where's your manners?" cried Norah, as they
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
tumbled into the kitchen without ceremony. "Don't
you see Miss Dean?"
"For the Land's sake, Norah, be quiet," wailed
Claude, "and let Larry speak! It's Miss Dean we're
after. If she won't put her foot down poor Rina's
as good as dead!" He wrung his long hands wildly.
"Is the mare ill, Larry?" I asked.
"It's this, Miss Athayna—the Dutchman's killin*
her."
"The Dutchman?"—then, remembering Norah's
grimace and the retreating figure — "Mr. Von
Schlange? Speak out, Larry! What has he to do
with Czarina?"
Without being conscious of my action I untied my
big cooking-apron and tossed it to Norah.
"Then he's thrying to make her jump, the damned
villain," cried poor Larry, forgetting my presence
in his anger. "He's tore her wid his spurs till she's
bloody, an' he's flogged her till she's nigh sinkin'
under him; but the blessid craythure won't give
in!" Then, in tones of triumphant pride, "Sure,
she'll die afore she'll jump anythin' for anywan but
you, Miss, dear—an' that's God's truth!"
I started on a run for the stables, knowing there
was no time to lose. Larry and Claude strove to
keep up with me in vain. Back of the stables was a
large paddock, where the horses were sometimes
turned out. In the centre was a jumping-bar, used
by the grooms for training purposes, and by the men
who came to the house for practice. A five-barred
gate gave entrance to the paddock, and there I found
Burke, surrounded by a group of stable-boys and
gardeners, angrily watching what he was powerless
to stop. As I ran up the others stood aside, but
Burke, touching his cap, said, eagerly:
"Thank you for coming so quick, Miss Dean.
Will you give the word for me to speak?"
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
I avoided meeting his entreating eyes. I stepped
forward and looked over the gate.
Before the jumping-bar stood Czarina, so motion-
less, so rigid, her beautiful limbs might have been
made of bronze. But no bronze horse was ever so
covered with froth and lather, nor showed such ugly
streaks of red upon its sides.
Von Schlange's face was livid, blotched here and
there with purple. His teeth were set, his brows
drawn in an ugly scowl, his eyes burning. In his
terrible passion, beside himself with rage, he had
reached the point of not caring what happened to
the mare so long as he broke her will.
And I—what should I do? The mare or I must
suffer, her will or mine be broken. Which should
it be? In that one moment I lived an eternity;
then, the man on Czarina tbraced himself for another
effort
Deep, deep, dug the cruel spurs into her tender
sides. Down came the heavy riding-crop with fear-
ful force. She did not move. I looked at Burke.
"I keep the mare. Act quickly."
No need for this command! Before the words
were out of my mouth he was through the gate—
Larry close behind him—and at Von Schlange's side.
Larry, catching Czarina's bridle, gently stroked
her lovely, terrified face, while Burke, a low-voiced
man, said a few words to Von Schlange. I could
not hear what he said, but in answer came a shower
of curses, and, upon repeating his demand, Von
Schlange lifted his riding-whip and struck violently
at Burke's upturned face. Burke caught the whip,
dropped it, then, seizing Von Schlange by the arms,
wrenched him from the saddle. The mare, freed
from her burden, walked quietly by Larry's side
toward the gate.
My poor Czarina! Trembling in every limb,
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
a free American, I am, and I won't take no sass
from no nasty little Dutchman, you just better
guess!" Then, with an hysterical giggle: "But I've
drawed enough blood for one day, I hope!"
Mr. Von Schlange, yielding to necessity, followed
him to the Hall. Burke came to me.
"That man's going straight to town to see Mr. Er-
ranti, Miss Dean," he said. "If he gets there before
the Boss knows your wishes he'll have the mare."
I was silent, looking to him for advice.
"If you'll just send a telegram, Miss Dean, I'll
see that the Dutchman misses his train, and Mr. Er-
ranti'll be sure to get it before he arrives."
I was forced to acquiesce, and Burke brought a
telegraph blank so quickly I knew it had been at
hand since Von Schlange's coming. I wrote this
message:
"I keep the mare—and ride to-morrow.
"ATHENA."
Larry, mounted upon Captain Kidd, rode swiftly
away with it. The die was cast.
I went to the house, to Madam's room, where I
should have been earlier. She cried out at sight of
me. I suppose I did look badly.
"Mon Dieu!" she exclaimed. "What has hap-
pened? Thy face is terrible! White, drawn, awful
—a Medusa face!"
She covered her own face with her hands, and
peeped at me through her fingers. I tried to smile,
to smooth out my rigid features.
"Nothing that need alarm you has happened, dear
Madam," I said. "Czarina is not quite well; but
Larry says she will be by to-morrow."
The volatile old lady took her hands from her face
to smile at me.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"Pretty Czarina!" she cried. "I know what has
happened. Thou didst not ride, and restless Czar-
ina has hurt herself jumping about her stall! No
secrets from me, Athena." She laughed in triumph.
"No, no, I find them out! A bird tells me—so al-
ways confide in me, ma cherie, best first as last! The
riding, Athena? That soon begins again?"
"To-morrow morning."
Madam was pleased.
I thought Philip would be triumphant. I dreaded
meeting him. When I left my room just before din-
ner I found him waiting for me in the upper hall.
He was looking from the great end window, but
hearing my door open came to meet me. His face
expressed no exultation over my defeat, but much
sadness.
"Don't speak to me, Athena," he said. "I don't
deserve you should. I've behaved like a brute!
I'm sick with shame! The moment I'd given that
little beast permission to try the mare I regretted it.
I was on the point of starting home a dozen times
to-day to cancel the agreement—I wish to God I
had!" He broke off, to pace up and down the hall;
then, stopping before me, recommenced his self-re-
proach. "All day long your father's sad face has
come between me and my work, Athena. 'I was
your friend,' it said, 'yet how do you treat my child?'
Yes, how? By making her suffer for my fault!
One day, Athena, he came to my office quite worn
out. I knew he had not lunched, that he needed
food, but dared not offer to get him some till I
thought to pretend I, too, was hungry. When the
meal was served, absorbed in his conversation—how
well he talked, Athena—I forgot to eat, and he
found me out. I shall never forget the reproach in
his eyes as he said, 'I'm not an object of charity, Er-
ranti.' Yet—he forgave me. Athena, you shall not
219


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
ride again. I won't have you made miserable. The
mare is yours—there, don't say no, child. For God's
sake let me at least try to atone!"
Philip knew me well. Because of his kindness to
my father I forced myself to speak gently when I
would have kept silence, to attempt a renewal of
friendship when I wished to turn away.
"Let us try to forget," I said, "since we may not
blot out the past. I will ride again with you to-
morrow morning, Philip."
"God bless you, my little Athena!"
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
I insisted, "and the sleeves are flowing, so it will do
very well for a dinner-gown. I am sure the lace
trimming is exquisite. What more would you have?"
"Mademoiselle is ever the most obstinate," she
grumbled sulkily, as she wove my hair into an in-
tricate knot low on my neck. "As a child it was
the same! 'I do not wish,' and all was at an end.
And these two aristocrats—the English milords—
with whom Mademoiselle is to dine? And Monsieur,
who is so proud of Mademoiselle's beauty? A mus-
lin! Mon Dieu, I shall be blamed!"
"Nonsense, Julie," I said, tired of her discontent,
"you know well that rich brocades and satins are for
married women, not for jeunes demoiselles."
I did not care to add that they were unsuitable
for young persons filling my position, but that was
what I thought.
"Jeunes demoiselles!" cried the Frenchwoman,
her hard eyes meeting mine in the tall mirror be-
fore which I sat. "But with Mademoiselle the case
is different! I am ready to say Madame whenever
she so orders."
I looked at her steadily, trying to fathom her
meaning, but could not. She did not meet my eyes
again, and, my hair being done, fetched the despised
muslin and helped me dress in silence. I pondered
upon her strange speech till I began to suspect that
something unpleasant was hidden in it. My toilet
finished, I sat down to wait till I should be sum-
moned to dinner, not caring to go down before.
"Mademoiselle is very beautiful to-night," said
Julie, as she was about to leave the room. "I hope
she may enjoy the evening."
Her voice and manner were apologetic. I decided
she had intended to be unpleasant before.
"What do you mean, Julie, by offering to call me
Madame?"
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
I spoke suddenly, and she looked startled; but a
gleam of malicious amusement leapt into her eyes as
she said:
"Oh, nothing, Mademoiselle; only I like to
please."
"I don't understand," I persisted; "pray explain.**
"I thought Mademoiselle might prefer," was the
bewildering answer. "Some do."
I could not comprehend what she meant, nor ac-
count for the strange anger which suddenly took
possession of me, nor understand why I instantly
said, haughtily:
"Perhaps Mr. Erranti may be able to solve your
riddle—since you are unwilling to explain."
Before I had finished speaking, Julie, the cold,
hard Julie, had fallen on her knees at my feet, and
was begging me to spare her.
"For the love of God," she entreated, "do not
speak to Monsieur! Don't complain of me, chere
Mademoiselle! I meant nothing, nothing—my poor
head—crazy with fever heat—it burns—I know not
what I say! Have pity, Mademoiselle!"
My anger vanished. Since she was ill, whatever
impertinence she might have intended meant noth-
ing. She might not show fretfulness toward Mad-
am, so had vented her discomfort in ill-temper
with me.
"There, there," I said, soothingly, "say no more
about it. I will stay with Madam after dinner while
you rest. You are over-done, Julie."
"And Monsieur?" she whispered, piteously.
"Mademoiselle will say nothing?"
"Not a word. Why do you fear him?"
"He is so cruel."
She shuddered as she spoke. I was the more be-
wildered.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"Then why do you stay here, Julie?"
She rose slowly to her feet. She was white and
shaken.
"Because I must," she said, slowly, and went in-
stantly from the room, as Claude appeared to an-
nounce dinner.
Philip was waiting for me at the foot of the stair-
case. He gave me his arm and led me to the li-
brary, where his two guests, Lord Walkington and
Sir Frederic Goe, were talking with Randal St.
John. Randal was always at the Hall. Lord Walk-
ington was agreeable and handsome, Sir Frederic
very good-natured. They were seated on either side
of me at dinner, Randal being on Philip's right
hand. I was not obliged to keep the ball of conver-
sation rolling—the men did the talking. Philip was
the only exception. He held up his end well when
necessary, but otherwise preferred to be a listener.
Lord Walkington and Sir Frederic had travelled
much; they were deeply interested in the "States"
and in our ways. They discussed every subject of
interest in our country, and I listened, anxious to
learn. When dessert was served the South and the
negro question were introduced. Sir Frederic
asked many questions, among others why the negro
was so much more looked down upon in America
than in England.
"With us," he said, "a man wouldn't be thought
much the worse for a touch of the tar brush, as it's
called, but I understand it is different here. I am
told that no matter how well-educated or wealthy a
man might be, no white woman in the 'States' would
marry him if he had but one drop of negro blood in
his veins. Is that true?"
"Do you mean a white woman or a white lady?'*
asked Randal.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
not be expected to understand the prejudices of her
countrywomen."
"Don't you believe him, Sir Frederic," cried Ran-
dal. "It makes no sort of difference where she was
born and bred! It's in the blood. They all have
the same code. You wouldn't marry a chap with
darky blood in him, Miss Dean, would you?"
I shook my head.
"Not if he were an Adonis—white as marble, wise
as Solon, and rich as Crossus?"
"No."
"There! What did I tell you, Sir Frederic!"
Sir Frederic was not satisfied.
"Pardon me, Miss Dean, for more questions—but
this interests me greatly. Say you met such a man,
loved him, engaged yourself to him, all without
knowing his secret, what then?"
"I should break the engagement—and my heart!"
I said lightly, rising from table, since dessert was
over, and Lord Walkington looked impatient for his
cigar. I was anxious to escape.
"One moment," cried Sir Frederic, "just one more
question before you go! Suppose you found out
after marriage—ah! answer seriously, please, Miss
Dean, I really wish to know."
"Seriously, then," I said, gravely, "if such an
awful fate were to be mine"
I got no further, for at that moment the stem of
the glass Philip was still twisting snapped off short,
and the wine not only inundated the tablecloth but
was flung in great splashes upon Randal's shirt-
front, where it looked unpleasantly like blood.
"Oh, confound you, Erranti!" he cried, starting
up in great wrath. "That's too damned careless,
don't you know!"
Philip, bowing me from the room, seemed neither
226


XXII
"The dinner-party," as Madam called it, took
place on the last Friday of Dick Thorpe's vacation.
He had been for two weeks at Beverley Towers, and
on Monday was to return to town, not without ex-
pecting to spend his Sundays with his uncle. This
pleased me. We had become great friends. On
Sunday afternoon Madam told me she would not
need me for several hours.
"Follow the little wood-path, ma bien-aimee" she
said, patting my cheek gently, "a pleasant compan-
ion awaits thee there. One is young but once, my
Athena!" Then, thinking aloud, "An ugly face, but
good and clever. He hates the cards—yes, yes, he
hates the cards. Athena"—again addressing me—
"one is young but once—enjoy thy youth, ma file,
and gather thy roses while the sun shines—no,
that's not it, but no matter—run away and enjoy
thyself! I sent him there because of the devil-may-
cares who haunt the place to-day. Philip's friends
—not real friends—gambling friends! They never
win his money! I sometimes wonder why, why—
yes, why? Go, I would have my siesta. Go,
cherie." As I left her she was murmuring, "Young
but once, but once, but only once, grand Dieu /" over
and over.
I went slowly to the woods. I felt a trifle sad—
and strangely shy. Mr. Thorpe's disturbed looks
when I met him put this last to flight.
"Are you cross?" I asked. "What is the matter?"
"I'm sorry"—smiling—"that I look as unpleasant
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
as I feel. I don't like not coming to the house for
you. I hope you understood it was Madam's ar-
rangement? She meant to be kind, poor soul, but
she's too daft to remember what's what."
"I understood," I said.
We walked in silence to the rustic bench. Mr.
Thorpe, who usually had much to say, seemed pre-
occupied.
"Will you rest here, and go to the meadow later?"
he asked. We often revisited the meadow. I sat
down, and when another long silence followed I
broke it by an inane remark about the weather.
"It is as warm and sultry as though it were Au-
gust, yet to-day is the 14th of September."
"I go back to work to-morrow," said Mr. Thorpe,
sighing profoundly.
"I thought you liked work," I said. "Your
cousin, Mr. St. John, told me you preferred it above
anything in the world."
"So I did—once upon a time. Randal loves to
ferret out other people's secrets! Not but what I'd
like to shout my present secret from the house-tops."
Then, very simply, even bluntly, he told me that he
loved me—he asked me to be his wife.
We had so much to talk about, Dick and I. I
told him of my mother, of her beauty, her wit, of
her tragic death. I talked freely to him of my
father, telling how badly Lord Ebbrides had served
him, then spoke of Percy Stewart—of my love for
him.
Nothing is perfect in this world, which is well, I
suppose, else we might forget to prepare for the
next! On this day of days Dick hurt me by saying
he was glad Percy Stewart was dead! Later, when
he began to regret his mother's second marriage be-
cause of me, saying how much happier I might be
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
had I the prospect of living with her, dwelling on
the delight he would have experienced in seeing us
together—then, I took great care not to express my
deep feeling of gratitude toward her husband, the
German baron! And I forgave his outspokenness
about Percy.
"What about telling Uncle Beverley, Athena?"
I was asked very soon. "Suppose I announce our
engagement to-night?"
"No, no," I said; "there is no hurry."
"Yes, there is," Dick persisted, "an excellent rea-
son for hurry. I don't see why w.e shouldn't be mar-
ried in two weeks—say the first of October. Now
hush, Athena, don't interrupt me, I know what I'm
talking about! This house is no place for you. Mad-
am Erranti is all right, of course; but she can't
look after you. She's a lady, you'd say? Yes, but
half crazy, poor thing; and as for her son—well,
the less said of him the better, I imagine."
"Hush!" I whispered, "I hear someone coming."
"A rabbit hopping through the underbrush, my
dear. Now, Erranti seems to me an adventurer—I
make no doubt that his father was one—a man with-
out principles, you know. Why, the gambling that
goes on"
"Oh, do hush, Dick! I'm sure I hear something
bigger than a rabbit," I implored.
"Where?"
"Back among the trees! Please listen."
I held my breath in my eagerness. Dick glanced
carelessly around.
"Nonsense, dear! One of the dogs nosing about,
nothing more."
"It sounded like a man."
"Tramps?" asked Dick, smiling. "Don't worry.
I'll fight them as valiantly as I did the cows," and he
returned to the subject of our speedy marriage.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"It's going to be troublesome," I said, after he
had talked for some time.
"What is?" stopping short in a telling argument.
"Our both liking our own way so much."
He colored slightly, then began to laugh.
"If I mayn't even name the day"—I followed up
my advantage—"a thing every girl is allowed to do,
I'm a little afraid I may never have my own way—
after."
"I didn't mean to bully you, Athena."
"Perhaps not—but"
"I won't tell Uncle Beverley, if you really prefer
not."
"And," I said, hastily, "we can decide other mat-
ters later—next Sunday, Dick."
To this he agreed, though not with a good grace,
and at once began on my choice of a betrothal ring.
I wanted Nemesis—or nothing. He was not pleased,
objected strongly, yet would give me no reason for
his dislike of the idea. We both knew Randal's re-
taining possession of the ring was but a question of
time, till the news of his gambling should reach Mr.
Beverley. "We also felt sure Mr. Beverley would
-wish me to have Nemesis, since she had been my
mother's. So, it seemed to me, Dick had no real
reason for objecting. When I pressed him too hard
he bluntly said his reason was an excellent one, but
I should never know it. His manner was stern, and
I let the matter drop, only saying no other ring
would suit me.
"You may give me some other trinket, if you wish,
in token of our engagement," I added, "something
that I can wear all the time."
This pleased him.
We had been too much absorbed in each other to
notice any change in the weather or to see that the
gloom about us was deepening every moment. The
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
trees shut us in on all sides, their interlacing boughs
making even the heavens invisible, so we did not see
the great black cloud that climbed sulkily out of the
west, eating up, as it grew and grew, blue sky, sun-
shine, and finally the big, bright sun itself. A fierce
glare of lightning followed by a clap of thunder was
our first warning of the storm.
"Madam!" I cried, starting to my feet. "She
will be frightened, and I so far away! How could I
forget her! I must hurry."
"We'll make a dash for it," said Dick.
Putting his arm around me he rushed me through
the woods.
"Don't hurry so," he cried, at last, as I flew along
the path. "You'll hurt yourself, Athena! I didn't
know any girl could run so fast!"
Before we reached the house I ran still faster.
The sound of Madam's voice reached me, and her
wild scream stung me like a whip. Without a word
of farewell to Dick I hurried to her room. She was
half mad with terror. As she clung to me, hiding
her blanched face in my bosom, I could not forgive
myself. In my selfish happiness I had forgotten my
duty.
The storm lasted some time, bursting out with re-
newed violence when I thought it past. By evening
the sky cleared. When Dick came it was as peace-
ful and radiant as if there had been no storm. Mad-
am bade me sit near her veranda door, that she
might hear our voices, though not what we said.
The sound soothed her.
"Mr. Erranti was on the river with friends when
the storm broke," I remarked. "They came for him
in a big yacht just after luncheon. Most men seem
to like him, Dick, or go with him, at any rate. You
never accept his invitations to dinner—or to do any-
thing."
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"I detest him!"—Dick lowered his voice—"I
won't eat his salt."
"My father liked him. Don't you think you arc
a little prejudiced, Dick?"
Dick, who had been lounging in an arm-chair, now
sat up very straight and stared at me.
"When did your father know him, pray, and
where?"
"In town, in Wall Street. No, don't think that!
I did; now I am ashamed. Philip loved him—tried
his best to prevent his speculating."
"Who told you all this, Athena?"
"Philip."
"Indeed! I wonder if it's true."
"Yes," I spoke with decision. "What he has said
of my father—and his ways—prove it to be true.
Why should he wish to deceive me? What motive
could poor Philip have for doing so unkind—so un-
manly a thing?"
"Quite a biggish motive, Athena. The man's in
love with you. I do wish you wouldn't call him
'Philip.' I don't like it."
"I have promised. I'm sorry, since it displeases
you. He was good to my father. Try to judge him
fairly, Dick."
"I've been so jealous of him—I am yet. Bad
habits are hard to break."
"Jealous of Philip?" I was incredulous. "Yet
you think him not a gentleman. Oh, Dick!"
"My dear Athena, can't you understand? His be-
ing not quite up to the mark wouldn't count with
ninety-nine girls out of a hundred! He's confound-
edly handsome, sings—with that wonderful baritone
of his—as I didn't suppose any man off the stage
could sing. I say nothing of his millions, Athena—
they wouldn't tempt you, I know. But he's fasci-
nating—in his disagreeable way!"
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
I laughed. This last was too absurd.
"Not to me," I said, soothingly, seeing Dick was
uncomfortable; "and his feeling for me is over.
Now I'm just the daughter of an old friend to him."
"Stuff and nonsense," said Dick, crossly.
As he spoke I detected the sound of someone mov-
ing stealthily in the room behind us—moving al-
most noiselessly, but I am said to hear the grass
grow. Rising swiftly I looked in. Madam lay
asleep. Julie dozed in her chair. It was Cray who
prowled within ear-shot. He bowed respectfully as
he caught my eye, and whispered that he had come
in search of Julie, but would not disturb her. She
had waked, however, and went with her husband into
the little entry, where they talked softly together.
I went back to the veranda. Had Cray been an
eavesdropper? Had he overheard our discussion of
Philip? I hoped I had entered in time to prevent
this, but I could not be sure.
234


XXIII
Philip, as usual, went to town with his friends on
Monday morning; but, contrary to his wont, did
not return until Friday, when he brought a new
party of guests home with him. I rode alone every
morning that week, but I was surprised when Philip
failed to join me on Saturday morning. Still, I
thought little of his not coming, although Madam,
fretting because he had not told her he would be ab-
sent during the week, had more than once asked me
if I were in fault.
"Thou hast done nothing to anger him, Athena?
Philip has a wild, fierce temper when roused. Art
sure he is not displeased?"
When I answered that we were on good terms she
shook her head wearily, declaring that she hated
men.
"They are devils, one and all, one and all! I hate
them, hate them, hate them, and the tortures they
devise!"
It had been a happy week for me. Each day
there had come a letter from Dick,—my first love-
letters! I had little attention to spare for other peo-
ple, being, I fear, selfishly absorbed in my own hap-
piness. Not that I again forgot Madam and her
needs. Indeed, I worried over the consent I had
given to be married before Christmas, fearing Mad-
am might miss me too much for her comfort.
She had grown accustomed to having me about her,
and depended upon me more and more. On the
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"If you knowed what I know, Miss Dean," he be-
gan. Again I cut him short.
"I don't wish to know, Claude," I said, good-
humoredly; "and, after all, it's not our business to
criticise Mr. Erranti."
"That's just like you, Miss Dean! Puttin' your-
self in with me as if we was both in the same boat,
an' smoothin' me down till you know I'll wait on that
dirty monkey of a man without rebellion! It's what
Norah says—and what we all says—there's no one
fit to black your boots for beauty and elligance, yet
there ain't one stuck up drop of blood in you; no,
sir, not one!"
I ran away upstairs from this torrent of praise.
But I was pleased to hear that the servants liked
pie—as much pleased by Claude's compliment as I
was displeased by Philip's disregard for my feelings.
What did it mean, I asked myself? Had I, as Mad-
am feared, vexed him in some unknown way? I
was hurt by his lack of consideration. As the day
went on I had further cause for surprise. Philip
ignored me completely. When it was possible to
avoid meeting me he turned away; when forced into
my presence^ he treated me with cold indifference.
His face wore a sullen expression, new to me. What
it all meant I could not imagine, and Madam wished
to know!
Sunday morning she was so unusually fretful that
I did not go to church.
"Thou art a headstrong girl," she complained,
when I told her I would remain at home, "difficult
to understand! What hast thou done to anger
Philip? The dreadful look in his eyes—I know it
well, that look! Thou art strong, beautiful, deter-
mined—but something awful is coming! I feel it in
the air. Thou art selfish, Athena, a selfish girl—
yes, cruel and selfish!"
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"Dear Madam!" I exclaimed, "I hoped you might
be glad to have me with you this morning."
"Not in that frock," wailed the old lady; "not in
that vile, hideous frock! And I am so tired of it—
yes, tired, tired, tired! To-day is cool-—yes, like
October. If you thought of me, or cared, you would
try to please!"
This meant that I had been expected to appear in
a new suit, made for cool weather, a jacket of white
velvet and skirt of heavy watered silk. In spite of
the freshness of the outside air, which had, as
Madam said, the crispness of October, I had no wish
for warm garments in Madam's hot-house room.
But I dared not thwart her, and made the change
she desired.
"Ah!" she cried, clapping her hands gayly as I
courtesied gravely in the doorway, "but thou art
beautiful! That coat, Julie, Louis Seize, n'est-ce
pas? No matter, I don't wish the name! Don't
dare remember when I forget! You are a cat, Julie!
A spiteful cat! An imbecile also! Go, then! Ah,
my Athena, it suits thee well, this coat, with its long
flaps, great cuffs, jabot of lace! A diamond pin, ma
fille—no? Ah, stubborn one! Quick, Julie, Mad-
emoiselle's coiffure—her braids! Loop them—so—
Now, a ribbon, vite! Helas! I forgot a hat! Thou
shalt have one—of white felt, three-cornered—a
cocked hat! How amusing thou art! Who is it thou
resemblest? Not George Washington—quite; yet
thou art as grave—as severe!"
So she rattled on, while Julie, glowering sulkily
at my reflection in the glass, looped my braids in a
club and tied them with a broad ribbon. I was much
too warm in my velvet coat, but pleased to have
Madam cheerful. Scarcely had I had time to con-
gratulate myself upon her change of mood when the
report of a gun in the near distance destroyed her
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
grieved that he can't oblige his mother in this trifling
matter, since he has promised his friends this amuse-
ment." At the end of this speech Claude bowed pro-
foundly, then continued: "Says he to me, says he,
'Tell Madam Erranti,' says he, 'that she mustn't ex-
pect me to go back on my word,' says he, 'for that,'
says he, 'is something which I never do!' and that's
all he said, ma'am."
Disgust and disapproval in every feature, in every
movement, poor Claude left the room.
Madam began to laugh, a strange, strident laugh,
terrible to hear. It grew louder and louder, and be-
fore many moments had passed turned into a wild,
unearthly screaming. Julie's dark face was ghastly
with terror.
"Mademoiselle," she whispered, hoarsely, "it may
kill her! For the love of God—Mademoiselle!"
I knew what she would have me do.
"You try first, Julie,"! said, eagerly.
"No, no," shaking her head, "I dare not! He
would not listen to me!"
"I will go," I said desperately, almose fiercely. I
pressed Madam closer to me. "If you will be good,"
I cried, striving to dominate those awful screams, "I
will go to Philip."
She made a pitiful attempt to regain her self-con-
trol, but at each report of the shot-guns her cries
grew wilder. I placed her in Julie's arms and left
the house.
The men were all assembled, as Claude had said,
in the large paddock behind the stables. As I
pushed open the tall gate and entered, pausing to
look about me, I thought of the morning when I had
come there on as difficult an errand—to decide the
fate of the mare. It was a beautiful day, clear, cool,
and full of sunshine,—truly one of God's days. The
group of men who were indulging in the unmanly
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
amusement of pigeon-shooting had evidently forgot-
ten that it was Sunday, or did not care; the last
day, surely, on which the gentlest of His creatures
should be subjected to torture.
It was in vain that I looked for someone to send
to Mr. Erranti. The stables seemed deserted. I
felt I had no time to waste in searching for a mes-
senger, but must go myself. As I hesitated a man
left the group opposite, took up a position facing the
box on the ground—at which I had not dared look—
and fired at the fluttering ball of feathers that the
hateful trap seemed to vomit forth. Instinctively I
turned my back, covering my eyes with my hands.
Another moment and someone touched me on the
shoulder. I looked up. It was Randal St. John.
"Come to try your luck, Miss Dean?" I bowed.
"No good, I'm afraid," he said, lightly. "Erranti's
in a queer mood to-day. Temper of a rattlesnake
that's been trampled on. Take my advice and try
cotton in Madam's ears."
He had, it seemed, been present on the delivery of
Claude's message. He was ubiquitous.
"Please tell Mr. Erranti that I wish to speak to
him."
"All right, Miss Dean," he spoke, cheerfully,
"since you're bent on cutting your lovely throat!"
He went to Philip, who, leaving his friends, came
slowly toward me in unwilling obedience to my sum-
mons, his handsome face marred by its expression of
sullen unfriendliness. When I would have spoken
he silenced me by a gesture, and said:
"I regret, Miss Dean, that you should have taken
the trouble of coming here in obedience to a sense-
less whim of my mother's. If she objects to the
noise of the guns she can be carried into my library,
and remain there until it is over. The day is cool
enough to allow the closing of windows."
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
Something in his face told me he took pleasure in
thwarting me. I knew that should I humble myself
to beg that the shooting might cease, either in kind-
ness to Madam or as a special favor toward myself,
I should gain nothing—save his scorn. I was turn-
ing away without a word when Randal rushed up to
us.
"Say, Miss Dean," he cried, eagerly, "Cray has
just let out that you shoot, yourself, and brags that
you could make us all sing small. Now, Erranti, old
chappie, if you'll only say the word, we can have
no end of a good time. Miss Dean wishes us to stop
shooting and profaning the Sabbath;"—here the
embryo clergyman grinned—"very well, I vote we
have a match for it. Let Miss Dean have a try at
five pigeons. If she kills three, we'll undertake to
continue our evil sport 'Far away from home and
mother'!—in other words, somewhere where Madam
-can't hear the guns. If Miss Dean kills all five"
—this in a gently sarcastic tone—"then she gets
the pot, out and out. We'll swear off, and she may
have the birds, alive or dead—as she chooses."
As he unfolded his plan the shooting ceased. I
knew, without looking, that the men were all staring
in our direction, discussing the turn affairs had
taken. Philip did not speak, but stood quite still,
sombrely contemplating my white face—white with
the pallor born of mental pain.
"Well, is it on?" demanded Randal, eagerly.
"As you please," said Philip, shortly, and he
turned and left us, rejoining his guests.
"You accept, Miss Dean?"
My lips felt very dry—so dry I had to try twice
before I could speak.
"Yes," I said, at last.
There was nothing else to say. I had no choice.
Since the chance was given me to help Madam, to
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
save many innocent birds from misery, what matter
that I, and five pigeons, must be sacrificed? My
mind seemed to go to sleep. I had the odd sensa-
tion in my head which always accompanies this col-
lapse. I found myself hoping I might not disgrace
myself by fainting after my task was done—I knew
I should not until after. I dreaded, with the old
childish dread, the noise that must follow the pulling
of the trigger. I caught myself praying to my
father not to let me miss.
Meanwhile Randal was accompanying me across
the paddock to the spot where I must stand. I was
aware that he was paying me compliments, admiring
my handsome clothes, comparing me to Diana. I
knew that the crowd of men were betting heavily,
that Cray was staring at me in a frightened way, and
that Philip had bitten his lips until they bled.
Like an automaton I placed myself in position,
and received the gun Randal handed me.
"Say when you're ready," he whispered.
The green paddock suddenly swung up and dis-
placed the sky.
"O God!" I prayed silently, "dear God in Heaven,
do not let me fail!"
I gave the signal.
On looking back I wonder—after so many years
spent without practice—how I accomplished that
hard task. For I shot the five pigeons tossed into
the September sunshine;—shot them so quickly that
I may dare believe they did not know what killed
them. Poor little fluffy, foolish things! They died,
but many were saved.
No applause followed my success; instead, a
strange silence prevailed. I was allowed to leave
without the added insult of congratulations. I
walked slowly back to the house through a reeling
universe, scarcely able to hold myself erect or to
243


XXIV
That Sunday was the beginning of a sad week.
Madam became so alarmingly ill that I telegraphed
for instructions on Monday. I did not know where
to send for medical aid. Madam had had no
physician during my stay at the Hall, and I dared
not, on my own responsibility, call in a stranger.
But Philip answered my telegram in person, bring-
ing with him the doctor who had cared for Madam
the previous winter in town. Philip was deeply
shocked by her condition, suffering at sight of her
pain. I heard him tell the doctor that it was all
owing to his brutality.
"Nonsense!" said the doctor, "nonsense! You're
no saint, I grant, if I may believe all the stories I
hear; but I'll bear witness to your being the best of
sons."
"Not in this instance," said Philip, gloomily.
"You say she's suffering from some shock—so she
is, owing to my devilish obstinacy! I'd just met with
a great misfortune"
"Not lost money, I hope?"
"Damn money!" was the impatient answer. "I
wish to Heaven it had been money. It was the
pigeon match—the noise—" He broke off suddenly
—his eyes on me—then left the room.
The doctor gave me his orders. Madam was in
need of good nursing and complete repose, little else.
"She's weathered a good many terrible storms, I
guess," he said; "gone through the kind of excite-
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
ments that wear out body and mind. Her heart is
weak; any sudden shock may kill her. Try to lead a
tranquil life, my dear young lady," he smiled a trifle
unpleasantly, "you'll find it pays!"
Then I recognized him as one of the Fourth of
July party, and wondered that Philip had faith in
his skill. Later I heard that but for his love of fast
living he might have risen high in his profession.
He was very clever.
On Friday morning Claude beckoned me into the
hall with a mysterious finger.
"Company for you in the library!"
Because of Madam he whispered laboriously, but
his suppressed simper told me whom I was to see.
How came Dick in Droneton at that hour? I had no
sooner greeted him than I voiced this question.
"Are you just from town, Dick?"
"Just from the train. I had to see you imme-
diately. I want you to marry me to-day, Athena,
and sail with me to-morrow."
I stared in wonder.
"Marry you—sail! Why, what nonsense, Dick.
Sail where?"
"To Russia," he said, coolly. "I've got to start at
once to look after an estate that's been left to one of
our clients. It's going to be a big thing, Athena,
and it's no end of a compliment the governor's pay-
ing me. Lots of difficulties in the way, probably.
Russian relatives squabbling over the will, etc. It
will take two months, perhaps three, to straighten it
all out, and I want you with me, dear."
He began to coax—he coaxed very well, too—but
Madam was too ill to be left, and I said so.
"I promised to stay with her through November,
Dick. I must keep my word."
There was much grumbling at this; but I was in
the right, and Dick knew it.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
be letters, and I comforted myself by the thought
that Dick would sail in pleasant ignorance of the
disagreeables at Highgrove Hall. I had not told of
the pigeon-match. Randal, for his own sake, had
kept silence. My trials were all my own, and must
remain so.
The day after Richard's departure—Sunday after-
noon—I was in the garden for a half hour of fresh
air when Philip joined me. He looked grave and
very sad. I was on a bench by the spring, and would
have risen, but he stopped me by a gesture.
"You have come out for a moment's repose? I
am glad. You look very tired, Athena. May I sit
down?" I bowed. He seated himself beside me.
"I am very sorry you could not go to church this
morning. I know you must have wished to pray for
those who go down to the sea in ships. Why look so
surprised, my child? Did you think me blind? A
lover's eyes are proverbially quick to see, Athena—
don't go," as I rose to leave him. "I'll say nothing
that the fiancee of Richard Thorpe need object to
hear."
I sat down again mechanically. So nry secret was
no secret! How many knew?
Philip watched me, as if he would read my
thoughts. There was understanding and sympathy
in his eyes. He looked so kind, so truly friendly,
that my heart softened.
"How did you guess?" I asked.
"I did not guess—Cray told me. Listen, and you
shall hear everything. I won't attempt to justify my
brutal behavior—nor ask you to overlook it—but
simply tell you why the devil who lives in me was
unchained. Yes, Athena, I firmly believe that all
men—and some women—have a private devil of
their own. They keep him chained and half starved,
as a rule, but occasionally he breaks loose, when he
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
gluts himself on wickedness—hence the expression
that 'There's the devil to pay'!"
He was silent. I thought of my own demon,
Pride, so hard to keep down! Then of another,
sometimes called an Unforgiving Spirit.
"Of course, Athena, this is hard for you to under-
stand."
"Not at all. You have convinced me that I have
several fiends, all clanking their chains rebelliously."
Philip laughed.
"What an absurd child! But there—let me finish
what I have to say, it's none too agreeable, I want
to get it over. On a certain afternoon, not long
ago, Cray chanced to make a short cut through the
woods, and overheard—what was not intended for
his long ears. He came and told me; he might as
well have stuck a knife into my heart! Don't look
so frightened, child! Because I am beaten in the
race I sha'n't weary you with my bewailings. I am
thankful to say I have enough sense to know when
I am out of it. Henceforth I ask no more than the
kind consideration you would show any old friend
of your father's. For allowing the pain of the un-
expected blow to turn me savage at first, I most
humbly beg your pardon. I am half savage I some-
times think. I've too much of my mother in
me."
I smiled.
"To me Madam seems thoroughly civilized,
Philip."
"Yes," he said, absently, "she is. I wish you
might persuade her to forgive me, Athena. But that
can't be until you forgive me yourself. Won't you
try to?"
As I hesitated, not knowing how to answer, he
said, abruptly:
"Mr. Thorpe is going to England?"
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"Yes, but only on his way to Russia. He is not
to stay in England."
"To Russia, Athena? May I hear—but no, you
will not wish to tell me."
This was no secret, so I explained Dick's reason
for so sudden a departure. Then, putting my shy-
ness in my pocket—along with my pride—I asked
if Cray had imparted his news to many people.
""No, Athena. He spoke to no one save myself.
I told him to hold his tongue. He will obey me.
You wish only your own and Mr. Thorpe's relations
to know—of it—for the present?"
It was easy to see that the subject was a trying
one to Philip. I was sorry for his pain.
"No one is to know until after Mr. Thorpe's re-
turn. I shall ask you to keep my secret, Philip."
"What, no one?" he exclaimed. "Not Mr. Bev-
erley? Not Randal?"
"No one, Philip."
After this he fell into a reverie so profound that
he seemed to forget my very existence. He started
when at last I rose to return home.
"Don't go just yet," he said, hastily; "rest a lit-
tle longer. Let me tell you how sorry I am for you,
poor, desolate child," holding out his hand. "Let me
promise to guard your secret as if it were my own.
Give me your forgiveness, Athena, and the right to
watch over you, as your sincere friend, until Mr.
Thorpe comes to claim you. For the sake of your
father, Athena, who is no longer here to protect his
little daughter."
I was touched by this unselfishness, and placed my
hand confidingly in his.
"You forgive me, then?"
I bowed.
"You will win my mother's forgiveness for me?"
"I will try, Philip."
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
He went with me to the house, and we entered her
room together.
"What does this mean?" she whispered feebly, as
I rearranged her pillows.
"Peace on earth, good-will toward men," I said,
kissing her faded cheek.
Philip fell on his knees by the bedside, pressing
his lips to the trembling hand that plucked at the
coverlet.
"Maman, maman!" he implored. I detected the
sound of tears in his voice.
"He may give me my broth," said Madam.
I slipped quietly from the room.
\
251


XXV
Madam grew better daily after her reconcilia-
tion with Philip, and was soon herself again, whim-
sical, capricious, hard to please, but often gay. She
could not conceal her satisfaction at the news of
Richard's departure, saying she wanted me all to
herself for a time.
"I like him well, the young Thorpe, but a short
absence will do no harm. Absence makes the heart
grow—wrong? No, no; the absent are always—
fond? Ah, my poor head—tell me what I would say,
Athena! But no, talk of something else—of thy
cross, par exemple! Thou wilt not wear my dia-
monds, why then another's pearls? Ah, I do but
tease thee! Wear thy pretty cross, I guess what
meaning it has for thee. But pearls mean something
sad, n'est-ce pas?"
"Perlen bedeuten -Thranen!" I quoted, slowly.
"Are we, then, in that horrid Tower of Babel,
Athena," she demanded, petulantly, "that I must
listen to gibberish? Not that I believe that fable,
but it matters not what I believe, as it is to hell I
must go! Yes, a Venfer, a Venfer, a Venfer!"
Her eyes began to glitter.
"'Pearls mean tears,'" I translated, hurriedly;
"but I hope that may be only idle superstition."
Madam stared at me in dismay.
"Grand Dieu!" she exclaimed. "What canst thou
do to ward off this evil? Tears, meaning tears—-
Ah, Athena!"
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
any time with maman. You don't object, I hope, to
the arrangement?"
I did, but was careful not to say so. An unwise
arrangement, I thought, setting aside the discomfort
it promised me. Should the Frenchwomen not agree,
Madam might fall between two stools instead of be-
ing better tended. It would be my duty to keep
them on good terms—no light task!
"I will send for Mathilde," said Philip, uncon-
scious of my disapproval. When the woman came
he spoke of me to her as Miss Derohan instead of
Miss Dean. I did not ask him why, thinking it
merely a slip of the tongue. Mathilde's appearance
was not prepossessing. Black-browed, stolid-faced,
she looked as though she might be both obstinate
and sulky. Her addition to our party pleased me
little.
"Good-bye, Athena!" said Philip, taking my hand.
"Let the maids save you from close attendance on
Maman. Try to amuse yourself, to be happy—and,
I beg, never go ashore alone."
He went to Madam, spoke at length with her, and
kissed her many times.
The servants, preceded by Don, barking fran-
tically, ran to the end of the point. The Charlotte
vied with Don, in a series of ear-piercing whistles.
The servants cheered, the crew hurrahed, Madam
clapped her hands with glee. Philip, standing erect
in the rowboat that was taking him ashore, smiled
as he waved his hand to Madam, an odd look, as of
triumph, on his dark face.
"Does Madame desire another wrap?"
I turned, to find the new maid close behind me.
In her hand she carried a silk shawl. Madam an-
swered before I could.
"To whom are you speaking, pray? / am Mad-
am Erranti. Are you really stupid? Or do you
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
wish to appear so! Mademoiselle Athena does not
wish that shawl. It would ruin her toilet. You,
a Frenchwoman, know no better? Go, at once!
Athena, she is a fool! Her face is bad—yes, bad!
Already I detest her. More imbecile than thou,
Julie," as Julie came to take her below, "and that is
too much!"
"Ah, Madame, have patience with poor Mathilde!
She will soon learn. She is not so stupid."
"You praise her, Julie? Wonder of wonders!
You know her, perhaps?"
"But yes, Madame. An old friend."
"Humph!" muttered Madam. "A fine recom-
mendation, truly!"
Life on the Charlotte pleased Madam while the
fine weather lasted, but no sooner did the sky be-
come gray than she commanded the captain to take
her home at once! I was sorry to return. The trip
had been delightful. The beauty of the scenery
charmed me; but Madam had had enough. She had
refused to start on a Friday, but the thought of re-
turning on that day did not disturb her. It did me.
I struggled against the feeling in vain, but then I
dreaded recommencing the old life in Highgrove
Hall. It was like returning to a prison.
I looked wistfully at the big red house looming
up among its trees as we cast anchor, and wished it
were not so gloomy and forbidding. Houses are so
like people in their widely differing expressions.
The Hall had a repellent face. Madam did not
share my depression, although the clouds hung low
and an east wind moaned drearily. Her one desire
was to creep back into her cage. As I followed the
men who carried her up the bank my heart sank
lower and lower. No one came to welcome us. Not
even Don! I wondered not to see Claude dash out to
greet us.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
We entered Madam's room through the glass
door opening on the veranda. If the surroundings
of the house and its own grim walls looked dismal,
her gay apartment wore its brightest air. A fire
crackled on the hearth, the many lamps burned
brightly, and chrysanthemums—red, pink, yellow,
many-tinted—were heaped in every bowl and vase.
Madam, delighted, forgot to be tired. All her old
treasures were examined with fresh interest. Julie
had to open the chests and display their contents,
while I, as lay-figure, was called upon to hang shawls,
silks, and laces about my shoulders. Thus the first
hour passed, and Philip, driving rapidly up the ave-
nue in his dog-cart, came upon us in the midst of
this strange pastime.
He was in high spirits over Madam's return, de-
lighted with the improvement in her appearance, and
welcomed us both with enthusiasm. For some un-
known reason his warmth of greeting seemed to ir-
ritate the whimsical old lady. Lying back in her
chair she watched him keenly, suspicion in her
bright, dark eyes. I had thought to take advantage
of Philip's presence by slipping away to hunt up my
laggard friends of the servants' hall, but Madam,
detecting my movement doorward, called to me.
"Don't leave me, Athena," she said, imperiously.
"Without thee I feel ever alone. Thou and I, we
understand each other, as people of birth and breed-
ing should. I weary of la canaille—of thee,
never!"
"I only wished to see if all were well below
stairs," I said, still hoping to escape. "I thought,
with Philip to talk to, you wouldn't need me."
Madam laughed, a scornful little laugh, then said,
in a very unpleasant manner:
"Do you hear her, Philip? This little aristocrat
thinks you can fill her place! She is humble, n'est-
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
ce pas? Or shall we say ignorant? Yes, yes, a bet-
ter word. Mile. Derohan is—ignorant of your true
worth! Ignorant, yes, yes, yes, ignorant, truly!"
She laughed with the pretence of being very
merry indeed—a disagreeable laugh. We both,
Philip and I, wished to speak of something that
might divert her mind: one of her bad attacks
seemed imminent. But we had not time.
"He is a riddle, is this Philip, my Athena," she
went on, "a riddle hard for a gentlewoman like thee
to read. Philip! The name was given him because
of its suitable meaning"
"Never mind my name, maman" he broke in,
"Athena is not interested in it or its meaning. Why
so cross with me, chere petite maman?" He stooped
low over her chair, smiling coaxingly down upon the
scowling face. "Thou art but just come home, and
already so cruel!"
"Why, then, that exultant look?" she said, shrilly.
"Why do thine eyes shine? Hast thou won much
money, Gambler? Is it gain that brings the look I
know so well, too well, grand Dieu! that evil look
upon thy wild, dark face? Quick, then, an answer
—come!"
She was terribly excited. Philip had paled under
his tan.
"If I look glad it is that I have thee beside me
once more, cJierie."
He spoke tenderly, and would have kissed her,
but she drew back, swept by a very storm of pas-
sion.
"Liar!" she screamed. "Liar! like thy father be-
fore thee! I read thy face as I at last read his, and
brand it—thus!"
Leaning forward, she struck him across the face
with all her force.
- "Leave us, Athena!" commanded Philip, sternly.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
As I obeyed, knowing be alone could quiet her, she
was screaming:
"Blood upon thy hands—yes, blood, blood, blood!
Thy"
I was thankful to close the door upon her cries.
I went in search of Xorah and Claude, and was
greeted by the sound of lively conversation and gay
laughter when I reached the basement hall. I
paused a moment before entering the kitchen, when
I discovered not only that the voices of the speakers
were strange to me but that the conversation was in
French. As I hesitated, surprised, a man came out
of the kitchen. Seeing me he approached and asked
what I wished. He was a stranger, yet seemed at
home.
"I am Mademoiselle Derohan," I said in French,
he having used that language.
"Yes, Mademoiselle," bowing respectfully. "Mad-
emoiselle seeks her femme de chambre, perhaps?
Mathilde is already upstairs."
He looked at me with evident, but respectful,
curiosity. Unwilling to ask questions I thanked him,
as though I had learned what I wished, and went
slowly up the staircase. As I opened the door at its
top he re-entered the kitchen, and I heard him ex-
claim:
I have seen her! Beautiful as an angel!
»
I closed the door swiftly and noiselessly behind
me. From Madam's room came the sound of sing-
ing. I knew Philip had quieted her, since he was
lulling her to sleep with her favorite song, the "Ade-
laide," and I sat down in the hall to wait for him.
He must explain the absence of Claude. When he
came he looked weary, almost haggard, but seeing
me his face brightened.
"Asleep," he said, in answer to my questioning
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
glance. "Asleep and comfortable. A sad home-
coming for you, you tender-hearted child, but I have
something in my desk that may cheer you."
The color swept into my cheeks. So a letter from
Dick had come! Philip did not offer to fetch it, and
I did not like to ask him to.
"It is good to have you back again, Athena," tak-
ing my hand in his and patting it in fatherly fash-
ion. "I missed our fair little girl more than I can.
say. Maman and I may well hope young Thorpe
will remain away his full two months."
I rose, withdrawing my hand.
"It is time to dress for dinner."
"I suppose it is, child, but Frangois will beat a
warning tattoo on the gong. Let us wait for him.
No?"—as I did not sit down—"You won't stay?
Ah, it's the letter you want! Come to the library,
then."
He unlocked his desk and gave me my letter.
"Philip."
"Yes, Athena! It is the only one. Not that?
What is it you wish, child?"
"Who is Frangois, and where is Claude?"
"Frangois, my dear, is the new butler. Claude, as
you call him, has sought other worlds to conquer.
Why do you look so astonished? Dear me, child, I
forgot you might expect me to write you of the
change in our household brigade! The truth is, I
can't always remember your absurd notions about
your duties here. Your real duty is to make others
happy by being so yourself. Are you just a little bit
happy, daughter of my friend?"
I was too much distressed by his news to answer
his nonsense.
"All gone, Philip? Norah—all the others,
gone?"
"Yes," he said, shortly, as if vexed by my man-
259


XXVI
A three days' storm followed our return to the
Hall. Philip remained at home Saturday as well as
Sunday, and, having no men stopping with him,
wished me to play billiards with him, to listen while
he read aloud or sang—in short, to give him all the
time spent out of Madam's room. In return he
took me to church on Sunday in spite of the storm.
It was with a sigh of relief that I saw him leave for
town on Monday morning. I was weary of serving
two masters.
At five that afternoon Madam bade me go for a
walk. The rain had stopped, but from the looks of
the heavy clouds might be expected to recommence
at any moment.
"A hang-dog expression does not become thee,"
said Madam, rudely. "Go exorcise it away. Philip
will wish to see thee smile on his return. He is a
fool. All men are fools. Fools and devils by turn!"
I did not like to leave her. The sky was lower-
ing, depressing. I tried to excuse myself from go-
ing, and was informed that I was conceited, imagin-
ing myself of too great importance.
"Pray, how did we exist before we saw thy face,
miss?" she inquired, with intense scorn. "A beau-
tiful face, but not clever. A marble girl would have
as much intelligence as thou! Good, yes—but dull!
No spirits, no gayety, no conversation! The men
have spoiled thee with their admiration; but from
me, an old woman, learn the truth. Thou art ex-
261


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
quisite, but — of—a—dulness—most—wearisome!!
Go walk, keep thy beauty! It is all thou hast!"
I obeyed.
The garden proved too depressing; ragged, for-
lorn, after the scourging of the storm. I then tried
the wood-path, which one might always expect to
find dismal and so feel the changes of wind and
weather less. As I walked under its heavy, wet
canopy of branches drops of water pattered down.
My feet slipped on the soaked mosses covering the
narrow path. Tree-trunks, undergrowth—all seemed
to exude dampness and slime.
I had expected to feel pleasure at revisiting the
rustic bench where Dick had told me what I liked
so much to hear, but instead of pleasure I found
only memories of Cray lurking, a furtive listener,
in the thick woods. A presentiment of evil took pos-
session of me. In vain I reminded myself of Dick's
cheerful letter. I shivered; vague, shadowy, the
odd dread lingered. To shake it off the better I
walked hurriedly on. Then I heard someone com-
ing along the path behind me. I glanced back. No
one was in sight. As I had stopped to look the foot-
steps had ceased. Thinking I was mistaken I went
on. The stealthy tread recommenced. Again I
stood still. Not a sound. I walked on. The per-
son followed. It was like the child's game, "Fol-
low my leader."
Annoyed, for the person behind me was between
me and home—more than half a mile distant—I
hastened onward; but as fast as I went—I almost
ran—my unseen companion kept pace. Bitterly re-
penting my folly in choosing the lonely path I tried
to decide what was best to do. Should I go on into
the meadow and make a bold dash across it to the
highroad, or follow the path skirting the wall to the
lodge, where I might claim the protection of surly
262


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
Pat, who had not been dismissed with the other
servants? I chose the latter course, but was unable
to keep to it. My pursuer, taking advantage of a
curve in the path which served to screen him, had
gained on me, was so near I could hear his heavy
breathing. The door in the wall was now but a few
feet away. With my heart beating like a trip-ham-
mer, the remembrance of all the horrid stories I had
heard of tramps surging through my brain, I seized
the knob. The door was locked.
This untoward discovery restored my courage. I
had no longer to think, to decide, but to act. Sud-
denly cool I placed my back against the wall and
turned to confront—Frangois!
Yes, Frangois! The new butler! Big, broad-
shouldered, much out of breath, greatly embar-
rassed, Claude's successor stood sheepishly before
me. I had much ado not to laugh, so absurd seemed
my flight from Madam's messenger.
"Had I known it was you I should have waited,
Frangois," I said, smiling. "What is your message?"
"Message, Mademoiselle? I have none."
I did not like his face; he had shifty eyes, a sly
expression. I looked at him, surprised by his an-
swer.
"Then what do you wish?"
"Nothing, Mademoiselle." The shifty eyes
sought the ground.
"You are out for a walk, perhaps," I said,
haughtily. "Pray continue it—at once."
He did not move. I grew indignant.
"Explain yourself, Frangois! Your conduct is
strange, to say the least. Why do you remain here
when I desire you to go on? Answer, please."
"I have to obey orders, Mademoiselle."
"Whose, pray?"
"Monsieur's."
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"What are Monsieur's orders?" I asked, sternly.
"To follow Mademoiselle," was the surprising an-
swer.
"To follow me secretly?"
"Yes, Mademoiselle." Then, seeing my look of
incredulity, of suspicion, even, he added, "Monsieur
said Mademoiselle preferred to walk unattended,
must not know that I followed, and it has been dif-
ficult—yes, of a difficulty extreme, impossible!" He
wiped his face on a large silk handkerchief. "The
roads are new to me, to-day of a wetness terrible.
Mademoiselle walks now rapidly, now slowly, some-
times stops! Mathilde was to have come with me,
but feared the damp! A cat, Mathilde!" He shot
a sideways glance at me from his narrow eyes. "Will
it please Mademoiselle to resume her promenade?"
I turned without a word and followed the path un-
der the wall to the lodge and entrance gates. Since
last seeing them the open-work iron of these gates
had been planked over. One could no longer look
out upon the high road. It struck me as a disagree-
able change, and I wondered why it had been made.
As I stood there surly Pat limped from the lodge.
His unpleasant face wore an expression of evil en-
joyment. Greeting him civilly, I questioned him
about the new arrangement. He looked at me
closely, his little eyes sparkling with malignancy,
and, rubbing his hands, said:
"We be goin' to keep intruders out! We be goin'
to keep in what's in, an' have no pokin's, nor pry-
in's, nor meddlin's with what's our own! Them as
won't stay shut out an' locked out we'll shoot out!
Them's my orders."
As he finished speaking there came the quick
tramp of a horse's hoofs outside and the cry of
"Gate!" It was Philip on Captain Kidd. Both
horse and rider were plastered with mud.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"What a pleasant surprise!" cried Philip, dis-
mounting. "Listen to the Captain whinny! He is
as glad as I."
"When did you come home?" I asked, stroking the
Captain's velvety nose. "I did not know the carriage
had gone for you."
"Shortly after luncheon. I stopped the carriage
at the stables. I didn't wish to be heard." He hesi-
tated, then said, "The truth is, my familiar—the
devil I told you of—broke loose to-day and took pos-
session."
"Yes?"
"Oh, he drove me home"—with an odd laugh—
"though I fought him all the way. It wasn't till I
got him on Captain Kidd and tore for miles through
mud and mire that I mastered him."
I looked at Philip curiously. His handsome face
bore the traces of recent excitement.
"You are pleased to speak in parables," I said at
last; "but where has my watch-dog gone?"
Frangois had vanished.
"You take your turn, Athena! What may 'watch-
dog' mean?"
"Frangois—who watches and dogs my footsteps."
"Ah, the clumsy fool!" exclaimed Philip, a deep
flush showing through his tan. "So he has bungled!
I wished you to feel free, yet to be guarded, Athena.
An unpleasant affair has lately occurred in the woods
near Droneton. Ladies must not go unattended. I
know Frangois to be strong and resolute. I thought
him clever enough to follow, yet to keep out of sight."
"Is that why the gates are kept locked?"
"Meaning the doors in the boundary walls? Yes,
Athena. You don't object, my child?"
"No."
"You don't look upon me as your jailer, Athena?"
I smiled. His language was so often high-flown.
265


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"I see no keys dangling from your belt, Philip."
His lips parted as if he were about to answer, but
instead he reclosed them firmly and looked away.
"Is Mr. St. John barred out?"
"Along with the other tramps, you would say?
No. Mr. Beverley owns the door in the north wall
as well as I. Randal has a key."
It seemed a ridiculous proceeding to me. This
locking up of the three entrances when the river-
front was unfenced and free. Tramps might enter
as easily as before and skulk through the woods un-
seen. The railroad-track was always their high-
road from town to town. I determined not to forget
Don in future, much preferring him to Fran§ois.
As I walked with Philip along the avenue it
seemed like following some tunnel underground.
"We might have been entering a mine. There was
nothing grand in its gloom. Its trees were too
weedy. Lank and green, after their beating by the
storm, they reminded me of lean, slimy reptiles.
Unconsciously I hastened my pace.
"Don't hurry so," remonstrated Philip. "It's
pleasant here under the trees."
I thought it might have been, for a frog.
"Are you attached to this place, to Highgrove,
Philip?"
"No," he said, slowly, "not attached to it, but it
suits me in many ways. Maman, you know, desires
to lead a retired life, and I like to live where I can
do what I choose without the annoyance of grum-
bling neighbors. Here no one may sit, telescope at
eye, watching my household."
"Only old Mr. Beverley," I said, smiling. "His
library windows command the upper stories of the
Hall."
Philip stared at me oddly for a moment, then said,
as if I had not spoken:
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"Maman will be pleased that I have at last done
as she wished in regard to the entrance. She was
nervous whenever she looked through the bars. Yet
she may affect surprise when she hears they are cov-
ered! The planking hurts the appearance of the
gates, but if it quiets her it don't matter. Pauvre
petite maman!"
The first time Madam saw the gates she did ap-
pear surprised.
"del!" she cried. "What does this mean? Ami
to see nothing after my weary crawl through this
mouldy avenue, save surly Pat? Here, pull off those
boards, you Frangois! Randal, lend him your aid!
I will see out—I will, I will, I will!"
Randal, our companion as usual, tried to soothe
her.
"Dear me!" he exclaimed. "I wonder at your
getting mad with Erranti when he's paying you the
prettiest kind of a compliment!"
"A compliment?" said Madam. "If you're not
quite a fool, young Randal, perhaps you'll explain
your meaning—that is, if you mean anything, which
you rarely do!" Then, in a loud aside to me, "You
do right to despise this imbecile! He is naught but
a lean bundle of rags and affectation!" Randal
grinned. "Eh bien, eh Men" impatiently, "the com-
pliment in those ugly boards? Explain, explain—
and quickly!"
"Why, you see," he drawled, "when a man loves
a woman he wants to guard her from envious eyes,
to keep her all to himself, to keep other fellows from
having a chance, to"
"Hold your tongue, sir!" said the old lady, im-
periously. "You are not only a fool, but an im-
pertinent one!"
"Dear Madam Erranti," at last he spoke seri-
ously, "forgive my nonsense! Sometimes my tongue
'267


XXVII
That last day in October was Friday—a lovely
day; not cold, but with just enough frost in the air
to give it crispness. The morning ride had been
lengthened out until Philip nearly lost his train, yet
it had been all too short for me.
"It's a pity you must pass this perfect day in
town," I said, as he lifted me from my saddle.
"I may be able to finish work in a couple of hours,
child. If so, I shall return at once. The question
now is, shall I catch this train?" and, laughing, he
hurried away.
Madam was too much absorbed in the finishing
of a new gown for me to care about the glory out-
side. Julie and Mathilde, harried by their task-
mistress, worked with such a will that at noon they
drew out the last basting-thread, with loud sighs of
relief.
"Vite, ma belle!" cried Madam. "I die with
anxiety to see thee in it. Julie, Mathilde, assist
Mademoiselle! Vite, vite, vite!"
It was a pretty gown, of white serge, trimmed
about throat and waist with swan's-down. The cut
was severe, and a long cloak of the same serge—
with a great hood like a nun's—was made to go with
it. The moment I put it on Madam vowed she
would go for an airing, and I must walk beside her
in my new apparel. When we returned to the
house she went to her room, while I, my morning
duties over, sat down on the veranda steps to enjoy
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
the sunshine. I had hardly done so before I saw
someone running toward me up the avenue. It
proved to be a nephew of surly Pat's, a hobble-de-
hoy of fifteen, who filled the old man's place at the
lodge on the rare occasions of his absence. He came
up at a steady trot, and, jerking the brim of his cap
in salutation, said:
"A lady and gentleman at the gate to see you,
Miss. They sez will you hurry, please."
Without waiting for an answer he turned and
skurried away as rapidly as he had come. Wonder-
ing who my visitors could be I walked swiftly down
the avenue. Mrs. Spuyten? Impossible. Since ac-
knowledging my last check she had made no sign.
Suddenly I thought of my Long Island friends, the
Welborns. Had they come up to town for a few
days sightseeing and remembered me? This pleas-
ant idea turned my walk into a run, and bitter in-
deed was my disappointment when, upon passing
through the gates into the high road, I was con-
fronted by Mr. Von Schlange.
His flashy turnout, a high buggy drawn by two
showily harnessed bays, was drawn up across the
wide curve made by the gates with their flanking
walls and pillars. Surly Pat's nephew stood by the
horses' heads. In the buggy, the top of which was
thrown back, sat a little fair-haired woman, in the
gayest of costumes. Altogether this group, which
met my eyes as I emerged from between the great
pillars of the gateway, astonished me as much as
might a cage of wild beasts introduced as an orna-
ment in Madam's room. I stared without remem-
bering to bow for a full minute, then bent my head
slowly and coldly in acknowledgment of their un-
welcome presence, and stood waiting to learn their
errand.
The little person in the wagon was very pretty,
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
and might have been still more so had her silks and
velvets and immense cart-wheel hat—a style much
in vogue that year—been of a less aggressive shade
of blue. Her cheeks were very pink, her hair very
yellow—a gay little figure in the brilliant sunshine
of high noon! She returned my perhaps too steady
gaze defiantly, yet seemed ill at ease, biting her lips
or screwing them into different shapes. I saw that
she was not a gentlewoman. Von Schlange stood di-
viding his glances between his companion and me,
watching us with undisguised amusement, but giv-
ing no sign of having sent purposely for me. Weary-
ing of my strange position I said, icily:
"I see there has been a mistake in the delivering
of your message to me, Mr. Von Schlange. It was
probably intended for Mr. Erranti. I will let him
know that you were here."
I bowed, including the woman in my salute, and
turned to re-enter the gate, but Mr. Von Schlange
had found his tongue.
"One moment"—his tones were silky—"no mis-
take has been made. It was you, and you only,
beautiful Miss—Dean?—whom I wished to see. I
had a longing to bring about a meeting between the
Past—and Present! Both charming—yet how dif-
ferent in face, figure, and—manner! My sole won-
der is that a man who has taste enough to admire
both styles"
"Oh, do be quiet, Von Schlange," the little woman
cried out sharply. "I half believe you've fooled me
after all!"
That I might see and hear better I pushed back
the heavy cowl that hung about my face. It slipped
off my braids, falling around my throat; yet clearer
vision and hearing failed to help me understand
Von Schlange's words or his friend's interruption.
Veiled insult in his manner froze me into haughty
271


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
silence. It was for them to explain themselves. The
woman, staring in an eager, questioning way, as if
I possessed some secret which she longed to make
her own, soon spoke again.
"I wish I hadn't come! Don't say anything more,
Von Schlange, please. Let's get away back to town.
Oh, do come!"
"Hold your tongue!" cried the man, roughly. "I
swore I'd introduce you two, and, by God, I'll keep
my word! Miss Dean—if that's the name you choose
to go by"
"Hush, hush, Von Schlange. Oh, do hush! You
have made a mistake, and—someone is coming!"
He laughed insultingly.
"Pooh, pooh, my dear," looking insolently at me,
although answering his companion. "Have you
never seen a whitened sepulchre before? Come,
then, let me"
But the little woman had been right, someone was
coming, nay, had come. Before he had time to fin-
ish his speech Philip galloped up, followed by his
faithful henchman, Cray.
Philip's face was white under its tan—white with
fury. He rushed his horse at Von Schlange, and,
stooping from the saddle, seized him by the collar,
dragged him a few yards distant from where I stood,
slipped lightly to the ground without once relin-
quishing his iron grasp, raised his heavy riding-crop
high in air and brought it down with tremendous
force across Von Schlange's shoulders. Again and
again it rose and fell with the regularity of a flail
on the threshing-floor. Von Schlange, writhing un-
der the heavy blows, cursed aloud in his anger. A
strong man, broad, his neck like a bull's—his
strength availed him nothing. Philip was as though
possessed by a demon. His face ghastly, his tightly
pressed lips flecked with foam, and eyes like burning
272


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
coals, he beat Von Schlange as though he would beat
him to death.
Captain Kidd, riderless, affrighted by the sound
of blows, trotted snorting through the open gate in
the direction of the stables, Cray in pursuit. The
horses before the buggy plunged and reared; the
boy was too fully employed in holding them to in-
terfere, even had he dared, in Von Schlange's be-
half. The little fair woman, shrieking, wringing her
hands, called to Philip in piteous accents to have
mercy. Apparently he did not hear.
I stood quite still, watching the man who had
nearly killed my mare experiencing the torture he
had forced her—gentle, dumb creature—to undergo.
I felt no pity, but a cold satisfaction in seeing justice
administered. But for the fierce grip on his collar
he would have fallen. Blood streamed from his
face, which had been cut in several places. He
groaned and panted from exhaustion, but Philip's
strength and fury seemed undiminished.
The woman in the buggy cried to me for help. I
did not answer. She sprang from the wagon and
flung herself at my feet.
"Are you of stone?" she sobbed, clutching at my
gown, clinging to it as she knelt. "Are you alive,
that you stand by and see a man killed without a
sound? Save him! Don't let Erranti murder him
outright! I see he wronged you—he was a fool—
blind! You are a lady—a beautiful, good, young
lady, but don't let Erranti punish him to death! He's
killing him now—a word from you would stop him.
Have you no pity?"
I unfastened her fingers from my gown. She fell
back, sobbing that she knew she was not fit to touch
me, but that I was "Cruel! Cruel!"
"Get into the wagon," I said, gently. "Take the
reins. You can drive?"
273


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
effect. I was sorry for him. Philip, disbelieving
him, threatened to turn him over to Surly Pat to be
searched. Then, thrusting his hand into the bosom
of his shirt, the terror-stricken creature drew out a
crumpled mass of bills. Philip, smoothing them out,
counted—ten dollars.
"You were well paid," he said, grimly. "Now
place this money before that lady. At her feet, but
not too near." Whitefaced, sullen, the boy obeyed.
"Take these matches"—giving his silver match-box
—"and light that dirty paper."
With trembling fingers the boy struck one and
touched it to the desire of his greedy soul. The
money caught fire, crackled gayly, shot up tiny
tongues of flame, and shrivelled into ashes. Looking
from his haggard face to the flecks of burned-out
paper at my feet I realized that I had witnessed a
tragedy.
"Beg Miss Derohan's pardon for the discomfort
she has suffered through your fault," said Philip, im-
periously.
The lad's pinched lips moved, but I heard no
sound. Stooping, I laid my hand gently on his awk-
ward shoulder.
"You did not mean to pain me, I am sure." I
spoke very gently, for I pitied him. "I hope Mr.
Erranti may not tell your uncle," and I asked Philip
to pardon him then and there.
Poor, stupid, hobble-de-hoy! He burst into noisy
blubbering, and, scrambling to his feet, slunk away
into the lodge.
Philip smiled at me strangely.
"For your sweet sake I will keep his secret," he
said. "Pat sha'n't hear of his bad faith—from me.
Now, come home, Athena."
We left the sunny world outside the gates and
entered the long aisle of shadows. I expected to
275


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
unbuttoned and hanging loosely back. No, he
strolled along by my side as though we were out
for a morning walk, admired my new gown and
cloak, commented on the charm of the day, and bade
me notice what a fine bonfire we should have later
when more leaves had fallen. It was only when, in
sight of the house, he saw Randal on the veranda,
that he asked me suddenly if Pat's nephew was pres-
ent during my interview with Yon Schlange.
"Yes."
"Did he hear what was said, Athena?"
"If he chose to listen."
"Thank you," said Philip; and in another moment
was greeting Randal cordially, inviting him to lunch-
eon.
"Thanks awfully, old chap!" said Randal, loung-
ing down the steps to meet us. "Oh, I say, what's
up? Gore on your manly bosom! Yet no blood in
your eye! Your look as mild as a Baa, Baa, Black
Sheep can look! What's he been a doin' of, Miss
Derohan? The Saint George and Dragon act, in
your honor? Come on, Macduff? I'll buckler thee
agin a million—that sort of thing?"
"I cut my hand," said Philip shortly, running up
the steps and into the house. "I'll be with you again
directly."
"How sad!" drawled Randal, wagging his head.
"Cut his poor dear hand! How careless of you, you
giddy girl! You had oughter take care of that good
little boy when he goes out day-day with you!"
Then, suddenly dropping into his ordinary voice and
manner, "That's about the biggest lie Erranti's ever
got off on me. Will you tell me who he's been slay-
ing this time? No, you won't? Then never mind.
I'll find out for myself. Do you know, Miss De-
rohan, I can imagine you turning your pretty white
thumb down, in the gladiator fights of old. You
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
belong to that period of the world's history. How
you came alive again in this century I can't guess,
but I'm sure some morning Erranti'll wake to find
you a marble statue again!"
In the evening Philip asked if I felt any the worse
for my disagreeable experience. Such a thing should
never happen again—which I believed, knowing Von
Schlange had no desire for death!
"I have heard all that took place before I rode
up," said Philip, slowly. "I am at a loss to under-
stand Von Schlange's motive in coming to see you.
I can't imagine what he wanted—can you?"
His eyes were fixed upon me as though he wished
to read my inmost thoughts. I spoke them aloud.
"Then why were you so angry?"
A dark red suffused his handsome face.
"I saw you felt insulted," he explained. "Von
Schlange had no right to come here. I had forbid-
den him the house. I knew he was making himself
obnoxious, and my temper rose."
"Did you know his friend?"
"No."
"She was a pretty little thing," I said, meaning no
harm.
Philip sprang to his feet as though I had struck
him.
"For God's sake, Athena, don't talk about her!"
He spoke with great violence. I was startled, and
more perplexed than before.
"There, forgive me, child," he said, more quietly.
"I confess that man's insolence has upset me com-
pletely. If you had but let me kill the viper out-
right I should be at ease. I can't bear to think that
a thing so full of venom should be still alive!"
"Forget him," I said, soothingly. "Had you mur-
dered him you would now be in hiding down cellar,
while I provisioned the yacht for an ocean trip!"
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
but my view northward was gone. The two win-
dows left free were overshadowed by the knoll which
ran behind the house.
I missed my outlook toward Beverley Towers—
missed the light that shone every evening from the
windows of Mr. Beverley's library. I had liked to
think of Richard's uncle ensconced before the fire,
book in hand. A comfortable, neighborly glimmer
of lamps in the early autumnal twilight, I had felt
a friend was near. I even ventured to grumble a
little to Philip, to regret my lost view, to mention
the cheerful glow in the distance. He showed such
pain at my disapproval of his arrangements for my
"comfort"—as he called it—that I let the matter
drop, resigning myself to the inevitable.
He was very kind in providing me with good maps
on which I might follow Dick's journeyings, and
brought me all the books on Russia—novels in-
cluded—that he could find. The romances he read
aloud. Often it was nearly midnight before I re-
membered to put away my embroidery and say
"good-night!"
Since Dick's going he had shown a never-flagging
interest in him and his affairs—so kindly an inter-
est I wrote to Dick and told him, thinking it would
set his fears at rest. Indeed, when a letter came the
last week in October saying that Dick was just start-
ing for a long trip northward—to visit an out-of-
the-way estate belonging to his client — Philip
startled me by an exclamation of alarm:
"How rash!"—then made matters worse by trying
to mend them. "Don't look so frightened, child!
I don't know what I meant, I'm sure. Travelling
there is, doubtless, as safe as here. If winter should
set in early—probably it won't this year—what harm
can come to Mr. Thorpe in a well-warmed railway
car? I take one twice a day!" smiling reassuringly.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
was thought to be a case of glanders, and because
of the contagious nature of the disease I was not
allowed to ride or drive. A wholly unnecessary pre-
'caution, I thought. The sick horse was quaran-
tined, the others perfectly well. Philip used them
as usual, and on Sunday the servants were sent to
church. When I pointed this out to Philip he
laughed at himself for being, perhaps, over-careful,
but would not yield his point.
"It is a very deceitful disease, Athena," he per-
sisted. "The best vet can't always be sure a horse
isn't developing it. As contagious, too, as the
measles. Dogs can't catch it, they say, so I don't
forbid Don the stables."
"I doubt if 'Jim Crow' really has it," I hazarded,
being an obstinate person. "You know you are not
sure, Philip."
At this he looked very grave.
"My dear little woman," he said, "you must let
me judge for you in this matter. I am answerable
to Mr. Thorpe for your health and safety. During
his absence I run no risks."
So I remained shut in behind the high walls of
the park. Philip never remembered to make the
inquiries for me, and was so uncomfortable when
reminded of his forgetfulness I disliked speaking to
him on the subject. Pride forbade my asking Ran-
dal about Richard. I dreaded his slow, contemptu-
ous smile, his sneering drawl. Often, too, I caught
him watching me stealthily. Sometimes I won-
dered if he had guessed my relationship to his
cousin and was enjoying hiding ill-tidings from me.
Never, in his long chats with Madam, did he men-
tion Richard's name, and she seemed glad to have
him forgotten. Nemesis still flashed upon Randal's
hand, so I knew he had kept the secret of his gam-
bling from Mr. Beverley. He lost so constantly, so
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
heavily, that I wondered where he got the money
with which to play, for debts of honor must be paid.
November crawled slowly away. Philip had be-
gun to treat me with the air of tender pity one shows
to a wounded creature. The servants were subdued
in manner when they waited upon me, as if awed
by the secret knowledge of some great misfortune.
Madam alone was the same as ever—kind and af-
fectionate, peevish and selfish by turn. I kept my
trouble from passing the threshold of her door. I
was accustomed to suffering alone. I would do so
to the end, please God.
"How thin thou art growing, my child," said
Madam, "how very thin! It is not unbecoming—no,
making thee look more spiritual even than before.
Still, I like it not! Yesterday, when all ate so much,
so much—on Thanksgiving Day all are pigs, Athena
—thou didst eat nothing! Oh, I saw! And Philip,
he was anxious. He said nothing, but he noticed!
It is the weather. How may one have appetite in
this eternal gloom? To-day is the last of this hateful
month of rain. I am glad. It does well to end with
a Friday. The last day of unlucky weather let us
hope!"
"December may enter gayly," I said. "The sun
may shine to-morrow, dear Madam."
"Did we read those hateful newspapers, you and
I, we should know their guess-work for to-morrow!
Better not. We have too much sense; I have, that
is, for thou art dull, Athena, to read their sheets of
horror. Dreadful murders, horrid accidents—how
now, child? Thy face flushes strangely—thou art
not ill, ma bien-aimee?"
I was not ill. Well might she call me dull.
Never once had I thought to search the papers for
news of Dick. Had an accident occurred, one of
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
cealed. Their ill-judged kindness was driving me
mad.
The day was very dreary. The first snow of the
winter had come. Great wet flakes fell, sadly, un-
willinglyj as though aware they left Heaven for a
death-bed on the sodden Earth. Most of them
melted as they touched the ground; but so many fol-
lowed, and for so long, that by and by enough re-
mained to give the world the appearance of being
wrapped in a dirty shroud. Not until I was ready
to start on my pilgrimage—late in the afternoon—
did I recollect that the door in the wall was locked
and that Frangois had the key. When I rang for
him and asked for it, he vowed he had mislaid it.
Pretending despair over his carelessness, he over-
whelmed himself with bitter denunciations.
"A pig! An imbecile!" he cried, flinging out his
arms. "I detest myself for my stupidity! Wait,
dear Mademoiselle, till Monsieur returns. Monsieur
has duplicate keys of everything, as Mademoiselle
knows. See, it is already five o'clock. At six Mon-
sieur returns. But one little hour to wait!"
Since Frangois refused me I knew there would be
the same result if I applied to Surly Pat. "One lit-
tle hour!" as Francois had said. After a month of
waiting surely I might endure that long. But at
six there came only a telegram. Philip would re-
turn at nine, bringing a party of friends. I schooled
myself to wait quietly until then, endeavoring to
follow the routine of living, as usual. After all, I
might only be imagining Giants of Despair. Philip
might have good news for me—at last.
"The dinner does not please Mademoiselle?"
I was at table, but could not eat.
"An excellent dinner, Frangois."
"A spoonful of soup! A morsel of bread! And
Mademoiselle says the dinner pleases! But that is
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
impossible!" He flung out both hands in a gesture
of disapproval and despair.
"I am not hungry, Frangois."
"And Monsieur? What shall I say when he in-
quires? Every evening it is, 'Did Mile. Derohan eat
a good luncheon, Francois?' Of late it is always,
'jSTo, Monsieur!' that I must say. Monsieur then
grows angry. He swears I am a fool, a pig of a
Frenchman! That I will do well to select a menu
more to Mademoiselle's taste—else, he will do me
harm!"
"I will tell Monsieur that the fault is with my
lack of appetite, Frangois."
He shook his head, unappeased.
"An angry man—mat's, que voulez-vous? He is
enraged. I, Frangois, am near. Voild tout!"
At eight o'clock I heard someone stamping the
snow from his boots on the veranda steps. Look-
ing from Madam's private door I saw Frangois ad-
mit Randal St. John. Madam bade me entertain
him until Philip came home. She was tired and
wished to go to bed. I would gladly have avoided
seeing him, but Madam was not to be disobeyed.
I went to meet him along the veranda, through
whose glass wall I could see the whitened avenue
and the swirl of descending snowflakes. Randal was
covered with snow, and as I approached nearer,
stepping softly on the thick rugs under the palm
trees, I thought his face rivalled it in whiteness.
Frangois's shifty eyes saw me first. As he helped
Randal remove his coat he whispered something cau-
tiously. Randal started, looked up hastily. Our
eyes met. The expression in his startled me. Was
it—fear? Then he smiled, advancing to greet me
with outstretched hand, but his eyes avoided mine.
"May I speak to you alone, Miss Derohan? I
have come on purpose through all this storm."
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
Without a word I led him toward the library, but,
stopping me with a gesture of dissent, we turned
into the drawing-room. This room, with its "rouge
et noir" table, was in readiness for Philip and his
guests. A fire glowed in the grate, and many lamps
were lighted. I motioned Randal to be seated. I
had no words at my command. His expression told
me the nature of his errand. He did not sit down,
and I, standing by the green table, laid my hand on
it for support. What cruel turn was Fortune about
to play me in the awful game of chance called Life?
A long silence fell between us. It seemed im-
possible for the pale young man standing facing me
to speak. He moistened his dry lips in vain. In
the midst of my own agony I felt pity for him, made
a great effort, and broke the silence myself.
"I am sorry you must go through this for me.
You bring bad news of—your cousin?"
"Yes."
His face was ashen, his lips twitched, his eyes
wandered everywhere, avoiding mine. I waited. A
long moment dragged slowly past. I could endure
no longer. I begged him to tell all.
"Don't keep me in suspense," I pleaded. "I am
strong—I can bear anything save that. He is ill?
He is—dead? Oh, for God's sake, speak!"
"There has been an accident—" Again he moist-
ened his lips. He spoke hoarsely, as if his throat,
too, were dry. "I guessed long ago, Miss Derohan,
how things were between—between my—my cousin
and you. I thought you ought to be told. Erranti
refused—said I must do it. I only knew two weeks
ago—only became sure then, I mean. A cable an-
nounced it early in the month. Good God! don't
look at me like that!"
He covered his eyes with his hand.
"Don't torture me—he is dead?"
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"Yes," was the fierce answer, " he is. No doubt
left. We have had the account verified. He was
travelling in a carriage—or sledge—I forget which.
They had to cross a river—they thought the ice
thick enough to bear them. It proved too thin—
the whole affair broke through. They say his
body can't be recovered till spring—perhaps not
then"
His pitiless words seemed to come from a great
distance. A black mist swung up and down before
my eyes. Through it I saw the walls of the room
retreating suddenly, and, as suddenly, closing in
upon me where I stood. A sound as of the roaring
of a cataract filled my ears—the air grew hot to suf-
focation. My numbed brain held but one idea—I
must somehow reach my room and be alone. The
door seemed very far away. Randal, hastening to
open it for me, was speaking, for his lips moved;
but because of the strange noise that filled all space
I did not hear his words. I had difficulty in cross-
ing the hall. It had widened unaccountably; the
staircase, leaning forward over me, was hard to
climb; but I reached my room at last, bolted the
door with clumsy, slow fingers, and turning away
fell heavily upon the floor, dead, for a time, to the
misery of my narrowed life.
When I regained consciousness, returning with
deep sighs and a sensation of sickness to a knowl-
edge of what was going on about me, my first
thought was of my failure to gain solitude. It was
with despair that I found Julie's dark face close
above mine. Thinking aloud, I said:
"I bolted the door!"
"She is herself again, Monsieur. You may re-
turn to ces messieurs without delay. Have no fear
—all is well."
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
Philip, anxious, alarmed, was standing at the foot
of the lounge upon which they had placed me. My
face and throat were wet and cold from the water
they had used too plentifully. There was a strong
smell of aromatic vinegar in the air. Another mo-
ment and Philip, motioning Julie aside, had lifted
me deftly from my pillows and held a wine-glass to
my lips. I stared dully at him, wondering. Then,
with a sharp pang, I remembered. I tried to push
him away, begging to be left alone.
"I bolted the door," I wailed. "Oh, how did you
get in!"
"It was ajar, my pet," he spoke soothingly, ca-
ressingly. "I will go when you have taken this.
There, drink it quickly, my darling, my Athena, my
own poor child, and no one shall worry you longer."
In desperate haste to be rid of my tormentors I
drained the glass. The liquid had a stale, sweet
taste, most unpleasant to me; but it was not long
before I fell under the influence of the drug and
slept. When I woke, in the early dawn, Julie was
still beside me.
"I am here instead of your own maid, Mad-
emoiselle," she said, "because of an accident. Ma-
thilde fears Mademoiselle's anger, she says. An
accident truly, but of a stupidity difficult to compre-
hend! To save the cross of pearls from the water,
with which we were obliged to revive Mademoiselle,
I ventured to remove it. In her desire to be of use,
nervous through anxiety, Mathilde grew clumsy—
yes, I grieve to tell it, she dropped and trod upon the
pearls! Then, fearing Mademoiselle's wrath, she
gathered up hastily chain and all and—poor foolish
one—sought to conceal her misfortune by burning
what remained. Yes, Mademoiselle, in the kitchen
range!"
I sent her my forgiveness, promising to keep the
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
affair a secret. If she felt regret she showed none,
and a few days later was guilty of another piece of
carelessness that cost me dear. In lighting my
lamps she set fire to the window-curtain near my
desk. Frangois, running to help, wrenched off the
top of the desk to save my valuables! Seeing noth-
ing save a bundle of letters he left them, and turned
his attention at last to the curtain. Bits of the burn-
ing lace dropped into the open desk, and Richard's
letters were destroyed. I had nothing left.
Dear little Madam. Had she been my mother
she could not have shown me greater sympathy in
the sad months which followed. I hope I was all to
her that a daughter might have been. I know I
loved her dearly. Philip did his best—in his way—
to console me, to teach me to forget. He could not
know that this lesson was one impossible for me to
learn. Mr. Beverley ignored me. No word of sym-
pathy came from Beverley Towers, no mention of
the sealed letter was made. If Dick had left one in
his uncle's keeping he made no sign. I wished to
write and inquire, but Philip hinting—very deli-
cately—that its contents probably related to money,
my pride arose and I kept silence. Then I learned
that Mr. Beverley, with Randal as companion, had
gone South for the winter.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
Philip was careless of his servants' comfort. I
thought Cray hardly used, and determined to say so.
"Well, my Princess!" cried Philip, coming to meet
me as I entered the dining-room. "Are you pleased
with the toilet Dame Nature has made in your
honor? Ah, but you rival her, in that shimmering,
glistening gown! Watered silk, you call it? It is
charming! You have your wraps—a walk after
breakfast?"
"Yes," I said, smiling at his notice of my finery.
"I want to look up at the sky through these ice-
branches."
"Before the sun has had time to melt them? So
you shall, my child! The avenue will be good
enough under foot. I will go with you."
"Aren't you going to town?" I asked, surprised.
"How can I, with that man ill upstairs? I don't
believe there's much the matter, but I don't like
to leave him alone all day. I shall go to Droneton
directly after breakfast to do some telegraphing."
He laughed, adding, "I expect to find the station full
of the fools who would start for the early train.
The rails must be in a frightful condition under this
load of ice."
"And Cray, Philip, how is he?"
"I don't know," frowning. "I can't imagine what
lazy devil has entered into him! He's apparently
no more sick than I; but when I order him to
get up he turns green, and shakes as if with ague.
Julie is really frightened. She treats my suggestion
that he's only shamming with horror—as if I were
a monster of inhumanity. The deuce is in the pair
of them, and a precious pair they are!"
"I'll run in for a look at him by and by."
"You'll do nothing of the kind, Athena," cried
Philip, in alarm. "I positively forbid it! The fool
may have caught some contagious disease—or be
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
about to fall ill of a fever! There, I don't mean to
speak harshly, my pet, but pray keep with maman.
Leave Cray to his wife's care."
"Very well, Philip," I said, obediently, unwilling
to worry him.
He looked pleased, and the expression in his eyes
troubled me, reminding me of the time when he had
imagined himself in love with me. Although I felt
assured that he would never wish to be more than
a true friend to me, I disliked the remembrance of
the past, and, to change the trend of my thoughts,
inquired about the Englishman. I was obliged to
repeat my question three times before I got an an-
swer.
"Is the Englishman to have a doctor, Philip?"
"A doctor? A doctor?" he repeated, dreamily;
then, rousing himself, "No, no. What are you
thinking of—what should Mr. Percy want of a doc-
tor? I suppose he has headache because he lost a
pot of money last night! Don't look so stern, my
Queen, / didn't win his money! There, since you
have finished, let's start on our walk. The sleigh
can meet me at the gate."
He helped me into the magnificent coat of silk,
reaching to the hem of my gown, with its great col-
lar and cuffs of ermine and diamond clasp, Madam's
latest folly. Since Richard's death I had made no
effort to check her extravagance. It made her happy
to see me clad in splendor. It could annoy no one.
To please her had become the object of my life.
The avenue was even more beautiful than I had
expected, with its arched ceiling of crystal lace-work.
Under foot the fallen icicles crackled gayly.
"You might pass for the Snow Queen inspecting
her Kingdom," said Philip, as we strolled along,
slowly, because of the beauty. "Don, at a pinch,
might do for your Polar Bear."
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
Don had developed into a dignified person, only
occasionally reverting to the ways of puppyhood.
He was a jealous dog. I came first in his affections,
and he liked to walk by my side alone. This he now
showed by striving to oust Philip, shoving his great
head and shoulders between us, and, when Philip,
yielding the coveted position, changed to my other
side, following and repeating the same tactics there.
Philip at last complained.
"Will you let me give that brute the beating he
so richly deserves, Athena?" I was surprised at the
anger in his voice. "He belongs to you, so I sha'n't
touch him if you say not, but he's very annoying."
"This is news to me," I said, smiling. "When did
you give Don to me, pray?"
"Nonsense, child, you know perfectly well he is
yours. The most jealous brute I ever saw! You
spoil him outrageously, Athena."
I did not want Don beaten, and I saw that Philip,
strangely enough, was furious. Slipping my hand-
kerchief under the dog's collar I kept him on the
side he had last usurped, and strove to make peace.
"Now, Philip," I said, serenely, "I may walk be-
tween my two best protectors! Don, remember,
takes care of me every day when you are not here.
Have patience with him. He feels his own im-
portance a little too much, like all children who are
intrusted with what they believe to be of high
value."
Philip laughed, but there was no merriment in his
laughter.
"A strange child you are, Athena! So simple a
baby could see through you, yet" — he looked
earnestly at me for a moment—"do you know that
your eyes are not unlike ice? Certainly as cold and
—look there," placing his hand on my arm so that
I stood still. "See that long icicle in the shadow
295


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
He stood still, his hand on the great knob of the
gate, looking at me intently, oddly.
"Have patience, Athena," he smiled strangely as
he spoke, "a little patience. A little longer, and you
shall have everything that you wish."
Surly Pat, who had no patience, here gave the bar
of the gate a vicious pull, and Philip, waving an
adieu, passed out. Don and I turned back into the
avenue, he, well content to be my only companion,
I, once more childishly fascinated by my fairyland.
As we reached a bend in the road where the view
forward was cut off, the sun came out and we were
as if in the centre of a rainbow. Philip had spoken
of emeralds. Here they were, and gems of every
tint! Suddenly I thought of my mother. How
beautiful she had been in the splendor of her emer-
alds
A low growl from Don roused me to a remem-
brance of the present. A man had appeared around
the bend and was nearing us rapidly. Dazzled by
long staring at the glitter about me I saw only that
the person was of medium height and very broad-
shouldered. Don, recognizing in him a member of
his master's last house-party, ceased growling and be-
came indifferent.
"So it is Athena Derohan!" said a well-modulated
but unpleasant voice. "I knew there could not be
two such faces in the world. I am glad I waited and
—made sure."
It was Lord Ebbrides.
I stood quite still—a frozen woman in a frozen
world.
"Is this my welcome, Athena? Aren't you glad
to see an old friend?"
An old friend! I thought of my father. An old
friend! I should do well to hold my peace. Did I
speak, my lips might reveal too clearly the deadly
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
hatred that filled my heart. Out of respect to the
dead let me keep silence.
"Why don't you speak, Athena? There's no one
with me—I am quite alone. I go by the name of
Percy here. These Yankees make such an infernal
to-do about a title. Percy's my family name, as
you know, so I've a right to it. Percy Stuart was
my cousin—his mother was a Percy. You remem-
ber Percy Stuart?"
He was growing uneasy under my steady gaze.
He looked just the same, save for a few wrinkles—
odd, fine little wrinkles, marring the perfection of
his still exquisite complexion. Why had he spoken
of Percy Stuart? How dared he drag back the
past?
"Perhaps you'd have preferred not to meet your
father's old friend, in your present position!" A
new tone was in his voice, he looked at me strangely.
"What does this rich dress mean, Athena? Not that
you are the wife of this Erranti, I hope! Perhaps
you are about to marry him, perhaps—" He stepped
forward, placing his hand on my arm. Don, snuff-
ing rabbit-tracks in the underbrush, did not see the
stranger's familiarity. "You remind me of your
mother"—his face was suddenly gray, old-looking—
"I am loath to think— Athena," speaking sharply,
"as a child you were always truthful, often unpleas-
antly so. In God's name, what are you doing here?"
I had conquered myself, had repressed, forced
back the anger in my heart. I was a de Rohan. Let
me behave as my mother and father would approve.
Passionate vituperation, revilings, reproaches, were
not for the lips of their daughter. Lord Ebbrides
must never know how bitter had been the loss of his
friendship. I found my voice and answered him.
"Pardon my too evident surprise at seeing you,
Lord Ebbrides. I fear it has made me rude. I am
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
Madam Erranti's companion. You are fortunate
in being here during this ice-carnival. Are not these
trees surpassingly lovely?"
Releasing my arm he drew back a pace, and, tak-
ing out his handkerchief, passed it over his forehead.
He was strangely agitated, not noticing my remark
about the landscape, but saying, rather to himself
than to me:
"I'm thankful I am in time."
I waited a moment, then called Don. I hoped our
interview was over, but it had only begun.
"Where are you going? Back to the house? Not
yet, please. I've much to say and should prefer to
say it here. Ah! I thought so! Here comes that
crooked-eyed fellow, hot foot on my trail!"
Around the bend came Frangois, his sallow face
red, his breath coming quickly. He had been run-
ning.
"Jailbird!" muttered Lord Ebbrides. Then, very
sharply, "Well, my man, what do you want?"
Explaining that he understood only French, I re-
peated the question.
"The cane of Monsieur," said Frangois, looking
very sheepish. "I thought because of the ice"
"And Monsieur's great age," broke in Lord Eb-
brides, ironically. "Well, give it to me. Why hold
it behind your back? That Mademoiselle Derohan
may not see you've brought one of your master's?"
Frangois, grinning in sickly fashion, unwillingly
produced an old stick of Philip's. I looked on,
amazed.
"Mademoiselle is shocked by this evidence of your
duplicity, but you see I'm not," continued Frangois's
tormentor. "I'll not only reward you"—giving him
money—"but use the cane to lean upon instead of
laying it across your shoulders. Walk slowly be-
hind us, please, to the house. Plenty of time then
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
dropped it, turning a frightened, haggard face. Re-
lieved when she saw who it was, she came swiftly
forward, her finger on her lips.
"Hush!" she whispered. "Madame has had a bad
night. She may sleep now. Come away, Mad-
emoiselle." She drew me into the corridor, closing
the door of Madam's room noiselessly behind us. I
stared in surprise. What was coming?
"Mademoiselle," she continued, in the same hoarse
whisper, "you go to talk with milord?"
"Lord Ebbrides? Then you recognized him?
Yes."
"If I have recognized him!" she exclaimed, strik-
ing her hands together, but softly. "Dieu de Dieu!"
Her agitation was intense, but she never for one
moment forgot Madam, and it was the more im-
pressive from being so violently repressed. Sorry
for her distress, I begged her to tell me what was
the matter.
"I may be able to help you, Julie."
"I was faithful to Mademoiselle's mother," she
said, piteously. "I never gave her cause to com-
plain."
"That is true, Julie. You served my mother well.
What is it you wish?"
"Oh, Mademoiselle! Don't let him know that I
—that Cray is here! Don't tell him, Mademoiselle,
I beg, I implore."
She was down upon her knees at my feet. I
looked at her steadily. She hid her face in the folds
of my dress. I wondered why she feared Lord Eb-
brides—if it were because of his coming that Cray
had fallen ill? But Julie had been a faithful ser-
vant, Lord Ebbrides a faithless friend. Instinctively
I ranged myself on her side.
"I promise not to tell him, Julie. Don't be afraid.
You have my word."
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
She rose lightly to her feet, calm, composed, hard-
looking. Her handsome face was haggard and lined,
but it wore its accustomed mask.
"Thank you, Mademoiselle," she said, quietly.
"I know I can rely on your word," and glided back
silently into Madam's room.
In obedience to Lord Ebbrides's wish—one I un-
derstood—I put on my simplest gown, the white
serge edged with swan's-down. When I entered the
library I found he had closed the windows—gener-
ally open because of the veranda being enclosed—
and he shut the door immediately behind me.
"We must expect eavesdroppers," he remarked,
composedly; "but there's no need of making things
too easy for them."
He placed a chair for me well away from key-
holes, scrutinizing me closely as he did so.
"Ah! now you look like the little Athena who
used to run away from me in the old days—yet you
have changed. From a beautiful child you have
grown into a marvellously beautiful woman! You
are strangely like, yet unlike, both your parents."
He stood still for a moment, his eyes riveted upon
me, then said, his lips twitching oddly, "Your
mother used to predict that you would rival her some
day. To the eyes of the world you might now ap-
pear lovelier. To mine"
He turned away and began nervously to rearrange
the books on a table at his elbow. I wondered why
he desired an interview that evidently gave him pain.
With a deep sigh he broke the long silence that had
fallen.
"I fancy," he said, slowly, "that you are one of
the most beautiful of living women."
"It may be, Lord Ebbrides. Not that it matters
much. Was that what you wished to say to me?"
"Do you mean that you take no interest in your
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
beauty, Athena? No, I see you don't—but you were
always strange, as a child. No; what I have to say
is this. I heard of Charles Derohan's death only
six short weeks ago. I knew you to be poor, and
alone in the world. I started to find you—to fetch
you home. I came to New York. After some
trouble I was sent to a most disagreeable woman,
Mrs. —" he hesitated.
"Spuyten?"
"Yes. A cousin of your father's, I understand.
She said she heard you had gone to California"
"To California?" I exclaimed. "How absurd!
She must have known better."
"Very probably. A spiteful old hag, from ap-
pearances. I decided to follow, to look you up
there."
"California is a very large State, Lord Ebbrides."
"It's not easy for a beautiful woman to escape
observation, Athena. Your style of beauty is so very
remarkable you may never hope to pass unnoticed.
It is exquisite. It is rare."
He harped upon my appearance with an offensive
persistency, as if he took a personal pride in my
looks.
"How came you here?" I asked, hoping to change
the subject.
"The merest chance! A vulgar beast from San
Francisco, whom I was told I might find useful, sug-
gested my coming here for the play to be had. I'd
nothing to do, so came. My valet told me of the
presence of a mysterious beauty in the house—kept
under lock and key. What I heard roused my sus-
picions—'a golden-haired statue.' On Sunday I
caught a glimpse of you. That was enough. I
feigned illness, an excuse for remaining, and don't
need to seek you in California."
He was again silent. I thought I heard an odd
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"I am sensible of the honor you do me, Lord Eb-
brides, but I cannot be your wife."
Astonishment now stayed Lord Ebbrides's speech.
At last, in a hard voice, he asked my reason for de-
clining his offer.
"I prefer not to marry."
"Stuff! That's no reason."
"I don't care for you, Lord Ebbrides."
He burst into a harsh laugh.
"What rot you are talking!" he exclaimed. "Have
I asked you to care for me, pray? Do I pretend
to be romantically in love with you? Listen. Try
to understand. I want a wife. I can give her a
good old name, wealth—you shall have nothing to
complain of in the matter of settlements—a high po-
sition in England. I ask you to accept these ad-
vantages. Surely you won't be mad enough to re-
fuse?"
"Yes, I refuse. I can't understand why you wish
to marry me. You never even liked me, Lord Eb-
brides."
"You remind me of the happiest time in my life
—and I can't have Athena Derohan a pauper."
"Doubtless you mean to be kind," I said, wearily,
very tired of it all, "so I thank you. Pray say no
more about it, Lord Ebbrides. I can't do as you
wish."
"Nonsense! I can't allow you to behave so fool-
ishly! Why, child, you shall have your mother's
emeralds to wear at court."
"I thought they were stolen."
"So they were," he said, frowning angrily, "and
put back afterward! All save one large emerald,
square, with a nick in one corner—your mother wore
it as a brooch; you remember it?"
I remembered it well, also its double, set in a
dagger's hilt, in Philip's desk close at hand.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"That brooch, Athena, was traced to a pawn-
broker's, but it had been sold. The clerk who re-
ceived and disposed of it took French leave—prob-
ably was guilty of other thievish business. The
pawnbroker proved to be an honest man."
"You suspected no one?"
"No, I didn't suspect. I knew who took the
jewels."
"Who?" I asked, breathlessly.
"A valet I had had for years—stay, he married
Julie, your mother's maid — Anthony Cray. I
couldn't prove anything against either of them, how-
ever. They were too sharp for me. They took
them, and, afraid to keep them, put them back. The
nicked emerald, the clue needed, was not to be
found. I sent them packing—more I couldn't do.
They went to Australia, I believe."
Had I become the confederate of criminals? I
felt so, because of my promise given Julie. As for
the emerald in Philip's stiletto, that must be but a
chance resemblance—one of the odd doubles of
which the world is full.
"Because the brooch is gone you look as depressed
as if I'd lost the whole collection, Athena! Come,
my dear, there are plenty left for you to shine in!
The Ebbrides diamonds are being reset for you,
too. I attended to that before I sailed. Now, run
upstairs and pack your things. I expect I shall grow
very fond of you in time—run along and get ready."
"May I ask," said an icy voice behind him, "if
Mr. Percy has done well to leave his bed? It is tak-
ing a great risk in this cold weather—for so ill a
man."
It was Philip. He had entered unseen. How
much of the foregoing conversation he had heard I
could not know, but enough to rouse his anger.
Even his lips were ashen, and the steely glitter in
306


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
Philip, at his desk, filled out a check. I stood and
waited, longing for the moment of escape.
"Here, Athena," said Lord Ebbrides, rising and
giving me the closely written card, "are a few in-
structions for you to use when you change your
mind. I forgive you your attack upon me. Young
and ignorant, you can't be expected to understand
what others misunderstood. I stand always ready
to welcome you. I'm glad to see this man has no
chance. I'll come for you the moment you send me
word. That check is for me, sir?" turning sternly
to Philip, who had come to my side, the strip of
paper in his hand.
"It is," said Philip, as sternly.
Lord Ebbrides took it, tore it across twice, and
dropped it in the fire.
"I pardon your impertinence," he said, haughtily,
"as you can't be expected to understand the ways of
gentlemen. You see what the man is, Athena.
When your eyes are thoroughly opened, send for
me."
He walked slowly to the door, opened it and went
out, without again noticing either Philip or me.
310


XXX
Not wishing to follow Lord Ebbrides too closely,
fearing to meet him again in the hall, longing to
escape to Madam, uneasy in Philip's presence, I
waited, motionless, till the minute-hand of the clock
should mark the time I had forced myself to allow.
I felt exhausted, unhappy.
"Athena,"said a passionate voice, "give me the
card!" and Philip seized the hand in which I still
mechanically held it.
"No!"
My fingers closed firmly over the card, why, I
could not have told.
"You shall not keep it!"
He spoke fiercely, his grip upon my hand was
like iron. Still I did not yield. As if unconscious
that he might give me pain he wrenched at my
fingers in his passion as though they had been things
of wood. I set my teeth and clung to the worth-
less bit of pasteboard as though to a rope thrown to
save my life! I realize now that brain-fatigue had
set my nerves on edge, else I could not have behaved
so foolishly. Suddenly, my hand being of flesh and
blood, his strength prevailed, and the card, torn from
my grasp, was flung into the fire. Philip stood
staring at it vindictively as it turned to ashes. I
looked in wonder at my wounded hand.
The card being consumed he looked at me. My
311


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
Since the death of Richard Thorpe I had been
very unhappy. Morning after morning I waked to
look forward in terror to the empty future stretch-
ing before me. My sole comfort had been in Mad-
am's happiness in my society—in the knowledge
that I was able to brighten her rapidly shortening
life.
Philip had been so good to me that I had learned
to trust him, and now—! His avowal of love
taught me his sympathy had been false. His wild
outburst of passion proved that he was, in truth, no
reliable friend. My gratitude for his steady kind-
ness began to melt away, Lord Ebbrides's insinua-
tions to find a resting-place in my mind.
"That Mountebank a friend of Charles Dero-
han's!"
I hated myself for allowing suspicion to creep
into my heart. I caught myself wondering if Julie
and Cray had taken the emeralds. I began to specu-
late about the nicked gem in the stiletto's haft—
then called a halt; but one thing was of real im-
portance after all. I had promised Madam to re-
main with her till the end, and she must be kept in
ignorance of Philip's feelings toward me. Disagree-
able as was the task, I must seek an interview with
him.
The night had come, and I knew I should find
him in his library. I went there at once, determined
to get it over. He was standing on the hearth-rug,
his back to the fire, and, if one might judge from his
expression, indulging in as disagreeable thoughts as
I. But when I entered his face brightened. He
came eagerly to me, both hands outstretched.
"Oh, my darling," he said, tenderly, "I've been
so unhappy about you! I feared I had sinned past
forgiveness. Let me look at the poor hand."
Like a child I put my hands behind my back.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"If you consent to listen—quietly—to what I've
come to say," I said, severely, "I shall be much
obliged. If you persist in talking nonsense I shall
go away."
An expression of deep melancholy clouded his
handsome face. He placed a chair for me without
a word, and, going to the chimney-piece, leaned
against it, waiting for me to speak.
"I have promised your mother to stay with her
until—until the end," I began, in a low voice, which
I tried hard to keep steady.
"You have, Athena."
"It remains with you to make my stay peaceful or
inexpressibly painful"
"Athena!" he cried. I held up my hand to in-
sure silence, and went on.
"If you treat me with the same kindness, the
chivalrous courtesy that you have shown me during
these past sad months, I can preserve my tranquillity
and so be a good nurse to your mother. But if you
insist upon making me live through such another
scene as"
"Hush, Athena! Hush, my child!" cried Philip,
imploringly. "You drive daggers through my heart!
I have repented—in sackcloth and ashes—for my
violence of this morning. I swear to you by all I
hold most sacred never to offend again. I did not
dream you could be so unforgiving—you, with your
angel's face!"
He paced the floor with long quick strides. I
sighed deeply, wondering why I, who loved peace
and the commonplace, should be forced into such
companionship. I had no sympathy with his tur-
bulent passions, but sat and watched him, with the
same sensations as those with which, when a child,
I had watched the restless pacing of a panther in its
cage at the Zoo.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"If you will control yourself—I know you can
when you wish—I shall be glad to live here as be-
fore." He stopped his walk to listen. "If you per-
sist in talking as you did this morning, and but now,
I shall avoid you as much as possible."
"Which means," said Philip, slowly, "that you
will live entirely in your own room and Maman's?"
"Yes."
"Why do you deny me the right of saying that I
love you?"
I looked at him, but made no answer.
"Because of Dick Thorpe, you would say, but he
is gone. You were not his wife, why mourn him
as his widow? No, don't go, Athena! I'll speak
this once; then, if you insist, keep silence, for—I
can wait. Your feeling toward Thorpe was but calm
affection. You don't know what real love—passion-
ate love—means. It is such I feel—I will teach you
to return it."
I rose, saying, icily:
"It is useless to talk to you. I have no request
to make. Spare Madam all knowledge of—this. It
could only pain her."
"One moment, Athena! It shall be as you wish.
I shall not allude to my feelings again. Of course
maman must hear nothing that might excite her.
If we agree on this subject—I swear we shall later
—then— Pray resume your usual mode of life.
You shall find me the same Philip to whom you have
been kind so long. May I finish the story I began
last night?"
"Certainly, Philip."
I spoke quietly, struggling against the feeling of
cold dislike that was taking possession of me. I
knew what an effort he was making, and pride for-
bade my seeking refuge in flight. I fetched my work
and embroidered while he read until nearly eleven,
315


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
when, the tale coming to an end, I was able at last
to say "good-night!"
"Good-night, Athena!" opening the door for me
to pass out. "Don't fear my breaking my promise.
My silence shall be a proof of my love, and, as I
said before—I can wait!"
316


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
morning rides. Not but what he had kept his
promise in regard to keeping silence on one sub-
ject. He had behaved almost invariably as the kind
friend I had believed him to be before Lord Eb-
brides's visit. His devotion to Madam during her
long illness had compelled my admiration, and I
could but feel grateful for the way in which he had
spared me all care and responsibility whenever that
was possible. Still, I never felt at my ease with
him unless Madam was present. Before her he
would say nothing, I felt sure.
"Philip, too, has grown thin," said Madam,
watching him as he rode up. "He looks the better
for it. He is very handsome, and looks far younger
than he is. He looks not more than thirty! How
can he, how can he keep so young! It is only his
body—not his heart. That is old, old, old!"
He entered as she ceased speaking.
"I may come in, maman?"
She stretched out her hand to him, smiling kindly.
Rarely was she so kind.
"I was just speaking of you, Philip."
He seated himself close beside her—I giving place
—and kissed both the crippled hands gently.
"You said something pleasant I hope, maman."
"I was admiring you, Philip. You look so young,
so handsome, so vigorous, so strong!"
He laughed, well pleased. There was suppressed
excitement in his manner, I thought. I had learned
to know him well.
"I feel even younger than I look, maman" he
said, gayly. "I feel the fresh breath of spring. It
has set my blood dancing through my veins. They
talk of midsummer madness—what of the wild rest-
lessness of spring? It has infected me. I'm tired
of this place. I long to be afloat on the blue water.
The desire to wander is upon me. Will you come?"
319


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
from the world outside, the world of trees, and blos-
soms, and birds, floating in on the warm breeze of
high noon. I resumed my work, embroidering dili-
gently. If Madam slept a few long moments the
last stitch would be placed in the lily.
The day was exceptionally warm, more like mid-
summer than May. I wore one of my thinnest mus-
lins of the past summer. Its hanging sleeves—of
lace—left my arms bare.
"Is it as cold as the marble it resembles?" mur-
mured Philip. "My eyes burn, Athena, let me cool
them here."
Passing his right arm around my waist he drew me
closer to him, while with his left hand he clasped
my wrist, so that I could not move, and, so holding
me, pressed his face against my upper arm and kept
it there.
Madam stirred uneasily and moaned, then slept
more heavily than before. The misery of discovery
was yet spared me. In spite of the lithe fingers
girdling my left wrist the hand still steadied my
work. My other was free; its fingers plied the needle
more swiftly than before. Philip's face branded my
arm like hot iron, a scourge of shame. Yet I must
endure, lest Madam, roused by sudden outcry and
confusion, might wake to her death. My heart was
icy with scorn of the man who could so insult me in
his mother's presence.
"My darling!" he said, gently, lifting his face at
last and looking at me beseechingly. "My pearl of
great price! My pure white lily! Let me read your
thoughts in your beautiful eyes! Let me learn from
them if you are really at rest in my arms! Look up,
sweetheart! Let me make sure that you have learned
to love me."
The lily neared perfection, the needle flashed in
and out.
322


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
vert her mind. “Miss Derohan’s fist, I’ll go bail!
What's the use of this paper—may I peep under?
Lilies were never meant to blush unseen!”
He lifted the mass of silk I had just laid down,
with an extravagant assumption of care.
“It is finished, Athena’’ demanded Madam, sit-
ting up among her pillows. Her eyes sparkled with
animation, a color had crept into her cheeks. “Take
off the paper. Let Randal see your handiwork.
Foolish boy! The paper is to guard the lilies. The
spotless lilies! Unless spotless they had better lie
withered and dead—yes, dead!”
Her whimsical look and manner had returned.
The intelligence that had so alarmed me had van-
ished. Indeed, she behaved even more oddly than
usual, for, the tissue-paper being removed from my
embroidery, she bade me put on the loose robe over
my gown. I looked at her inquiringly. Could she
really mean what she said?
“Put it on,” she repeated, imperiously, “unless
you fear to do so.”
Smiling sadly, I shook my head.
“Of course you won’t hurt it, Miss Derohan,”
said Randal, in honeyed tones, helping me slip my
arms into the wide sleeves of the garment. “You’re
too much like a lily yourself, so white and pure.”
Philip stood by us, gloomy and severe. My words
had, like a douche of ice-water, brought him to him-
self. His sombre eyes rested upon me steadily as
I clothed myself in the heavily embroidered robe,
whose soft folds fell to my feet. -
“These flowers are wonderful!” exclaimed Randal,
a ring of sincerity in his voice. “They look real
enough to smell sweet! I never saw anything like
them—such quantities, yet so artistically grouped!
You have magic in your handsome fingers, Miss De-
rohan! What's the thing for, anyhow? Not a dress-
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
ing-gown for Erranti, I hope! The old wolf needn’t
try to hide himself in any lamb's fleece—his black
fur’d be sure to stick out somewhere! Is it for me?
I’d look real sweet in it!” He smiled disagreeably.
“No, no! It's not for you,” said Madam, ve-
hemently, “and you’ll never see it again! It is a
bridal garment—but the bridegroom is long in com-
ing.”
Her voice had lowered to a whisper. Randal eyed
her curiously, then looked at Philip, standing, arms
folded, a gloomy spectator of the little scene.
“A bridal garment? I’m not to see it again?
Dear Madam, how cruel you are 1 Mayn't I come
to the wedding?” Randal spoke plaintively; then,
turning to me: “Is it for you to wear—as a bride,
Miss Derohan?”
“No, no!” said Madam, laughing oddly. “No,
no, no! The robe is for me, Randal; but Athena
will be my tiring-woman when I wear it, because of
the love she bears me.”
“What do you mean, maman?” asked Philip. He
spoke impatiently, rousing himself with an effort
from the reverie into which he had fallen. “Pray
explain—I detest riddles.”
But Madam was in a teasing humor. Leaning
back among her pillows she laughed again, looking
at him mockingly through half-closed eyelids.
“I did not say you saw it for the last time, Philip.
Perhaps only for the first of many, many times!
Should you do evil the lilies will stir and disturb
me. Then, in the night, the dark, dark night, the
lilies and I will come with gentle shivering rustle
through the halls—up the staircase—to your bedside
—close, close to you! You open your eyes—and
yes, yes, yes—you see that robe again!”
Her voice sank to a mere whisper. Lifting her-
self erect, she pointed her finger at Philip. His set
325


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
face grew white under its tan as he stared at her,
terror-stricken yet fascinated. Randal looked pale
and startled. Madam glanced from one to the other.
"It is my shroud," she said, and fell back as
though exhausted.
"Maman!" cried Philip, in bitter reproach. "How
could you—how dared you! Take it off, Athena, in-
stantly; do you hear me? My God, what an awful
omen!"
With no gentle hand he tore the garment from
my shoulders, saying, under his breath:
"I'll never forgive her, never! How could she
have the heart to do it!"
As the robe fell to the floor he seized and flung
it savagely to one side. The latent brutality in his
nature was shaken to the surface. I dreaded what
might come, but Madam appeared unconscious of
the storm she had aroused. Her eyes closed, her
features in perfect repose, she looked weary but at
ease.
"I have been ever careful," said Philip, breaking
the uncomfortable silence, "to consider your feel-
ings, Madam; treating you with tenderness, shield-
ing you from every vexation, yielding to your every
wish. Never have I asked any return save a little
affection—such as you might give to a faithful dog!
It's time I took my own way—and I shall. On Sat-
urday morning be ready to embark with me on the
Charlotte. We shall spend the summer abroad."
He turned to leave the room, but Madam stopped
him.
"And Athena?" She spoke gently, her eyes still
closed. "Athena is under no obligations to you,
Philip. Have you asked her what she will do?"
"She goes with us, of course," he said, coldly, and,
accompanied by the bewildered Randal, left the
room.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"Put me to bed, my Athena, for I am very
weary," said Madam. "Yes, Philip may go to Eu-
rope, but—he shall go alone!"
I lifted her tenderly in my arms. What might a
feeble old lady do to thwart Philip's iron will?
"If Mademoiselle will permit," said Mathilde at
my elbow, "Monsieur forbids that Mademoiselle
should lift Madame."
"Good Mathilde!" exclaimed Madam. "Ever the
devoted nurse! I prefer her to help me, Athena."
I drew back astonished. It was unlike Madam
to praise her maids. Was she trying to conciliate
Philip by approving his orders?
"Monsieur lunches now with Monsieur St. John,"
Mathilde continued, "and goes to town immediately
after. Cray also. Francois is to sleep in the hall."
Madam made no comment. I sighed with relief.
Three hours later Frangois brought me the follow-
ing note:
"Will you try to win maman's forgiveness for me,
a sinner, my dearest child? I did not mean to speak
roughly, but you know how sorely my temper had
just been tried. Yet I beg your pardon, my Queen,
as I do maman's. Persuade her to consent to this
trip. We all stand in need of change, as the scene
of this morning proved convincingly. Remember
how much good the sail up the Hudson did maman.
"I have infinite faith in your good sense, your
sweet unselfishness. You will see the force of what
I urge. Maman will yield to your wishes, and a sum-
mer in Europe will make her strong again.
"Your devoted
"PHILIP EBBANTI."
There was no address on the envelope. The un-
even writing showed the letter had been written in
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
the carriage, on the way to the station. I put it in
my pocket. Madam had had enough excitement
for one day. It must be my hateful task to per-
suade Philip to give up his crazy scheme. Madam
would die in the yacht before a day on the rough
water was over. These thoughts made the after-
noon and evening seem never-ending; but at last
nine o'clock came, and I was stealing away quietly
when Madam spoke. I had thought her asleep.
"Stay with me to-night, cherie. I am nervous
without—my son. Sleep by my side, Athena, that
this poor Julie may rest. A French devil, but bet-
ter than that Mathilde, who spilled my medicine this
afternoon. Yes, all, all." She whimpered drowsily,
then, lifting herself a little, she peered about the
room. "The little bottle is gone! Cat, awkward
pig! I must lie awake because of her! Awake, all
night!"
She covered her face as if about to cry. Julie
and I searched anxiously for the bottle—it contained
her sleeping draught—and Julie found it.
"Give it me!" cried Madam, eagerly. "I trust no
one, no one! I will put it beneath my pillow. Quick,
Julie."
The woman hesitated, glancing inquiringly at me.
Madam saw the glance.
"Fool!" she exclaimed. "Did I drink all, it could
not kill."
"If Mademoiselle remains through the night"
"Yes," I said, "I will stay."
"It may leak," suggested Julie, still doubtful.
Madam snatched the bottle from her hand and
thrust it beneath her pillow.
The maid retreated, saying to me that she would
fetch me a dressing-gown.
"Cray being in town Mathilde sleeps in my room
to-night," she volunteered, "Francois in the great
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THE HOUSE . ON THE HUDSON
hall, I"—waving toward a divan in the corner—
"here."
When she returned Madam began an apology.
"I have been cross," she said. "I am sorry—
yes, sorry. I need constant care—they will hate
me if I am cross. I must make amends." She
thought a moment. "Julie, my good girl, bring
the three glasses from my little cabinet—the green,
the red, the opaline! Ah, but that they are pretty!"
—as Julie, fetching them with great alacrity, placed
them on the bed-tray. "Now, bid Frangois bring
Benedictine—in a light pitcher that I can myself
lift. Yes, I must fill the glasses, else no true com-
pliment is paid. Go, ma fille!"
Hardly had the door closed upon Julie when
Madam gave a low cry of fear.
"The bed!" she whispered. "Under the bed!
They are there! Oh, look, Athena!"
As always in such crises I humored her instantly,
dropping upon hands and knees and looking for
what was not.
"Nothing here!" I cried, from the level of the
floor.
"Look once again, my child! Make sure—have
patience; look again."
"Nothing, on my honor, dear Madam! May I
get up?"
"Yes, yes, my Athena! Forgive an old woman
for her fretting ways. Bad dreams, bad dreams!
Ah, here is Frangois, with the sweet drink! The
pitcher? Yes, Frangois, I lift it easily. See the
glasses, like gay bubbles—Venetian glass, Fran-
gois; very precious, very rare. Go, now, but send
Mathilde—turn your backs," she cried sharply to
Julie and me. "I grow nervous thus watched. I
shall spill! Your faces to the curtain there, else
you'll be staring in the mirrors!"
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
comfortably upon her couch in a distant corner, and
I lay down beside Madam.
I was ill at ease. The little comedy I had enacted
in answer to the command of Madam's eyes wor-
ried me. Why had I obeyed my instinct so quickly?
I had been dominated by her will, I told myself.
Had I done wrong? Then my thoughts reverted to
Philip's wish for forgiveness. Should I have told
Madam of his remorse? Conscience now hinted
that I had feared her agitation less than I had as-
sured myself, and asked if it had not been over easy
to shun the topic I detested. Staring with troubled
eyes at the frescoed ceiling I knew I had "left un-
done those things which" I "ought to have done."
The clock on the chimney-piece chimed the half-hour
—half-past ten.
"Athena, are you awake?"
Madam spoke in the gentlest whisper. I an-
swered as softly:
"Yes."
She laid her hand on my shoulder and opened
her eyes cautiously, as if fearing detection.
"Julie sleeps soundly? Yes? Her back is turned,
I can't be sure—she breathes heavily.—Listen!"
I held my breath. From the corner came the
sound of deep breathing.
"Rise quietly and make sure," said Madam.
"Place your hand on her shoulder—she may wake."
"If she should?"
"Say she was snoring—go!"
I slipped noiselessly from my place to Julie. I
laid my hand on her shoulder—she did not stir. I
returned to Madam and whispered:
"She sleeps as soundly as though drugged."
Madam smiled strangely.
"Go like a cat to the door, open it silently. See
what there is to see—use your ears, also."
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
I obeyed. The little corridor was empty. The
doors leading to the hall and to Julie's room were
closed. Through the latter came the sound of snor-
ing. This I told Madam. She sighed as if relieved,
then, in low tones, bade me lie down again beside
her.
"Take yourself well in hand, my child. No mat-
ter what I say, no exclamations, no springing up in
haste. Keep your eyes on the door. If it moves
an inch, warn me. I see and can watch Julie. If
she wakes we must feign sleep. But I've little fear
of Julie or her sister spy for several hours. I
drugged their Benedictine."
She drew the little bottle from beneath her pil-
low. It was empty.
"No favoritism was shown! I decided fairly.
Each spy got half. Fill the bottle half full with
water, Athena. Be careful, be exact. It was just
half full."
I stared in horror. What had she done?
"Don't be foolish, child! The mixture is mild, it
can do no harm."
Reflecting that she was right and that the women
could not be injured by so light a dose, I did as she
bade me. She slipped the bottle underneath her
pillow again.
"I have much to say," she whispered, as I resumed
my place at her side, "and I dread it so! Keep your
eyes on the door, mignonne, don't look at me. Now,
what was in Philip's letter?"
Her voice had a new intonation, her eyes the same
expression of intelligence, of will-power, that had
earlier startled me. She saw my astonishment.
"You look not at the door, but at me! This will
not do. We may be disturbed at any moment.
Come, to our watch, and I will say what must be
said."
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
Dominated anew I obeyed, turning my eyes upon
the door, yet was at variance with myself for being
impressed by what must be, could be, but a new
whim.
"Philip loves you," said the low, firm voice; "this
I know. I began to suspect it before the odd feel-
ing in my head stopped; but my mind would never
work, and my thoughts rambled far away when I
tried to seize them. To-day, when the mist cleared
suddenly, I understood his feelings—and knew I
had got my death-warrant. Lie still, poor child,"
as I started, terror-stricken, "don't interrupt me!
For your sake I must speak—for yours and
Philip's."
Ah, what was coming! Must I be tortured, at
this last moment, by her pleadings for her son?
"When the buzzing wheels in my head stopped
short I saw your look of fear—your pallor. It was
when he proposed this voyage, when I made you sit
beside him. Then I feigned sleep and—I saw more.
You hate him, Athena?"
"Yes."
"Thank God! I thought so, but— Ah! thank
God! And Philip? He is content to work for
Athena Derohan? He asks no more? He dare not.
Tell the truth; he asks no more?"
"He wishes me to become his wife," I said,
faintly.
"She thinks she will never consent," muttered
Madam to herself, "but she may. Only a child in
the ways of the world, while he—Athena! Swear,
swear by your belief in God—but no, what use?
Why do I try to escape? I will be brave—I will,
I will! I might make him take his oath—but no!
He spoke roughly to-day—the new love swallows up
the old. What use, what use?"
"He begs forgiveness," I made haste to say. "He
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
1
so much—yet so little! You must know all, must
defend yourself when I am gone—you are listen-
ing?"
"Yes, dear Madam."
"You must not marry Philip. You must not even
be his friend, now—but try, oh, try, to make allow-
ances for him in your great heart! He belongs to
another class—nay, more, he is of a different race.
For he is not my son, Athena. He was born—my
slave!"
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
I think. A beautiful creature! Tall, straight, sup-
ple as a wildcat—a half savage thing! Philip has
her eyes—like black diamonds, yet soft and lus-
trous. Poor Lola—poor, poor girl! Philip has her
warm, narrow heart, her fearfully passionate nature,
her wild-beast temper! Yet because of the father
in him—his father, cruel, calculating, cold—I can
never quite love him. A devil, his father! With-
out a heart! Philip is like him in many ways. Yes,
like both parents. A strange mixture, an awful com-
bination—a scourge!
"I remember well the night—winter, and cold for
that warm part of the world—when the poor girl
came. My husband had been away for weeks,
gambling, living the life of a beast. When I heard
a carriage stop before the house and knew he had
come home my heart turned sick! He had gone
away on horseback—what might the carriage mean?
Watching from my window I saw him, with an air
of gallantry, hand a richly dressed woman across
the veranda. I looked in terror—had one of my
girlhood's friends come to visit me in my unhappy
home? My proud heart winced. I was middle-
aged, thirty-eight years old. I had become hardened
to my husband's vices, had learned to endure with-
out complaint my ruined life. But only because
my friends, my kindred, were ignorant of the depths
of my misery, I might not endure their scorn—or
pity. I went downstairs slowly, very slowly. Then
I saw my husband's face, and knew what new scourge
he had brought for me.
"'Put back your veil, Lola,' he said. 'Let my old
wife see the superior beauty of my new one! She's
mistress here now, Charlotte! See to it that you
and the other servants do her bidding!"
"Poor Lola meant no harm; but she loved her
master, and sought to please him by flouting me—
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
She was forbidden to seek him, to speak to him; but
one night—her master was away—she came. It
was late, Philip alone in the library, reading. Thank
God I did not hear his cruel words disowning, re-
pulsing her; but later I heard moaning outside my
door.—Poor soul, she had sought help of me, but
had fallen at my threshold. She was very ill.
Philip found many excuses for his heartless be-
havior. I was his mother; his father had promised
it should be so. Never, so help him God, would he
acknowledge to anyone the taint in his blood! He
was obdurate. Things went smoothly enough for
some months, but Philip and his father were too
much alike—two devils breed flames!
"They quarrelled one evening. In the morning
Philip was whipped publicly at the whipping-post.
Lola was brought, among the others, to witness her
son's disgrace. It maddened her, as such a sight had
years before, and again she flung herself, in her
frantic passion, upon the man who had wronged her.
Then her punishment followed. She was beaten—
ah, I wonder I did not die of my impotence and
my despair! I, who stood by, and might not
save! She died that night, in my arms! Then, in
spite of the threats of those on guard, I made my
way to Philip. It was the night after. He was be-
ing starved into submission. I took him food, and
he—he made a plan. I consented. I did wrong.
God has punished me. I brought him clothes, a
knife—a revolver. I sewed my jewels into the lin-
ing of my dress. At midnight, two nights after
Lola's death, we ran away!"
Silence again in the gayly tinted room, where a
heart was breaking anew over a long past tragedy.
"Dear God," moaned the poor lady, "give me
courage! I must tell all to this white soul, this
purest of Thy children! I feared not for my own
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"that Philip saved you! Pray God. the shot went
home!"
"Athena!"
Then I remembered her last words, forgotten in
my relief at her pursuer's disablement. She had ac-
cused Philip of wrongdoing. And I—I thought he
had but done his duty. This I said to her. She eyed
me curiously, saying, again and again:
"He killed his master, and his father, his master
and father—an awful crime."
Distressed by this strange way of thinking, this
disapproval of justice meted out, I could not help
showing that I thought it unnatural. I disliked
Philip, but surely he deserved praise, not blame,
from his benefactress, whom he had saved.
"It is a pity to name a child wrong," she com-
plained, feebly. "Thy name has infected thee—
thou hast become as the goddess Athena, as cold,
as stern, as unforgiving. A slave must not kill his
master. A son must not shoot his father. An awful
crime! I shared it, living with a murderer, keep-
ing his secret. When first alone with Philip, out
upon the river, I hated him, but feared him as well.
So I held my tongue—I shared his crime. God pity
me!
"Later, in France, when I ate the bread he earned,
I sank deeper. It was earned by hands red with a
father's blood! Yet he prospered. Twice, because
of his fierce temper, he got into trouble. He fought
two duels. In the last he killed his man, so we had
to leave Paris. We came home—-no, not home!
We have none, Philip and I—deserve none, for we
are accursed. A murderer always dies hard; must
face a violent death, 'tis said. Philip, too, lies un-
der a woman's curse, but it should weigh for little.
The wife of the man he killed in Paris, she cursed
him. She did wrong. A duel is honorable. Philip
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
was brought up a gentleman. There, Philip did
right, Athena, n'est-ce pas?"
I made no answer. Again we were not in sym-
pathy.
"The man had accused Philip of cheating at play.
His honor demanded,—Eh, Athena, you hear me?
Philip was right, n'est-ce pas?"
"Pray rest, dear Madam," I begged. Why say
to her, if Philip must avenge himself, where were his
fists? Why not have broken a cane across the in-
sulter's shoulders? "Try to sleep now. You have
wearied yourself too long."
"I have confessed, my heart is less heavy—yet
to break one's word"
She was quiet for a time. Then, beginning to
talk again, her mind, little by little, lost its clear-
ness. She forgot where she was, who was beside
her. Now she gave orders to Julie, or scolded Ma-
thilde; again, chatted gayly with Randal, or spoke
soberly to Philip. Toward morning she fell into a
light slumber. I, too, slept.
I was roused by her voice calling me loudly.
Opening my eyes I saw her sitting up, both hands
extended as if for aid.
"Athena!" she cried, "I cannot see! Pray for
me—pray, pray!"
Frightened, scarce knowing what I did, I took her
hands in mine, repeating the prayer that rises to all
lips in time of need.
"Our Father, Who art in Heaven, hallowed be
Thy name"
"Hallowed—be—Thy—name," faltered Madam;
and once again, "Hallowed—be—Thy—name"
Her head fell forward. I caught her in my arms.
Madam Erranti was dead.
The room glowed with rosy light. The outside
world was gay with the song of birds. The day had
come.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
I ran downstairs and put it into the post-bag my-
self. Frangois entered the hall at the same time.
"Mademoiselle is just in time," he said. "I go
now to Droneton on business for Monsieur. I will
attend to Mademoiselle's letter."
"To—to get the coffin?" I faltered.
"No, Mademoiselle. That comes from town to-
night on the Charlotte. Cray informs me it was at
once procured on the arrival of Mademoiselle's tele-
gram recalling Monsieur with the news. The doc-
tor arrives on this next train—a certificate of death,
I believe. It is necessary, n'est-ce pas? No under-
taker comes, because of Madame's objection. One
letter only, Mademoiselle? Ah, yes; I will attend
to it."
I returned upstairs, glad that it was to go at once.
My room seemed close, although both its windows,
and that of my dressing-room, were open. The pink
double-window still kept its place, barring my north-
ern outlook and shutting out the air from that side.
Philip, in spite of constant reminders, never could
find time to order the removal of these new double-
windows, although cold weather was long since past.
I leaned from my dressing-room window. The
weather seemed about to change. I hoped the sun
might shine on the grave the men were digging, up
above on the knoll, long enough to accustom Madam
to the change. I wished, as I listened to the sound
of their spades, that it were big enough for two—
that I was to lie down beside dear little Madam, to
be, like her, at rest.
"Mademoiselle!" said Mathilde's voice at my el-
bow. I turned, to see her placing a well-spread tray
upon my table. "Monsieur begs Mademoiselle will
eat. I was to say that much strength would be
needed to-night."
"Who is with Madam?"
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
Mathilde crossed herself.
"Julie, Mademoiselle. I must return. She fears
to be alone."
"And Monsieur?"
"Monsieur is in the library. He is not to be dis-
turbed."
"Is Cray at home?"
"But yes, Mademoiselle."
"Ask him to take Julie's place for a half hour,
and send her to me."
Everyone possesses some one charm, it is said.
Mathilde's was her stolidity. She obeyed those in
authority without question. No wearisome expres-
sion of surprise or disapproval ever crossed her lips.
Julie soon appeared.
"I wish to make a toilet befitting Madame's fete,
Julie. I need your assistance."
"Madame's fete, Mademoiselle?" she said, doubt-
fully, her pale face becoming paler still. "Madame's
fete?"
"On the hill-top, Julie. It takes place at mid-
night, when she enters her last home on earth. I
am to attend her. I must go as would best please
her. Bring the gown I wore on her birthnight. It
is brocaded in lilies. It will match her shroud."
Trembling, in silence, the woman obeyed. She
wove my hair into a crown of braids and robed me
in the splendid ball-gown. Not till she had finished
did she speak; then:
"The jewels, Mademoiselle? They were worn be-
fore. I am to ask Monsieur?"
"No. Madame prefers not."
Taking my prayer-book, I returned to Madam,
dismissing the other watchers.
Slowly the afternoon wore itself away. After an
hour in that silent room I felt that my former life
with Madam had been a dream. This was the real-
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
I was grateful for his assistance, as he led me
back through the quiet night, to the house, and up
the great staircase, to my room. Blinded by tears,
exhausted in mind, I needed help. I paused at
my door to thank him. He took both my hands in
his.
"My poor little girl," he said. "My weary little
Athena! The strain has been too prolonged. You
need rest and change of scene. You shall have
both."
I was glad that he alluded to my going on the
morrow. Perhaps it might be well to say good-bye
to him at once. He might be as pleased as I to get
it over.
"Yes, I shall take the ten-thirty train to-morrow,
Philip. Shall we say good-bye now? You will
probably be busy in the morning."
He lifted my hands to his lips, kissed first one,
then the other, very gently, and, releasing them,
said, smiling faintly:
"Go and sleep, my darling! We can talk of your
going—in the morning. Here is Julie. Good-
night!"
He spoke with her in tones so low I did not hear
what he said. I remained where I was, wishing, yet
not liking, to insist upon that being my farewell.
Then, remembering he held my bank book—with
my small savings—and that I must receive the
money still due me from his hands, I realized we
must meet again.
As Julie brushed my hair I asked if she knew
where my trunk, and the clothes I had brought with
me to the Hall, were kept.
"But yes, Mademoiselle."
"I am going away to-morrow morning, Julie, and
shall rise early to pack. You must be tired, and
need not help me. Tell me where I shall find my
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
things, and have my trunk brought in here, please.
That will be all."
I glanced, as I spoke, at the reflection of her dark
face in the mirror before which 1 sat. Did I imagine
it—could the woman be trying to suppress an amused
smile? I remained uncertain.
"I am to attend to everything for Mademoiselle.
Monsieur has given me my orders."
I was relieved. So Philip was as anxious to be
rid of me as I to go! That was comforting, and I
stood in need of comfort of some kind. I was very
unhappy—childishly unhappy about dear little
Madam. I was unable to realize that she was in
Heaven—and safe. I could not banish the disquiet-
ing feeling that I had left her to face the cold ter-
rors of her new resting-place, alone. I determined
to watch until dawn, already so near. The hall
clock had just struck two. But I was young, and
very tired. In spite of grief, of my weird fancies,
I fell asleep. Sleep brought no peace.
I found myself in a vast swamp with Madam.
Everything about me seemed strangely familiar. I
felt I had seen its moss-hung trees, its slimy under-
growth, many times before. I thought I was mak-
ing a painful way for her through a very network of
snaky creepers, trailing vines that caught at our
feet and held us back. Suddenly these gave place
to an open meadow, the grass intensely, unnaturally
green. Across this we must run with all speed, for
behind us, close behind, came the fierce baying of
dogs. I heard Madam cry:
"The bloodhounds are out! They are coming!"
I seized her hand, put my arm around her,
dragged her forward. As our hurrying feet touched
the rank grasses of the meadow, black mud bubbled
up. Too late I knew, that in trying to save, I had
destroyed, Madam. We were sinking in a marsh.
350


XXXIV
The morning was chilly. The sunshine streaming
in through my east window had a pale, watery look.
It was as if early April had returned.
I had expected to find my trunk outside my door,
and on it a package containing the slender wardrobe
I had brought with me to Highgrove Hall. Julie
knew I wished to pack for myself, but would see
that all was in readiness. When, cautiously, through
fear of attracting Philip's attention, I peeped into
the hall, I found nothing. Disappointed, feverishly
anxious to prepare for my journey, I stole softly out,
and up to the third story, to seek my belongings.
A new dread of Philip was in my heart. I felt
so terribly alone. I, Athena Derohan, was afraid.
In vain I tried to overcome my fear. I could not
conquer it—it conquered me. I knew I must go
through with one more interview, but until then let
me escape seeing him, if possible. I went up to the
third story and made my search there noiselessly.
I found nothing until I reached the trunk-room. To
my intense relief my trunk stood in the middle of
the floor! Julie had already packed it for me. It
was strapped, tagged, ready!
Pleased, greatly relieved, I went in to unstrap
its fastenings. There were some things downstairs
that must go in. Hardly had I grasped a strap, when
it dropped from my hand, still buckled, for lying on
the top of the trunk was a letter, addressed in my
own handwriting, to Mrs. Welborn. Had Frangois
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
forgotten to post it, after all? Then I saw that there
was something bulky inside. I took it up. In one
corner of the envelope was written, in my writing:
"Contains trunk key."
I sat down on the floor. I felt odd and faint.
My eye fell on the fresh tag fastened to one of the
handles. I lifted it. Again, in my handwriting,
Mrs. Welborn's name and address, and in the corner
this:
"From Mrs. Philip Erranti."
I tore open the letter in my other hand—the
trunk key, nothing else. I bent again to the strap.
The trunk stood open. It was tightly packed, a
strange medley, indeed. My clothes, and with them
rolls of silk, shawls, lace-trimmed undergarments,
odds and ends. I knew them all. They had formed
part of Madam's collection.
I went through each tray as carefully as swiftly,
disturbing nothing. I had learned little, so far. The
letter-pocket, fastened against the inside lid, caught
my attention. I thrust in my hand, drew out an
envelope. It was addressed like the other, but was
unsealed. In it was a card.
"For Mrs. Stephen Welborn. To be used—or dis-
tributed—as she wishes.
"From her friend,
"ATHENA DE ROHAN EBBANTI."
I had sought eagerly for the meaning of the ready-
packed trunk. Found, it appalled me. The tenacity
with which Philip clung to his purpose roused me
to instant action. The interview I had dreaded I
now desired. He must know at once that his forgery
was discovered—and despised.
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THE HOUSE OX THE HUDSON
"Mademoiselle!"
I turned. Frangois stood in the doorway.
"Mademoiselle, breakfast is ready."
I shut and locked the trunk, took its key, and the
card I had found in the letter-pocket, in my hand,
and followed Frangois swiftly, to confront Philip
with my knowledge of his unscrupulous handiwork.
The dining-room was empty, but one cover laid.
"Where is Monsieur Erranti?" I demanded.
"Monsieur, Mademoiselle?" said Frangois, draw-
ing out my chair for me. "But he has gone! To
town, Mademoiselle, as always."
His shifty eyes glanced meaningly at my place.
Following the glance I saw a letter beside it. The
address was in Philip's own bold handwriting. The
note was as follows:
"Dearest Athena:
"I am forced to leave you for the day. A few
tiresome business matters demand instant attention.
I shall be with you again by six o'clock. Julie is
with me to make a few purchases, articles that she
thinks may add to your comfort during our coming
voyage.
"May I beg you to remain indoors during my
absence? You are sadly in need of rest, my poor
darling. Best try for a quiet day. This evening
we can discuss our plans for the future.
"Your devoted lover,
"Pinup."
"Thursday morning."
I refolded this very remarkable letter carefully,
and replaced it in its envelope; then turned to the
unpleasantly observant butler, and gave my orders.
"I go to town on the 10:30 train. Please order
the carriage to be at the house at 9:15. Be good
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
enough, also, to see that my trunk is carried down-
stairs at that time."
"Mademoiselle has eaten no breakfast!"
Francois spoke reproachfully, entreatingly, still
holding the back of my chair. I sat down and asked
for a glass of milk. I had no appetite, yet was faint
from long fasting. I sipped the milk slowly, very
slowly. Swallowing had, somehow, grown difficult.
I stared absently across the table, out through the
long window opposite. Suddenly my sense of vis-
ion was recalled. A man in sailor dress lounged past,
along the veranda. In a moment he repassed the
window, with noiseless tread. I recognized him. He
belonged to the new crew of the Charlotte.
"Mademoiselle!"
"Yes, Frangois." I wondered at his evident per-
turbation.
"Mademoiselle, I am very sorry—that note—
from Monsieur—" He stopped short, as if finding
great difficulty in expressing himself.
"I am waiting, Frangois." I was in haste to be
upstairs.
"Monsieur recommends that Mademoiselle awaits
his return, n'est-ce pas?" said the man, desperately.
"You fear to anger your master by obeying me,
Frangois? Then send Cray to me, please."
A sullen expression darkened his hang-dog face.
"It will avail nothing!" he said, doggedly. "We
have our orders. Mademoiselle is to remain within
until the return of Monsieur. If only Mademoiselle
would be content to repose herself! She is very
safe in Highgrove Hall—well guarded!"
He glanced significantly at the window. The
sailor was again passing. Then the shifty eyes for
half an instant met mine and—I understood. I was
a prisoner!
This full knowledge of my situation, coming
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
suddenly, robbed me of my strength. I sank upon
the chair from which I had just risen. Frangois,
his frightened expression showing he feared I might
faint, gave me quickly a glass of water. After a
moment's reflection I asked to see Cray. In the
Englishman, who had known me from childhood, I
hoped to find an ally. Frangois shook his head.
"If Mademoiselle would but try to comprehend!
If she would but consider for a moment! If she
would but recall to herself the great fear of Monsieur
that possesses the good Cray!—ma foi! We all fear
him—all! Even, perhaps, Mademoiselle herself!"
He spread out his hands with an air of resignation.
"I must speak with Cray," I insisted. "Since you
fear to call him, I will find him myself."
"It is of no use, Mademoiselle. Cray is at the
stables, where he is necessary, since all, save one
groom only, are sent away. Then, too, Cray would
not come did I call him. He fears to see Mad-
emoiselle, he says, in her distress. He must obey
Monsieur—he remains, then, at the stables!"
Again I reviewed my chances of escape, for es-
cape I must, before Philip's return. Desperate, I
seized the only one that offered.
"And you, Frangois?" I said gently, looking plead-
ingly into the man's evil face. "Are you willing to
see me kept a prisoner? Ah, no; you will help me,
I am sure! Help me to get to Droneton, and you
shall have every cent I possess."
He did not answer, but stood before me with bent
head, listening.
"No one need know," I went on, in low tones;
"no one can know, with clever management. Ma-
thilde is upstairs, Cray out of the house. If you
will but engage the man on guard in pleasant con-
versation—over a bottle of wine—I can slip down
to the railroad track, and so to Droneton"
356


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"And I, Mademoiselle? What then, I ask, be-
comes of me, Frangois?"
"You will follow before my flight is discovered,
Frangois," I said, steadily, "and earn not only my
money, but my sincere gratitude."
"Mademoiselle talks like a child," he said, coldly,
"forgetting, I think, the temper of Monsieur. He
would find me, would beat me to death—or worse!
Ah, no! Not such a fool am I as to cross the will
of Monsieur for a little money! For look, then, the
savings of Mademoiselle are but a trifle—a few hun-
dreds only, n'est-ce pas? Not worth a risk so ter-
rible. As for giving pleasure to Mademoiselle"—
he laid his hand on his heart, bowing low—"that is
different! It desolates me to disoblige her—mais,
que voulez-vous? I am a mere servant, I, Frangois!
The butler of Monsieur! I must obey orders."
I left the room without another word, bitterly
regretting that I had so humbled myself. Frangois
followed close after, with catlike tread. I paid no
attention, but, reaching the top of the great stair-
case, turned toward that leading to the third story.
"Mademoiselle!"
I stood still.
"The rooms of the third story being locked—
Cray now has the keys—Mademoiselle will find her-
self more comfortable here—or downstairs."
I entered my own room, shutting the door upon
his spying face. I was not surprised to see Mathilde
seated by my window, busy with her sewing. She
rose respectfully.
"A dull day, Mademoiselle!"
"You have orders to remain here with me?"
"But yes, Mademoiselle."
"And why?" I asked, curious to hear what her ex-
cuse might be. She made none.
"Monsieur feared to have Mademoiselle alone."
357


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
“Why does he fear, Mathilde?”
She raised her eyes from the work she had re-
sumed, to stare at me dully.
“Why, Mademoiselle?”
“Yes, why?” I repeated. “Why does he fear to
have me left alone? Speak freely, Mathilde; I wish
to understand.”
After a moment of puzzled silence she spoke—
quite freely.
“Mademoiselle is not like others, Monsieur says.
Monsieur gave strict orders. ‘Watch Mademoiselle
carefully. She is not one who threatens what she
will do. Mademoiselle acts swiftly—without words.
Mademoiselle wishes to leave here. She may not
do so to-day. Be respectful. Do not, for one mo-
ment, forget the high rank of Mademoiselle; but see
to it that she neither harms herself, nor leaves my
house.’ Voilà l’”
She recommenced her stitching, as stolid, as un-
moved as before.
I felt the need of employment. Perhaps, with the
touch of familiar implements, might come some plan.
Needle and thimble might steady my brain, might
help it, too, to work swiftly. I begged Mathilde to
let me help her, calling a gleam of real pleasure into
her dull face. She gave me the strip of muslin, with
a smile. -
“Mademoiselle embroiders as no one else can,” she
said; but her gratification did not lead her into for-
getting Philip's orders.
Now plying my needle, then flitting restlessly
about the house, at times searching for help, for
comfort in my Bible, I got through the day. My
brain reeled under the strain put upon it, for,
no matter what my employment, I still searched
eagerly, feverishly—at last desperately—for some
plan of escape.
358


XXXV
"Monsieur has returned, Mademoiselle," said Ma-
thilde. "What robe shall I put out?"
"I shall not change my dress."
"As Mademoiselle pleases."
With folded hands I sat quite still in my easy-
chair—waiting.
I thought of my father, of his faith in what he
had been pleased to call my "unerring instinct." It
had failed me. I did not know what to do. "You're
a strange child, Athena," he had often said. "Your
instinct's as marvellous as the nose of a good hound.
You're not clever, you know, my dear, so never try
for the reason of doing anything, but wait till your
instinct gives the word, 'go!' Then up and do your
best. It's like your fencing, boxing, riding, and the
rest. I had you taught the tricks of the trade, but,
by Heaven, it's instinct tells you when the moment's
come to go in and win! That's what you've got to
thank for your success—instinct, my girl!"
The gong sounded in the lower hall. I did not
move.
Mathilde, always slow-moving, waited awhile;
then, thinking I had not heard, said:
"Dinner is served, Mademoiselle."
"Thank you. I'm not hungry."
Mathilde looked sulky. She had hoped for some
hours of freedom. In a few moments what I had
expected happened—a gentle knock at the door,
Philip's musical voice asking leave to enter. I did
not answer. Mathilde ushered him in. I looked at
360


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
want to quarrel with me, sweet, you'd better
strengthen yourself for battle by eating your din-
ner. Francois tells me you've eaten nothing all
day! I really am anxious about you, Athena.
You'll do yourself a mischief by this fasting. It's
unkind, I think, when you know how it worries me.
Come, you must eat something now."
Again he offered his hand. This time I accepted
his aid, and, rising, allowed him to lead me—as if
I were in truth the petulent child he pretended to
think me—downstairs and into the dining-room. An
idea had come to me at last. For lack of a better I
acted upon it.
Frangois, seeing us enter hand-in-hand, drew out
my chair with an almost absurd look of relief, and
served me with attentive eagerness.
Realizing that Philip's advice about keeping up
my strength was good, I made an effort to eat, but
beyond swallowing my soup—my throat contracted
oddly—I was unsuccessful. The dinner, I noticed,
had been ordered expressly to suit my taste.
"If you would only drink a little wine, my pet,"
suggested Philip, seeing me refuse every dish, "a
glass of champagne! No? Perhaps just a drop of
Tokay—but you don't care for sweet things. What
can I give you to bring back your appetite?"
"My freedom."
He smiled at me across the table, no shade of
embarrassment crossing his handsome face. He was
looking remarkably handsome—even for him. The
lines of care that Madam's death had brought were
gone. His eyes were lustrous, alight with triumph-
ant happiness. His beauty was so resplendent all
objects surrounding him seemed colorless, dull. As
I looked at him the cold, deadly, silent hate within
me grew and grew. My heart had no room for any
feeling save this alone.
362


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
are forgiven it!'—even battle, and murder, and sud-
den death!"
A silence fell upon the room. Philip was lost
in his own strange thoughts; I, fighting my fear,
striving for patience. I had planned to sit late in
the library, to lull, by my ease of manner, my
willingness to remain with him, all suspicion of my
design. The clock in the hall struck nine. In-
stantly I rose, and, as if I had not had a dozen good
reasons for behaving quite differently, acted upon
instinct, as always.
"I am so tired," I complained, a half sob jarring
through my words, "and you are so unkind!"
Philip sprang from his chair, looking greatly dis-
tressed. Again kneeling beside me he gazed im-
ploringly into my face, bewildered. Never before
had he heard my voice raised in self-bewailing.
"Don't speak like that, my darling!" he cried.
"You break my heart. What can I do to please
you? I'll do anything, everything—save let you
leave me. That you must not ask."
"I'm not asking anything," I said, still almost in
tears, "save to be let alone. You worry me so!
You insist upon my thinking, thinking, till my head
is on fire. How can I sleep with my brain in this
dreadful whirl? How can I believe you care for me
when you're so selfish? Oh, I am so weary—body
and soul!"
I pushed him aside, and, going to the chimney-
piece, rested my arms upon it and my face on them.
I prayed for strength to carry out my plan as I hid
my eyes with their tell-tale expression, for I might
not control their look of dread and hatred.
Although it had sometimes suited Philip's pur-
pose to treat me as a whimsical child, he had never
seen me petulant. An irritable, unreasonable Athe-
366


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
na Derohan was new to him. He stood before me
silent, uncertain—non-plussed.
Seeing the advantage gained I acted upon it.
Pressing my handkerchief to my eyes I said:
"I think I will say good-night—that is, if you will
allow me! Even you, I suppose, won't deny me the
poor privilege of trying to rest."
Sighing deeply I moved languidly toward the
door, my head bent, my every weary movement ac-
cusing him of brutality.
"Athena!" he cried out. "Don't leave me with
your heart so full of bitterness! I'm not the brute
you think me; I'm not, I swear! Don't judge me so
harshly, Athena!"
"You won't let me rest," I said, piteously. "I feel
as though I could never sleep—you've worried me
so!"
"I have something that will make you sleep,
dearest," he spoke, eagerly. "Let me prescribe for
you"
I shook my head.
"I can't believe in your nostrums, Philip. Poor
little Madam! My head whirls like hers, to-night."
"I'll give you what she used to take—pauvre
petite maman. You're not afraid of her simple
drops, Athena?"
"JSTo-o. You're sure you have some, Philip?"
To convince me, he made me go with him to his
room and watch him take the well-known medicine-
chest from a cabinet. With my own hands I was
allowed to draw from its place the little bottle that
I had myself, so short a time ago, half filled with
water! I mixed my dose myself and carried it care-
fully to my room.
"You promise to take it, my Queen?" asked Philip
from the doorway.
367


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
Mathilde, fearing for her own night's rest. "Should
she wake now she may not sleep again!"
One of my braids hung down across my pillow.
Did I feel, or but imagine, a touch upon it?
"My darling!" murmured Philip. "My pure
white lily! My innocent dove! May God's own
angels guard thy rest!"
"Monsieur!"
Again Mathilde was remonstrating, this time
successfully, as, after a whispered consultation, I
heard the door closed gently. Philip was gone.
Mathilde began to rustle comfortably about the
room, happy in being rid of her master. I heard
her softly patting the pillows on the lounge she was
to occupy, then arranging the light to suit her taste.
I ventured to peep at her through my eyelashes.
She had taken off her cap, but otherwise was fully
dressed. This, and the position of the lounge, which
had been drawn out to command a view of me, told
me she was expected to sleep with one eye open. I
wondered at Philip's precautions when he thought
me drugged, then wondered at myself for expect-
ing to understand him.
So began the hours of waiting. After midnight
I should try to escape; until then, patience! Thus
far I had succeeded. I had obtained the sleeping-
mixture I had tried for-—surely Madam herself had
helped me. Now, I could but pray for aid, for guid-
ance—and wait.
The house was very silent. Save for the gentle
snoring of Mathilde, the many clocks calling to each
other from every room that time was passing, and
the whispering of the wood-fire as it smouldered on
the hearth, not a sound! Outside the fog muffled
the night rustlings of woodland and garden, the
twitter of half-awakened birds, the light snapping
of some twig;—all sounds were smothered under the
heavy mist.


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
At eleven came the clanking of Peggy's chain, as
Cray fastened her to the great safe by Philip's door,
and her thud of contented settling down for the
night; then, once more, silence.
I lay motionless, thinking, thinking;—sometimes
remembering stories of others who, like me, inno-
cent of crime, had endured what I was enduring—
and inhuman treatment besides. Then, resolutely
turning away from history's teachings, striving to
forget the miseries of those who had died in prison,
of those whose sufferings made mine as nothing, I
set to replanning every detail of my flight, until the
nervous strain of waiting became too great, and I
drove my thoughts backward into the past, for a
time successfully, reliving hours of my childhood,
forgetting my danger, my present surroundings, in
the joy of recalling scenes passed with my parents—
remembering their every gesture, every word. Then,
with a sickening pang in my heart, my mind would
swing back. With redoubled terror I stared at the
familiar objects surrounding me—the silken curtains
garlanded with lilies, the "articles de luxe" on the
dressing-table, the weight of luxury everywhere,
and, on the lounge, the sleeping sentry. So the night
wore on—twelve, half-past, one o'clock
I crawled stealthily from the bed, drew its cov-
erings to the pillows, that it might be thought occu-
pied, took from a chair my cashmere dressing-gown,
and stole softly past Mathilde. I reached my dress-
ing-room, closed the door noiselessly after me,
slipped the bolt. Not a sound from the room I had
left! I put on a few clothes—I dared not attempt
dressing thoroughly—slipped into the dressing-gown,
drew on a pair of stockings, extinguished the night-
lamp, and, opening the great French window, crept
out upon the veranda roof.
The night was intensely dark. Once on the shed
the pall of fog, so thick it felt like rain, enveloped
370


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
me. The drawn blinds inside the closed shutters
of my room prevented a ray of light from escaping.
I had nothing to guide me as, feeling each inch of
the way, I crawled slowly to the edge of the wet,
slippery roof. That reached, I lay flat, and stretched
my arm over and under, feeling for one of the iron
trellises, which must serve as a ladder. Once down,
I meant to go to Mr. Beverley and demand his pro-
tection. He would help me to reach the Welborns
in safety—defend me from Philip. I felt I had a
right to ask this at his hands, that any gentleman,
knowing what threatened, would hasten gladly to
my aid.
The open air restored my composure. The need
of muscular exertion steadied my nerves. The
knowledge that far below lay the brick pavement of
the kitchen area, that losing my balance and fall-
ing meant death, gave me comfort. The roof, cov-
ered with stuff that felt like canvas, made no sound.
The tin-lined gutter at its edge was half full of
water, deadening its crackings.
My long peignoir wound about my feet, imped-
ing every motion. My hands, covered with slimy
moisture from the roof, began to slip dangerously.
Suddenly my clammy fingers touched a spray of
dripping leaves. I had found a trellis. Twisting
about I flattened myself, bat-like, on the roof, and,
backing cautiously, began to lower myself over the
edge. Inch by inch, every muscle strained and tense,
I descended into space, my feet fumbling for the
trellis. Presently I hung by my hands alone—one
slipped, ah!—a great effort—swinging forward I
caught, with both hands and feet, the twisted iron.
It creaked beneath my weight, its vines showering
down wet leaves, great drops. I clung, and held
my breath—listening! I thought I heard a faint
sound below on the veranda. I waited; my heart
filled the universe with the noise of its throbbing.
371


THE HOUSE OX THE HUDSON
By and by I grew calmer, ventured to descend. I
had been mistaken, no one was near.
This certainty sent a thrill of rapture, of exulta-
tion tingling through me. I tried not to injure the
vine that shared its support so generously, thrusting
my feet, in their drenched stockings, carefully among
its delicate branches. Its tendrils caught my braids;
I freed them gently. At last my foot touched the
veranda. I swung myself around to the inside of
the trellis. I was free!
I turned—two strong arms closed around me.
The cry of despair that rose to my lips was smoth-
ered against a man's breast—Philip's!
372


XXXVI
Lifting me as easily as if I had been a child, Philip
carried me along the veranda—around the corner of
the house—to the library window. It was open, but
the curtain drawn close to conceal the lamplight.
Still holding me he shut and bolted the window after
us, then, touching my hair and shoulders, exclaimed:
"As I supposed—wet through! You must be got
to bed at once. Come!"
He spoke sternly, and half led, half carried me
through the room and across the dimly lighted hall,
where the marble pillars—rows of shadowy ghosts
—seemed all standing on tiptoe to see the runaway
pass.
I had made no effort to escape,—neither strug-
gled, cried for air, nor begged to be released. My
mind, exhausted by unwonted effort, was nearing
collapse; but enough sense remained to tell me that,
for the present, I must submit. Only the deadly fear
of losing consciousness—for an odd stupor was steal-
ing upon me—prevented my doing so. At the foot
of the staircase when, grasping the balustrade, I
strove to mount unaided, this sensation of faintness
became so intense that I reeled and must, but for
Philip, have fallen. Again lifting me in his arms
he carried me up the stair, murmuring, as he pressed
me tenderly to him:
"Foolish child, when will you cease struggling
against your fate? Do you know what torture you
373


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
have inflicted upon me to-night? I swear it shall
never happen again—never, never!"
The sensual face of the Venus above the landing
seemed to gleam with a smile of triumph as I was
carried past. Her heavy-lidded eyes stared down
upon me contemptuously. Fierce hatred struck
through my stupor like a sword. I knew that my
pallor, my stained garments, my hair heavy with
fog gave her a vindictive pleasure—as I also knew
suddenly that my hatred of this white Venus was an
old hatred, an instinct born in me, a strange in-
heritance.
Carrying me into my room Philip placed me in
an easy-chair close to the hearth, and kneeling be-
fore me rekindled the dying fire. Then turning his
attention to Mathilde, who still slept heavily, he
took the carafe of water from my table and de-
liberately poured its contents full on her face. With
a cry of terror she started up, staring about her with
frightened, sleep-dulled eyes.
"Don't you see that your mistress is wet, you
fool?" shouted Philip. "Get her dry things-—bestir
yourself!"
Stolidly, moving like an automaton, she obeyed;
and her master, taking what she brought from her
fiercely, himself hung the things before the fire.
"Dress your mistress while I rouse Julie," he com-
manded. "She must take your place—you're not
to be trusted."
Awake at last Mathilde hurried me out of my be-
draggled dressing-gown into the lace-trimmed tea-
gown, and replaced my wet stockings with dry ones.
Hardly had she accomplished this when Philip was
back again, entering without the ceremony of knock-
ing, a circumstance that, penetrating to my almost
torpid brain, restored a fraction of my will-power.
Striving to rouse myself I fixed my eyes upon him
374


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
service, you shall belong to me just the same. This
—I also swear." He stooped, took my face between
his hands, looked deep into my eyes. "Julie guards
you to-night. To-morrow night I shall be with you,
as your husband—or your lover. It is for you to
choose."
He kissed me on the lips and left the room.
His wicked words disgusted but failed to terrify
me. The moment the door closed upon him my
brain yielded to its fatigue. Philip and his threats
faded from my mind. I was conscious only of be-
ing tired, so very tired, and of having gained some
hours in which to rest.
Julie, hard-eyed and grumbling, helped me to
bed, and I sank into a heavy sleep that lasted fully
six hours. It was nine o'clock in the morning when
I opened my eyes, waked by the sound of my own
laughter! Julie stood at the bedside, watching me
curiously. I stared at her in dismay. It was hard
to come back to the awful reality of life, after my
happy dream.
I had been in the old barn back of our Long
Island farm-house. Its wide doors stood open, let-
ting in broad rays of sunshine, the crisp sea-breeze,
the scent of new-mown hay. On the dusty floor a
square was marked off in lines of chalk—a space of
twenty feet or so. In it I stood, facing my father,
not the worn man of later years, but the cheer-
ful companion of my childhood, gay, bright-eyed,
debonair. I listened to his kind voice, his light-
hearted laughter, and to his advice. This last,
because of its absurdity—how might I ever need
such advice?—amused me so that I laughed aloud,
and my dream was over. But at sight of Julie's
dark face I laughed no longer. I found the counsel
of my dead father good.
"Will Mademoiselle breakfast in bed or rise?"
378


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON.
sparkling above the knuckles. Yes, it was a very
heavy ring. I drew it oil, replaced it in its box, and
told Julie to put it away, anywhere.
"You will not wear it, Mademoiselle?"
"Not now, Julie."
"When Monsieur returns, perhaps?"
"Perhaps, Julie."
I rose, to begin another long day of waiting. The
fog still held. The house was dark and gloomy. I
neither worked nor read to divert my thoughts—I
had none. My mind was worn out seeking a solu-
tion to my problem. I let it rest, forced it no longer.
I was not a thinking woman, why strive to change
my nature? At the last I might know what to do—
not until then.
A little after noon, weary of my own room, I
went downstairs. Frangois, reading a newspaper
near the front door, rose and bowed low as he said:
"At present the library is in use, Mademoiselle,
but I may enter if a book is desired."
"Who is there, Francois?" I asked, idly—what
did any household arrangement really matter to me?
But his answer set my pulses throbbing:
"Monsieur Randal St. John."
I was saved! With a prayer of thanksgiving fill-
ing my heart to bursting I turned to seek the help
I felt sure of receiving. Francois stopped me.
"One moment, Mademoiselle! Monsieur St. John
is in communication with Monsieur Erranti! They
speak together through the telephone—a remarkable
instrument, nest-ce pas? If Mademoiselle desire, I
will inform Monsieur St. John of her wish to speak
with him?"
Frangois, then, was willing to aid me through an-
other!
"Yes, please, Frangois," I said, gratefully.
He knocked at the closed door and gave my mes-
380


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
sage, while I, my heart beating so violently that I
could scarcely breathe, sank upon a divan opposite
and waited. Randal did not keep me waiting long.
I heard him laugh, heard him call out to someone
as he opened the door:
"That's over, thank the Lord!"
I saw Cray hurry past the large hall window, then
Randal appeared, crossed the hall to me. I rose,
going swiftly to meet him.
"Randal!" I cried, under my breath, calling him
by his first name without knowing. "Randal!
Thank God, you have come in time!"
"How are you?" he said, gayly; "but I needn't
ask—always as beautiful as a dream. May I be the
first to offer congratulations, dear Mrs. Erranti?"
He held out his hand, smiling. His cheeks were
flushed, he was excited. I thought he had been
drinking.
We stood by the statue of Fortune. Frangois had
disappeared. We were quite alone, and could speak
without fear of being overheard, yet I was silent, so
strangely sinister was Randal's expression, so un-
friendly his cruel smile.
"I've just done much to earn your thanks, dear
lady," he continued, "as much as if I'd been a match-
making mamma! For I have married you, a beauti-
ful, well-born, but penniless girl, to a rich man who
adores you"
In my astonishment I found my voice, and, inter-
rupting him, begged he would cease jesting.
"I am in very great trouble. I am a prisoner
here. Mr. Erranti won't let me go—and threatens
me. Oh, Randal! I saved your life—now save
mine!"
I laid my hand appealingly on his arm. His ugly
smile deepened.
"Why, I've already done better for you than you
381


XXXVIJ
The luncheon served me was excellent, if a little
odd. Nothing requiring the use of a knife was there.
Then I remembered that the same omission had been
arranged for at breakfast as well. I had taken noth-
ing since waking save a glass of milk, but my appe-
tite had deserted me. I was faint, but not hungry,
and disposing of one dainty sandwich and a cup of
bouillon was a serious and difficult matter, since the
act of swallowing had become a pain. This duty
done, I began again to wait—for what I did not
know, calling it simply, to myself, "The end."
I did not trouble myself as to the possible legality,
or illegality, of the so-called marriage. Randal,
with his powers of mimicry, had probably used my
voice in answering for me through the telephone;
but I did not know if this bit of acting had been
necessary. I neither knew, nor cared very much,
if a marriage had been so performed before, if tele-
phones might be used for such a purpose. Com-
pletely ignorant, I was content to remain so. Mar-
ried or not, Philip would carry out his plans. Liv-
ing or dead, I should foil them. But I come of a
fighting race. The long hours of waiting, of en-
forced inaction, bred despair. Kneeling by my bed-
side, my cheek pressed close to the worn cover of my
prayer-book, I repeated over and over again parts
of the Litany, and so felt less alone. It seemed to
me that I heard the soft murmur of other voices
386


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
lifted in prayer—the voices of those who had sought
help, and found consolation, in this general supplica-
tion, where all may find their special plea.
"That it may please Thee to succor, help, and
comfort, all who are in danger, necessity, and tribu-
lation."
And the unseen souls then whispered fervently:
"We beseech Thee to hear us, good Lord."
So the afternoon passed, dark, dreadful. The fog
still clung about the house—as if it might remain al-
ways, to shut it away, with its evil atmosphere, from
the world of honest folk. Not a breath of wind was
stirring. Within was the dulness of despair; with-
out, the deadening pall of mist!
I had fallen into a semi-stupor, unconscious of
all save my own anguish, when I was roused by
Julie's metallic voice. At first I scarcely heard her
words, and remained kneeling, my arms flung out
across the silken counterpane, my set, white face
hidden. No tears had come in my despair—I had
long passed the tears of self-pity.
"Will you dress now—Madame, or later?" she re-
peated, lingering caressingly upon the word that
made a dainty morsel for her cruel lips.
I rose and faced her.
"Now."
She fell back a pace, staring. Vague alarm came
creeping into her hard eyes. I looked at the clock.
Its hour-hand pointed to six.
"Make haste, please. I am in a hurry."
"But Monsieur is just arrived," raising her eye-
brows. "He too, must dress for dinner."
I looked at her steadily.
"You fail to understand? Then pay attention. I
wish to dress at once—and quickly. I shall wear
the white satin—the plain one."
"But Madame!" she remonstrated. "It fits 90
387


THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
the better, ma foil Therefore, they remain bare—
like marble, and as cold! Perhaps the old satin, as
loose, as ill-fitting as that Madame wore as a child
for her fencing, her exercises, is now worn to show
she is superior to la toilette! Ah, del! Madame's
mother, she would have robed herself in the new
dress of lace, the veil, the diamonds, troubling not
from whom they came or"
"Hush!"
Julie shrank back. By nature hard and insolent,
she yet seemed afraid.
"Never dare take that name upon your lips
again," I said, quietly, almost under my breath.
"My mother is a saint in heaven, and you—you
travel toward hell!"
I left the room and went downstairs. It was half-
past six. I had no wish to wait until Philip came
for me. I was quite ready to meet him and my fate.
I crossed the hall to the library. I heard voices
there. The door stood half open. I saw Philip and
Randal standing together, before the desk. Neither
noticed my approach. Philip's back was toward me,
Eandal absorbed in watching him. As I paused for
a second Randal said:
"Yes, he's quiet enough in appearance, I grant;
but he's not the sort you imagine. If he knew half
the truth he'd have your life!"
A mocking laugh, low, musical, was the only re-
ply. A deep flush swept over Randal's pale face.
"He would—if he hung for it!" he said, sharply.
"Messieurs, I bid you good-evening!"
At the sound of my voice both men started vio-
lently. Randal thrust something hastily into his
breast pocket.
"The pieces of silver," I asked, "or have I brought
you gold?"
Before I had finished speaking the man who called
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
himself my husband had taken my hand in his and
kissed it.
"You have come to me of yourself, my darling!
God bless you for your sweet trustfulness." Then,
lifting my left hand, "Where is your betrothal
ring?"
"It did not please me," I said, calmly. "I wish
one of a different kind."
Philip stared at me, puzzled, anxious.
"You shall choose for yourself, sweetheart. What-
ever you wish you shall have. And now," he said,
humbly, "may I slip on this slender finger the golden
circlet that means my Heaven?"
"Not now, please, Philip."
He looked disappointed, but smiling said that he
would wait my pleasure, and led me to a chair.
Something in my appearance or manner seemed
to have cast a spell over Randal. He had not taken
his eyes off me since my entrance, and when I sat
down he took a chair opposite, moving as though in
a dream, and continued staring at me as before. I
wondered what his thoughts were. Might I, at the
eleventh hour, find a champion? He should have
a chance to patch up his shattered honor.
"You wear no jewels, Athena," said Philip.
"Have they failed, like the ring, to suit your taste?
They can easily be altered."
"You would have liked me better in the dia-
monds?" I asked, looking not at him but at Randal.
"I do not please you—as I am?"
"Please me? What a question from a bride to her
bridegroom! From you to me!"
He flung himself on his knees at my feet, and
seizing my cold hands devoured them with kisses.
Not caring for Randal's presence—perhaps forget-
ful of it—he made no effort to disguise his mad pas-
sion. I looked across his bent head and saw the
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
pale face of the man opposite turn paler, saw him
half rise from his chair, then sink back again with
a groan.
"Philip," I said, gently, "I will tell you what ring
I wish. Perhaps you may care to get it for me."
He looked at me with eyes that shone. He was
intoxicated with happiness—thinking he had con-
quered. Rising with the light, lithe grace of a
panther, he seated himself beside me and bade me
command him.
"You shall have it if it costs the half of my
fortune," he cried, again possessing himself of my
hands. "My darling, my queen, my wife! Where
can I find this ring, Athena? Tell me, and it is
yours."
"The person who now wears it"—I spoke serenely
—"will doubtless be quite willing to part with it for
—a good price. He has already sold two jewels of
such inestimable value that this must seem a mere
bagatelle"
"I understand you, Athena," cried Randal, rising
to his feet as if stung into life; "but I'm damned if
you shall succeed!"
Philip turned angrily upon him, rising in his turn.
"Come to yourself!" he said, sharply. "Remem-
ber where you are—and who you are! I permit no
man to swear in my wife's presence, nor to call her
by any name save mine. To you she is Mrs. Er-
ranti. Don't forget yourself again!"
"Madame is served," said a colorless voice.
Frangois stood on the threshold, a picture of the
perfect servant, who sees and hears nothing. Philip
and Randal ceased glaring at each other like angry
wolves about to spring. The latter, as guest, offered
me his arm and led me in to dinner. I was sick with
disappointment. If only, for ten minutes longer,
Frangois had stayed away!
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"It was my mother's ring," I said, gravely, "then
mine.. Now I wish for it. Mr. St. John has for-
feited his right. He has failed to keep the condi-
tions. He was to give up gambling. Come, Mr. St.
John, give me the ring! Your uncle would be will-
ing—come!"
"Are you crazy?" cried Randal. "You know quite
well I can't! If he missed it from my finger there'd
be the very deuce to pay! I believe you want to
ruin me."
"I want the ring," I said, steadily, and looked at
Philip.
"Name your price, Randal! I won't haggle about
the matter. Give Athena her ring. I can't have
her thwarted."
Randal shot a sullen glance at him, and said, dog-
gedly:
"I'm very sorry, but it can't be done. You can
have one made for her like it/'
"Impossible!" I said. "A gem like that may not
be copied. The man who carved that wonderful
face is long since dead"
"You can sit for the likeness yourself, for a new
one," Randal interrupted. "God knows you're the
very image of the Nemesis!"
Philip frowned angrily, and essayed to speak, but
I held up my hand, imposing silence.
"Listen!" I said. "Give up the ring before it is
too late. Against that jewel, dimming its brilliant
surface, two cold dead lips once pressed—my
mother's lips. Her last kiss was for Nemesis. Her
last breath blurred the face of Nemesis. I need the
ring. Will you give it up?"
"No!"
I leaned forward and smiled coldly into his hag-
gard eyes.
"Then beware, for you are doomed! Two sleuth-
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
hounds follow fast upon your trail—my mother and
Nemesis! Beware, lest they run you down at
last!"
Randal strove to laugh, but failed; then drank
more wine. The hand that lifted the glass shook
visibly, in spite of his efforts to steady it.
I looked at Philip and raised my eyebrows.
"Apres!"
"Come, Randal, don't be a fool!" He spoke good-
humoredly, but I saw that his obstinacy was aroused.
"Don't make a fuss about a trifle! Tell your uncle
you've lost the ring. A lie more or less doesn't mat-
ter to you—you're used to them!"
He laughed with easy, contemptuous good-nature.
Randal was reaping a bitter harvest. He did not
answer; but, with eyes cast down, drew a pattern
on the table-cloth with a shaking finger. Would
nothing sting him into action? Was every spark of
manhood dead within him?
"Seeing that one emerald is as good as another in
Mr. St. John's eyes, he may be willing to exchange
my mother's Nemesis for the other, that once was
hers, but is now in your possession."
"In my possession, Athena?" said Philip, looking
at me in surprise.
"Once set as a brooch, but now in a dagger's hilt.
The emerald Julie stole."
Frangois, the perfect butler, refilling Randal's
ever-empty glass, continued pouring until the wine
overflowed upon the snowy cloth; but his careless-
ness passed unnoticed. The uneasiness that had been
apparent in the manner of the others now communi-
cated itself to Philip, but it lasted a few moments
only. Then he smiled, and said:
"Think of your knowing that, Pet! I knew you
bore Minerva's name, but I had no idea she had
dowered you with her divining power!"
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
"I must wait? But later, Athena?"
I closed my fingers tight upon the kiss. "Later?"
I repeated, slowly. "Later—should Fate so order—
I will give it back."
"Come!" cried Randal, impatiently. "In the
devil's name, let's get to work!"
"You should make allowances for me to-night,
Randal," said Philip, exultantly, as he rejoined him.
"You should remember that, thanks to you, this is
my wedding-night!"
"Yes—he should remember," I said, clearly.
Either by accident or design Frangois had set the
card-table directly in front of the statue of Fortune.
The goddess gleamed, white and stately, among her
palms and ferns. I looked at her. She had always
favored Philip—would she do so now?
The two men were seated so that neither turned
his back to me, but Randal's face was most fully
in view. I watched it keenly. The dagger lay at
Philip's right hand. The emerald in its golden hilt
shot forth one strange green ray, like the eye of a
live thing—watching.
"Bring wine," said Randal, as Francois was glid-
ing away.
"My dear boy!" expostulated Philip. "Don't you
think you've had about enough?"
He spoke kindly, but Randal resented his remon-
strance.
"Do you grudge me an extra bottle? Out with it,
if that's what troubles you!"
"Wine, Frangois!" was Philip's answer.
It was brought, in two decanters, and placed on
a table at Randal's elbow. He filled a glass, drank
it off, then said he was ready.
"Put the ring by the dagger, won't you?" said
Philip.
"I'll wear it till I lose it," was the sullen rejoinder.
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XXXVIII
Philip won badly, not attempting to conceal his
exultation. Randal lost as badly, showing too plainly
his chagrin.
With an air of good-humored superiority Philip
leaned both elbows on the table, and said, smiling:
"Well, I hope you are satisfied! Now, hand over
my wife's ring."
Randal rose suddenly, his chair grating on the
marble as he pushed it back. Philip stared at him,
then sprang to his feet.
"You mean you won't?" he cried. "Come, don't
be a fool! You've taken too much wine. Try to
behave like a gentleman. This is a debt of honor—
gentlemen pay their debts of honor. Even you must,
Randal—once in a while."
He laughed insolently.
Randal took a step forward, his comely face al-
most unrecognizable from passion, so ghastly white
save for the pink blotches that came and went with
his breathing.
"Well, must I take it from you?" said Philip.
"Take this—instead, you damned nigger, and
learn your place!" As the words hissed through his
teeth he struck Philip across the face. The next in-
stant they were struggling together like wild beasts.
I saw Randal disengage one hand and try to seize
the dagger. Philip, too quick for him, got it first.
I rose to my feet. What was coming? They had
forgotten me—both mad with rage. A moment they
swayed back and forth, then Philip lifted his right
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
too great for endurance, I sank down, feeling I could
go no farther. Then, through the black veil of night
and fog, came a face—so close to mine—a dark,
beautiful face, the eye alight with a devilish purpose.
With a moan of horror I was up and stumbling for-
ward as before.
Suddenly, when convinced that the pain and the
struggle would never end, the fog became luminous.
A broad band of light shone through it from a win-
dow—the window of Mr. Beverley's library. We
had reached the Towers. With Don's help I limped
up on the veranda, and hobbling to the window—it
was closed—looked in.
On the hearth-rug, his back to a bright wood-fire,
stood Mr. Beverley. As I saw his kind, yet some-
what stern face, I remembered his affection for
Randal. Must I break the news of his shame to this
upright man?
A wave of pain, a deathly sensation of faintness,
warned me to haste. I tapped on the glass. Staring
in surprise, Mr. Beverley crossed the room and flung
open the window.
"My God! Miss Derohan!"
He stood aside, while Don and I entered. As if
mechanically, he pushed an easy-chair toward me,
motioning me to sit down. But I stood, still con-
fronting him, a great pity for the kind old man fill-
ing my heart, blotting out all else. Torn, wet,
dishevelled, my white gown stained with grass and
mud—and those ugly dull red spots—my hair hang-
ing loose about me, and my ghastly face bearing the
marks of my fall, I stood before Mr. Beverley, si-
lent, searching for words in which to tell him gently
of Randal's crime and its awful punishment.
Suddenly, from over his shoulder, a dark face
smiled into mine. The brilliant eyes sparkled with
malignant triumph. It came nearer, nearer. I no
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
came back and stood, looking down upon me. In
the deep-set eyes, gleaming beneath bushy, white
eyebrows, I read intense disapproval and dislike—
Dick's uncle resented my coming! My pride, al-
ways at my elbow, stung me to new effort. I tried
to rise from the lounge on which I had been placed;
my brain reeled; I sank back, with a moan of pain.
Cold pity, the kind felt for an unfortunate but re-
pulsive person, mingled with the dislike in Mr. Bev-
erley's expression. He brought more brandy, but I
would not touch it. I remembered Dick's letter left
with this uncle, charging him to care for me, the let-
ter to which no heed had been given. My heart grew
hard; then, remembering the news I had to tell,
softened through pity. I did not know how to deal
this blow gently. My head was on fire. Thoughts
chased each other swiftly through its heated brain.
My mind, always slow, but at least methodical in its
processes, had become, like Madam's, a strange jum-
ble of odds and ends. I feared to open my lips. If
I did, what words might rush out first?
"Are you able to answer a few questions, Miss De-
rohan?" said Mr. Beverley, thus taking the matter
out of my hands.
"Yes."
"When did you return from California?"
Again that strange absurdity; who was its origi-
nator?
"I have never been there."
A look of incredulous surprise followed.
"Then where have you been?"
"At Highgrove Hall." And, seeing disbelief in
the old man's eyes, the strange torrent of thought
and words broke loose, crowding from my lips in
disordered haste. "Where else, when Madam needed
me—and Dick was dead? Where else, but there?
And now again I am alone! You saw the torches
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
the night we buried her—or Randal told you—but
no, he was not there. It was yesterday he came—
hush! What was that?
The clock on the chimney-piece told the hour. 1
counted with it. "Only eleven? Yet it was the
night-express I heard, below there by the brook.
There is someone in the room! Who is it? Not
Philip—you are sure? I heard a sigh, I thought—
but no, of course he is not here. If he were—hush!
Was that the sound of footsteps? If he comes he
will say that I am his wife. I am not. It was Ran-
dal who answered for me; Randal, who sold me for
forty pieces of silver Ah! forgive me! I meant
to speak gently, to prepare you—yes, he is dead,
quite dead. Philip killed him, but Nemesis gave the
order. Don't look at those ugly marks on my satin;
first Richard—then Randal! You are all alone, too.
Poor old man! You hate me, but I am sorry for
you. So very sorry! Randal had to die. He could
not live after his crime. He repented—at the last,
when I told him what Philip was. Randal was
wicked, of course—gambling, drinking—a vaurien,
as Madam said; but I am a Derohan, and white.
Had he known, he might have stood by me. It was
Philip's black blood that Is that he? We struck
to kill, Nemesis and I, but"
I stopped short. Mr. Beverley was asking a ques-
tion. I was vaguely aware that he had repeated it
many times; but it was well-nigh impossible to stop
the strange wheels in my head that were churning
my thoughts around and around, turning them into
words. It was terrible.
"Who told me Dick was dead, you ask? Randal.
He died in Russia, long, long ago. First his letters
stopped coming—you understand I am not Philip's
wife? You believe me? Yes, I see you do. Can
you give me something to stop these wheels in my
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
two confederates, Cray and Erangois. The fog
made secret deeds easy.
And Philip? Revived, but still giddy and stupid
from the blow, he had been taken on board the Char-
lotte, where, when his senses had returned, he had
raged at his captors, striving to overpower them, to
regain his supremacy, to return to the Hall. Then
they had resorted to chloroform. He had been under
its influence when the yacht sank; he was never seen
again.
Although I thought it well that Philip was dead,
I could not but rejoice that he had died painlessly.
And I was thankful that the river had engulfed all
that remained of poor, faulty Randal. He had had
the chance to become a worker of good—he had died
a criminal. It was he who had been Philip's ever-
ready tool. When Philip had forged a farewell let-
ter from me to Dick, breaking our engagement—on
the plea of having discovered that I did not really
care for him—Randal wrote saying I had confided
my change of feeling to him; then told the same
story to Mr. Beverley. Later, when Philip, always
employing my handwriting, returned Dick's plead-
ing letters unopened, Randal wrote again to tell of
my having gone to California.
It had all been a simple matter to the two un-
scrupulous men. I had no friends to interest them-
selves in my affairs. I had been completely at
Philip's mercy; yet, by the grace of God, I had es-
caped. Very humbly, my heart overflowing with
gratitude, I gave thanks.
Early in June Richard and I were married. Our
honeymoon was spent at Beverley Towers; we could
not leave Mr. Beverley alone with his grief. To my
distress, the story of my connection with Highgrove
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
meaning his belief in Kandal's story of my having
thrown Dick over—and in other tales told.
Mr. Beverley is grown a very old gentleman,
ninety odd. May he live many years! He no longer
collects rare antiques, saying the last added is so
very remarkable he may never hope to find such
another; then he laughs and—-looks at me.
"A goddess, a marble Athena, yet a creature of
flesh and blood! A young antique! A Pagan, yet a
good churchwoman! After discovering, securing
such a curio," he winds up, "there is nothing left to
desire!"
Dick's mother does not agree with him. She lives
in Germany, so it does not matter much.
Dick, who is occasionally sentimental, bought the
old farmstead, on Long Island, where we first met.
Mrs. Spuyten, learning this, wrote him a letter of
congratulation—the first notice she had taken of our
marriage.
"I hear you have decided to live in retirement.
I am glad. I congratulate you upon your good
sense. Society does talk unpleasantly of your wife.
Of course, as a distant connection, I close my ears
when people insist that where there was so much
smoke there must have been a little fire! A pity
that Athena did not check the man Erranti's ad-
vances at once, as a truly good girl might (have been
expected to do. If she had listened to my advice she
would never have entered that Den of Iniquity. I
make allowances, however, as a true Christian
should. I hope you may always remember her
bringing up, and watch her every step," etc., etc.
Richard has never forgiven her. I did not mind
for myself; but as some people probably thought as
she said, I was, because of my husband and Mr. Bev-
erley, extremely sorry.
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THE HOUSE ON THE HUDSON
Looking back, reviewing my life at Highgrove
Hall carefully, I fail to see any vital mistake made.
At least I strove hard to do my best—and Nemesis
stood my friend.
My husband tells me I am at heart a Pagan. I
know that I believe in Nemesis!
THE END
416