Eleanor glanced about the room. There was nothing more she could do, and, stretching herself wearily, she arranged the night light so that it would not shine in Cynthia’s eyes, and placed an old-fashioned brass3 bell on the small table by the bed, so that if Cynthia needed assistance she could ring for aid. Then, moving softly for fear of waking the sleeper4, she stole across the room, turned out the gas, and, stepping into the hall, closed the door gently after her.
Some time later she was busy undressing in her own room when a faint knock disturbed her. On opening the door she found Mrs. Truxton standing5 in the hall with a quilted wrapper drawn6 tight around her portly figure.
“I thought you hadn’t gone to bed,” she remarked in a sibilant whisper which was more penetrating7 than an ordinary low-pitched voice. “I just could not go to bed”—selecting a large oak rocker—“until I had some explanation of this extraordinary affair. Will you please inform me what made that poor girl faint in the drawing-room?”
“She is in a very nervous, excitable condition, Cousin Kate, which reacts on her heart action.” Eleanor glanced despairingly at Mrs. Truxton. She knew the latter was an inveterate8, though kindly9, gossip. Apparently10 she had come to stay for some time, as she sat rocking gently to and fro, her curl papers making a formidable halo around her soft gray hair.
“Heart action?” echoed Mrs. Truxton. “That’s as it may be. What was Captain Lane doing here?”
Eleanor started violently. She particularly wanted to keep the fact that Cynthia and Lane had been together a secret. She had watched for his arrival, and had let him in before he had an opportunity to ring the front door bell, and had shown him at once into the deserted11 drawing-room. During their interview she had mounted guard in the hall. Hearing Lane’s call for assistance, she had opened the drawing-room door, and, before summoning her uncle and the servants, had advised Lane to leave the house. She supposed he had followed her advice.
“Where in the world did you see him?” she asked.
“So he was here!” Mrs. Truxton smiled delightedly, while Eleanor flushed with vexation as she realized she had given herself away unnecessarily. “Your uncle and Douglas were discussing politics, and I slipped away to remind Nicodemus to put some sandwiches in my room, as I always want a late supper, particularly after so early a dinner. When I walked through the billiard room on my way to the library I happened to glance through the door leading into the hall, and was surprised to see a man standing by the hatrack. As he raised his head I thought I recognized Fred Lane—I wasn’t quite sure, though, but before I could call his name he had vanished.”
“I see.” Eleanor came to a quick resolution. “You have probably heard, Cousin Kate,” sitting down on the edge of her bed nearest the older woman, “that Fred Lane is very much in love with Cynthia.” Mrs. Truxton nodded her head vigorously. “Eventually, after he had paid her a great deal of attention, they became engaged. Unfortunately”—Eleanor was feeling her way with care—“unfortunately they had a lover’s quarrel. Cynthia refused to see Fred, and he finally came to me and asked me to arrange an interview, saying that he felt convinced, if given the opportunity, he could straighten out their misunderstanding.”
Mrs. Truxton pondered some moments in silence. “Did this lover’s quarrel take place before Senator Carew’s death?” she asked.
“Yes.” Eleanor’s blue eyes did not waver before Mrs. Truxton’s piercing look. “Why?”
“I was just thinking that, if Senator Carew had known of an engagement between a member of his family and a Lane, he’d have died of apoplexy—instead of having to be stabbed to death.”
“What was the exact trouble between Senator Carew and Governor Lane, Cousin Kate?” asked Eleanor. “I never have heard.”
“It began years ago.” Mrs. Truxton hitched12 her chair close to the bed. “Governor Lane was an intimate friend of Philip Winthrop, Sr., and, after the latter’s marriage to Charlotte Carew, came frequently to Washington to visit them. To my thinking, Philip Winthrop was a bad egg, specious13 and handsome; and he took in the Carews completely, as well as Governor Lane. He was a stock broker14 in Wall Street, and during a panic was ruined financially. He promptly15 committed suicide.”
“Oh, poor Mrs. Winthrop!” exclaimed Eleanor warmly. “What hasn’t she been through!”
“Well, losing her rascal16 of a husband was the least one of her troubles,” said Mrs. Truxton dryly. “Philip Winthrop’s failure was not an honorable one; there was talk of criminal proceedings17, but all that was put a stop to by Senator Carew stepping forward and paying his creditors18.” She paused for breath.
“I don’t see what Governor Lane has to do with it,” objected Eleanor, glancing meaningly at the clock, which was just striking one o’clock. She stifled19 a yawn.
“I am coming to that,” explained Mrs. Truxton. “Philip Winthrop appealed to Governor Lane, among other of his old friends, to loan him money to tide over the financial crisis, and the Governor trusted him to the extent of ten thousand dollars.”
“That was exceedingly generous of him.”
“Yes, and I reckon he repented20 of his generosity21 many times.” Mrs. Truxton spoke22 with emphasis. “He loaned it to Winthrop without taking security and without knowing that the latter was on the point of absolute failure. And this is where the row comes in. Lane went to Carew and told him of the transaction, showed him the canceled check, and the latter, on finding that Lane had no promissory note or other security, declined to pay off the indebtedness.”
“I see.” Eleanor was paying full attention to the older woman.
“Lane was naturally incensed23, for Carew had assumed all the other obligations, and he felt that his was a prior claim, being a debt of honor between friends. Carew didn’t see it that way, and it led to a bitter quarrel. The ill feeling between the two men was intensified24 on Governor Lane’s part because he met with financial reverses later, and the old Maryland homestead, which might have been saved by the return of the ten thousand dollars, was sold under the hammer.”
“This is all news to me. I was only told they were political enemies.”
“They were. Lane vowed25 to get even in every way in his power, and so entered politics. He was a man of great force of character and intellectual ability—although lacking in business sense,” she interpolated, “and a born orator26. And when he found, after holding several important state positions, that Senator Carew was going to run for governor of Maryland, he entered the field against him, and Carew was beaten by a few votes only.”
“When did this happen?”
“Oh, back in the early nineties. The quarrel was most acrimonious27, particularly on Carew’s side. He must have realized that he had not acted fairly to his old friend. As long as he had assumed Winthrop’s debts it seemed only right that he should return the money owing to Lane. Public opinion was with the latter.”
“Perhaps at that time he may not have had the ten thousand,” suggested Eleanor. “I have always heard and believed the Senator an honorable man;and certainly it was good of him to shoulder any of his brother-in-law’s debts.”
“He only did it to protect his sister, who was left penniless, and quiet scandal.”
“Mrs. Winthrop penniless! Why, how comes it, Cousin Kate, that she lives as she does.”
“Senator Carew gave her a large allowance. He always said that Cynthia should inherit his fortune.”
“I never knew until the other day that Philip Winthrop was not Mrs. Winthrop’s son.”
“She adopted him legally, I believe, at the time of her husband’s death, and persuaded her brother, the Senator, to have him brought up as one of the family. Philip Winthrop’s first wife was a South American, I am told. I never saw her, as she died before he came to Washington. Mercy on us!” glancing at the clock, “I had no idea it was so late.” She rose and started for the door. “How did you leave Cynthia?”
“Sound asleep, thank Heaven!”
“Did she and Fred Lane patch up their quarrel?”
“I am afraid not.” Eleanor kissed her cousin a warm good night, and watched her cross the wide hall to her bedroom, then closed and locked her own door and hastened to complete her undressing.
About three in the morning Cynthia awoke and lay for a few minutes, bewildered by her surroundings. Then recollection returned to her with a rush, and she sank back among her pillows with a half-strangled sob29. Slowly she reviewed her interview with Fred, trying to find some solace30; but she could discover none, and with a moan turned on her side and buried her face in the pillow. Their romance had promised so much, but, instead, her happiness had been nipped in the bud.
She raised her hot face and glanced about, looking for a glass of water, for she was parched31 with thirst. Eleanor had forgotten, apparently, to place any drinking water in the room. Cynthia sat up and gazed eagerly around by the aid of the night light, but she could discover no glass on either the chiffonier or bureau. She was on the point of lying down again when she remembered having seen a pitcher32 of ice water on a table near the head of the stairs. She started to ring the brass bell, but decided33 it would be cruel to call Eleanor, who had been up with her most of the night.
She pondered a moment, but she was growing more thirsty, and, after a few minutes of indecision, she climbed out of the huge four-poster and, slipping on a wrapper and bedroom slippers34, stole out of her room and down the hall in the direction of the stairs.
So intent was Cynthia in reaching her goal that she never noticed a figure crouching35 on the landing of the stairs, who drew back fearfully into the shadows at her approach. She found the ice pitcher on the table with several glasses. Filling one of them, she took a long drink of the ice-cold water, then, feeling much refreshed, she refilled the glass, intending to take it with her to her room. She paused again and looked about her with interest, for the hall was illuminated36 by the moonlight which streamed through the diamond-shaped panes37 of a window at one end of a wing of the house. The figure below her on the stair landing peered at her intently, poised38 for instant flight to the darker regions below in case she started to descend39 the stairs.
Cynthia was about to return to her room when her roving eyes fell on a closed door leading to a room in the wing. The moonlight was beating upon it. For one long second Cynthia stood transfixed; then she uttered a cry which roused the sleeping household—a cry of such terror that it froze the blood in the listeners’ veins40.
The figure on the landing stood glued to the spot until recalled to action by the hurried opening of doors; then, with incredible swiftness, it vanished, as Eleanor, her hastily donned wrapper streaming in the wind, rushed to Cynthia’s side.
Cynthia caught her wrist in a grip which made her wince42. “Look!” she cried. “Look!” pointing toward the door at the end of the wing. “My dream! See, the panels are in the shape of a cross!”
Eleanor cast a startled glance in the direction indicated. It was true. The panels stood out in bold relief in the brilliant moonlight, and they formed an unmistakable cross.
“Yes, yes, dear,” she said soothingly43. “It simply shows that your dream was founded on fact. Come to bed.”
“No, no!” Cynthia was trembling violently, but she refused to leave the spot. “You forget that in my dream the door is always locked.”
“In this case it is not,” exclaimed Colonel Thornton, who, with Douglas, had rushed into the hall as soon as they had struggled into some clothes. Mrs. Truxton brought up the rear, her curl papers standing upright and her eyes almost popping from her head. “It’s simply used as a storeroom,” he added. “Don’t be so worried, Cynthia,” catching44 sight of her agonized45 face.
“I tell you it is not!” She stamped her foot in her excitement.
For answer Thornton stepped down the short hallway and turned the knob. To his intense surprise the door did not open.
“Ah!” Her cry was half in triumph, half in agony. “I told you it was locked. It must be opened—I shall go mad if it is not,” and her looks did not belie28 her statement.
Douglas joined Thornton as he stood hesitating. “I think it would be best to humor her,” he said in an undertone.
Thornton nodded in agreement. “I can’t understand how it got locked,” he muttered. “How the devil can I get it open? It is English quartered oak.”
“Is there any way of entering the room by a window?” asked Douglas.
“No, it’s too high from the ground, and there’s nothing but the bare brick wall to climb up; no tree grows near it,” said Thornton thoughtfully. “And unfortunately I have no ladder long enough to reach the window.”
“Then there’s nothing left but to try and force the door.” Douglas braced46 his powerful shoulders against the panels until his muscles almost cracked under the strain. “Run against it,” he gasped, perspiration47 trickling48 down his face; and Colonel Thornton obediently threw himself forward as the door gave slightly. “Again!” cried Douglas, and he threw his own weight on the panel, which yielded a little. “Once more,” and with a rending49 crash the upper and weaker panel splintered sufficiently50 to allow Douglas to slip his hand inside and turn the key which was in the lock. He also shot back the rusty51 bolt with difficulty, and withdrew his hand.
“Get the women back into their rooms,” he whispered, his face showing white in the moonlight. “The room is full of escaping gas.”
Thornton gazed blankly at him for a second, then turned to Mrs. Truxton. “Kate, I insist upon your taking these girls to your room.” She nodded understandingly, and he turned to Cynthia with an air of command. “Go with Mrs. Truxton, Cynthia. I promise to come instantly and tell you what we discover in this room.”
She nodded dumbly, past speech. The reaction had come, and Mrs. Truxton and Eleanor led her, unresisting, back to her room and helped her to bed, where she lay, her eyes pleading to be relieved from her mental anguish52.
Colonel Thornton and Douglas watched them until they disappeared inside the bedroom, then the latter opened the broken door of the locked room. An overpowering smell of illuminating53 gas choked them, and they drew back, gasping54. Douglas stepped over to the hall window and threw up the sash, letting in the cool air. Then, holding his breath, he rushed inside the room and, locating the escaping gas jet by the overpowering odor, he reached up and turned off the cock of the wall bracket.
“It’s no use; we’ll have to wait and give the gas a chance to evaporate,” he said, returning to the Colonel’s side. “Are you sure the room is unoccupied?”
Thornton’s eyes were half starting from his head. “Unoccupied?” he stammered55. “It’s been unoccupied for half a century. This is the southwest chamber56, which is supposed to be haunted by my great-aunt. A dog won’t sleep there.”
Douglas stared at his companion in amazement57 for some seconds, then, holding his breath, again bolted into the room. The remaining gas almost overcame him, but fortunately, catching sight of the outlines of the windows, he opened first one and then the other, and rejoined the Colonel, who was hovering58 in the doorway59, as quickly as possible. Without speaking they waited until the pure night air had swept away the poisonous gas; then Douglas stepped inside the room, struck a match and applied60 it to the chandelier. As the light flared61 up a horrified62 exclamation63 escaped Thornton.
“Good God! Look!”
Douglas’ eyes followed his outstretched arm. Stretched on the high four-posted bedstead was the body of a woman, lying on her side, her face concealed64 by the masses of dark hair which fell over it. A book lay by her side, one finger of her left hand caught between the pages. A drop light, minus shade and chimney, stood on a low table beside the bed.
Reverently65 the two men tiptoed to the bedside. Thornton laid a shaking hand on the drop light. “She must have been reading and fallen asleep,” he muttered between twitching66 lips. “She didn’t know that the light is always blown out after eleven o’clock in this room.”
Awestruck, Douglas gazed down at the silent figure. No need to feel pulse or heart; to the most casual observer the woman was dead.
“Who—who—is it?” demanded a quivering voice behind them. Both men wheeled about to find Eleanor, white-lipped and trembling, standing there. She had stolen into the room without attracting their attention.
“Annette!” Eleanor’s trembling lips could hardly form the whisper; she swayed backward, and Douglas caught her as she fell.
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1
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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sleeper
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| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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inveterate
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| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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12
hitched
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| （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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13
specious
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| adj.似是而非的；adv.似是而非地 | |
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broker
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| n.中间人，经纪人；v.作为中间人来安排 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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creditors
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| n.债权人，债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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incensed
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| 盛怒的 | |
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intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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acrimonious
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| adj.严厉的，辛辣的，刻毒的 | |
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belie
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| v.掩饰，证明为假 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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solace
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| n.安慰；v.使快乐；vt.安慰(物)，缓和 | |
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parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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41
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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42
wince
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| n.畏缩，退避，（因痛苦，苦恼等)面部肌肉抽动；v.畏缩，退缩，退避 | |
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soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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46
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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47
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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48
trickling
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| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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49
rending
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| v.撕碎( rend的现在分词 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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50
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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51
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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52
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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53
illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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54
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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55
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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58
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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59
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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60
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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61
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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62
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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63
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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reverently
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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strands
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| n.（线、绳、金属线、毛发等的）股( strand的名词复数 )；缕；海洋、湖或河的)岸；（观点、计划、故事等的）部份v.使滞留，使搁浅( strand的第三人称单数 ) | |
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