The House of the Whispering Pines (33 page)

The clerk, greatly relieved, rang his bell, and the gentlemen at the
other end of the room sauntered elsewhere to exchange their impressions
of an incident which was remarkable enough in itself, without the
accentuation put upon it by the extreme beauty of the girl and the one
conspicuous blemish to that beauty—her unfortunate scar. With what
additional wonder would they have regarded the occurrence, had they known
that the object of their interest was not an unknown Miss Campbell, but
the much pitied, much talked-of Carmel Cumberland, sister of the man then
on trial for his life in a New York town.

With her first step into the street, Carmel's freshly freed mind began
its work. She knew she was in a place called Lakewood, but she knew
little of its location, save that it was somewhere in New Jersey. Another
strange thing! she did not recognise the streets. They were new to her.
She did not remember ever having been in them before.

"Where is the railroad station?" she inquired of the boy who was trotting
along at her side.

"Over there," he answered, vaguely.

"Take me to it."

He obeyed, and they threaded several streets whose lighted shops pleased
her, notwithstanding her cares; such a joy it was to be alive to things
once more, and capable of remembrance, even though remembrance brought
visions at which she shuddered, and turned away, appalled.

The sight of the station, from which a train was just leaving,
frightened her for a moment with its bustle and many lights; but she
rallied under the stress of her purpose, and, entering, found the
telegraph office, from which she sent this message, directed to her
physician, at home, Dr. Carpenter:

"Look for me on early train. All is clear to me now, and I must return.
Preserve silence till we meet."

This she signed with a pet name, known only to themselves, and dating
back to her childish days.

Then she bought a ticket, and studied the time-table. When quite
satisfied, she returned to the hotel. She was met in the doorway by the
physician who was attending the so-called Miss Huckins. He paused when
he saw her, and asked a few questions which she was penetrating enough
to perceive were more for the purpose of testing her own condition than
to express interest in his patient. She answered quietly, and was met
by a surprise and curiosity which evinced that he was greatly drawn
towards her case. This alarmed her. She did not wish to be the object
of any one's notice. On the contrary, she desired to obliterate
herself; to be counted out so far as all these people were concerned.
But above all, she was anxious not to rouse suspicion. So she stopped
and talked as naturally as she could about Miss Huckins's accident and
what the prospects were for the night. These were favourable, or so the
doctor declared, but the injured woman's condition called for great
care and he would send over a capable nurse at-once. Meanwhile, the
maid who was with her would do very well. She, herself, need have no
worry. He would advise against worry, and suggested that she should
have a good and nourishing dinner sent to her room, after which she
should immediately retire and get what sleep she could by means of an
anodyne he would send her.

Carmel exerted herself.

"You are very good," said she, "I need no anodyne. I
am
tired and when
I once get to bed shall certainly sleep. I shall give orders not to be
disturbed. Isn't that right?"

"Quite right. I will myself tell the nurse."

He was going, but turned to look at her again.

"Shall I accompany you to the door of your room?" he asked.

She shook her head, with a smile. This delay was a torment to her, but it
must be endured.

"I am quite capable of finding my room. I hope Miss Huckins will be as
well in a week from now as I am at this moment. But, doctor—" she had
been struck by a strange possibility—"I should like to settle one little
matter before we part. The money I have may not be quite safe in my
hands. My memory might leave me again, and then Miss Huckins might
suffer. If you will take charge of some of it on her account, I shall
feel relieved."

"It would be a wise precaution," he admitted. "But you could just as well
leave it at the desk."

"So I can," she smiled. Then, as his eye remained fixed on her: "You are
wondering if I have friends. We both have and I have just come from
telegraphing to one of them. You can leave us, with an easy mind. All
that I dread is that Miss Huckins will worry about me if her
consciousness should return during the night."

"It will not return so soon. Next week we may look for it. Then you can
be by to reassure her if she asks for you."

Carmers eyes fell.

"I would not be a cause of distress to her for the world. She has been
very good to me." Bowing, she turned in the direction of the office.

The doctor, lifting his hat, took his departure. The interview might have
lasted five minutes. She felt as though it had lasted an hour.

She followed the doctor's advice and left half the money she had, in
charge of the clerk. Then she went upstairs. She was not seen to come
down again; but when the eight-forty-five train started out of the
station that night, it had for a passenger, a young, heavily veiled girl,
who went straight to her section. A balcony running by her window had
favoured her escape. It led to a hall window at the head of a side
staircase. She met no one on the staircase, and, once out of the door at
its foot, her difficulties were over, and her escape effected.

She was missed the next morning, and an account of her erratic flight
reached the papers, and was published far and wide. But the name of Miss
Caroline Campbell conveyed nothing to the public, and the great trial
went on without a soul suspecting the significance of this midnight
flitting of an unknown and partially demented girl.

At the house of Dr. Carpenter she met Mr. Moffat. What she told him
heartened him greatly for the struggle he saw before him. Indeed, it
altered the whole tone of the defence. Perceiving from her story, and
from what the doctor could tell him of their meeting at the station that
her return to town was as yet a secret to every one but themselves, he
begged that the secret should continue to be kept, in order that the
coup d'etat
which he meditated might lose none of its force by
anticipation. Carmel, whose mind was full of her coming ordeal, was
willing enough to hide her head until it came; while Dr. Carpenter,
alarmed at all this excitement, would have insisted on it in any event.

Carmel wished her brother informed of her return, but the wily lawyer
persuaded her to excuse him from taking Arthur into his confidence until
the last moment. He knew that he would receive only opposition from his
young and stubborn client; that Carmel's presence and Carmel's
determination would have to be sprung upon Arthur even more than upon the
prosecution; that the prisoner at the bar would struggle to the very last
against Carmel's appearance in court, and make an infinite lot of
trouble, if he did not actually endanger his own cause. One of the
stipulations which he had made in securing Mr. Moffat for his counsel was
that Carmel's name was to be kept as much as possible out of the
proceedings; and to this Mr. Moffat had subscribed, notwithstanding his
conviction that the crime laid to the defendant's charge was a result of
Ranelagh's passion for Carmel, and, consequently, distinctly the work of
Ranelagh's own hand.

He had thought that he could win his case by the powers of oratory and a
somewhat free use of innuendo; but his view changed under the fresh
enlightenment which he received in his conversation with Carmel. He saw
unfolding before him a defence of unparalleled interest. True, it
involved this interesting witness in a way that would be unpleasant to
the brother; but he was not the man to sacrifice a client to any
sentimental scruple—certainly not this client, whose worth he was just
beginning to realise. Professional pride, as well as an inherent love of
justice, led him to this conclusion. Nothing in God's world appealed to
him, or ever had appealed to him, like a prisoner in the dock facing a
fate from which only legal address, added to an orator's eloquence, could
save him. His sympathies went out to a man so placed, even when he was a
brute and his guilt far from doubtful. How much more, then, must he feel
the claims of this surly but chivalrous-hearted boy, son of a good father
and pious mother, who had been made the butt of circumstances, and of
whose innocence he was hourly becoming more and more convinced.

Could he have probed the whole matter, examined and re-examined this new
witness until every detail was his and the whole story of that night
stood bare before him, he might have hesitated a little longer and asked
himself some very serious questions. But Carmel was not strong enough for
much talk. Dr. Carpenter would not allow it, and the continued clearness
of her mind was too invaluable to his case for this far-seeing advocate
to take any risk. She had told him enough to assure him that
circumstances and not guilt had put Arthur where he was, and had added to
the assurance, details of an unexpected nature—so unexpected, indeed,
that the lawyer was led away by the prospect they offered of confounding
the prosecution by a line of defence to which no clew had been given by
anything that had appeared.

He planned then and there a dramatic climax which should take the breath
away from his opponent, and change the whole feeling of the court towards
the prisoner. It was a glorious prospect, and if the girl remained
well—the bare possibility of her not doing so, drove him prematurely
from her presence; and so it happened that, for the second time, the
subject of Adelaide's death was discussed in her hearing without any
mention being made of strangulation as its immediate cause. Would her
action have been different had she known that this was a conceded fact?

Mr. Moffat did not repeat this visit. He was not willing to risk his
secret by being seen too often at the doctor's house; but telephonic
communication was kept up between him and her present guardian, and he
was able to bear himself quietly and with confidence until the time drew
near for the introduction of her testimony. Then he grew nervous, fearing
that Nurse Unwin would come to herself and telegraph Carmel's escape, and
so prepare the prosecution for his great stroke. But nothing of the kind
happened; and, when the great day came, he had only to consider how he
should prepare Arthur for the surprise awaiting him, and finally decided
not to prepare him at all, but simply to state at the proper moment, and
in the face of the whole court-room, that his sister had recovered and
would soon take her place upon the stand. The restraint of the place
would thus act as a guard between them, and Carmel's immediate entrance
put an end to the reproaches of whose bitterness he could well judge from
his former experience of them.

With all these anxieties and his deeply planned
coup d'etat
awaiting
the moment of action, Ella's simple outburst and even Ranelagh's
unexpected and somewhat startling suggestion lost much of their
significance. All his mind and heart were on his next move. It was to be
made with the queen, and must threaten checkmate. Yet he did not forget
the two pawns, silent in their places—but guarding certain squares which
the queen, for all her royal prerogatives, might not be able to reach.

MERCURY.—If thou mightst dwell among the Gods the while
Lapped in voluptuous joy?

PROMETHEUS.—I would not quit
This bleak ravine, these unrepentant pains.

Prometheus Unbound
.

Great moments, whether of pain, surprise, or terror, awaken in the
startled breast very different emotions from those we are led to
anticipate from the agitation caused by lesser experiences. As Carmel
disclosed her features to the court, my one absorbing thought was: Would
she look at me? Could I hope for a glance of her eye? Did I wish it? My
question was answered before Mr. Moffat had regained his place and turned
to address the court.

As her gaze passed from her brother's face, it travelled slowly and with
growing hesitation over the countenances of those near her, on and on
past the judge, past the jury, until they reached the spot where I sat.
There they seemed to falter, and the beating of my heart became so loud
that I instinctively shrank away from my neighbour. By so doing, I drew
her eye, which fell full upon mine for one overwhelming minute; then she
shrank and looked away, but not before the colour had risen in a flood to
her cheek.

The hope which had sprung to life under her first beautiful aspect,
vanished in despair at sight of this flush. For it was not one of joy, or
surprise, or even of unconscious sympathy. It was the banner of a deep,
unendurable shame. Versed in her every expression, I could not mistake
the language of her dismayed soul, at this, the most critical instant of
her life. She had hoped to find me absent; she was overwhelmed to find me
there. Could she, with a look, have transported me a thousand miles from
this scene of personal humiliation and unknown, unimaginable outcome, she
would have bestowed that look and ignored the consequences.

Nor was I behind her in the reckless passion of the moment. Could I, by
means of a wish, have been transported those thousand miles, I should
even now have been far from a spot where, in the face of a curious crowd,
busy in associating us together, I must submit to the terror of hearing
her speak and betray herself to these watchful lawyers, and to the just
and impartial mind of the presiding judge.

But the days of magic had passed. I could not escape the spot; I could
not escape her eye. The ordeal to which she was thus committed, I must
share. As she advanced step by step upon her uncertain road, it would be
my unhappy fate to advance with her, in terror of the same pitfalls, with
our faces set towards the same precipice—slipping, fainting,
experiencing agonies together. She knew my secret, and I, alas! knew
hers. So I interpreted this intolerable, overwhelming blush.