XLIX
He had not seen it yet. But he would. In one more moment he would. I waited for his cry; but as it delayed, I reached over and put my finger on the word James. Then I drew back, steadying myself by a clutch on the rail running up at my side.
Slowly he took it in. Slowly he turned and gave me one look; then with a moan, rather than a cry he flung himself up and dashing by the two girls who had started back at his wild aspect, threw himself into the great room where he fell headlong to the floor.
I stood back while they ministered to him. He had not fainted for I heard him now and then cry out, “Wealthy! call Wealthy.” And this they finally did. As Orpha passed me on her way to ring the bell communicating with the cozy corner, I saw her full face for the first time since Edgar’s action had told her the truth. It was pale, but as I looked the blush came and as I looked again it was gone. I felt myself reeling a trifle, and seeing the will lying on the floor where he had dropped it, I lifted it up and folding it anew, put it in my pocket. Then I walked away, wondering at the silence, for even the elements warring without had their hushed moments, and creaking panes and wrestling boughs no longer spoke of tumult.
In this instant of quiet we heard a knock. Wealthy was at the door.
As Orpha stepped to unlock it, I turned again. Edgar had leaped to his feet, his eyes blazing, all his features working in rage. Lucy had withdrawn into the background, the only composed one amongst us. As the old nurse entered Edgar advanced to meet her.
“I am ill,” he began. “Let me take your arm to my room. I have no further rights here unless it is a night’s lodging.” Here he turned towards me with a sarcastic bow. “There is your master,” he added, indicating me with one hand as he reached with the other for her arm. “The will has been found. He has it in his pocket. By that you may know what it does for him and”—his voice falling—“what it does for me.”
But his mood changed before he reached the door. With a quick twist of his body he took us all again within the sweep of his vision. “But don’t any of you think that I am going to yield my rights without a struggle. I am no hypocrite. I do not say to my cousin, ‘No litigation for me.’ I dare him to meet me without gloves in an open fight. He knew that the will taken from the envelope and hidden in the box below there was the one favoring himself. How did he know it?”
For a moment I forebore to answer. Evil passions raged within me. The Devil himself seemed whispering in my ear; then I remembered Uncle’s own admonition and I turned and looked up at Orpha’s picture and that old hour came back and my heart softened and, advancing towards him, I replied:
“I did not know it; but I felt confident of it because our uncle told me what to expect and I trusted him.”
“You will never be master here,” stormed Edgar, livid with fury.
“Yes, I will,” I answered mildly, “for this night.”
Wealthy drew him away. It would have been hard to tell which was trembling the most, he or the nurse.
They left the door open. I was glad of this. I would have been gladder if the whole household had come trooping in. Orpha standing silent by the great bed; Lucy drawn up against my uncle’s old chair—and I wishing the winds would blow and the trees crack,—anything to break the deathly quiet in which we could hear the footfalls of those two disappearing up the hall.
Lucy, marking my trouble, was the first to move.
“I am no longer needed here,” she said almost sweetly. “Orpha, if you want to talk, come to me in my room.”
At that I started forward. “We will all go.” And I closed the closet door and seeing a key in the lock, turned it and, drawing it out, handed it to Orpha, together with the one hanging from my neck.
“They are yours,” I said; but did not meet her eyes or touch her hand. “Go with Lucy,” I added, “and sleep; I pray you sleep. You have suffered enough for one night.”
I felt her leave me; felt every light step she took through the passage-way press in anguish upon my heart. Then the storm rushed upon us again and amid its turmoil I shut the door, dropped the hangings and sat down with bursting heart and throbbing head before her picture.
Another night of sleeplessness in this house which I had once entered in such gayety of spirits.