CHAPTER XXXVI
MATTHEW AND ELLEN
Ellen sent to Harrisburg no notification of her coming. She was now convinced that she had thorough control of herself, and that she could meet Stephen safely. He might be away—the possibility brought a painful moment of mixed misery and relief. Shifting her heavy bag from hand to hand, she walked up the sunny street, past the jewelry shop of Mr. Goldstein, past small hotels in whose windows idle men sat drowsily, to Front Street. The river seemed to have no current, but lay a burnished sheet under the low and glaring sun. In the park a few sprawled figures occupied the benches.
She rang the bell, and when no one answered, she opened the door with a key which she had hesitated to use, and putting down her bag walked through the hall and passageway to the offices. It was long after working hours, but Miss Knowlton and Miss MacVane would be putting desks and files in order and closing the day's records. She believed that they would be glad to see her, and she longed for the refuge of their homely femininity. She now allied herself in spirit with them and their kind.
But neither Miss MacVane nor Miss Knowlton was at work. The office had an unused appearance; shades had not been lifted, and even in the dim light she could see on all the furniture a film of dust. The air was not merely cool, it was damp, and her final impression of strangeness deepened to a fear of calamity. The house seemed to be empty.
She returned with a quickly beating heart to the front hall. In the library shades were irregularly drawn and here also dust covered the polished surfaces of tables and chairs. One small article of furniture had been moved and at it she stared while a deeper chill smote her heart. It was Hilda's little tabourette, upon which now, as formerly, lay matches and boxes of cigarettes. She leaned helplessly against the door. Had Hilda come back?
When she heard steps approaching she turned slowly and in unreasonable terror. But they were heavier and slower steps than Hilda's. Still her step might have changed! She looked toward the stairway and beheld Professor Mayne, large, elegant, cigarette in hand. Her heart leaped to a more terrible conclusion—Stephen was dead!
Mayne regarded her with his bland smile. He had lived recently through two harrowing experiences, but one was on the whole a relief, and the other, while it shocked him, did not touch his own person or habits.
"What is it you wish?" he asked kindly.
"I'm looking for Miss MacVane."