So, in her lonely chamber, by the light of one candle, Octave prepared to unburden herself of her great “Mystery.”
Her fingers trembled so that she could hardly write, and her heart-beats were so loud she fancied that all the family must hear them. She began, without prelude, other than the conventional “Dear Aunt Ruth”:—
The great surgeon is to come here to-morrow. I didn’t know it till to-day, but he has been unexpectedly called back to Germany, and if he doesn’t come now, Melville’s chance is gone forever. Perhaps it is as well so as any way, though I did want to have time to prepare your mind a little, for you do worry so.
And all this dreadful night, when Fritzy has been shooting Paula, there has lain poor Melville alone, and contemplating—to-morrow! I’ve been with him as much as I could without making Rosetta ask questions; but it was hard to manage. Of course, I couldn’t go in there without putting my dress on, and as fast as I would get it on Rosetta would come in and say, “Go to bed, deary. You can’t do a mite o’ good,” in that motherly way of hers, till I thought I should just fly. Then, when I did get a chance to slip in to him, Melville would upbraid me for having no heart. I begged of him to let me tell the rest of the folks, but he wouldn’t, not till morning, for he says, and I should say the same, that he couldn’t bear to have them talk about it, as they would be sure to; who, indeed, could help it?
Dear me! I’m as bad as Rosetta, about punctuation and all that. But I am so excited, I don’t know which end my head is on; of course that is unladylike to say, but you know what I mean. The surgeon is coming at ten o’clock. He is going to bring his own assistants with him. He hopes for it to be a success; because, when that young man came up and made the examination, he agreed with Fritzy Nunky, that Melville could be helped; that he was not really incurable, but it would only be by one operation and that a severe one. Fritzy Nunky is at the bottom of it; and I am in the middle; but Melville is at the top. You see it is he that has to suffer, either being a cripple all his life, or having something or other cut, which will let him walk some time, after he has learned how. Uncle says he will have to learn just as a baby does; but won’t I just be willing to teach him!
That boy really has developed wonderfully, during the time he has been under my supervision. And he is behaving like a little hero, this very minute. Then the best part of it is that he is to be famous and heroic all at one and the same time. The last letter he had from Professor von Holsneck he said that every experiment but one had been successful. The professor is most enthusiastic; and I am so proud, because it was I who introduced him to the family. Of course, if anything goes wrong, I shall telegraph; but if you don’t hear from me in that way, you will know that the operation is a success.
I can’t write any more now, for my candle has burned out, and I have it “borne in on me” that I should go to Melville. Oh, I forgot. I haven’t told you but half the “Mystery” yet; but you will have to wait, for there goes the candle!
The letter had no signature; and it needed none. No one save Octave could have written it.
But by the same mail which carried it another was sent. This, composed by Content, had something more of lucidity, if also more that was startling.
The letter tells the story of what had been going on at The Snuggery better than it could otherwise be told.