CHAPTER XX
THE TRUE HISTORY OF OLIVE
In the same high carved chair that she had used on the afternoon of Olive’s first meeting with her, Madame Van Mater now sat apparently waiting for someone, for her hair and complexion were as artistically arranged and she was as carefully dressed as ever. At the stranger girl’s sudden entrance with Miss Winthrop she showed no marked surprise.
“Turn on the lights, please, Katherine, and bring the girl close to me,” she commanded in almost the same tones that she had used on a former occasion, and now for the second time Olive found herself facing the old lady and being critically surveyed by her. Again, with almost unconscious antagonism, their glances met.
“I suppose I cannot deny the proofs you have brought to me, Katherine Winthrop, that this girl is my granddaughter,” Madame Van Mater said coldly, “and I am obliged to confess that her appearance is not what I feared it might be, considering my son’s marriage. However, I do not see the least trace of resemblance in her to any member of my family.” And possibly to hide the trembling of her old hands, Madame Van Mater now picked up a number of papers with which the table in front of her was strewn. “You may sit down, child,” she remarked turning to Olive, “and Katherine Winthrop will explain the extraordinary circumstance of your connection with me. Because I tried to keep you as far away from me as possible, fate has therefore brought you here under my very nose. It has ever been the way of circumstances to thwart me.”
Not understanding in the least what Madame Van Mater was talking about and yet feeling a sudden curious weakness in her knees, Olive dropped into a chair which Miss Winthrop had at this instant placed near her.
“Sit perfectly still a moment, Olive dear,” Miss Winthrop interposed. “Strange and improbable as it may seem to you to hear that you are the granddaughter of Madame Van Mater, it will not take long for me to explain the necessary facts to you. Years ago your grandmother had an only child, a son of whom she was very proud, and as her husband had died some time before, all her great wealth was to be given to this son. She hoped that some day he would be a great lawyer, a statesman, and that he would make his old family name known all over the world. Well, by and by when this son had grown up, he cared nothing for law or any of the interests that his mother wished and one day announced to her and to me that he had chosen the stage as his profession. It is not worth while for me to try to explain to you what this decision meant to his mother and to me then,” Miss Winthrop continued; “but twenty years ago the stage did not hold the position in the world that it does to-day, and even now there are few mothers who would choose it as the profession for their only sons. Well, there were many arguments and threats, but as your father was determined on his own course, he went away from this part of the country to the far west and there after several years we learned that he had married. I knew that your mother had died soon after her marriage and some years later your father, but I was never told that they had left a child. Only your grandmother, of course, has always known of your existence, for since your father’s death she has been paying this Indian woman Laska to have charge of you. The fact that Laska has now sent me papers signed by your grandmother’s own hand makes it impossible for your relationship to be doubted.” Miss Winthrop now paused for a moment.
Olive was not looking at her, but at Madame Van Mater. “You did not wish to recognize me as your granddaughter because you did not believe my mother a lady?” she asked quietly.
“Precisely,” Madame Van Mater agreed.
“I see. It is all strangely clear to me now. I thought I remembered this house because my father had talked of it so much to me that I really believed I had seen it myself, his bedroom in the tower, the old dogs at the front door that he used to play with as a child and all the story of Sleepy Hollow. Well, I am sorry for your sake, Madame Van Mater, that Miss Winthrop has discovered my father’s name and people, but for my own I am very glad.” And Olive’s eyes turned toward the picture of the boy on the wall. “I suppose that when my father was ill he wrote and asked you to care for me and that is how you came to hear of Laska?” she questioned. And again the old woman bowed her head.
Very quietly Olive now got up from her chair. “Shall we be going back to school, Miss Winthrop?” she inquired. “I believe I would rather not stay here any longer at present.”