The house of five gables

by Mary Johnson Holmes

He folded his arms upon the desk and laid his tired head upon them. Just then Mary’s voice was heard outside the door. “Papa, I am going to bed. I want my kiss.” He heard her but he could not answer. The latch was lifted, the door opened, and Mary entered. For the first time Andrew had forgotten to bolt the door. He was conscious of it. He heard Mary’s step approaching, but some power held him fast in his chair, and he could not rise to close the book-case which still remained open. He heard the sweet, shrill voice in accents of pity say: “What is the matter, papa? Is your naughty head bad again?” Then, although he did not see, he felt that her wondering eyes had discovered the secret door. He heard her moving from him, and he had the strength to raise his head, and watch Mary as she laboriously climbed the stairs. He listened until his ears could no longer distinguish her footsteps, and then buried his face—upon which despair and ruin was plainly written—once more in his arms. The sword had fallen, and the hair had been severed by his own child. He had not even the strength to lift the toy lying so near him, and so escape the wrath to come.

He heard Mary returning, and heard her running swiftly from the room. His benumbed brain could still determine what she was about to do. She had gone to tell her mother; but somehow, the thought did not worry him. He felt rather glad than otherways. Presently he heard voices. Mary was bringing Victoria. A wild thought flashed through his mind. With an effort he grasped the revolver. He would slay Victoria and the child as they entered, and then himself. At the same instant the toy fell from his nerveless fingers. Ah, no, he could not harm a hair of those so precious to him. Only himself. Only himself; but he did not feel equal to it, just now, and it would shock Victoria. He must wait. Again his head sunk upon his arms.

Victoria entered, her face white and fearful, with Mary clinging to her skirts. She glanced toward the aperture, and approached the wretched man. “Andrew, what is this Mary has been telling me? The child is nigh frightened out of her senses. She declares she has been up some hidden stairs, into rooms which she has never seen before, and there she saw a big negro standing by a bed in which an old man was sleeping. When the negro saw her, he ran at her as if to beat her, and the child came running to me. Is all this true? I can see the secret staircase for myself, but who is the old man, and what does all this mystery mean?”

There was no answer from the bowed figure.

Mary gently shook him. “I have had no share in your secrets, Andrew. Perhaps it were better if I had, but now I demand an answer. Have I your permission to ascend those stairs which I have already divined lead to the rooms in the western gable? Shall I see for myself what those rooms contain?”

“Yes, go!” hoarsely answered Andrew.

Victoria turned to leave him. He raised his head and caught her gown with his hand.

“Victoria!” he cried, “my angel! My more than life! Go, I dare not detain you. God has spoken to me. The time has now come; but my darling, keep what you shall see there a secret for Mary’s sake, and remember that I did it all out of my great overpowering love for you.” He kissed the hem of her gown and sank upon his knees as she wonderingly turned and ascended the stairs. His agonized eyes watched her disappear, and then his hand sought that thing which should give him peace. He groped for it. He had not the strength to reach it, and with a groan he fell forward upon his face.

Victoria had not a suspicion of what she was about to behold. Many strange wild thoughts floated through her mind as she ascended the stairs. The foremost one was that Andrew’s father had not been killed, as had been believed, but that he was an imbecile perhaps, and so had been confined in these apartments for years. Yes, this must be it. She trembled violently as she reached the topmost stair, and stood gazing into the room beyond. It was vacant. No person was in sight, but scattered about the room were several toys such as very small children are amused with. A rattle box, a tin horn, and a drum. Victoria saw, and her eyes also noted the luxurious furnishings of the apartment, which was octagon in shape; and the walls were hung with very rare tapestries, which although faded, she knew were of immense value. How often she had wanted to investigate these rooms, but now that the opportunity had come, she felt an irresistable desire to turn and go back to Andrew, and be content with what he should tell her. A vague dread of what she might see in the further room, stayed her footsteps, and she turned to descend the stairs, but Mary who had become brave now that her mother was with her, pulled at Victoria’s gown and cried: “Come mamma, into the other room, the negro won’t dare to touch me now that you are with me. The old man in the bed looks so funny. Do come, mamma.”

Victoria turned again, and with hesitating steps went toward the further room, whose door stood open. The violent trembling which had left her for a moment returned now and her limbs shook under her so that she was scarcely able to stand. She steadied herself by clasping the door with her hands, while she gazed fascinated into that mysterious room, of which she had dreamed so often, but which was so entirely different from her wildest imaginings. As with the other room, this also was only lighted from the top by one single glass, which was lowered or raised at one’s will, to admit both air and light. The floor was inlaid with different colored woods, over which rich rugs were strewn. The walls were hung with what had once been a bright yellow satin, but which had now faded to a dirty brown in streaks where the light had touched it. The chairs were all upholstered in rich stuffs whose beauty had long since disappeared, but the wonderful carvings still remained. They were the most beautiful Victoria thought that she had ever seen. A Chinese table of teak wood next caught her eye. It was a wonderful work of art. The legs which came together at the top were marvels of carving. The top of the table was inlaid about every two inches with solid ivory, in which were carved tiny figures of men and women, birds and flowers, and in fact everything known to the cunning Chinese artizan. Victoria bewildered, took in the surroundings with a rapid glance, and in much less time than it has taken to describe them.