“Leesy,” he said, looking at her firmly, and speaking in a tone of high command, “I don’t want you to fail me now. The trial will soon be over. Brace yourself for it with all the strength you have. Now, I am going out a few moments—perhaps for half an hour. When I return, you will both be ready to go with me to Mr. Argyll’s house.”
I was nearly as much shaken by this prospect as the frail woman who sat trembling in a corner of the sofa. To go into that house from which I had departed with such ignominy—to see Eleanor face to face—to meet them all who had once been my friends—to greet them as strangers, for such they were—they must be, to me!—to appear in their midst under such strange circumstances—to hear, I knew not what—to learn that mystery—my heart grew as if walled in with ice; it could not half beat, and felt cold in my breast.
Both Leesy and myself started when Mr. Burton again appeared in the room.
“All is right thus far,” he said, in a clear, cheery voice, which, nevertheless, had the high ring of excitement. “Come, now, let us not waste the golden moments, for now the hour is ripe.”
We had each of us to give an arm to Miss Sullivan, who could scarcely put one foot before the other. We walked slowly along over that path which I never had trodden since the night of the murder without a shudder. A low moan came from Leesy’s lips, as we passed the spot where the body of Henry Moreland had been discovered. Presently we came to the gate of the Argyll place, and here Mr. Burton again left us. “Follow me,” he said, “in five minutes. Come to the library-door, and knock; and, Richard, I particularly desire you to take a seat by the bay-window.”
He went up the walk and entered the house, without seeming to ring the hall door-bell, leaving the door open as he passed in. I looked at my watch by the moonlight, forcing myself to count the minutes, by way of steadying my head, which was all in a whirl. When the time expired, I helped Leesy forward into the dim hall, on to the library-door, where I knocked, according to directions, and was admitted by Mr. Argyll himself.
There was a bright light shining from the chandelier, fully illuminating the room. In the midst of a flood of recollections, I stepped within; but my brain, which had been hot and dizzy before, grew suddenly calm and cool. When Mr. Argyll saw that it was me, he slightly recoiled, and gave me no greeting whatever. A glance assured me that every member of the family was present. Eleanor sat in an arm-chair near the center-table; Mary and James occupied the same sofa. Eleanor looked at me with a kind of white amazement; James nodded as my eye met his, his face expressing surprise and displeasure. Mary rose, hesitated, and finally came forward, saying,
“How do you do, Richard?”
I bowed to her, but did not take her outstretched hand, and she returned to her place near James. In the mean time, Mr. Burton himself placed Leesy Sullivan in an easy-chair. I walked forward and took a seat near the window. I had time to observe the appearance of my whilom friends, and was calm enough to do it. Mr. Argyll had grown old much faster than the time warranted; his form was somewhat bent, and his whole appearance feeble; I grieved, as I noticed this, as though he was my own father, for I once had loved him as much. Mary looked the same as when I had seen her, three months since, in that surreptitious visit to the oak, blooming and beautiful, the image of what Eleanor once was. Eleanor, doubtless, was whiter than her wont, for my appearance had startled her; but there was the same rapt, far-away, spiritual look upon her features which they had worn since that day when she had wedded herself to the spirit of her lover.
Mr. Burton turned the key in the lock of the door which opened into the hall; then crossed over and closed the parlor-door, and sat down by it, saying as he did so,