Rutledge

by Miriam Coles Harris

His tone was kind—but—what more did I want? I did not dare to look up; I felt Dr. Hugh's eyes on my face, and murmuring some broken commonplace about being happy to be back again, hurried up the steps and into the house, Kitty following with my shawls and packages. At the head of the stairs, I stopped till she overtook me, and telling her hastily that I was going immediately to Mrs. Roberts, and she must give me the package that contained the dress, and be ready to go in, and make her apology as soon as I came out, I left her, and crossed over to the door of Mrs. Roberts' room.

It was a mean and cowardly thing to hope, no doubt, but I did, notwithstanding, most ardently desire that it might so happen that the housekeeper was not in her room, and that I might have a brief respite before the dreadful penance was undertaken, and in that hope I gave an undemonstrative knock, to which Mrs. Roberts' voice responded promptly, "Come in." Coming in was an easy part of it; walking up to her and saying, "How are you?" was easy too; and remarking, "I am better, thank you," was the easiest of all. But after that! Standing blankly before that rigid black bombazine figure, whose bluish lips were obstinately compressed, and whose unsympathetic eyes were regarding me inquiringly, it was anything but easy to say what I had come to say—it was anything but pleasant to remember I was to be humble. But there was no help for it. I gulped down my pride and aversion, and simply and honestly told my story, making every allowance truth would permit me for Kitty, putting all the blame that was possible on myself, making no cowardly excuses, and no submissive apologies, but telling a very straightforward and honest story, in a very downright and unequivocal manner, and winding up with a request that she would consider that I regretted my share in the business, and was desirous of making her every amend for the annoyance and inconvenience I had occasioned her. No other course could have been as well calculated to mollify Mrs. Roberts; any undue humility would have aroused her suspicions—the least attempt to conciliate her would have settled her in her aversion—the smallest parade of penitence she would have stigmatized as hypocrisy; but as it was, she was met on her own ground, and could do nothing but yield, in an ungracious manner, an ungracious acknowledgment of my honesty and sincerity, and a promise to consider the offence atoned for. I put the package down on the table, telling her what it contained, and again recommending Kitty to her mercy, turned and left the room.

I found that young person awaiting me in an unenviable state of mind. I told her I should never have the least respect for her again, if she lost her courage now, and then I talked to her a little à la Shenstone, and then rallied her a little à la myself, and finally sent her off, quite staunch again, to meet her offended mistress, while I employed the time in taking off my bonnet and cloak, and arranging the different articles that I had brought back, in the drawers.

Despite my attempts at nonchalance, I felt a little unhappy. I did not yet know how far Mr. Rutledge had put me out of the place I had held in his regard, since he knew of my fault, and I could not feel quite at ease till I heard my pardon from his own lips.

At last Kitty returned, looking a little pale and agitated, but acknowledging that, on the whole, she was glad she had gone. The interview had been, it appeared, rather a stirring one, but Kitty had kept her temper, and Mrs. Roberts had, at last, after expending her wrath upon an unresisting subject, come to terms, and the curtain had dropped upon comparative tranquillity. Then I told Kitty we must have done with deceits, little and great, and related how near I had come to telling Mr. Shenstone about the miniature, and that I meant to tell him the very first chance, or else Mr. Rutledge. But Kitty fell into such an ecstasy of terror, and with such vehement tears and entreaties besought me never to expose her, and promised such eternal devotion to truth henceforth, if I would only spare her that insupportable mortification and disgrace, that at last I yielded, and, to my own sorrow, promised to hazard no attempt to clear up that mystery, and to make no confessions to any one in regard to it.

After dressing my hair and arranging the room, Kitty left me, and I sat down in my favorite seat in the bay window, with the double purpose of whiling away the time and watching for the doctor's departure. But that devoutly wished consummation did not crown my waiting; moment after moment passed, and still the doctor tarried, and at last Thomas came out and led the sorrel horse away to the stable.

"That man's going to stay to tea, I know," I ejaculated, indignantly. "I've a great mind not to go downstairs."

The unremunerative policy, however, of spiting myself, had early been impressed on me, and I wisely abandoned all thought of pursuing it, and reconciled myself to the trial with all possible heroism. I should not go down till the last minute. That was all the indignation I should indulge in.

Twilight was descending fast; the afternoon had not been a bright one, and contrary to the nature of such things, was particularly short-lived. There was a light streak around the horizon, that suggested to the weather-wise the idea of snow impending; above, and all over the rest of the sky, there was nothing to relieve the dull grey hue. The line of light grew narrower and narrower, the cold grey shroud settled down lower and heavier, the lake and lawn grew more and more indistinct, the shadows thickened within, the darkness increased without, and imperceptibly night stole over us, and still I sat dreamily by the window, picturing to myself for the hundredth time, and as I did at all dreamy moments, Rutledge as it used to be—the halls filled with servants, the rooms with guests; carriages rolling to the door; music and laughter echoing through the house; Alice lovely and admired; Richard, with his refined, aristocratic face; and the young Arthur, as the sketch he gave me, had recorded him. Then I joined to this links that I had caught from Mrs. Arnold's broken story; the flight, the dreary exile in a foreign land, and death finishing a career that infamy and shame had branded. But what had Mr. Shenstone to do with it all? Perhaps he had loved Alice; perhaps it was the loss of her that was the terrible trial of which he had spoken to Mr. Rutledge when I was lying half unconscious in the study. Then I tried to put together more of what I had then heard; but the more I pondered, the more confused and indistinct it all grew, and ended by bringing up, in all its perplexity, the tormenting mystery of the lost miniature. Why must I be so baffled about that? Why had I put it out of my power, by my promise to Kitty, to go to Mr. Rutledge honestly, and tell him the story, and ask him to help me to discover who had taken it, and so rid my fancy of the hateful idea that Kitty had suggested, which, do what I would, had come, between sleeping and waking, every time I had closed my eyes since she had told me of it. In the dead of night, the cold hand upon my bosom would wake me with a start; I would reason away the fright, and try to sleep again, but as soon as unconsciousness would come, the chilling horror would come too, and startle me into sleepless watching.

I despised myself for the folly; but I had begun to hate the darkness. Even now, the dusky thickening twilight, with its creeping shadows, made me nervous; a chill seemed to strike to my very heart, and I caught myself starting at every sound, and trembling at every flicker of the dying firelight.