" 'Oh, she appeared perfectly respectable, and tried to make herself agreeable by keeping me busy answering questions on my pad, but something in her cold gray eyes, or, perhaps, in her high metallic voice, chilled my ardor. For the first time I realized my position. Here I was about to enter into the lives of unknown people, under an assumed character, and one that might involve me in matters of a secret, perhaps a dangerous nature. By this time, however, it was too late for me to retreat. All that I could do was to vow, as I did with all my heart, that no matter what I learned while with these people I would make no use of it.
" 'Upon leaving the train, after a ride of about two hours and a half, I found myself in Rockwood, a desolate little way station in the most dreary section I had ever seen. The only sign of life was a top carriage, drawn by a pair of lean horses and driven by the son of my companion, a man about thirty years of age. He had handsome features, but, somehow, his bloodshot eyes and dissipated look impressed me even more unfavorably than had his mother's appearance. I was directed to take the back seat, and Mrs. Westinghouse sat in front beside her son.
" 'As we drove off the young man put a question at once which I did not hear, but his mother in her usual voice assured him that I was a deaf mute and had been secured at a large salary for that reason. Then they proceeded with their conversation without restriction, but the road was so stony and our speed so great that I caught only a little of it. What I heard did not serve to make me feel any easier. They spoke of some person, who appeared to be a relative, with the most dreadful epithets, and appeared to be planning some way to bring him to terms, should he prove obstinate after they arrived with the stenographer. Before we had gone a mile I was not only sick of my bargain, but ready to jump from the carriage to escape it.
" 'The aspect of the country, also, was enough to make the most hilarious person feel melancholy. It was rocky, sterile, and almost uninhabited. The few farmhouses we passed were, all save one, untenanted and falling to pieces. The fields were covered with a thick growth of bayberry bushes or stunted firs.
" 'The house was, as nearly as I can judge, about three miles from the station. It had once been a fine mansion, but showed signs of neglect and age. The paint was worn off in patches; the floor of the piazza was rotten. The inside of the house, however, was fairly comfortable, the furniture being extremely old-fashioned and quaint.
" 'I could hardly touch a mouthful of supper, and soon excused myself from the table. Wandering around the piazza which skirted the house, I came upon a rear view of the premises. Here I had another surprise, for, detached from the main house and several yards away, stood a long, low brick building with a huge chimney, like a smoke-stack, proceeding from it. Its windows were close against the roof, and probably about twelve feet from the ground, while the only entrance seemed to be by way of a rough bridge extending from a curious door on a line with these windows to a window in the second story of the dwelling-house.
" 'While I stood gazing at this remarkable building I noticed that Mrs. Westinghouse had followed me. I could no longer restrain my curiosity, but pointed to the mysterious building and raised my eyebrows. With an impatient gesture, as though she resented my inquisitiveness, the lady caught up my writing-pad and scribbled: "It is my brother's laboratory; he is a metallurgist. We wish you to come and take a dictation from him."
" 'Then, leading me upstairs, she unlocked a door and ushered me into a large apartment, in which, at that moment, I saw only one object,—a man stretched upon a couch. The coverings, thrown away from the neck and face, revealed both to be shockingly emaciated; the eyes were wild and staring, the lips drawn away from the teeth, which were white and even. But there was strength even in that dying despair—at the first glance I saw that. There was a look of dogged endurance in every line and feature.
" ' "Now, Alfred," wrote Mrs. Westinghouse upon my pad and signifying to me that this was my introduction, "here is Miss Wood, a deaf and dumb stenographer we have brought from New York, so there's no longer any reason for your keeping your precious secret. She understands the signs, and can put your words on paper as fast as you can give them to her." Then, passing the pad to the invalid, she turned to her son. "Victor, love," she said, "the writing paper, pencils, and a little table for Miss Wood."
" ' "Here they are," said the young man, rolling the table towards me with an ingratiating leer.