Chapter XVI

_Ad Interim_

I never sent for Warriner to come and discuss Eunice Trevor's astonishing communication. Why? Well, what would have been the use? After all, the woman had told us little or nothing which we had not known already; certainly, there was no definite information in her statement upon which to base a working hypothesis. Granted that there was a guilty secret, it lay hidden for all time in S. Saviour's churchyard. Both Eunice Trevor and John Thaneford may have been innocent of any actual participation in the tragedy of Francis Graeme's death, but it was by no means clear that they could not have taken steps to prevent it. The coroner's jury had given their verdict, the magistrate had found no case against the one suspected person, Dave Campion, and there was really no valid warrant for reopening the inquiry. Besides, this was a purely family affair, and Chalmers Warriner was an outsider. I dare say it was despicably small-minded of me, but Betty was now my wife, and both she and Warriner ought to realize that the intimacy between them could not be continued on the old free footing. Jealous. Well perhaps, I was uneasily conscious of an unworthy feeling in the matter. But I was master of "Hildebrand Hundred," and surely I had the right to determine what friendships were desirable and what were not. Warriner was a man of mature age, Betty was young and impulsive; it was my bounden duty to guard her from every sidelong look, from every whispered word. Not that I ever discussed the question with her; I merely took my stand and it was her wifely obligation to yield to my judgment. So far as I could tell, she never even noticed that Warriner no longer came to the "Hundred" in the old informal way. And that was as it should be.

But the issues raised by Eunice Trevor's statement were not to be set aside so easily. It was annoying, but Betty persisted in taking the dead woman's warning both literally and seriously; she actually begged me to formally abandon the "Hundred" to John Thaneford, as the legal next-of-kin, and perhaps leave Maryland altogether.

This I could not consent to do; I was too proud, or perhaps too stubborn, to be frightened by the vaporings of a highly wrought and undoubtedly neurotic imagination. There was not the shadow of a proof that Francis Graeme's death had been due to premeditated violence, and as for the alleged tragedies in the dim past, I neither knew nor cared anything about them. What if five men had died, under unexplained circumstances, in that particular room? All this was ancient history running back over a period of sixty odd years, and there are many coincidences in life. There is no greater tyranny than that of superstition, and once in bondage to its shadowy overlordship orderly existence becomes impossible.

But my decision had been finally influenced by a still stronger consideration. As I have said a little further back, I had unconsciously become attached to the "Hundred" by ties that I now found it impossible to break. This was my home and the home of my fathers before me; I now found myself an integral part of the ancestral homestead, my life had rooted deeply into the very soil, with its sacred dust my own corporeal remains must finally be mingled; no, I could not suffer "Hildebrand Hundred" to pass out of my hands, and I would hold it against every enemy visible and invisible. Even granting that something deadly and menacing did lurk in the dim corners of that great room with its painted windows and booklined walls, was I not man enough to grapple with the Terror on its own chosen ground? Better to die even as my Hildebrand forebears had died, alone and unafraid, than to drag out a coward's existence in some wretched backwater of life. Yes, I had decided; I would stay on at the "Hundred," _coute qui coute_.

It was not so easy to maintain my resolve in the face of Betty's quiet but determined opposition. I could make every allowance for the successive shocks to her delicately organized nervous system, and mere prayers and tears I was ready to cope with. But there was an invincible spirit in her attitude that I could not shake. "It is a part of my inner sense," she would reiterate with gentle obstinacy, and how can one argue rationally with feminine intuitions!

In the end we compromised--as always. It was agreed that we should continue to live on at the "Hundred," but the library should be permanently and effectually closed. Betty even proposed that a brick wall should be built at the end of the passage entirely blocking the entrance, but to this heroic measure I steadfastly refused to assent; it was enough of a nuisance to lose the use of the best room in the house, and to be obliged to transfer the working part of the library to the new living room. So we compromised again by locking the door and keeping all the keys in my immediate possession. In addition, I had to promise that I would not enter the room unless my wife was told of my intention and invited to accompany me. "At least we'll die together," said Betty, trying to smile through her tears. What could I do but kiss them away, and give the required assurance.

In October of that same year our son was born. Of course Betty insisted that he should be christened Hugh, and while I have always thought the name an ugly one and should have preferred Lawrence, after the first American Hildebrand, it would have been most ungracious to have entered any demurrer. But when Betty furthermore suggested that Chalmers Warriner be invited to stand as godfather I made plausible objections in favor of Doctor Marcy. I fancied that she seemed unaccountably disappointed, but she yielded when she realized that my preference was a decided one. However, Warriner was present at the ceremony in S. Saviour's, and endowed the baby with a magnificent silver mug. That particular gift should have been the prerogative of the titular godfather, but Doctor Marcy did not seem inclined to stand upon his rights, and I could not act the churl in so small a matter. And so this epochal phase of my life had come to a triumphant close; possessed of "Hildebrand Hundred," a son to inherit my name, and the best wife in the world. What more could heart of man desire!