Chapter 10

“Shall, too,” persisted 'Manda. “I guess if there's any harm in the key, there ain't any harm in the Bible, and so it comes out even. D'you ever try your fate with a key and a Bible?” she asked Lemuel.

“I don't know as I did,” he answered.

“Well, it's _real_ fun, 'n' its curious how it comes out, often_times._ Well, _I_ don't s'pose there's anything _in_ it, but it _is_ curious.”

“I guess we hadn't better,” said Statira. “I don't believe Mr. Barker 'll care for it.”

Lemuel said he would like to see how it was done, anyway.

'Manda Grier took the key out of the door, and looked at it. “That key 'll cut the leaves all to pieces.”

“Can't you find some other?” suggested Statira.

“I don't know but may be I could,” said 'Manda Grier. “You just wait a half a second.”

Before Lemuel knew what she was doing, she flew out of the door, and he could hear her flying down the stairs.

“Well, I _must_ say!” said Statira, and then neither she nor Lemuel said anything for a little while. At last she asked, “That window trouble you any?”

Lemuel said, “Not at all,” and he added, “Perhaps it's too cold for you?”

“Oh no,” said the girl, “I can't seem to get anything too cold for me. I'm the greatest person for cold weather! I'm _real_ glad it's comin' winter. We had the greatest _time_, last winter,” continued Statira, “with those English sparrows. Used to feed 'em crumbs, there on the window-sill, and it seemed as if they got to know we girls, and they'd hop right inside, if you'd let 'em. Used to make me feel kind of creepy to have 'em. They say it's a sign of death to have a bird come into your room, and I was always for drivin' 'em out, but 'Manda, she said she guessed the Lord didn't take the trouble to send birds round to every one, and if the rule didn't work one way it didn't work the other. You believe in signs?”

“I don't know as I do, much. Mother likes to see the new moon over her right shoulder, pretty well,” said Lemuel.

“Well, I declare,” said Statira, “that's just the way with _my_ aunt. Now you're up here,” she said, springing suddenly to her feet, “I want you should see what a nice view we got from our window.”

Lemuel had it on his tongue to say that he hoped it was not going to be his last chance; he believed he would have said it if 'Manda Grier had been there; but now he only joined Statira at the window, and looked out. They had to stoop over, and get pretty close together, to see the things she wished to show him, and she kept shrugging her sack on, and once she touched him with her shoulder. He said yes to everything she asked him about the view, but he saw very little of it. He saw that her hair had a shade of gold in its brown, and that it curled in tight little rings where it was cut on her neck, and that her skin was very white under it. When she touched him, that time, it made him feel very strange; and when she glanced at him out of her blue eyes, he did not know what he was doing. He did not laugh as he did when 'Manda Grier was there.

Statira said, “Oh, excuse me!” when she touched him, and he answered, “Perfectly excusable,” but he said hardly anything else. He liked to hear her talk, and he watched the play of her lips as she spoke. Once her breath came across his cheek, when she turned quickly to see if he was looking where she was pointing.

They sat down and talked, and all at once Statira exclaimed, “_Well!_ I should think 'Manda Grier was _makin'_ that key!”

Now, whatever happened, Lemuel was bound to say, “I don't think she's been gone very long.”

“Well, you're pretty patient, I _must_ say,” said Statira, and he did not know whether she was making fun of him or not. He tried to think of something to say, but could not. “I hope she'll fetch a lamp, too, when she comes,” Statira went on, and now he saw that it was beginning to be a little darker. Perhaps that about the lamp was a hint for him to go; but he did not see exactly how he could go till 'Manda Grier came back; he felt that it would not be polite.

“Well, there!” said Statira, as if she divined his feeling. I shall give 'Manda Grier a _good_ talking-to. I'm awfully afraid we're keeping you, Mr. Barker.”

“Not at all,” said Lemuel; “I'm afraid I'm keeping _you_.”

“Oh, not at all,” said Statira. She became rather quieter, till 'Manda Grier came back.

'Manda Grier burst into the room, with a key in one hand and a lamp in the other. “Well, I knew you two'd be holdin' Quaker's meetin'.”

“We hain't at all! How d'you know we have? Have we, Mr. Barker?” returned Statira, in simultaneous admission and denial.

“Well, if you want to know, I listened outside the door,” said 'Manda Grier, “and you wa'n't sayin' a word, either of you. I guess I got a key now that'll do,” she added, setting down her lamp, “and I borrowed an old Bible 't I guess 'tain't go'n' to hurt a great deal.”

“I don't know as I want to play it much,” said Statira.

“Well, I guess you got to, now,” said 'Manda Grier, “after all my trouble. Hain't she, Mr. Barker?”

It flattered Lemuel through and through to be appealed to, but he could not say anything.

“Well,” said Statira, “if I got to, I got to. But you got to hold the Bible.”

“You got to put the key in!” cried 'Manda Grier. She sat holding the Bible open toward Statira.

She offered to put the key in, and then she stopped. “Well! I'm great! Who are we going to find it for first?”

“Oh, company first,” said 'Manda Grier.

“You company, Mr. Barker?” asked Statira, looking at Lemuel over her shoulder.

“I hope not,” said Lemuel gallantly, at last.

“Well, I declare!” said Statira.

“Quite one the family,” said 'Manda Grier, and that made Statira say, “'Manda!” and Lemuel blush to his hair. “Well, anyway,” continued 'Manda Grier, “you're company enough to have your fate found first. Put in the key, S'tira.”

“No, I sha'n't do it.”

“Well, _I_ shall, then!” She took the key from Statira, and shut the book upon it at the Song of Solomon, and bound it tightly in with a ribbon. Lemuel watched breathlessly; he was not sure that he knew what kind of fate she meant, but he thought he knew, and it made his heart beat quick. 'Manda Grier had passed the ribbon through the ring of the key, which was left outside of the leaves, and now she took hold of the key with her two forefingers. “You got to be careful not to touch the Bible with your fingers,” she explained, “or the charm won't work. Now I'll say over two verses, 't where the key's put in, and Mr. Barker, you got to repeat the alphabet at the same time; and when it comes to the first letter of the right name, the Bible will drop out of my fingers, all I can do. Now then! _Set me as a seal on thine heart_--”

“A, B, C, D.” began Lemuel. “Pshaw, now, 'Manda Grier, you stop!” pleaded Statira.

“You be still! Go on, Mr. Barker!--_As a seal upon thine arm; for love is as strong as death_--don't say the letters so fast--_jealousy as cruel as the grave_--don't look at S'tira; look at me!--_the coals thereof are coals of fire_--you're sayin' it too slow now--_which hath a most vehement flame._ I declare, S'tira Dudley, if you joggle me!--_Many waters cannot quench love; neither can the floods drown it_--you must put just so much time between every letter; if you stop on every particular one, it ain't fair--_if a man would give all the substance of his house for love_--you stop laughin', you two!--_it would be utterly consumed_. Well, there! Now we got to go it all over again, and my arm's most broke _now_.”

“I don't believe Mr. Barker wants to do it again,” said Statira, looking demurely at him; but Lemuel protested that he did, and the game began again. This time the Bible began to shake at the letter D, and Statira cried out, “Now, 'Manda Grier, you're making it,” and 'Manda Grier laughed so that she could scarcely hold the book. Lemuel laughed too; but he kept on repeating the letters. At S the book fell to the floor, and Statira caught it up, and softly beat 'Manda Grier on the back with it. “Oh you mean thing!” she cried out. “You did it on purpose.”

'Manda Grier was almost choked with laughing.

“Do you know anybody of the name of Sarah, Mr. Barker?” she gasped, and then they all laughed together till Statira said, “Well, I shall surely die! Now, 'Manda Grier, it's your turn. And you see if I don't pay you up.”

“I guess I ain't afraid any,” retorted 'Manda Grier. “The book 'll do what it pleases, in spite of you.”

They began again, Statira holding the book this time, and Lemuel repeating as before, and he went quite through the alphabet without anything happening. “Well, I declare!” said Statira, looking grave. “Let's try it over again.”

“You may try, and you may try, and you may try,” said 'Manda Grier. “It won't do you any good. I hain't got any fate in that line.”

“Well, that's what we're goin' to find out,” said Statira; but again the verses and alphabet were repeated without effect.

“Now you satisfied?” asked 'Manda Grier.

“No, not yet. Begin again, Mr. Barker!”

He did so, and at the second letter the book dropped. Statira jumped up, and 'Manda Grier began to chase her round the room, to box her ears for her, she said. Lemuel sat looking on. He did not feel at all severe toward them, as he usually did toward girls that cut up; he did not feel that this was cutting up, in fact.

“Stop, stop!” implored Statira, “and I'll let you try it over again.”

“No, it's your turn now!”

“No, I ain't going to have any,” said Statira, folding her arms.

“You got to,” said 'Manda Grier. “The rest of us has, and now you've got to. Hain't she got to, Mr. Barker?”

“Yes,” said Lemuel delightedly; “you've got to, Miss Dudley.”

“Miss Dudley!” repeated 'Manda Grier. “How that _does_ sound.”

“I don't know as it sounds any worse than Mr. Barker,” said Lemuel.

“Well,” said 'Manda Grier judicially, “I she'd think it was 'bout time they was both of 'em dropped, 'T any rate, I don't want you should call me Miss Grier--Lemuel.”

“Oh!” cried Statira. “Well, you _are_ getting along, 'Manda Grier!”

“Well, don't you let yourself be outdone then, S'tira.”

“I guess Mr. Barker's good enough for me a while yet,” said Statira, and she hastened to add, “The name, I mean,” and at this they all laughed till Statira said, “I shall _certainly_ die!” She suddenly recovered herself--those girls seemed to do everything like lightning, Lemuel observed--and said, “No, I ain't goin' to have mine told at all. I don't like it. Seems kind of wicked. I ruther talk. I never _could_ make it just right to act so with the Bible.”

Lemuel was pleased at that. Statira seemed prettier than ever in this mood of reverence.

“Well, don't talk too much when I'm gone,” said 'Manda Grier, and before anybody could stop her, she ran out of the room. But she put her head in again to say, “I'll be back as soon's I can take this key home.”

Lemuel did not know what to do. The thought of being alone with Statira again was full of rapture and terror. He was glad when she seized the door and tried to keep 'Manda Grier.

“I--I--guess I better be going,” he said.

“You sha'n't go till I get back, anyway,” said 'Manda Grier hospitably. “You keep him, S'tira!”

She gave Statira a little push, and ran down the stairs.

Statira tottered against Lemuel, with that round, soft shoulder which had touched him before. He put out his arms to save her from falling, and they seemed to close round her of themselves. She threw up her face, and in a moment he had kissed her. He released her and fell back from her aghast.

She looked at him.

“I--I didn't mean to,” he panted. His heart was thundering in his ears.

She put up her hands to her face, and began to cry.

“Oh, my goodness!” he gasped. He wavered a moment, then he ran out of the room.

On the stairs he met 'Manda Grier coming up. “Now, Mr. Barker, you're real mean to go!” she pouted.

“I guess I better be going,” Lemuel called back, in a voice so husky that he hardly knew it for his own.

XII.

Lemuel let himself into Miss Vane's house with his key to the back gate, and sat down, still throbbing, in his room over the L, and tried to get the nature of his deed, or misdeed, before his mind. He had grown up to manhood in an austere reverence for himself as regarded the other sex, and in a secret fear, as exacting for them as it was worshipful of women. His mother had held all show of love-sickness between young people in scorn; she said they were silly things, when she saw them soft upon one another; and Lemuel had imbibed from her a sense of unlawfulness, of shame, in the love-making he had seen around him all his life. These things are very open in the country. Even in large villages they have kissing-games at the children's parties, in the church vestries and refectories; and as a little boy Lemuel had taken part in such games. But as he grew older, his reverence and his fear would not let him touch a girl. Once a big girl, much older than he, came up behind him in the play-ground and kissed him; he rubbed the kiss off with his hand, and scoured the place with sand and gravel. One winter all the big boys and girls at school began courting whenever the teacher was out of sight a moment; at the noon-spell some of them sat with their arms round one another. Lemuel wandered off by himself in the snows of the deep woods; the sight of such things, the thought of them put him to shame for those fools, as he tacitly called them; and now what had he done himself? He could not tell. At times he was even proud and glad of it; and then he did not know what would become of him. But mostly it seemed to him that he had been guilty of an enormity that nothing could ever excuse. He must have been crazy to do such a thing to a young lady like that; her tear-stained face looked her wonder at him still.

By this time she had told 'Manda Grier all about it; and he dared not think what their thoughts of him must be. It seemed to him that he ought to put such a monster as he was out of the world. But all the time there was a sweetness, a joy in his heart, that made him half frantic with fear of himself.

“Lemuel!”

He started up at the sound of Sibyl Vane's voice calling to him from the dining-room which opened into the L.

“Yes, ma'am,” he answered tremulously, going to his door. Miss Vane had been obliged to instruct him to say ma'am to her niece, whom he had at first spoken of by her Christian name.

“Was that you came in a little while ago?”

“Yes, ma'am, I came in.”

“Oh! And have you had your supper?”

“I--I guess I don't want any supper.”

“Don't want any supper? You will be ill. Why don't you?”

“I don't know as I feel just like eating anything.”

“Well, it won't do. Will you see, please, if Jane is in the kitchen?”

Lemuel came forward, full of his unfitness for the sight of men, but gathering a little courage when he found the dining-room so dark. He descended to the basement and opened the door of the kitchen, looked in, and shut it again. “Yes, ma'am, she's there.”

“Oh!” Sibyl seemed to hesitate. Then she said: “Light the gas down there, hadn't you better?”

“I don't know but I had,” Lemuel assented.

But before he could obey, “And Lemuel!” she called down again, “come and light it up here too, please.”

“I will as soon as I've lit it here,” said Lemuel.

An imperious order came back. “You will light it here _now,_ please.”

“All right,” assented Lemuel. When he appeared in the upper entry and flashed the gas up, he saw Sibyl standing at the reception-room door, with her finger closed into a book which she had been reading.

“You're not to say that you will do one thing when you're told to do another.”

Lemuel whitened a little round the lips. “I'm not to do two things at once, either, I suppose.”

Sibyl ignored this reply. “Please go and get your supper, and when you've had it come up here again. I've some things for you to do.”

“I'll do them now,” said Lemuel fiercely. “I don't want any supper, and I sha'n't eat any.”

“Why, Lemuel, what is the matter with you?” asked the girl, in the sudden effect of motherly solicitude. “You look very strange, you seem so excited.”

“I'm not hungry, that's all,” said the boy doggedly. “What is it you want done?”

“Won't you please go up to the third floor,” said Sibyl, in a phase of timorous dependence, “and see if everything is right there? I thought I heard a noise. See if the windows are fast, won't you?”

Lemuel turned and she followed with her finger in her book, and her book pressed to her heart, talking. “It seemed to me that I heard steps and voices. It's very mysterious. I suppose any one could plant a ladder on the roof of the L part, and get into the windows if they were not fastened.”

“Have to be a pretty long ladder,” grumbled Lemuel.

“Yes,” Sibyl assented, “it would. And it didn't sound exactly like burglars.”

She followed him half-way up the second flight of stairs, and stood there while he explored the third story throughout.

“There ain't anything there,” he reported without looking at her, and was about to pass her on the stairs in going down.

“Oh, thank you very much, Lemuel,” she said, with fervent gratitude in her voice. She fetched a tremulous sigh. “I suppose it was nothing. Yes,” she added hoarsely, “it must have been nothing. Oh, let _me_ go down first!” she cried, putting out her hand to stop him from passing her. She resumed when they reached the ground floor again. “Aunty has gone out, and Jane was in the kitchen, and it began to grow dark while I sat reading in the drawing-room, and all at once I heard the strangest _noise_.” Her voice dropped deeply on the last word. “Yes, it was very strange indeed! Thank you, Lemuel,” she concluded.

“Quite welcome,” said Lemuel dryly, pushing on towards the basement stairs.

“Oh! And Lemuel! will you let Jane give you your supper in the dining-room, so that you could be here if I heard anything else?”

“I don't want any supper,” said Lemuel.

The girl scrutinised him with an expression of misgiving. Then, with a little sigh, as of one who will not explore a painful mystery, she asked: “Would you mind sitting in the dining-room, then, till aunty gets back?”

“I'd just as lives sit there,” said Lemuel, walking into the dark dining-room and sitting down.

“Oh, thank you very much. Aunty will be back very soon, I suppose. She's just gone to the Sewells' to tea.”

She followed him to the threshold. “You must--I must--light the gas in here for you.”

“Guess I can light the gas,” said Lemuel, getting up to intercept her in this service. She had run into the reception-room for a match, and she would not suffer him to prevent her.

“No, no! I insist! And Lemuel,” she said, turning upon him, “I must ask you to excuse my speaking harshly to you. I was--agitated.”

“Perfectly excusable,” said Lemuel.

“I am afraid,” said the girl, fixing him with her eyes, “that you are not well.”

“Oh yes, I'm well. I'm--pretty tired; that's all.”

“Have you been walking far?”

“Yes--not very.”

“The walking ought to do you good,” said Sibyl, with serious thoughtfulness. “I think,” she continued, “you had better have some bryonia. Don't you think you had?”

“No, no! I don't want anything,” protested Lemuel.

She looked at him with a feeling of baffled anxiety painted on her face; and as she turned away, she beamed with a fresh inspiration. “I will get you a book.” She flew into the reception-room and back again, but she only had the book that she had herself been reading.

“Perhaps you would like to read this? I've finished it. I was just looking back through it.”

“Thank you; I guess I don't want to read any, just now.”

She leaned against the side of the dining-table, beyond which Lemuel sat, and searched his fallen countenance with a glance contrived to be at once piercing and reproachful. “I see,” she said, “you have not forgiven me.”

“Forgiven you?” repeated Lemuel blankly.

“Yes--for giving way to my agitation in speaking to you.”

“I don't know,” said Lemuel, with a sigh of deep inward trouble, “as I noticed anything.”

“I told you to light the gas in the basement,” suggested Sibyl, “and then I told you to light it up here, and then--I scolded you.”

“Oh yes,” admitted Lemuel: “that.” He dropped his head again.

Sibyl sank upon the edge of a chair. “Lemuel! you have something on your mind?”

The boy looked up with a startled face.

“Yes! I can see that you have,” pursued Sibyl. “What have you been doing?” she demanded sternly.

Lemuel was so full of the truth that it came first to his lips in all cases. He could scarcely force it aside now with the evasion that availed him nothing. “I don't know as I've been doing anything in particular.”

“I see that you don't wish to tell me!” cried the girl. “But you might have trusted me. I would have defended you, no matter what you had done--the worse the better.”

Lemuel hung his head without answering.

After a while she continued: “If I had been that girl who had you arrested, and I had been the cause of so much suffering to an innocent person, I should never have forgiven myself. I should have devoted my life to expiation. I should have spent my life in going about the prisons, and finding out persons who were unjustly accused. I should have done it as a penance. Yes! even if he had been guilty!”

Lemuel remained insensible to this extreme of self-sacrifice, and she went on: “This book--it is a story--is all one picture of such a nature. There is a girl who's been brought up as the ward of a young man. He educates her, and she expects to be his wife, and he turns out to be perfectly false and unworthy in every way; but she marries him all the same, although she likes some one else, because she feels that she ought to punish herself for thinking of another, and because she hopes that she will die soon, and when her guardian finds out what she's done for him, it will reform him. It's perfectly sublime. It's--ennobling! If every one could read this book, they would be very different.”

“I don't see much sense in it,” said Lemuel, goaded to this comment.

“You would if you read it. When she dies--she is killed by a fall from her horse in hunting, and has just time to join the hands of her husband and the man she liked first, and tell them everything--it is wrought up so that you hold your breath. I suppose it was reading that that made me think there were burglars getting in. But perhaps you're right not to read it now, if you're excited already. I'll get you something cheerful.” She whirled out of the room and back in a series of those swift, nervous movements peculiar to her. “There! that will amuse you, I know.” She put the book down on the table before Lemuel, who silently submitted to have it left there. “It will distract your thoughts, if anything will. And I shall ask you to let me sit just here in the reception-room, so that I can call you if I feel alarmed.”

“All right,” said Lemuel, lapsing absently to his own troubled thoughts.

“Thank you very much,” said Sibyl. She went away, and came back directly. “Don't you think,” she asked, “that it's very strange you should never have seen or heard anything of her?”

“Heard of who?” he asked, dragging himself painfully up from the depths of his thoughts.

“That heartless girl who had you arrested.”

“She _wasn't_ heartless!” retorted Lemuel indignantly.

“You think so because you are generous, and can't imagine such heartlessness. Perhaps,” added Sibyl, with the air of being illumined by a happy thought, “she is dead. That would account for everything. She may have died of remorse. It probably preyed upon her till she couldn't bear it any longer, and then she killed herself.”

Lemuel began to grow red at the first apprehension of her meaning. As she went on, he changed colour more and more.

“She is alive!” cried Sibyl. “She's alive, and you have seen her! You needn't deny it! You've seen her to-day!” Lemuel rose in clumsy indignation. “I don't know as anybody's got any right to say what I've done, or haven't done.”