The Greatest Works of Anna Katharine Green. Анна Грин

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СКАЧАТЬ my great surprise she replied no; that while she had kind neighbors and good friends, there was no one upon whom she could call in a case like this, either for assistance or sympathy, and that, unless I would take pity on her, she would have to meet it alone—“As I have met everything,” she said, “from Mr. Belden’s death to the loss of most of my little savings in a town fire last year.”

      I was touched by this,—that she who, in spite of her weakness and inconsistencies of character, possessed at least the one virtue of sympathy with her kind, should feel any lack of friends. Unhesitatingly, I offered to do what I could for her, providing she would treat me with the perfect frankness which the case demanded. To my great relief, she expressed not only her willingness, but her strong desire, to tell all she knew. “I have had enough secrecy for my whole life,” she said. And indeed I do believe she was so thoroughly frightened, that if a police-officer had come into the house and asked her to reveal secrets compromising the good name of her own son, she would have done so without cavil or question. “I feel as if I wanted to take my stand out on the common, and, in the face of the whole world, declare what I have done for Mary Leavenworth. But first,” she whispered, “tell me, for God’s sake, how those girls are situated. I have not dared to ask or write. The papers say a good deal about Eleanore, but nothing about Mary; and yet Mary writes of her own peril only, and of the danger she would be in if certain facts were known. What is the truth? I don’t want to injure them, only to take care of myself.”

      “Mrs. Belden,” I said, “Eleanore Leavenworth has got into her present difficulty by not telling all that was required of her. Mary Leavenworth—but I cannot speak of her till I know what you have to divulge. Her position, as well as that of her cousin, is too anomalous for either you or me to discuss. What we want to learn from you is, how you became connected with this affair, and what it was that Hannah knew which caused her to leave New York and take refuge here.”

      But Mrs. Belden, clasping and unclasping her hands, met my gaze with one full of the most apprehensive doubt. “You will never believe me,” she cried; “but I don’t know what Hannah knew. I am in utter ignorance of what she saw or heard on that fatal night; she never told, and I never asked. She merely said that Miss Leavenworth wished me to secrete her for a short time; and I, because I loved Mary Leavenworth and admired her beyond any one I ever saw, weakly consented, and——”

      “Do you mean to say,” I interrupted, “that after you knew of the murder, you, at the mere expression of Miss Leavenworth’s wishes, continued to keep this girl concealed without asking her any questions or demanding any explanations?”

      “Yes, sir; you will never believe me, but it is so. I thought that, since Mary had sent her here, she must have her reasons; and—and—I cannot explain it now; it all looks so differently; but I did do as I have said.”

      “But that was very strange conduct. You must have had strong reason for obeying Mary Leavenworth so blindly.”

      “Oh, sir,” she gasped, “I thought I understood it all; that Mary, the bright young creature, who had stooped from her lofty position to make use of me and to love me, was in some way linked to the criminal, and that it would be better for me to remain in ignorance, do as I was bid, and trust all would come right. I did not reason about it; I only followed my impulse. I couldn’t do otherwise; it isn’t my nature. When I am requested to do anything for a person I love, I cannot refuse.”

      “And you love Mary Leavenworth; a woman whom you yourself seem to consider capable of a great crime?”

      “Oh, I didn’t say that; I don’t know as I thought that. She might be in some way connected with it, without being the actual perpetrator. She could never be that; she is too dainty.”

      “Mrs. Belden,” I said, “what do you know of Mary Leavenworth which makes even that supposition possible?”

      The white face of the woman before me flushed. “I scarcely know what to reply,” she cried. “It is a long story, and——”

      “Never mind the long story,” I interrupted. “Let me hear the one vital reason.”

      “Well,” said she, “it is this; that Mary was in an emergency from which nothing but her uncle’s death could release her.”

      “Ah, how’s that?”

      But here we were interrupted by the sound of steps on the porch, and, looking out, I saw Q entering the house alone. Leaving Mrs. Belden where she was, I stepped into the hall.

      “Well,” said I, “what is the matter? Haven’t you found the coroner? Isn’t he at home?”

      “No, gone away; off in a buggy to look after a man that was found some ten miles from here, lying in a ditch beside a yoke of oxen.” Then, as he saw my look of relief, for I was glad of this temporary delay, said, with an expressive wink: “It would take a fellow a long time to go to him—if he wasn’t in a hurry—hours, I think.”

      “Indeed!” I returned, amused at his manner. “Rough road?”

      “Very; no horse I could get could travel it faster than a walk.”

      “Well,” said I, “so much the better for us. Mrs. Belden has a long story to tell, and——”

      “Doesn’t wish to be interrupted. I understand.”

      I nodded and he turned towards the door.

      “Have you telegraphed Mr. Gryce?” I asked.

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Do you think he will come?”

      “Yes, sir; if he has to hobble on two sticks.”

      “At what time do you look for him?”

      “You will look for him as early as three o’clock. I shall be among the mountains, ruefully eying my broken-down team.” And leisurely donning his hat he strolled away down the street like one who has the whole day on his hands and does not know what to do with it.

      An opportunity being thus given for Mrs. Belden’s story, she at once composed herself to the task, with the following result.

      Chapter XXXII.

       Mrs. Belden’s Narrative

       Table of Contents

      “Cursed, destructive Avarice,

       Thou everlasting foe to Love and Honor.”

      —Trap’s Abram.

       “Mischief never thrives

       Without the help of Woman.”

      —The Same.

      It will be a year next July since I first saw Mary Leavenworth. I was living at that time a most monotonous existence. Loving what was beautiful, hating what was sordid, drawn by nature towards all that was romantic and uncommon, but doomed by my straitened position and the loneliness of my widowhood to spend my days in the weary round of plain sewing, I had begun to think that the shadow of a humdrum old age was settling СКАЧАТЬ