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the organ.ā€

 

ā€œOr be an eavesdropper or hear pleasant words from

the master of Glenarmā€”ā€

 

ā€œBut I donā€™t know where you are goingā€”you havenā€™t

told me anythingā€”you are slipping out into the

worldā€”ā€

 

She did not hear or would not answer. She turned

away, and was at once surrounded by a laughing throng

that crowded about the train. Two brown-robed Sisters

stood like sentinels, one at either side, as she stepped

into the car. I was conscious of a feeling that from the

depths of their hoods they regarded me with un-Christian

disdain. Through the windows I could see the

students fluttering to seats, and the girl in gray seemed

to be marshaling them. The gray hat appeared at a

window for an instant, and a smiling face gladdened, I

am sure, the guardians of the peace at St. Agathaā€™s, for

whom it was intended.

 

The last trunk crashed into the baggage car, every

window framed for a moment a girlā€™s face, and the

train was gone.

CHAPTER XVI

THE PASSING OF OLIVIA

 

Bates brought a great log and rolled it upon exactly

the right spot on the andirons, and a great constellation

of sparks thronged up the chimney. The old relic of a

houseā€”I called the establishment by many names, but

this was, I think, my favoriteā€”could be heated in all

its habitable parts, as Bates had demonstrated. The

halls were of glacial temperature these cold days, but

my room above, the dining-room and the great library

were comfortable enough. I threw down a book and

knocked the ashes from my pipe.

 

ā€œBates!ā€

 

ā€œYes, sir.ā€

 

ā€œI think my spiritual welfare is in jeopardy. I need

counselā€”a spiritual adviser.ā€

 

ā€œIā€™m afraid thatā€™s beyond me, sir.ā€

 

ā€œIā€™d like to invite Mr. Stoddard to dinner so I may

discuss my soulā€™s health with him at leisure.ā€

 

ā€œCertainly, Mr. Glenarm.ā€

 

ā€œBut it occurs to me that probably the terms of Mr.

Glenarmā€™s will point to my complete sequestration here.

In other words, I may forfeit my rights by asking a

guest to dinner.ā€

 

He pondered the matter for a moment, then replied:

 

ā€œI should think, sirā€”as you ask my opinionā€”that

in the case of a gentleman in holy orders there would

be no impropriety. Mr. Stoddard is a fine gentleman;

I heard your late grandfather speak of him very

highly.ā€

 

ā€œThat, I imagine, is hardly conclusive in the matter.

There is the executorā€”ā€

 

ā€œTo be sure; I hadnā€™t considered him.ā€

 

ā€œWell, youā€™d better consider him. Heā€™s the court of

last resort, isnā€™t he?ā€

 

ā€œWell, of course, thatā€™s one way of looking at it,

sir.

 

ā€œI suppose thereā€™s no chance of Mr. Pickeringā€™s dropping

in on us now and then.ā€

 

He gazed at me steadily, unblinkingly and with entire

respect.

 

ā€œHeā€™s a good deal of a traveler, Mr. Pickering is. He

passed through only this morning, so the mail-boy told

me. You may have met him at the station.ā€

 

ā€œOh, yes; to be sure; so I did Iā€ I replied. I was not

as good a liar as Bates; and there was nothing to be

gained by denying that I had met the executor in the

village. ā€œI had a very pleasant talk with him. He was

on the way to California with several friends.ā€

 

ā€œThat is quite his way, I understandā€”private cars

and long journeys about the country. A very successful

man is Mr. Pickering. Your grandfather had great

confidence in him, did Mr. Glenarm.ā€

 

ā€œAh, yes! A fine judge of character my grandfather

was! I guess John Marshall Glenarm could spot a rascal

about as far as any man in his day.ā€

 

I felt like letting myself go before this masked scoundrel.

The density of his mask was an increasing wonder

to me. Bates was the most incomprehensible human

being I had ever known. I had been torn with a

thousand conflicting emotions since I overheard him discussing

the state of affairs at Glenarm House with

Pickering in the chapel porch; and Pickeringā€™s acquaintance

with the girl in gray brought new elements

into the affair that added to my uneasiness. But here

was a treasonable dog on whom the stress of conspiracy

had no outward effect whatever.

 

It was an amazing situation, but it called for calmness

and eternal vigilance. With every hour my resolution

grew to stand fast and fight it out on my own account

without outside help. A thousand times during

the afternoon I had heard the voice of the girl in gray

saying to me: ā€œYou are a man, and I have heard that

you have had some experience in taking care of yourself,

Mr. Glenarm.ā€

 

It was both a warning and a challenge, and the memory

of the words was at once sobering and cheering.

 

Bates waited. Of him, certainly, I should ask no

questions touching Olivia Armstrong. To discuss her

with a blackguard servant even to gain answers to baffling

questions about her was not to my liking. And,

thank God! I taught myself one thing, if nothing

more, in those days at Glenarm House: I learned to

bide my time.

 

ā€œIā€™ll give you a note to Mr. Stoddard in the morning.

You may go now.ā€

 

ā€œYes, sir.ā€

 

The note was written and despatched. The chaplain

was not at his lodgings, and Bates reported that he had

left the message. The answer came presently by the

hand of the Scotch gardener, Ferguson, a short, wiry,

raw-boned specimen. I happened to open the door myself,

and brought him into the library until I could read

Stoddardā€™s reply. Ferguson had, I thought, an uneasy

eye, and his hair, of an ugly carrot color, annoyed me.

 

Mr. Paul Stoddard presented his compliments and

would be delighted to dine with me. He wrote a large

even hand, as frank and open as himself.

 

ā€œThat is all, Ferguson.ā€ And the gardener took himself

off.

 

Thus it came about that Stoddard and I faced each

other across the table in the refectory that same evening

under the lights of a great candelabrum which

Bates had produced from the store-room below. And

I may say here, that while there was a slight hitch sometimes

in the delivery of supplies from the village;

while the fish which Bates caused to be shipped from

Chicago for delivery every Friday morning failed once

or twice, and while the grape-fruit for breakfast

was not always what it should have beenā€”the supply

of candles seemed inexhaustible. They were produced

in every shade and size. There were enormous

ones, such as I had never seen outside of a Russian

churchā€”and one of the rooms in the cellar was filled

with boxes of them. The House of a Thousand Candles

deserved and proved its name.

 

Bates had certainly risen to the occasion. Silver and

crystal of which I had not known before glistened on

the table, and on the sideboard two huge candelabra

added to the festival air of the little room.

 

Stoddard laughed as he glanced about.

 

ā€œHere I have been feeling sorry for you, and yet you

are living like a prince. I didnā€™t know there was so

much splendor in all Wabana County.ā€

 

ā€œIā€™m a trifle dazzled myself. Bates has tapped a new

cellar somewhere. Iā€™m afraid Iā€™m not a good housekeeper,

to speak truthfully. There are times when I

hate the house; when it seems wholly ridiculous, the

whim of an eccentric old man; and then again Iā€™m actually

afraid that I like its seclusion.ā€

 

ā€œYour seclusion is better than mine. You know my

little two-room affair behind the chapelā€”only a few,

books and a punching bag. That chapel also is one of

your grandfatherā€™s whims. He provided that all the

offices of the church must be said there daily or the

endowment is stopped. Mr. Glenarm lived in the past,

or liked to think he did. I suppose you knowā€”or maybe

you donā€™t knowā€”how I came to have this appointment?ā€

 

ā€œIndeed, I should like to know.ā€

 

We had reached the soup, and Bates was changing

our plates with his accustomed light hand.

 

ā€œIt was my name that did the businessā€”Paul. A

bishop had recommended a man whose given name was

Ethelbertā€”a decent enough name and one that you

might imagine would appeal to Mr. Glenarm; but he

rejected him because the name might too easily be cut

down to Ethel, a name which, he said, was very distasteful

to him.ā€

 

ā€œThat is characteristic. The dear old gentleman!ā€ I

exclaimed with real feeling.

 

ā€œBut he reckoned without his host,ā€ Stoddard continued.

ā€œThe young ladies, I have lately learned, call

me Pauline, as a mark of regard or otherwiseā€”probably

otherwise. I give two lectures a week on church

history, and I fear my course isnā€™t popular.ā€

 

ā€œBut it is something, on the other hand, to be in touch

with such an institution. They are a very sightly company,

those girls. I enjoy watching them across the

garden wall. And I had a closer view of them at the

station this morning, when you ran off and deserted

me.ā€

 

He laughedā€”his big wholesome cheering laugh.

 

ā€œI take good care not to see much of them socially.ā€

 

ā€œAfraid of the eternal feminine?ā€

 

ā€œYes, I suppose I am. Iā€™m preparing to go into a

Brotherhood, as you probably donā€™t know. And girls

are distracting.ā€

 

I glanced at my companion with a new inquiry and

interest.

 

ā€œI didnā€™t know,ā€ I said.

 

ā€œYes; Iā€™m spending my year in studies that I may

never have a chance for hereafter. Iā€™m going into an

order whose members work hard.ā€

 

He spoke as though he were planning a summer outing.

I had not sat at meat with a clergyman since the

death of my parents broke up our old home in Vermont,

and my attitude toward the cloth was, I fear, one of

antagonism dating from those days.

 

ā€œWell, I saw Pickering after all,ā€ I remarked.

 

ā€œYes, I saw him, too. What is it in his case, genius

or good luck?ā€

 

ā€œIā€™m not a competent witness,ā€ I answered. ā€œIā€™ll be

frank with you: I donā€™t like him; I donā€™t believe in

him.ā€

 

ā€œOh! I beg your pardon. I didnā€™t know, of course.ā€

 

ā€œThe subject is not painful to me,ā€ I hastened to

add, ā€œthough he was always rather thrust before me as

an ideal back in my youth, and you know how fatal that

is. And then the gods of success have opened all the

gates for him.ā€

 

ā€œYesā€”and yetā€”ā€

 

ā€œAnd yetā€”ā€ I repeated. Stoddard lifted a glass of

sherry to the light and studied it for a moment. He did

not drink wine, but was not, I found, afraid to look

at it.

 

ā€œAnd yet,ā€ he said, putting down the glass and speaking

slowly, ā€œwhen the gates of good fortune open too

readily and smoothly, they may close sometimes rather

too quickly and snap a manā€™s coat-tails. Please donā€™t

think Iā€™m going to afflict you with shavings of wisdom

from the shop-floor, but life wasnā€™t intended to be too

easy. The spirit of man needs arresting and chastening.

It doesnā€™t flourish under too much fostering or

too much of what we call good luck. Iā€™m disposed to

be afraid of good luck.ā€

 

ā€œIā€™ve never tried it,ā€ I said laughingly.

 

ā€œI am not looking for it,ā€ and he spoke soberly.

 

I could not talk of Pickering with Batesā€”the masked

beggar!ā€”in the room, so I changed the subject.

 

ā€œI suppose you impose penances, prescribe discipline

for the girls at St. Agathaā€™sā€”an agreeable exercise of

the priestly office, I should say!ā€

 

His laugh was pleasant and rang true. I was liking

him better the more I saw of

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