“Certainly,” said I, and rose to follow her, turning over in my mind how I should account to this young woman for my intrusion. I had just arrived at what I considered a sensible conclusion, when Miss Althorpe, leaning towards me, said with a whole-souled impetuosity for which I could not but admire her:
“The girl is very nervous, she looks and acts like a person who has had some frightful shock. Don’t alarm her, Miss Butterworth, and don’t accuse her of anything wrong too suddenly. Perhaps she is innocent, and perhaps if she is not innocent, she has been driven into evil by very great temptations. I am sorry for her, whether she is simply unhappy or deeply remorseful. For I never saw a sweeter face, or eyes with such boundless depths of misery in them.”
Just what Mrs. Desberger had said! Strange, but I began to feel a certain sort of sympathy for the wretched being I was hunting down.
“I will be careful,” said I. “I merely want to satisfy myself that she is the same girl I heard of last from a Mrs. Desberger.”
Miss Althorpe, who was now halfway up the rich staircase which makes her house one of the most remarkable in the city, turned and gave me a quick look over her shoulder.
“I don’t know Mrs. Desberger,” she remarked.
At which I smiled. Did she think Mrs. Desberger in society?
At the end of an upper passageway we paused.
“This is the door,” whispered Miss Althorpe. “Perhaps I had better go in first and see if she is at all prepared for company.”
I was glad to have her do so, for I felt as if I needed to prepare myself for encountering this young girl, over whom, in my mind, hung the dreadful suspicion of murder.
But the time between Miss Althorpe’s knock and her entrance, short as it was, was longer than that which elapsed between her going in and her hasty reappearance.
“You can have your wish,” said she. “She is lying on her bed asleep, and you can see her without being observed. But,” she entreated, with a passionate grip of my arm, which proclaimed her warm nature, “doesn’t it seem a little like taking advantage of her?”
“Circumstances justify it in this case,” I replied, admiring the consideration of my hostess, but not thinking it worth while to emulate it. And with very little ceremony I pushed open the door and entered the room of the so-called Ruth Oliver.
The hush and quiet which met me, though nothing more than I had reason to expect, gave me my first shock, and the young figure outstretched on a bed of dainty whiteness, my second. Everything about me was so peaceful, and the delicate blue and white of the room so expressive of innocence and repose, that my feet instinctively moved more softly over the polished floor and paused, when they did pause, before that dimly shrouded bed, with something like hesitation in their usually emphatic tread.
The face of that bed’s occupant, which I could now plainly see, may have had an influence in producing this effect. It was so rounded with health, and yet so haggard with trouble. Not knowing whether Miss Althorpe was behind me or not, but too intent upon the sleeping girl to care, I bent over the half-averted features and studied them carefully.
They were indeed Madonna-like, something which I had not expected, notwithstanding the assurances I had received to that effect, and while distorted with suffering, amply accounted for the interest shown in her by the good-hearted Mrs. Desberger and the cultured Miss Althorpe.
Resenting this beauty, which so poorly accommodated itself to the character of the woman who possessed it, I leaned nearer, searching for some defect in her loveliness, when I saw that the struggle and anguish visible in her expression were due to some dream she was having.
Moved, even against my will, by the touching sight of her trembling eyelids and working mouth, I was about to wake her when I was stopped by the gentle touch of Miss Althorpe on my shoulder.
“Is she the girl you are looking for?”
I gave one quick glance around the room, and my eyes lighted on the little blue pincushion on the satinwood bureau.
“Did you put those pins there?” I asked, pointing to a dozen or more black pins grouped in one corner.
“I did not, no; and I doubt if Crescenze did. Why?”
I drew a small black pin from my belt where I had securely fastened it, and carrying it over to the cushion, compared it with those I saw. They were identical.
“A small matter,” I inwardly decided, “but it points in the right direction”; then, in answer to Miss Althorpe, added aloud: “I fear she is. At least I have seen no reason yet for doubting it. But I must make sure. Will you allow me to wake her?”
“O it seems cruel! She is suffering enough already. See how she twists and turns!”
“It will be a mercy, it seems to me, to rouse her from dreams so full of pain and trouble.”
“Perhaps, but I will leave you alone to do it. What will you say to her? How account for your intrusion?”
“O I will find means, and they won’t be too cruel either. You had better stand back by the bureau and listen. I think I had rather not have the responsibility of doing this thing alone.”
Miss Althorpe, not understanding my hesitation, and only half comprehending my errand, gave me a doubtful look but retreated to the spot I had mentioned, and whether it was the rustle of her silk dress or whether the dream of the girl we were watching had reached its climax, a momentary stir took place in the outstretched form before me, and next moment she was flinging up her hands with a cry.
“O how can I touch her! She
