The House of a Thousand Candles by Meredith Nicholson (good ebook reader .TXT) 📖

CHAPTER XXVII

CHANGES AND CHANCES

 

John Marshall Glenarm had probably never been so

happy in his life as on that day of his amazing home-coming.

He laughed at us and he laughed with us, and

as he went about the house explaining his plans for its

completion, he chaffed us all with his shrewd humor

that had been the terror of my boyhood.

 

“Ah, if you had had the plans of course you would

have been saved a lot of trouble; but that little sketch

of the Door of Bewilderment was the only thing I left,

—and you found it, Jack—you really opened these good

books of mine.”

 

He sent us all away to remove the marks of battle, and

we gave Bates a hand in cleaning up the wreckage—

Bates, the keeper of secrets; Bates, the inscrutable and

mysterious; Bates, the real hero of the affair at Glenarm.

 

He led us through the narrow stairway by which he

had entered, which had been built between false walls,

and we played ghost for one another, to show just how

the tread of a human being around the chimney sounded.

There was much to explain, and my grandfather’s

contrition for having placed me in so hazardous a predicament

was so sincere, and his wish to make amends

so evident, that my heart warmed to him. He made me

describe in detail all the incidents of my stay at the

house, listening with boyish delight to my adventures.

 

“Bless my soul!” he exclaimed over and over again.

And as I brought my two friends into the story his delight

knew no bounds, and he kept chuckling to himself;

and insisted half a dozen times on shaking hands with

Larry and Stoddard, who were, he declared, his friends

as well as mine.

 

The prisoner in the potato cellar received our due attention;

and my grandfather’s joy in the fact that an

agent of the British government was held captive in

Glenarm House was cheering to see. But the man’s detention

was a grave matter, as we all realized, and made

imperative the immediate consideration of Larry’s future.

 

“I must go—and go at once!” declared Larry.

 

“Mr. Donovan, I should feel honored to have you remain,”

said my grandfather. “I hope to hold Jack

here, and I wish you would share the house with us.”

 

“The sheriff and those fellows won’t squeal very hard

about their performances here,” said Stoddard. “And

they won’t try to rescue the prisoner, even for a reward,

from a house where the dead come back to life.”

 

“No; but you can’t hold a British prisoner in an

American private house for ever. Too many people

know he has been in this part of the country; and you

may be sure that the fight here and the return of Mr.

Glenarm will not fail of large advertisement. All I can

ask of you, Mr. Glenarm, is that you hold the fellow a

few hours after I leave, to give me a start.”

 

“Certainly. But when this trouble of yours blows

over, I hope you will come back and help Jack to live

a decent and orderly life.”

 

My grandfather spoke of my remaining with a

warmth that was grateful to my heart; but the place and

its associations had grown unbearable. I had not mentioned

Marian Devereux to him, I had not told him of

my Christmas flight to Cincinnati; for the fact that I

had run away and forfeited my right made no difference

now, and I waited for an opportunity when we should

be alone to talk of my own affairs.

 

At luncheon, delayed until mid-afternoon, Bates produced

champagne, and the three of us, worn with excitement

and stress of battle, drank a toast, standing, to the

health of John Marshall Glenarm.

 

“My friends,”—the old gentleman rose and we all

stood, our eyes bent upon him in, I think, real affection,

—“I am an old and foolish man. Ever since I was

able to do so I have indulged my whims. This house

is one of them. I had wished to make it a thing of

beauty and dignity, and I had hoped that Jack would

care for it and be willing to complete it and settle here.

The means I employed to test him were not, I admit,

worthy of a man who intends well toward his own flesh

and blood. Those African adventures of yours scared

me, Jack; but to think”—and he laughed—“that I

placed you here in this peaceful place amid greater dangers

probably than you ever met in tiger-hunting! But

you have put me to shame. Here’s health and peace to

you!”

 

“So say we all!” cried the others.

 

“One thing more,” my grandfather continued, “I don’t

want you to think, Jack, that you would really have

been cut off under any circumstances if I had died while

I was hiding in Egypt. What I wanted, boy, was to

get you home! I made another will in England, where

I deposited the bulk of my property before I died, and

did not forget you. That will was to protect you in case

I really died!”—and he laughed cheerily.

 

The others left us—Stoddard to help Larry get his

things together—and my grandfather and I talked for

an hour at the table.

 

“I have thought that many things might happen

here,” I said, watching his fine, slim fingers, as he polished

his eye-glasses, then rested his elbows on the table

and smiled at me. “I thought for a while that I should

certainly be shot; then at times I was afraid I might

not be; but your return in the flesh was something I

never considered among the possibilities. Bates fooled

me. That talk I overheard between him and Pickering

in the church porch that foggy night was the thing that

seemed to settle his case; then the next thing I knew he

was defending the house at the serious risk of his life;

and I was more puzzled than ever.”

 

“Yes, a wonderful man, Bates. He always disliked

Pickering, and he rejoiced in tricking him.”

 

“Where did you pick Bates up? He told me he was

a Yankee, but he doesn’t act or talk it.”

 

My grandfather laughed. “Of course not! He’s an

Irishman and a man of education—but that’s all I know

about him, except that he is a marvelously efficient servant.”

 

My mind was not on Bates. I was thinking now of

Marian Devereux. I could not go on further with my

grandfather without telling him how I had run away

and broken faith with him, but he gave me no chance.

 

“You will stay on here—you will help me to finish

the house?” he asked with an unmistakable eagerness

of look and tone.

 

It seemed harsh and ungenerous to tell him that I

wished to go; that the great world lay beyond the confines

of Glenarm for me to conquer; that I had lost as

well as gained by those few months at Glenarm House,

and wished to go away. It was not the mystery, now

fathomed, nor the struggle, now ended, that was uppermost

in my mind and heart, but memories of a girl

who had mocked me with delicious girlish laughter—

who had led me away that I might see her transformed

into another, more charming, being. It was a comfort

to know that Pickering, trapped and defeated, was not

to benefit by the bold trick she had helped him play upon

me. His loss was hers as well, and I was glad in my

bitterness that I had found her in the passage, seeking

for plunder at the behest of the same master whom Morgan,

Ferguson and the rest of them served.

 

The fight was over and there was nothing more for me

to do in the house by the lake. After a week or so I

should go forth and try to win a place for myself. I

had my profession; I was an engineer, and I did not

question that I should be able to find employment. As

for my grandfather, Bates would care for him, and I

should visit him often. I was resolved not to give him

any further cause for anxiety on account of my adventurous

and roving ways. He knew well enough that his

old hope of making an architect of me was lost beyond

redemption—I had told him that—and now I wished to

depart