Part 5 (2/2)
I went a little out of my way so as to go past the Allen House again.
As I approached, my eyes were directed to the chamber windows at the north-west corner, and while yet some distance away, as the old elms tossed their great limbs about in struggling with the storm, I saw glancing out between them the same cheery light that met my astonished gaze a little while before. As then, I saw shadows moving on the walls, and once the same slender, graceful figure--evidently that of a young girl--came to the window and tried to look out into the deep darkness.
As there was nothing to be gained by standing there in the drenching storm, I moved onward, taking the way to Mrs. Wallingford's dwelling. I had scarcely touched the knocker when the door was opened, and by Mrs.
Wallingford herself.
”Oh, Doctor, I'm so glad you've come!” she said in a low, troubled voice.
I stepped in out of the rain, gave her my dripping umbrella, and laid off my overcoat.
”How is Henry now?” I asked.
She put her finger to her lip, and said, in a whisper,
”Just the same, Doctor--just the same. Listen! Don't you hear him walking the floor overhead? I've tried to get him to take a cup of tea, but he won't touch any thing. All I can get out of him is--'Mother--dear mother--leave me to myself. I shall come right again. Only leave me to myself now.' But, how can I let him go on in this way? Oh, Doctor, I am almost beside myself! What can it all mean? Something dreadful has happened.”
I sat listening and reflecting for something like ten minutes. Steadily, from one side the room overhead to the other, went the noise of feet; now slowly, now with a quicker motion: and now with a sudden tramp, that sent the listener's blood with a start along its courses.
”Won't you see him, doctor?”
I did not answer at once, for I was in the dark as to what was best to be done. If I had known the origin of his trouble, I could have acted understandingly. As it was, any intrusion upon the young man might do harm rather than good.
”He has asked to be let alone,” I replied, ”and it may be best to let him alone. He says that he will come out right. Give him a little more time. Wait, at least, until to-morrow. Then, if there is no change, I will see him.”
Still the mother urged. At last I said--
”Go to your son. Suggest to him a visit from me, and mark the effect.”
I listened as she went up stairs. On entering his room, I noticed that he ceased walking. Soon came to my ears the murmur of voices, which rose to a sudden loudness on his part, and I distinctly heard the words:
”Mother! you will drive me mad! If you talk of that, I will go from the house. I _must_ be left alone!”
Then all was silent. Soon Mrs. Wallingford came down. She looked even more distressed than when she left the room.
”I'm afraid it might do harm,” she said doubtingly.
”So am I. It will, I am sure, be best to let him have his way for the present. Something has disturbed him fearfully; but he is struggling hard for the mastery over himself, and you may be sure, madam, that he will gain it. Your son is a young man of no light stamp of character; and he will come out of this ordeal, as gold from the crucible.”
”You think so, Doctor?”
She looked at me with a hopeful light in her troubled countenance.
”I do, verily. So let your heart dwell in peace.”
I was anxious to get back to my good Constance, and so, after a few more encouraging words for Mrs. Wallingford, I tried the storm again, and went through its s.h.i.+vering gusts, to my own home. There had been no calls in my absence, and so the prospect looked fair for a quiet evening--just what I wanted; for the strange condition of Henry Wallingford, and the singular circ.u.mstance connected with the old Allen House, were things to be conned over with that second self, towards whom all thought turned and all interest converged as to a centre.
After exchanging wet outer garments and boots, for dressing gown and slippers; and darkness and storm for a pleasant fireside; my thoughts turned to the north-west chamber of the Allen House, and I said--
<script>