The Dead Letter · Part I · Chapter 1 13 (2/2)

I would not go away without seeing them; if there was any accusation in their eyes I would confront it. And then, I did not believe that Eleanor would do me an injustice. Blue-eyed, just, gentle as was her character, she, at least, was grieved for me⁠—believed in me. I did not admit to myself how much comfort I drew from this faith, until I was startled from it. My baggage was dispatched; my watch told eleven; I passed the house on the way to the cars, giving myself a few minutes for this farewell. As I knocked at the door, one of the servants opened it. I sent her to ask Miss Argyll if she would come down to say goodbye, before I left on my visit to my mother; and Mary⁠—I would like to see her also.

While I waited for them, I stepped into the dear familiar parlors and library, mutely taking my leave of them, with all their mingled associations. Presently the messenger returned:

“Miss Argyll sent her farewell; she could not see Mr. Redfield that morning.”

“Where is she?”

“In the breakfast-room, looking at her flowers.”

I started for the room in a wild tumult of anger and passion, resolved to make her confess the reason of this treatment. Surely, three years of an intimacy like ours, gave me the right. In three minutes I confronted her where she stood, in the door between the breakfast-room and conservatory, like a statue draped in crape.

“Eleanor!”

She shrunk back; she held up her hands with an expression of horror. My God! that look in Eleanor’s eyes was enough to kill me. I turned away as hastily as I had come. As I stumbled along the passage, half blind with the terrible surging and throbbing of the blood through me, a soft pair of arms fell about my neck, a cheek wet with tears was pressed to mine⁠—it was Mary.

“Never mind what they say about you, Richard,” she sobbed. “I don’t believe one word of it⁠—not one word! I never shall. I am your friend. I love you; indeed I do. I do not want you to go away,” and she kissed me twice or thrice.

I took the sweet face in my cold hands, looked into the brimming eyes, hastily kissed the blushing cheek⁠—“God bless you, Mary,” said I, and was gone.