Richard had seen his mother dip candles before--nay, had sometimes
assisted at the dipping. He had seen her short striped gown and blue
woolen stockings, and smelled the cooking cabbage, but they never struck
him with so great a sense of discomfort as they did to-day when he
stood, hat in hand, wondering why home seemed so cheerless. It was as if
the shadow of the great shock awaiting him had already fallen upon him,
oppressing him with a weight he could not well shake off. He had no
thought that any harm had come to Ethie, and yet his first question was
for her. Had his mother heard from her while he was away, or did she
know if she was well?
Mrs. Markham's under jaw dropped, in the way peculiar to her when at all
irritated, but she did not answer at once; she waited a moment, while
she held the rod poised over the iron kettle, and with her forefinger
deliberately separated any of the eight candles which showed a
disposition to stick together; then depositing them upon the frame and
taking up another rod, she said: "Miss Plympton was down to Camden three or four days ago, and she said
Ann Merrills, the chambermaid at the Stafford House, told her Ethelyn
had come to Olney to stay with us while you was away; but she must have
gone somewhere else, as we have not seen her here. Gone to visit that
Miss Amsden, most likely, that lives over the creek."
"What makes you think she has gone there?" Richard asked, with a sudden
spasm of fear, for which he could not account, and which was not in any
wise diminished by his mother's reply: "Ann said she took the six
o'clock train for Olney, and as Miss Amsden lives beyond us, it's likely
she went there, and is home by this time."
Richard accepted this supposition, but it was far from reassuring him.
The load he had felt when he first came into the kitchen was pressing
more and more heavily, and he wished that he had gone straight on
instead of stopping at Olney. But now there was nothing to do but to
wait with what patience he could command until the next train came and
carried him to Camden.
It was nine o'clock when he reached there, and a stiff northeaster was
blowing down the streets with gusts of sleet and rain, but he did not
think of it as he hurried on toward the Stafford House, with that
undefined dread growing stronger and stronger as he drew near. He did
not know what he feared, nor why he feared it. He should find Ethie
there, he said. She surely had returned from her visit by this time; he
should see the lights from the windows shining out upon the park, just
as he had seen them many other nights when hastening back to Ethie. He
would take the shortest route down that dark, narrow alley, and so gain
a moment of time. The alley was traversed at last, also the square, and
he turned the corner of the street where stood the Stafford House.
Halting for an instant, he strained his eyes to see if he were mistaken,
or was there no light in the window, no sign that Ethie was there. There
were lights below, and lights above, but the second floor was dark, the
shutters closed, and all about them a look of silence and desertion,
which quickened Richard's footsteps to a run. Up the private staircase
he went, and through the narrow hall, till he reached his door and found
it locked. Ethie was surely gone. She had not expected him so soon.
Mrs. Amsden had urged her to stay, and she had stayed. This was what
Richard said, as he went down to the office for the key, which the clerk
handed him, with the remark: "Mrs. Markham went to Olney the very day
you left. I thought perhaps you would stop there and bring her home."