Chapter II

_The Setting of the Stage_

S. Saviour's, with its tiny portico and steeple of distinctly

Christopher Wren design, presented an interesting study in colonial

architecture. It was built of brick, with solid, white wooden shutters,

and the side walls were mantled by a wonderful growth of true English

ivy. There was no central entrance, access to the interior being

afforded by two side doors at the extreme ends of the portico. The

reason for this unusual arrangement became apparent upon entering the

church, the shallow chancel, together with the pulpit and lectern, being

situated at the front end of the edifice, with the pews facing toward

the entrance doors. This made it rather awkward for the late comers, as

the laggards were obliged to meet the united gaze of the congregation

already seated; also the ladies of S. Saviour's enjoyed exceptional

opportunities for appraising the interesting features of their

neighbors' costumes. Doubtless this singular reversal of the ordinary

ecclesiastical plan had been adopted purposely, so as to carry out the

principle of orientation. The church happened to face directly east, and

consequently the chancel and sanctuary had to be placed opposite their

usual positions, a curious survival of mediaevalism.

Under the trees two or three ancient surreys had been parked, and a

glance through the side windows disclosed an audience of perhaps a dozen

persons, small farmers of the neighborhood and their wives, people to

whom a public function of any nature offered acceptable diversion from

the routine of daily life. Of the old-time gentry of the countryside

there was not a single representative present; then I literally lost my

breath in amazement as John Thaneford brushed past me without a word,

strode into the church, and seated himself in a large, square pew,

furnished, after the manorial fashion, with carpet, table and chairs;

evidently the ecclesiastical freehold of the Thaneford family. Yet why

should I feel any particular degree of surprise? The Graemes and the

Thanefords were "kin," and it was simple decency that John Thaneford

should show his cousin the last tribute of respect; his presence was

perfectly natural and proper, and assuredly it was none of my business

to either question or resent it. At this moment I became aware that the

funeral procession had arrived at the gate, and I took up a convenient

position for presenting myself to the attention of Mr. Eldon; I fancied

that it would not be a difficult task to identify him.

There were but three coaches in the queue, the first containing the

undertaker and his assistants, the second conveying two heavily veiled

ladies, presumably the daughter and niece of Francis Graeme; and the

third occupied by an elderly couple who could be none other than Mr. and

Mrs. Eldon. I stepped forward as the latter party alighted.

"Mr. Eldon?" I inquired. "I am Hugh Hildebrand."

Mr. Eldon extended a plump, warm hand. "So glad you were able to get

here," he whispered. "This is Mrs. Eldon. You must sit with Miss Trevor

and Betty; wait, and I'll explain it to them."

The clergyman in his robes was standing at the door, and the service was

about to begin. I took my designated position, walking immediately

behind the two chief mourners; and we followed the great, black

cloth-covered coffin into the stillness of the sacred edifice.

The committal office was said at the graveside in the Hildebrand family

plot, a walled enclosure set off from the general churchyard and

entered through a lych-gate beautifully fashioned from black bog oak

that resembled ebony in color and closeness of grain. Strange, how the

attention strays even upon occasions such as this; for I found myself

contemplating the lych-gate with absorbed interest, trying to think

where I had seen its prototype; doubtless in some English parish

churchyard. Then, as I heard the symbolic clod falling from the hand of

the officiating minister, I recalled myself to reality--earth to earth,

dust to dust. The slender, black-garbed figure on my right shook

slightly and swayed against my shoulder; instantly I put out my hand to

steady her. Up to this moment my participation in the ceremony had been

of a purely formal nature, but now some underlying and compelling force

was drawing me into the circle of sorrow; the dead man was of my blood,

and this was the passing of something in the universe that was akin to

my very self.

John Thaneford had not been present at the interment. After the church

service he had met and engaged Mr. Eldon in earnest conversation for

perhaps half a minute; then he had taken a visibly hurried departure.

The funeral party returned to the church, and the coaches drove up to

the carriage-block. "This is Mr. Hugh Hildebrand," announced Mr. Eldon,

as he presented me to the two ladies. "Miss Graeme and Miss Trevor," he

continued with a touch of old-time courtliness, his top-hat held at a

strictly ceremonious angle, "Mr. Hildebrand."

Miss Trevor merely bowed, but Miss Graeme smiled--such a frank, friendly

smile--and held out her hand. There are people who greet you with a

reserve which at least temporarily chills, and there are others who make

you feel that this particular meeting is the one they have been

pleasurably anticipating from the very beginning of created things. And

so, when I felt the strong, warm pressure of Betty Graeme's palm, how

could I help being flattered, even intrigued. I concluded that my new

cousin must have liked me on sight, and I was quite ready to return the

compliment in kind. Under the heavy, black veil I could discern a

symmetrical oval of countenance, and imagination easily supplied the

customary accessories of vermilion lips, challenging eyes, and perfumed

tresses. In reality, I should never in the world have been able to

recognize Betty Graeme by the sense of sight alone, but I should know

that handclasp anywhere; and that was enough.

"Of course you are coming back to the house," said Miss Graeme. "Will

you ride with us--but I see that Mr. Eldon has arranged to take you with

him. Are you ready, Eunice?"

Sitting opposite Mr. and Mrs. Eldon in the big, lumbering landau of

_ante-bellum_ days I began my explanations and apologies.

"That doesn't matter in the least," interrupted Mr. Eldon. "We'll send

over to Crown Ferry for your bag, and after you get the railroad dust

washed away you can make your peace with Betty. The important thing is

that you are here now."

"I hadn't expected to remain at the 'Hundred' for more than an hour or

two," I continued. "There is an up train through at six o'clock, and I

had arranged to stay over at Baltimore."

"I'm afraid that you'll have to put up with us for this particular

night," rejoined Mr. Eldon. "Perhaps longer," and the shadow of an

enigmatical smile passed over his pleasantly curved lips.

"But at a time like this!" I protested. "Remember that I met Mr. Graeme

only once, and that I am an entire stranger to his niece and daughter.

Even Southern hospitality has its limits, and I don't want to overstep

them."

Mr. Eldon brushed my objections away with a commanding wave of his hand.

"Not much danger of that," he said. "You are one of the family, duly

accredited and acknowledged. So unless there is some pressing--I should

say imperative--necessity for your going North to-night----"

"Oh, not at all," I interrupted. "Not the least necessity, if that is

what you mean."

"Of course you must stay," put in Mrs. Eldon. "Betty expects it, and she

would never understand any conventional excuse."

Another carriage, driven at a much faster pace than the ancient Eldon

bays were capable of achieving, had drawn up from behind, and was now

passing us. To my surprise, I saw that the back seat was occupied by

John Thaneford and his father; no salutations were exchanged, and the

Thaneford equipage rolled onward in a cloud of dust. Mr. Eldon noticed

my evident astonishment, and proceeded to enlighten me. "Yes, they are

going to the 'Hundred.' You know that the will is to be read immediately

following the return of the funeral party from the church."

"As they always do in English novels of the Trollope period."

"I dare say it is one of our imported Maryland customs. The Thanefords

are blood relations, and, _ipso facto_, that gives them a right to be

present at the reading of the testament."

"Relations, but not necessarily friends," I hazarded, and Mr. Eldon

looked surprised.

"I should have explained that I have already made the acquaintance of

Mr. Fielding Thaneford and his son," I went on, and Mr. Eldon

registered, in movie parlance, still greater astonishment. I proceeded

to tell of my chance encounter.

"Fielding Thaneford never misses a Hildebrand funeral," remarked Mr.

Eldon, and there was a peculiar sense of dryness in his tone. "Moreover,

this is the second occasion of the sort within a twelvemonth."

"Mr. Graeme succeeded his maternal great uncle, I believe."

"Yes, that was old Richard Hildebrand who reigned at the 'Hundred' for

over half a century. Fielding Thaneford married his much younger sister,

Jocelyn, and consequently young John really stood closer in the line of

inheritance than did Francis Graeme, the latter being one step further

removed. But there was no entail and old Richard could devise the

property as he saw fit."

"A disappointment then to the Thanefords?"

"Well, there's the 'Hundred'; you can judge for yourself."

We had turned out of the main road, and, having passed through a pair of

finely wrought iron entrance gates, we were now proceeding along an

avenue of noble lindens. Across the stretch of ornamental water on our

right appeared the really imposing facade of "Hildebrand Hundred"; I

scanned the edifice with a keen and growing interest; this was the

ancestral home of all the Hildebrands, and a sudden emotion held me in

grip.

The house was built of yellow brick imported, so Mr. Eldon informed me,

from Holland. The entrance porch, two stories in height, was of

semi-circular design with columns of limestone, and the fenestration

above the principal entrance embodied the familiar Palladian motive. The

main part of the building was almost a square, but it was balanced by

wings on either side. At the extreme rear was another rectangular

extension, one story and a half in height, oblong in shape, and

surmounted by a squat dome. "The library," explained Mr. Eldon, as the

curving driveway carried us past the terrace commanded by the lofty

windows of this subsidiary structure. "That stained glass is English,

and the experts pronounce it to be of unusually fine quality."

"Rather surprising when one thinks of all the bad glazing in our

churches," I remarked interestedly.

"Well, if you know or care much about such things you'll find the

'Hundred' glass worth your attention." He turned to his wife: "Ellen, my

dear, if you will take charge of our guest, I'll get my papers together

and meet you in the library. The sooner the formality is over the better

for Eunice and Betty."

Alighting, in our turn, at the entrance porch I followed Mrs. Eldon

through the great doors and into a handsome octagonal hall, paved with

black and white marble squares, with its well open to the roof beams. On

the right, splendid mahogany folding-doors gave into the dining room,

and the corresponding room on the left was evidently the drawing room.

At the back of the hall the principal staircase rose in two

semi-circular sweeps, meeting at a landing place on the first floor

level and connecting with longitudinal galleries on either side of the

hall. Of the two wings, the one on the left contained the ballroom and

picture gallery, while that on the right was taken up with the kitchen,

pantries, and other offices. Passing under the staircase landing and

proceeding along a comparatively narrow corridor, lined on either side

by glazed bookcases, one entered the library extension at the extreme

end of the house.

"Will you go in and wait for a few minutes," whispered Mrs. Eldon. "John

never knows where all his papers are, and I must help him sort them

out." I bowed and walked on.

At the library door an imposing figure of a negro butler relieved me of

my hat, gloves and stick; I slipped into a seat near the entrance and

looked about me with no small degree of curiosity. The Thanefords,

father and son, were established near the fireplace, directly opposite

the entrance door, but since they did not look up at my appearance nor

pay the smallest attention to my half bow of salutation I was perfectly

content to maintain the _status quo_ of non-intercourse.

The apartment was assuredly one of noble proportions, being full forty

feet in length by perhaps twenty-five in width. The ceiling of this

story and a half extension must have been at least sixteen feet in

height. The shallow dome had a diameter of fourteen feet or so; it was

unpierced by windows and the painting in distemper which ornamented its

smooth convexity represented the classic adventure of Jason and the

Golden Fleece.

The fireplace was of Caen stone with the family arms of the Hildebrands

sculptured in the central panel. Not being versed in heraldic lore I may

say briefly that the shield bore checkerboards and conventionalized

lilies in alternate quarterings, while the crest was a mailed arm

holding a burning torch or cresset. This last was interesting to me, for

we Northern Hildebrands have always used as our crest a battlemented

tower with flames issuing from its summit. But the motto: "Hildebrande a

moy," is shared in common by both branches of the family.

The side walls had no openings and were lined from top to bottom with

book shelves. The unusual height of the ceiling made narrow iron

balconies necessary in order to give access to the upper shelves, and

these galleries were reached by spiral staircases placed behind grilles

in the dark corners on the entrance side. The end wall was pierced by

four immense windows, two on either side of the fireplace, and these

were filled with the English stained glass of which Mr. Eldon had

spoken. They really seemed to be excellent examples of the art, and I

proceeded to examine them with interest.

The designs were of Scriptural origin, Old Testament scenes to be exact,

and I note them in order from left to right.

The window at the extreme left depicted the youthful Joseph journeying

to Dothan and wearing his coat of many colors; in the background his

jealous brethren are awaiting his coming and fomenting their unfraternal

conspiracy.

The window adjoining the fireplace on the left represented the rebellion

of the sons of Korah and their terrible fate in being swallowed up alive

by the gaping earth; the black and menacing sky, shot through with the

red zigzag of the lightning, seemed exceedingly realistic.

In the companion window on the right was shown the return of the

Israelitish spies from the coveted land of Canaan, bearing great

clusters of purple grapes from the valley of Eschol; in the distance,

Jericho, with Rahab's house perched high upon the city wall and

distinguished by its hanging cord of scarlet.

The fourth window, the one at the extreme right, reproduced the contest

on Mount Carmel between Elijah and the pagan prophets, the fire from

heaven consuming the burnt offering of Jehovah, the terror-stricken

flight of the hierophants of Baal, and the little cloud, like to a man's

hand, arising from the sea. Of the four windows this last one was

perhaps the most interesting, although all of them were excellent in

composition, substantially and skilfully leaded, and gorgeously rich in

color. I don't know why we can't make such reds and blues in this

country, but of course the old established English firms have been

perfecting their formulas and processes throughout the centuries.

Since three of the four walls were lined with bookcases, and the

remaining one had to provide for the windows and fireplace there was no

available space for pictures, but on the blank wall above the central

entrance door hung a magnificent tapestry depicting the tragic fate of

Actaeon devoured by his own hounds. The polished black oak floor was

covered with Eastern rugs, and a fine silver-tip grizzly bearskin lay on

the hearthstone. The couches and big, comfortable reading chairs were

upholstered in dark green leather, very handsome and substantial, while

directly under the dome stood a massive, flat-topped library desk made

of teakwood. The accompanying swivel-chair was mounted on a bronze

mushroom foot firmly secured to the floor by means of bolts; it was so

placed that the occupant had his back to the windows, with the light

coming over his shoulder after the proper fashion for comfort.

I have been particular in thus describing the furnishings and internal

economy of the library, for in this room lay the very heart of the

mystery so soon to present itself; later on I was destined to make

myself acquainted with every square inch of its large area, only to fail

in my attempt to discover its menacing secret. Fortunate indeed that

Betty's feminine intuition asserted itself in the nick of time. But I

must not anticipate the solution of the problem while the prime factors

in the equation still remain unstated. Enough then to acquaint the

reader with the general disposition of the stage upon which the drama

was shortly to unfold itself.

The great room was very quiet, the evening shadows were beginning to

lengthen, and still we waited.