Chapter III

_Hildebrand of the "Hundred"_

It must have been close to an hour before Mr. Eldon joined us; evidently

his papers had been in more than usual confusion. A few minutes later

the ladies appeared, together with a dozen or more negro servants

connected in various capacities with the estate. John Thaneford jerked

himself to his feet in apparently unwilling acknowledgment of the social

amenities; his father, sitting impassively upright in an immense leather

chair, looked more than ever like some gigantic, impossible infant. Miss

Graeme went over and spoke a few words to him, but he barely nodded in

reply; Buddha himself could not have improved upon that colossal,

immemorial serenity. I had hoped that Betty would say something to me,

but she contented herself with the briefest of smiles in my direction. A

pretty girl? Why, yes, I suppose she would be so considered, with her

slim, graceful figure and that pronounced type of Irish beauty--dark

hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes; but the eyes themselves of the clearest

cerulean blue, rubbed in with a smutty finger, as the saying goes. Yet

somehow one never thought over-much of how fair Betty Graeme might be to

look upon; perhaps it was just her perfect and altogether adorable

femininity which made her different from other women; she entered the

room, and forthwith all eyes were inevitably focused upon her; when the

gods arrive the half-gods go, as Mr. Emerson acutely remarked. A

phenomenon then, but I can't account for it and don't intend to try.

Personality, magnetism--but these are just words, and she was Betty

Graeme. A line from an old, half forgotten mediaeval romance came back to

me as I gazed upon her: "By God's Rood! that is the one maid in the

world for me."

A revelation then, but love at first sight is by no means so common a

thing as youth is apt to suppose. Only when it does come there can never

be any doubt about it. I drew in my breath sharply, and the tense thrill

seemed to permeate every molecule and atom of my being. Then came the

reactionary thought: "But what can she be thinking of me?" and my

exalted spirits evaporated with startling suddenness. The very warmth

and kindliness with which she had at first greeted me only emphasized

the immensity of the distance that divided us. The goddess may

condescend to smile upon a mortal, but that does not imply that the poor

man is safely on the Mount Olympus list. Just then I happened to glance

up and caught the look bent upon her from under John Thaneford's

beetling eyebrows. That boor, that uncouth, rustic bully! And yet he was

of her class; they must have been playmates from childhood, the

Thaneford acres marched with the Hildebrand holdings--why not? and my

heart sank to my boots. Then I realized that I was on the point of

making a pretty considerable fool of myself, and I resumed my seat; Mr.

Eldon went through the usual preliminary hemmings and harrings, and the

company prepared itself to listen.

The crisp sheet of parchment crackled in the lawyer's hands, and now he

was reading, in an even monotone, the last will and testament of Francis

Graeme.

A few minor legacies to the servants and dependents, the bequest of a

thousand dollars for the endowment of S. Saviour's parish, and then: "To

Lysbeth Effingham Graeme, my dearly beloved daughter by adoption, I give

and bequeath the sum of one hundred thousand dollars, invested in first

mortgage bonds of the Southern Railway, the silver dinner service

bearing the Effingham coat-of-arms, and the four portraits of the Graeme

family now hanging in the long gallery at 'Hildebrand Hundred'; the

inheritance tax to be paid from the residue of my personal estate. I

furthermore bequeath to the said Lysbeth Graeme my gold hunting-case

watch, with the accompanying fob and seals, together with such articles

of _vertu_, not specifically enumerated in the annexed inventory of

Hildebrand goods and chattels, as she may select."

The speaker paused and cleared his throat; from some far corner of the

silent room came a half suppressed exhalation, the physical reaction

from tensely held emotion; I looked over at the elder Thaneford, and

noted wonderingly that he had risen from his chair and that the

extraordinary pink-and-white of his complexion had changed to a dull,

minatory brick-red; he seemed about to speak, and I held my breath.

Then, as Mr. Eldon indicated that he was on the point of resuming, the

old man yielded to the insistent pressure of his son's hand, and sank

back in his seat.

I suppose that I must have listened physically to that next paragraph,

but my mind was slow, deadly slow, in comprehending the full measure of

its import; then, suddenly, I understood.

To dispense with legal phraseology, the testator now directed that the

undivided estate of "Hildebrand Hundred," together with the remainder of

all personal property, should go to his friend and near kinsman, Hugh

Hildebrand, of Philadelphia, to be held by him and his heirs forever.

Well, you remember that I had been expecting the bequest of a small sum

of money for the purchase of some such trifle as a ring or a stick-pin;

and it took me a full minute to realize that this incredible thing had

actually happened: a man whom I had seen but once in my life had made me

his heir, and I was now the master of a great estate and a personage to

boot; I sat motionless, trying to sort out my ideas into some degree of

order and sequence.

Fielding Thaneford had found his feet again; he must, in his prime, have

been a big and powerful man, for he still overtopped his stalwart son by

full two inches of height. He looked particularly at Mr. Eldon, but with

a commanding sweep of his arm he seemed to draw the entire company into

the circle of his attention; he dominated us all by the sheer weight of

his will; he opened his mouth to speak, and we inclined our ears to

listen.

But the words trembling upon his lips never found utterance, for now a

terrible thing had happened and Fielding Thaneford fell to the floor and

lay there, his face twitching strangely. A paralytic stroke, of course,

but one must be an eye witness, see the victim actually struck down, to

realize the full import of such a tragedy. One moment the man stands

erect and serene in the unquestioned possession of all his godlike

qualities of mind and body; the next, he lies as inert and insensate as

an ancient tree trunk riven and felled by the lightning stroke. Fielding

Thaneford was an old man--nearly ninety, as I was later on to learn--but

so well preserved that it was difficult to realize that the hour of his

passing had struck. And the determining factor in this final equation is

so often comparatively insignificant. Here is a human being, an integral

member of the visible universe, by right enumerated in every taking of

the cosmic census: somewhere a minute blood vessel fails to perform its

function, and the number is instantly replaced by a cipher.

When the family physician, Doctor Marcy, finally arrived he directed

that the sick man should be put to bed at "Hildebrand Hundred"; in the

absence of a regular ambulance it would be unwise to try and get him

home. It was Betty who came and told me of the doctor's decision.

"You will have to make formal tender of your hospitality to John

Thaneford," she said.

"I!" I gazed at her in honest stupefaction.

"You are Hildebrand of the 'Hundred,'" she reminded me, her lip

trembling ever so slightly as she spoke.

"If you wish it so," I said humbly, and thereupon I went upstairs and

knocked at the door of the sick room. John Thaneford opened it, and

stood glowering as I delivered my message. I dare say I expressed myself

in bungling terms, but my awkwardness was easily outpaced by his

ungraciousness; he intimated curtly that neither he nor his father would

be dependent upon my hospitality an instant longer than might be

absolutely necessary. I proceeded to fume inwardly as I walked away, but

my irritation vanished the moment I rejoined Betty; somehow one could

not cherish mere pettiness in her serene presence.

"Can you spare me a few moments?" I asked, and with an assenting nod she

led the way back to the now deserted library. The westering sun was

pouring through the great windows, and the purple radiance from the

gigantic bunch of grapes borne by the Israelitish spies lay in a crimson

pool on the oaken floor; involuntarily I drew aside, unwilling to step

upon the apparently ensanguined spot. Betty divined instantly my

movement of repulsion. "It does suggest that very thing," she said, with

a little shiver. "Come over here by the chess table. Father and I were

accustomed to play every night; he used to wonder what sort of game you

would give him when you came on that long expected visit."

"Sorry, but I'm not a chess player. However, that doesn't matter now,

and I've brought you here to say that I don't propose to take advantage

of that will. Your father couldn't have meant it; it's your property and

you should have it. The whole thing is absurd; he couldn't have realized

what he was doing."

"You met my father at least for that one time," she retorted. "Did he

give you any reason to think that he didn't know his own mind, or that

the time would ever come when he wouldn't know it?"

I was silent. Certainly, infirmity of purpose was the very last thing to

be predicated of the more than ordinarily forceful personality of the

late Francis Graeme. But I am somewhat stubborn myself. "I don't care,"

I persisted. "'Hildebrand Hundred' isn't mine, and I won't take it."

Miss Graeme looked at me. "You know the will refers to me as only his

daughter by adoption," she said, "and I could have no right to inherit

the 'Hundred.' That was always clearly understood between us. He did

leave me all that he could call his own."

"I don't see how that matters. The estate belonged legally to Mr.

Graeme."

"Merely because Mr. Richard Hildebrand chose to ignore the claims of the

heir-at-law. And a blood relation at that."

"Meaning Mr. John Thaneford, I suppose."

Miss Graeme looked surprised. "Has Mr. Eldon been acquainting you with

the particulars of the family history?" she asked.

"I first learned of the actual facts from Mr. John Thaneford himself."

Now there was something more than surprise in my Cousin Betty's

demeanor; she seemed agitated, even uneasy.

"Apparently," I went on, "both the Thanefords resent what they consider

to be an alienation of the estate. I don't believe they will feel the

original wrong has been righted by my becoming the heir, even though I

happen to be the only titular Hildebrand among us all."

"But this is Maryland, you know, and many of the old English customs are

still in force. Not legally, of course, but practically."

"Such as primogeniture and the continuous entail," I suggested.

"Yes. But only among the old families, you understand. It's a purely

sentimental feeling."

"How long have the Hildebrands been at the 'Hundred'?"

"There was Lawrence Hildebrand----"

"My great-great-great-grandfather," I interjected.

"Yes. Well, he received a patent from the Crown. It must have been early

in the seventeenth century when the second Charles Stuart was giving

away principalities with both hands. There has been a Hildebrand as

master ever since, except for my poor father's brief reign."

"Brief?"

"Richard Hildebrand died in June, 1918. That is just a year ago."

"My father was proud of the old family connection," continued Miss

Graeme, after a little pause, "and at one time he even contemplated

changing his patronymic, and so becoming actually Hildebrand of the

'Hundred,' But he never quite got to the legal process, or perhaps he

then heard of you and that served to divert the current of his thoughts.

When was it that he hunted you up in Philadelphia?"

"It was in March."

"He liked you certainly, and he was most anxious to have you visit us at

the 'Hundred.' You were to come in the early part of June, I think."

"Yes, but that was the week of my college reunion, and I had to decline.

I wrote that I would accept for a later date--any time in July."

"I remember his being very much disappointed. But he must have made up

his mind finally about that time, for the will is dated May 20, a little

over a month ago. I dare say he was anxious to tell you of his wishes in

the matter."

"It's rather extraordinary, you'll admit. A man whom I had met but

once!"

"Well if one belongs at all, you know it. I think I can guess what was

in his mind; something like this: 'Hildebrand Hundred' ought to go back

to the direct heirs, and it was a choice between you and John Thaneford.

Only you were you, and a real Hildebrand besides. So there you are."

"You mean that I must accept, or let everything go to the younger

Thaneford?"

"I'm not a lawyer, but I think it would be that way. He is related by

blood, and as my father had no children of his own there are no direct

heirs."

A sudden thought presented itself. "How would _you_ like it settled?" I

asked, audaciously.

"I think that you ought to carry out my father's wishes," she answered,

with a simplicity that made me a little ashamed of my disingenuous

attempt to inject a purely personal note into the discussion; for the

moment I had quite forgotten that this was a house of mourning. Miss

Graeme had risen, and I realized that the interview was at an end.

"You will want to go to your room," she said, as we walked out to the

entrance hall, our footsteps resounding hollowly upon its marble

pavement of alternate white-and-black chequers. She clapped her hands,

and a young negro servant presented himself. "Mr. Hildebrand is to have

the red room, Marcus," explained Miss Graeme. "Dinner is at seven," she

went on. "You won't mind if Eunice and I don't come down. You can have

your own meal served in your room, if you prefer."

"But there is Mr. Thaneford," I suggested. "Also Doctor Marcy."

My cousin Betty frowned. "I suppose they are our guests," she admitted,

and I experienced an odd thrill at the feeling of intimacy expressed in

that little word, "our."

"I think I had better do the honors in the dining room," I went on.

"I wish you would, then." She stopped at the lower step of the

staircase, and held out her hand. "Good night, Cousin Hugh."

Now it is possible to shake hands with hundreds and thousands of people,

and find it a perfectly uninteresting operation; it may even be a

painful one if you happen to be President of the Republic or the hero of

the passing hour. But now and then someone comes along whose hand seems

to fit, perhaps too fatally well, and that is different. And so when

Betty Graeme slid her slim white hand into mine I knew instantly that it

belonged there, always had belonged, and always would. An interesting

fact, this, in the natural history of selection, but it has to be

recognized by both parties to the transaction before it can be set down

as an absolute and accepted truth. It suddenly occurred to me that my

Cousin Betty was entirely too frank and cousinly in her behavior to

justify any jumping at conclusions. I was naturally exhilarated by the

astonishing change in my material fortunes, while she was in sorrow, a

sorrow whose full realization still lay before her. I must be patient

and wait. Wherefore I returned my Cousin Betty's parting word in kind,

and followed Marcus to the red room, where, left alone, I resorted to

the childish trick of pinching myself; could this really be I?