University of Virginia Library

28. CHAPTER XXVIII.
EDNA GOES TO LEIGHTON.

OWING to some mistake Roy did not get Edna's
second letter, telling him when to expect her, consequently
there was no one waiting for her at the
station, and learning that Leighton Place was only three-quarters
of a mile distant, she determined to make the journey
on foot. It was one of those bright, balmy days
in early September, when nature, like a matron in the full
maturity of her charms, reigns in all her loveliness a very
queen. On the hills there was that soft, purplish haze, which
only autumn brings; and the sky above was without a cloud,
save here and there a floating, feathery mist, which intensified
the deep blue of the heavens, while the Hudson slept so
calmly and quietly in the golden sunshine, that Edna involuntarily
found herself recalling the lines:

Indeed, everything around her seemed almost too much
like heaven for her to keep it long; and when at last she
reached the gate which opened into the Leighton grounds,
she was obliged to stop and rest upon a rustic bench, beneath
one of the maples which shaded the park.

She was there at last at Charlie's old home, and her eyes
were feasting themselves upon the beauties, which had not
been overdrawn either by Charlie's partiality, or Maude's
enthusiasm. Everything was beautiful,—from the green, velvety
turf, the noble elms, the profusion of bright flowers and
shrubs, to the handsome house, with its broad piazza and
friendly open doors, all basking in the warmth and sunlight
of that autumnal morning. “It is like a second Eden,” she
said; and then, with a sad kind of a smile, born of a sudden
heart-pang, she glanced toward the river, and saw what she
knew must be the roof of the Gothic cottage, whither she
once intended moving Roy and his mother, so they would
not be in the way of the gayeties with which she meant to
fill the house. That time lay far back in the past. And
she had learned a great deal since then. Charlie was dead;
and his grave was on a little knoll to the right of the house.
Maude had told her all about it, and she could see the marble
gleaming through the evergreens; and she shuddered
as she always did, when she recalled the awful night of
nearly two years ago. Still, time, which will heal almost
any heart-wound, had been very kind to Edna, and though
she always remembered Charlie with sadness and pity,
thoughts of him had long since ceased to make her unhappy;
and when at last she left her seat by the gate and pursued
her way to the house, Roy was more in her mind than the
boy Charlie, who slept under the evergreens, all unconscious
that his wife was standing now at the very portal of his old
home, and ringing for admission. Her ring was answered
by the servant girl, who, inviting Edna into the library, bade

her be seated while she carried her card to her mistress.
Holding it close to her poor, dim eyes, Mrs. Churchill made
out the word “Overton,” and knew the expected stranger
had come.

“How awkward that Roy should be gone,” she said, as,
declining the servant's offered aid, she made her way alone
to the library.

It was a peculiarity of hers not to be helped by any one
if she could avoid it, and there was something touching and
pitiful about her as she walked slowly through the hall, trying
to seem to see, with one hand partly extended in front,
and making sundry graceful, cautious motions.

Edna heard her, and arose to meet her, her cheeks glowing
and her breath coming pantingly at first, but when she
saw the pale, languid woman, who stopped just inside the
door, all her nervousness left her suddenly, and quick as
thought she darted forward, and grasping the uncertain hand,
exclaimed:

“Mrs. Churchill, here I am; Miss Overton. Let me lead
you to a seat.”

It was a blithe, silvery-toned young voice, expressive of
genuine interest and sympathy for the poor blind woman,
who did not refuse Edna's offered assistance, but held her
hand, even after seated in her chair.

“I am glad to welcome you, Miss Overton,” she said;
“but am sorry you had to walk. We did not know you were
coming to-day. You must be very tired.”

Edna assured her she was not; and then Mrs. Churchill
continued:

“I cannot see you as distinctly as I wish I could, for I
like to know the faces of those I have about me. It is terrible
to be blind!”

Her lip quivered as she said it, and instantly there awoke
in Edna's bosom a feeling akin to love for this woman, who

was her mother, in one sense of the word, and before whom
she knelt, saying cheerily:

“Let me come nearer to you, then. Perhaps you will
get an idea of me. I don't mind your looking at me as long
as you like.”

And Mrs. Churchill did look at the fresh young face held
so close to her own, and passed her hand over the mass of
golden brown hair, and lifted one of the heavy curls and held
it to the light; then, with a gesture of satisfaction, she said:

“There, that will do. I think I know tolerably well how
you look. I certainly know the feeling of your hands and
hair. You are a little bit of a girl, and Maude rightly named
you Dot. She is at Oakwood now with some young ladies
from New York and a Mr. Heyford. They are having a
croquet party, and Roy is there too. Maude is croquetmad,
I think.”

Suddenly it occurred to Mrs. Churchill that her guest
might like to see her room, and she arose, saying:

“I do not like being led; it implies too much helplessness;
but I think I shall not mind using you for my guide.
I can lean on your shoulder nicely. I am glad you are so
short.”

The soft, white hand rested itself softly on Edna's shoulder
in a caressing kind of way, and the two went slowly from
the library and out into the wide hall, through which blew the
warm September wind, sweet with the perfume of flowers
it had kissed in its passage across the garden. To Edna it
seemed as if she had gained an entrance into Paradise, as
through either open door she caught glimpses of the beautiful
grounds, stretching away to the winding river in one direction
and back toward the Catskill hills in the other. Slowly
up the long flight of stairs they went, till they reached the
hall above, and Mrs. Churchill, pointing to a door, said:

“That is Roy's room, and the one farther down, where

the door is shut, was Charlie's, my other son, who died two
years ago. Yours is this way, opposite mine. I hope you
will like it. Georgie Burton said it was all right.”

They were in the room by this time, and with a cry
of pleasure Edna broke away from the hand on her shoulder,
and running to the window, from which the grounds, the
river, and so many miles of country could be seen, exclaimed:

“Oh, I like it so much! It is all like fairy-land; and
seems a dream that I should ever be in a place like this!
I hope I shall not wake and find it so; that would be very
dreadful!”

She was talking more to herself than to Mrs. Churchill,
who nevertheless said to her:

“Have you seen so hard times that this place should seem
so desirable?”

“Not hard in one sense,” Edna said. “Almost everybody
has been kind to me; but—” she hesitated a moment, and
Mrs. Churchill added:

“Yes, Maude told me you had lost all your nearest relatives;
was in black for your father, I think; but you have
laid off mourning, I imagine, from the color of your travelling
suit; and I am glad, for I would rather have you in bright
colors. I am sure they suit you better,” she said, laying her
hand again on Edna's shoulder, and asking if she cared
to dress for lunch; “because if you do not, there is no
necessity, as Roy lunches at Oakwood. He will be home
to dinner, and some of the young people may come with
him.”

This brought to light the fact that Edna's trunk was still
at the station, whither Mrs. Churchill immediately dispatched
a servant for it; then leaving Edna alone for a time, she bade
her rest, and amuse herself in any way she liked until lunch
was ready.

It was a very delicate lunch, and served in the prettiest
of rooms, where the French windows opened upon a raised
bed of bright flowers, whose perfume filled the room, as did
the delicious air of that soft September day; and Mrs.
Churchill was very kind and attentive to the young girl sitting
opposite her, and wondering if it could be herself, there
at last at Leighton Place, with only Charlie's monument
shining through the distant evergreens to remind her that
she was not the Miss Overton she professed to be.

They went out to the grave that afternoon. It was a
habit of Mrs. Churchill's to visit it every day, and she asked
Edna to accompany her, and leaned upon her as she went,
and began talking to her of her poor boy, who was killed.

It would be difficult to tell just what Edna's emotions were
as she stood by Charlie's grave, and read his name and age,
cut deep into the marble. Mrs. Churchill had taken a seat
on an iron chair which stood near by, and freed from her,
Edna leaned heavily against the monument, and felt for a
moment as if she was suffocating. But she never lost a word
of what Mrs. Churchill was saying of her boy, or failed to
observe how sedulously any mention of Charlie's wife was at
first avoided. After a little, however, Mrs. Churchill said:

“As you are to be one of the family, you cannot avoid
hearing Roy or some one speak of it, and I may as well tell
you that Charlie left a wife,—a young girl, to whom he had
been married that very day. Edna was her name; and they
tell me she was pretty. I never saw her but once, and
then scarcely noticed her. We don't know where she is.
Roy cannot find her. She is teaching school, and keeps her
place of residence a secret from us.”

“You must be sorry for that,” Edna replied. “It would
be so pleasant to have her with you,—a daughter is better
than a stranger.”

“Yes, perhaps so,” Mrs. Churchill answered slowly;

then, brightening a little, she said: “I felt hard toward
her at first, but I do not now; and I think I should like
once to see the girl Charlie loved and died for before I am
wholly blind.”

There was something so sad and touching in the tone
with which Mrs. Churchill said this, that Edna involuntarily
walked swiftly to her side, with the half-formed resolution to
fall upon her knees, and cry out: “Oh, mother! Charlie's
mother! I am she! I am Edna! Look at me! love
me! let me be your daughter!” But she restrained herself,
and Mrs. Churchill thought that the hand laid so softly upon
her hair was put there from sympathy only, and felt an increase
of interest in this Miss Overton, who was so kind,
and gentle, and delicate in her attentions.

Mrs. Churchill liked to sit under the shadow of the evergreens,
and they staid an hour or more by Charlie's grave,
and then went slowly back to the house.

It was near dinner-time, and Edna went at once to her
room and commenced her toilet for the evening. Mrs.
Churchill had said that Roy would be home to dinner, and
probably bring some of the young people with him; and
Edna experienced a cold, faint feeling at her heart as she
thought of the ordeal before her, and tried to decide upon a
dress appropriate to the occasion. Her choice fell at last
upon a soft gray tissue, which had been made by Ruth
Gardner's mantua-maker, and praised by Ruth herself as
faultless. It was very becoming to Edna, for the brilliancy
of her complexion relieved the rather sober hue, while a bit
of scarlet geranium, which she fastened in her hair, heightened
the effect.

“Will Roy recognize me, or that Miss Georgie Burton?”
Edna asked herself many times, and as often assured herself
that they would not. “Roy probably did not notice
me specially in the car,” she thought; “while that bruise

on my forehead and my terrible agitation and distress must
have changed me so much, that Miss Burton will never
dream I am the girl she looked at with such virtuous
wrath.”

There was scarcely a chance of detection except through
the hair, and as that, instead of falling negligently around her
face and neck, was brushed back from the forehead, and fell
in masses of curls over a comb at the back of the head, Edna
felt but little fear, and awaited, with some impatience, the
return of Roy, hoping devoutly that Maude Somerton would
be one of those who might accompany him from Oakwood.

The table was laid in the dining-room, and the dinner was
waiting to be served, when down the avenue Edna caught
the gleam of white dresses, and heard the sound of merry
voices as Roy and his party drew near.

In her dress of rich black silk, with a soft shawl wrapped
around her, Mrs. Churchill sat upon the piazza and kept
Edna at her side, where she commanded a good view of the
approaching guests, her heart giving a bound of joy as she
recognized Maude Somerton, with Jack Heyford in close
attendance. A little in advance of them walked a tall,
straight, broad-shouldered man, whose manner proclaimed
him the master, and who Edna knew at once was Roy;
scanning him so curiously as almost to forget the brilliant
woman at his side, who, if Roy bore himself like the master,
bore herself equally like the mistress of Leighton, and
pointed out to one of the party some fine views of the
river and of the mountains in the rear. They were all in high
spirits, talking and laughing and so absorbed in each other
as not to see the two ladies awaiting their approach, until
Maude suddenly exclaimed:

“Jack! Jack! there is some one with Mrs. Churchill.
It is, it surely is little Dot!” and with her usual impetuosity
Maude broke away from her companions, and bounding up

the gravel walk and the wide steps of the piazza, caught
Edna in her arms and nearly smothered her with kisses.

For an instant Jack's heart throbbed quickly at sight of
the girl he had loved and lost, but Maude's pretty, saucy
speeches were ringing in his ears, and his hand still burned
with the touch of the soft, warm fingers, which had so deftly
and so gently extracted an ugly sliver from his thumb, just
before leaving Oakwood, and so the wave of memory passed
harmlessly over him; and when Roy, who with Georgie was
looking at and discussing the little figure in gray, said to
him:

“Can that be Miss Overton?” he answered, “Yes, that
is Miss Overton.”

Roy hastened his movements then, and ere Edna knew
what she was about he was shaking her hand, and looking
down upon her in a curious, well-bred way, which did not
make her one-half as uneasy as did the bold, prolonged
stare which Miss Burton fixed upon her.

Maude introduced her as “Miss Overton, from Rocky
Point,” and all bowed politely to her, while Georgie, following
Roy's example, took her hand and stood a moment
looking at her, as if trying to solve some doubt or mystery.
Maude, who was watching her, and saw the look of perplexity
on her face, whispered, under her breath, “Old marplot,
what if she should recognize her!”

But if to Georgie there had come any faint remembrance
of that awful night on the prairie, and the little stunned, bewildered
creature, whose eyes had in them such a look of
hopelessness and terror, she put it away for the time, and
gave no sign of what was passing in her mind.

It was Roy who took Edna in to dinner, and gave her a
seat beside him, and treated her with as much deference and
attention as if she had been an invited guest instead of the
hired companion of his mother, who sat at the opposite end

of the table, with Georgie at her side, acting a daughter's
part to the poor, half-blind lady.

They were very gay during dinner; and Edna, whose
spirits brightened and expanded in the atmosphere of kindness
and good-breeding, joined in the gayety; and her sweet-toned
voice and silvery laugh at some of Maude's queer
sayings, reached Mrs. Churchill's ear more than once, and
made her at last speak of the stranger to Georgie.

“Miss Overton has a very musical voice,” she said; and
Georgie, whose ear had been constantly turned in the direction
of Edna, and who, without seeming to notice, knew
exactly when Roy spoke to her, and how much attention he
was paying to her, answered indifferently:

“Yes, very much like a child's voice. She seems a child
too, in size, at least.”

“Isn't she very pretty?” was Mrs. Churchill's next remark;
and Georgie replied:

“Yes, though rather too small and petite to impress one
very strongly. There is something familiar in her face; and
I should say she looked a good deal like Mrs. Charlie
Churchill.”

“Oh, I'm glad,” and Mrs. Churchill's hands made a little
rattling among the china and silver, while her heart went out
still more kindly toward the young girl who resembled Charlie's
wife.

Georgie had not intended such a result, and she said no
more of Miss Overton, or her resemblance to Edna Churchill;
and, as if inspired with some new idea, she was very gracious
to Edna, and after dinner was over, and they had returned to
the drawing-room, she took a seat beside her, and questioned
her minutely with regard to her journey and her home at
Rocky Point. Had she always lived there, and was it not
a charming place, with such delightful scenery?

“No, I have not always lived there. I was born in Ohio,

and lived there till my father died,” Edna replied, fully alive
to the danger of letting her interrogator too much into the
history of her past life, and with a suspicion that Georgie
was really making her out.

But the home in Ohio threw Georgie off the track, and
ere she could resume it again Maude came to the rescue,
bringing Roy with her, and urging Edna to favor them with
some music.

“I have told Mr. Leighton how divinely you sing,” Maude
said, “and he is anxious to judge for himself; so please,
Dotty, don't refuse.”

Edna, who knew herself that she could sing, though it
impolite to refuse; and when Roy seconded Maude's request,
and offered to lead her to the piano, she arose, and taking
his arm walked the whole length of the long drawing-room
to the alcove or bay-window, where the piano was standing.
There was a mist before her eyes, and a visible trembling of
her hands as she took her seat upon the stool; and then,
by way of gaining time, pretended to turn over the sheets of
music, as if in quest of something familiar. But when Roy,
who saw her agitation, bent over her, and said so kindly and
reassuringly, “Don't be afraid, Miss Overton. You have not
a critical audience,—half of us don't know one tune from another,”
she felt her courage coming back, and her voice which,
as she began to sing, trembled a little, soon gained strength
and confidence, until it filled the room with such rich melody
as held every listener silent, and made Mrs. Churchill brush
away a tear or two, as she thought of Charlie and his grave
beneath the evergreens. Edna was not permitted to stop
with one song, but sang piece after piece, until thoughtful
Roy interfered in her behalf, and said it was wrong to urge
her further when he knew how tired she must be.

“Not that I could not listen to you all night, but it would

be the fable of the boys and the frogs over again,” he said,
as he led her from the piano and deposited her at his
mother's side.

“You have given me a great deal of pleasure, Miss Overton,”
Mrs. Churchill said; “and I thank you for it. I am
very fond of singing; and you have so sweet a voice. I
shall often make demands upon it. I am glad you are
here.”

Mrs. Churchill, who seldom did anything by halves, had
conceived a strong liking for her little companion, and her,
“I am glad you are here,” was so hearty and sincere, that
Edna felt her eyes filling with tears, and wondered how she
could ever have thought otherwise than kindly of this woman
at her side.

Meantime, at the farther end of the room, Roy and Georgie
were discussing the stranger and her style of singing.

“The sweetest voice I ever heard,” Roy said; “and I am
glad, for it will afford mother so much pleasure. I remember
how delightedly she used to listen to poor Charlie's performance
on his guitar when it almost drove me crazy.”

“And that reminds me,” said Georgie, “that Miss Overton
looks a little like Charlie's wife. Indeed, the resemblance
struck me at first as very strong. Wouldn't it be a funny
joke if it were Charlie's wife in disguise?”

“A joke I should hardly relish,” Roy replied; “for why
should Edna come here in disguise when she knows the door
stands open to her at any time?”

There was a lurking demon of evil in Georgie's black eyes
as they rested upon Edna, sitting so quietly at Mrs. Churchill's
side, and looking so young, and fresh, and innocent, and
as she saw that her remark had awakened no suspicion in
Roy's mind, she beckoned Jack to her side, and asked him
if Miss Overton did not resemble Mrs. Charlie Churchill
enough to be her sister.

“Why, no,” Jack replied, running his fingers through his
hair, and looking across at Edna. “I should not say she
was her sister at all; and still, there is something in the expression
of Miss Overton's mouth and eyes like Mrs.
Churchill's, only not quite so sad and pitiful.”

Jack spoke naturally enough, and met his sister's eyes
without flinching, but inwardly he chafed like a young tiger,
and when next he found himself alone with Maude, he said
to her:

“Maude, Georgie has something in her mind which may
mean mischief to Edna; and if she questions you, as she
probably will, and presses you too close, tell her—” Jack
hesitated a moment, and then continued: “Tell her that if
she wants her secret kept she must respect the secret of
others; in short, keep her tongue between her teeth.”

Maude, who was very shrewd and far-seeing, had more
than once suspected that there was something in Georgie's
early life which the world generally did not know, and at
Jack's remark she looked quickly at him, then nodded understandingly,
while her mental comment was, “I knew there
was something about Georgie, and sometime I'll find it out.”

While this little by-play was going on, Roy had walked to
a point in the room from which he could study Edna's face
without being himself observed by her. Georgie's remark
had awakened no suspicion whatever, but he felt more interested
in one said to resemble his sister-in-law, and he stood
for several minutes looking at the young girl, and mentally
comparing her face with the one seen in the cars two and
one-half years ago. Whether there were a resemblance or
not he could not tell, for the face of the girl who had so
sadly caricatured him and styled him a Betty, was not very
distinct in his mind. Edna was very small, and so was Miss
Overton, but he did not think his sister could be as beautiful
as this girl, whose movements he watched so closely. He

had not expected anything quite so fair and lovely in Miss
Overton, and when at last, at a whispered word from his
mother, she rose and led that lady from the room, he felt
as if the brightness of the evening was suddenly clouded,
and something lost from his enjoyment.

Mrs. Churchill's exit was soon followed by the departure
of the young people from Oakwood, and Roy was left alone
with his thoughts more upon his mother's hired companion
than upon poor Georgie, whose star seemed to be waning,
and whose heart, in spite of the lightness of her words and
manner, as she walked back to Oakwood, was throbbing
with a feeling nearly akin to hatred for the so-called Miss
Overton, whom she knew to be Charlie Churchill's widow.