Читать книгу A Shadowed Love - Fred M. White - Страница 6

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A servant or two came and went as if an order for a midnight supper was a matter of course, then there came a stolid looking man with a Teutonic face, who took the host away like a prisoner in custody.

"My father will be better presently," the girl said. "He is subject to strange lapses of memory. Kant's system of treatment never fails to benefit him. Now, will you please to have some supper, Mr.—"

"My name is Richard Stevenson," Dick said. "I was in the building some time ago, and I had the pleasure of seeing you before, Miss—"

"Call me Miss Mary. That is the only name I have. As I have no friends and never see anybody, my name cannot matter. Also, as I have the strongest possible reasons for disliking my own, I am always Miss Mary. Now, will you please eat your supper without further delay?"

It was delicious, especially to a man who had long been a stranger to daintily-served, well-cooked food. The chicken and ham were perfect, the lettuce crisp and cool, and the claret soft and velvety to the taste. It was a different man who rose from the table presently.

"You must finish the claret," Mary said. "You have only had one glass. Are there not some cigarettes on the table there?"

Dick could not see any. Mary advanced to find them. Her long, slim fingers seemed to caress everything that she touched.

"Surely they are on the far corner by your left hand," Dick suggested.

For some reason the girl blushed deeply.

"Then they have been moved," she said. "I cannot find them. I don't like things to be moved. It upsets all my scheme of memory. I always boast that I can see anything in the room, and when the servants—"

"Is your eye-sight deficient?" Dick asked.

"I have no eye-sight," came the quiet reply. "I am stone-blind."

Dick was utterly shocked. This was the last thing in the world that he had expected. Those great blue eyes were very pathetic and sorrowful; but they looked so pure and clear and liquid. He stammered an apology.

"I am so deeply sorry," he said. "But you see I could not possibly know. And you seemed to see me when I came in, you moved so freely, and you actually knew that I had taken only one glass of claret."

"That is because my hearing is so good," Mary replied. "One instinctively trains one sense to take the place of the missing one. I can deduce a great deal by the way people walk. And I have lived almost entirely in this and my bedroom for many years. Really, so far as this room is concerned, I can see. I know where everything is, I can tell you what flowers there are in this and that vase, though there are scores of them. I was not always blind."

Dick lingered on, feeling that he ought to go. The feeling became more absolute when the Teutonic servant came in with the information that his master was much better, and had gone to bed. He hinted that under the circumstances his kind young friend would excuse him. The dismissal was polite enough, but it was none the less complete and final. There was even no excuse left for calling.

"We are very quiet people," Mary said, as if she could actually read the thoughts of her visitor. "Believe me, I am more than grateful for your kindness to-night. You are a gentleman, and you will understand."

She came forward and held out her hand. Dick held it with a certain longing at his heart. The pathetic beauty of that sightless face stirred him strangely. It was not Mary's beauty alone, but her helplessness, that moved him. And she seemed to be utterly lonely.

"Good-night," he said; "there need be no obligation on your side. Good-night."

"Good-night, and a thousand thanks. Do you like flowers as well as I do? Let me give you a few of my favorite violets."

She walked rapidly to a vase and took out a fragrant mass of purple bloom. Without the slightest hesitation she picked up an envelope—one of the transparent grease-proof kind that proofs of photographs are sent in—and placed the blossoms in it.

It seemed hard to credit the fact that she was sightless.

"There!" she said, quite gaily. "A little trifle to remember me by. Good-night."

Dick was well out into the square before he could think of a suitable reply. Truly it had been a night of strange adventures. Not the least strange thing was that the scene of these happenings had been all in the Cambria Square flats. Stevenson felt strangely alert and wide awake as he put his latchkey in the door.

Molly was awaiting him anxiously. She looked almost pitifully into his cheerful face.

"I began to imagine all sorts of dreadful things," she said. "You have never been out so late before without letting me know. When you have had your supper—"

Dick stooped and kissed the pretty speaker. Really, Molly was a very pretty girl with her delicate coloring and high-bred face.

"Thoughtful girl," he said. "Always thinking of others first. My dear Molly, I have supped on superb chicken and salad and claret, such as Ouida's guardsmen would not disdain to drink. I partook of it in a perfect bower of bliss filled with flowers and priceless works of art, and in the company of the most lovely girl I have ever seen in all my life. I walked into the prosaic streets of London and suddenly found myself plunged into the Arabian Nights."

"Always in good spirits," Molly murmured. "But to be more practical. There is nothing of the Haroun al Raschid about our landlord."

"The landlord will be paid, Molly. I took my courage in both hands and went to see Mr. Spencer. He gave me an order for the money, which is at present in my pocket, and, what is more, he asked me to call upon him to-morrow night, when he as good as promised me regular work to do. Think of it, Molly; a cottage in the country where we can breathe the pure air and grow our own flowers."

Molly began to cry quietly. Not even good kind old Dick knew what she had suffered here. She wiped her eyes presently and called herself a goose.

"I suppose I'm run down," she said, in extenuation. "And now tell me all about those wonderful adventures of yours."

Dick launched out into a graphic account of all that he had seen or heard. Molly's pretty face was aglow with interest. She had never heard anything like it before out of the pages of a book. She took the packet of violets presently and quietly removed them from the envelope.

"Why, there is something inside here!" she cried.

It was the proof of a photograph still unmounted. A pretty girl with great pathetic eyes, taken with a background of palms and flowers.

"Why, it's Miss Mary herself," Dick cried. "The photo must have been taken in the Cambria square drawing-room, and this odd proof must have escaped attention in the envelope. Now tell me candidly, Molly, did you ever see a more lovely face in all your life?"

Molly looked up with a dazed expression.

"Why, I know her," she whispered. "I recognised her in a moment. You have heard me speak of my old schoolfellow, Mary Gay."