The Old Stone House and Other StoriesGreen, Anna Katharine
General
The Old Stone House and Other Stories
Green, Anna Katharine
Detective and mystery stories, American
For her manner had been absolutely that of a woman surprised by
insinuations she was too innocent to rate at their real importance.
And yet, if she did not take away that letter, who did? Mrs. Couldock?
Impossible. Miss Dawes? The thought was untenable, even for an
instant. I waited in great depression of spirits for the call I knew
Taylor would not fail to make that evening.
When he came I saw what the result of my revelations was likely to be
as plainly as I see it now. He had conversed frankly with Mrs.
Couldock and with Miss Dawes, and was perfectly convinced as to the
utter ignorance of them both in regard to the whole affair. In
consequence, Mrs. Walworth was guilty in his estimation, and being
held guilty could be no wife for him, much as he had loved her, and
urgent as may have been the cause for her act.
"But," said I, in some horror of the consequences of an interference
for which I was almost ready to blame myself now, "Mrs. Couldock and
Miss Dawes could have done no more than deny all knowledge of this
letter. Now Mrs. Walworth does that, and--"
"You have seen her? You have asked her--"
"Yes, I have seen her, and I have asked her, and not an eyelash
drooped as she affirmed a complete ignorance of the whole affair."
Taylor's head fell.
"I told you how that would be," he murmured at last. "I cannot feel
that it is any proof of her innocence. Or rather," he added, "I should
always have my doubts."
"And Mrs. Couldock and Miss Dawes?"
"Ah!" he cried, rising and turning away; "there is no question of
marriage between either of them and myself."
I was therefore not astonished when the week went by and no
announcement of his wedding appeared. But I was troubled and am
troubled still, for if mistakes are made in criminal courts, and the
innocent sometimes, through the sheer force of circumstantial
evidence, are made to suffer for the guilty, might it not be that in
this little question of morals Mrs. Walworth has been wronged, and
that when I played the part of arbitrator in her fate, I only
succeeded in separating two hearts whose right it was to be made
happy?
It is impossible to tell, nor is time likely to solve the riddle. Must
I then forever blame myself, or did I only do in this matter what any
honest man would have done in my place? Answer me, some one, for I do
not find my lonely bachelor life in any wise brightened by the doubt,
and would be grateful to any one who would relieve me of it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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