If he should and were to hear that name,it might kill him.""He!"Sweetwater perked up his ears."Who do you mean by he?""Mr.Brotherson,my patient,he whose letter -"But here her impatience rose above every other consideration.Without attempting to finish her sentence,or yielding in the least to her curiosity or interest in this man's errand,she cried out with smothered intensity,"Go!go!I cannot stay another moment from his bedside."But a thunderbolt could not have moved Sweetwater after the hearing of that name."Mr.Brotherson!he echoed."Brotherson!Not Orlando?""No,no;his name is Oswald.He's the manager of these Works.He's sick with typhoid.We are caring for him.If you belonged here you would know that much.There!that's his voice you hear.Go,if you have any mercy."And she began to push to the door.
But Sweetwater was impervious to all hint.With eager eyes straining into the shadowy depths just visible over her shoulder,he listened eagerly for the disjointed words now plainly to be heard in some near-by but unseen chamber.
"The second 0.B.he inwardly declared."And he's a Brotherson also,and -sick!Miss Scott,"he whisperingly entreated as her hand fell in manifest despair from the door,"don't send me away yet.I've a question of the greatest importance to put you,and one minute more cannot make any difference to him.Listen!those cries are the cries of delirium;he cannot miss you;he's not even conscious.""He's calling out in his sleep.He's calling her,just as he has called for the last two weeks.But he will wake conscious -or he will not wake at all.
The anguish trembling in that latter phrase would have attracted Sweetwater's earnest,if not pitiful,attention at any other time,but now he had ears only for the cry which at that moment came ringing shrilly from within -"Edith!Edith!"
The living shouting for the dead!A heart still warm sending forth its longing to the pierced and pulseless one,hidden in a far-off tomb!To Sweetwater,who had seen Miss Challoner buried,this summons of distracted love came with weird force.
Then the present regained its sway.He heard her name again,and this time it sounded less like a call and more like the welcoming cry of meeting spirits.Was death to end this separation?Had he found the true 0.B.only to behold another and final seal fall upon this closely folded mystery?In his fear of this possibility,he caught at Doris'hand as she was about to bound away,and eagerly asked:
"When was Mr.Brotherson taken ill?Tell me,I entreat you;the exact day and,if you can,the exact hour.More depends upon this than you can readily realise.
She wrenched her hand from his,panting with impatience and a vague alarm.But she answered him distinctly:
"On the Twenty-fifth of last month,just an hour after he was made manager.He fell in a faint at the Works."The day -the very day of Miss Challoner's death!
"Had he heard -did you tell him then or afterwards what happened in New York on that very date?""No,no,we have not told him.It would have killed him -and may yet.""Edith!Edith!came again through the hush,a hush so deep that Sweetwater received the impression that the house was empty save for patient and nurse.
This discovery had its effects upon him.Why should he subject this young and loving girl to further pain?He had already learned more than he had expected to.The rest would come with time.But at the first intimation he gave of leaving,she lost her abstracted air and turned with absolute eagerness towards him.
"One moment,said she."You are a stranger and I do not know your name or your purpose here.But I cannot let you go without begging you not to mention to any one in this town that Mr.Brotherson has any interest in the lady whose name we must not speak.Do not repeat that delirious cry you have heard or betray in any way our intense and fearful interest in this young lady's strange death.
You have shown me a letter.Do not speak of that letter,I entreat you.Help us to retain our secret a little longer.Only the doctor and myself know what awaits Mr.Brotherson if he lives.I had to tell the doctor,but a doctor reveals nothing.Promise that you will not either,at least till this crisis is passed.It will help my father and it will help me;and we need all the help we can get."Sweetwater allowed himself one minute of thought,then he earnestly replied:
"I will keep your secret for to-day,and longer,if possible.""Thank you,she cried;"thank you.I thought I saw kindness in your face."And she again prepared to close the door.
But Sweetwater had one more question to ask."Pardon me,said he,as he stepped down on the walk,"you say that this is a critical day with your patient.Is that why every one whom I have seen so far wears such a look of anxiety?""Yes,yes,"she cried,giving him one other glimpse of her lovely,agitated face."There's but one feeling in town to-day,but one hope,and,as I believe,but one prayer.That the man whom every one loves and every one trusts may live to run these Works.""Edith!Edith!"rose in ceaseless reiteration from within.
But it rang but faintly now in the ears of our detective.The door had fallen to,and Sweetwater's share in the anxieties of that household was over.
Slowly he moved away.He was in a confused yet elated condition of mind.Here was food for a thousand new thoughts and conjectures.
An Orlando Brotherson and an Oswald Brotherson -relatives possibly,strangers possibly;but whether relatives or strangers,both given to signing their letters with their initials simply;and both the acknowledged admirers of the deceased Miss Challoner.But she had loved only one,and that one,Oswald.It not difficult to recognise the object of this high hearted woman's affections in this man whose struggle with the master-destroyer had awakened the solicitude of a whole town.
