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MISS CRANE’S CHANCE: By ODESSA STRICKLAND PAYNE
CHAPTER V.
ISS CRANE ascended the stair
way slowly, a reflective shad
ow on her face. She had an intui
tive feeling that she would find
more intimate evidences of the in
dividuality of the man she had lov
ed, in the upper rooms, than had
been apparent amid the magnificent
furnishings of the lower floor. Be-
■_u
sides, on the same key ring which held the latch
key to the front door, there had been another
bronze key, which bore the tag, “Private Sit
ting Room Upstairs.” She had purposely not
invited Gertrude to come upstairs with her,
trusting to her own good sense not to misun
derstand the apparent breach of courtesy. The
spacious hall in which she stood, had double
stained glass windows across the front, and
was divided across the center with folding
doors. Miss Crane turned towards the back, and
opened the doors to several bed rooms fur
nished in mahogany or rosewood,with varying
color schemes in the walls, curtains and rugs.
But the harmony of these lighter forms of fur
nishings was everywhere preserved, and inva
riably like the wall tints —whether blue, or tan
brown, or green, or red. The rooms were all
in order, but there was a stately rigidity about
the disposal of the furniture, which suggested
masculine taste. There were no trivialities in
the decorations of the rooms —no trailing
scarfs, or embroidered center pieces—only a
few well chosen pictures in oils and water col
ors, being allotted to each apartment. Miss
Crane thought, with a sigh and a smile, of how
soon the charm of Nell’s personality and taste,
might transform these stately rooms. Then
she went on to the front hall, merely glancing
into a room which she knew must have been
Powhattan Gray’s, and shuddering at the sight
of the great mahogany bed, where he had
fought his last battle, and lost. But just as
she was about to close the door, a picture in
oils of “The Three Fates,” caught her eye. It
was a unique and powerful conception, of the
supposed drama of the ages-—pagan, but en
thralling. The facts were represented as three
women gowned in sombre blue, with immo
bile faces and inscrutable eyes, who were draw
ing the thread of life through three pairs of
finely modeled hands —only the last one of the
group held a pair of gleaming scissors, and the
thread of life trailed between the naked blades.
It was a fascinating picture, and it held in it
the deathless charm of a great artist’s concep
tion of life’s unfathomed problems, and the
mystery of the end. Miss Crane turned away
from the threshold after a time, and, going
down the hall, inserted the key into the lock
of the Private Sitting Room. She felt like she
was entering into the inner sanctuary of her
lover’s heart, and that she ought to express the
reverence of her feelings, in some visible way.
The tan-colored walls of the room were relieved
by a cream ceiling, a brown and wdiite art
square and cream shades. It was comfortably
furnished with a leather couch, and three or
four luxurious chairs. A large mahogany
desk occupied the space between two windows,
and a cabinet of books stood against the oppo
site wall, while a square table occupied the cen
ter of the floor. Owing to the position of the
door, by which she had entered, Miss Crane
did not see until she was well within the room,
that over the mantel was a life-size bust por
trait in oil, of the dead master of the house.
Then she stood and looked at it as if en
thralled, by the sight of his sac she
felt at the moment, as if she had won every
thing and lost everything in losing him. That
the hundreds of thousands which he had left
to her, were of no avail, in that high land of the
spirit, where she must henceforth dwell —
alone. After a time, she sat down before his
great desk, and turning the key in the lock,
The Golden Age, for November 21, I§l2.
rolled up the lid. She did not intend to ex
amine the contents exhaustively now, but she
did pull out the middle drawer. A folded
document attracted her attention, and as she
picked it up, a sealed envelope fell out on the
surface of the desk. It w T as marked in old
English letters, as “My most precious treas
ure,” and Miss Crane, having the right, tore
off the end of the envelope. In it was the pho
tograph of a woman in white evening dress,
with elbow sleeves. Her dark hair was in
pompadour, and the eyes held the intellectual
calm of a serene, fine nature, while the lips
were parted in a half-smile.
“Oh, I am jealous!” came the thought, as the
envelope w r as being opened, and then, she add
ed, with a swift sigh of ecstacy, “of myself!
I had really forgotten that this photograph was
in existence. I wonder who could have given
it to Powhattan Gray. Oh, if I could only
have known the depths of this great man’s love
while he lived.”
Slowly she closed the desk, then laid her hand
caressingly upon it. “Dear heart,” she said,
“I am not going to explore you any more to
day. But I am persuaded that there are other
secrets within your depths, which will help to
cheer me on the way, later on.
She threw up the window, and stood in the
current of the wind until she felt more tran
quil and normal, and then went to the head of
the stairway, and called to Mrs. More to come
up. She showed her through, with satisfac
tion, because Gertrude seemed really interest
ed in everything.
“It’s grand, just like Powhattan Gray was,”
Mrs. More commented, “with just enough of
artistic dash and color, to keep from being
grim. Only the bath rooms take my breath
away, they are so immaculate, they seem to
have been designed for angels to bathe in.”
As they started to descend to the lower floor,
Miss Crane turned to her friend, and said, in
a voice of restrained emotion:
“Gertrude, you may go into Mr. Gray’s Pri
vate Sitting Room,” and she indicated the door
with a wave of her hand, “but lock it after you
have seen it, and don’t talk to me about it to
day. lam granting you the privilege dear,”
she added, tenderly, “because I love you.”
Mrs. More waited until the grey head of her
hostess had disappeared down the stairway,
and then she turned towards the Sitting Room
door.
“I have never heard a syllable,” the young
woman commented to herself, “to indicate it,
but I know that they were unacknowledged
lovers. The magnificence of his gift to her,
proves it on his side, and the tragic emotion I
have seen at times in Miss Crane’s face today,
attests to her part in the unfinished romance.”
After a time Mrs. More came softly down tire
steps, and, finding her friend seated in the
library, she went directly to her, and laid her
hand, in comprehending sympathy, on her
shoulder, but mindful of her instructions, said
nothing.
“Gertrude, what will Nell and I do,” Miss
Crane observed, after a pause, “in this great
mansion, by ourselves. We will be obliged to
feel lonely, if not lost, with such an array of
unoccupied rooms.”
“Inaugurate a perpetual house party,” Miss
Caroline,” the young woman answered, “and
fill up the spaciousness with your friends.”
“Well, as a matter of course, I shall enter
tain much and cordially, keeping the door open
and the latchstring on the outside always. But
necessarily, there will be long intervals between
guests—people can not always come when you
invite them, or, at least, do not.”
“No, that is a fact,” Mrs. More admitted.
“Why not try the experiment of boarding
some young couple, who would be congenial to
you, and your niece?”
“But, who do we know, Gertrude?” Miss
Crane countered, “whom we would enjoy hav
ing in that intimate way in our home, except
yourself and Gordon? And I am afraid that
you would not care to desert your bungalow for
us.”
Try me, and see, Miss Caroline,’ her friend
returned, with one of her charming grins; “for
I get the high lonesome feeling sometimes my
self, when Gordon stays out late, for six conse
cutive nights on a business deal. And then,
you see, I am not going to have you next door,
any longer, to spice the monotony of my days.
Besides, since my mother left me for that far
country—l really and truly, care for you, next
to Gordon. I did not intend to tell you, but
this thrills me. It is so grand and lovely,
and lonesome.”
Miss Crane’s blue eyes radiated as she laid
her hand affectionately on that of the younger
woman. “You and Nell,” she affirmed, in a
cordial tone, can soon transform the 4 lonesome’
air of this stately place into a home of warmth,
and cordial good cheer, that will not only bene
fit the inmates, but inspire our visitors. I’ll
be delighted, Gertrude, to have you and Gordon
come. I like your husband, and you under
stand me so well, that it will not give you any
trouble to step over my personal peculiarities.
But what about your husband? Do you really
think that he would consent to our plan of mu
tual helpfulness, pleasure and protection?”
“Oh, I hope so, Miss Caroline!” Mrs. More
returned, with sparkling eyes, “I don’t gener
ally have to employ my eloquence in vain, on
my liege lord. He is the typical American hus
band, you know, and my wishes mean a great
deal to him.”
“Well, as the German’s say, ‘it’s the next
thing now,’ and I am going to presume on your
hypnotic powers over him, enough to ring up
the bulter, and announce my formal act of pos
session,” She touched a silver call bell on a
near-by table, and the butler appeared so speed
ily that both ladies guessed that he had in
structions from Mr. Hamilton, and had also
known when they made their quiet entrance in
to the house.
He came, carrying a silver salver in his
hand, and bowed gravely. His skin was as
black as his coat, and his apron as white as
his grey head, yet there was a certain air of
distinction about the old negro’s manner that
suggested that his association with the digni
fied master of the home, had not been without
its effect.
“I am Miss Crane,” she announced, gravely,
from the other side of the library table, “and
as you have doubtless heard, Mr. Gray willed
this beautiful home to me.”
“Yes, ma’m, Marse Wayne done told me
all about it.”
“What is your name?”
“Marse Powhattan allers called me Peter,
but my whole name, ma’m, is Peter Black
burn.”
“Well!” Miss Crane deliberated, “for rea
sons which will not interest you Peter, I should
like to move into my new home tomorrow. Do
you think it would be possible for you to get
everything ready for me, or not?”
“Easy as failin’ off a log, ma’m,” the old
man returned, with a beaming smile, “for I
had everthing in dis house cleaned up yister
day from de kitchen ter de attic. Its been
mighty lonesome since Marse Powhattan lef us,
and I shore will be glad to see de light shine
in de big house agin.”
“Thank you, Peter.”
(Continued on Page 15.)
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