The Hollow of Her Hand

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Involuntarily four pairs of eyes shifted. They looked blankly at
Hetty Castleton.

Speaking swiftly, Sara depicted the scenes and sensations experienced
during that memorable motor journey to New York City.

"I could not believe that she was a vicious creature, even then.
Something told me that she was a tender, gentle thing who had fallen
into evil hands and had struck because she was unevil. I did not
doubt that she had been my husband's mistress, but I could not
destroy the conviction that somehow she had been justified in doing
the thing she had done. My gravest mistake was in refusing to hear
her story in all of its details. I only permitted her to acknowledge
that she had killed him, no more. I did not want to hear the thing
which I assumed to be true. Therein lies my deepest fault. For
months and months I misjudged her in my heart, yet secretly loved
her. Now I understand why I loved her. It was because she was innocent
of the only crime I could lay at her feet. Now I come to the crime
of which I stand self-accused. I must have been mad all these
months. I have no other defence to offer. You may take it as you
see it for yourselves. I do not ask for pardon. After I deliberately
had set about to shield this unhappy girl,--to cheat the law, if you
please,--to cheat you, perhaps,--I conceived the horrible thought
to avenge myself for ALL the indignities I had sustained at the
hands of you Wrandalls, and at the same time to even my account with
the one woman whom I could put my finger upon as having robbed me
of my husband's love. You see I put it mildly. I have hated all of
you, Mrs. Wrandall, even as you have hated me. To-day,--now,--I
do not feel as I did in other days toward you. I do not love you,
still I do not hate you. I do not forgive you, and yet I think I
have come to see things from your point of view. I can only repeat
that I do not hate you as I once did."

She paused. The Wrandalls were too deeply submerged in horror to
speak. They merely stared at her as if stupefied; as breathless,
as motionless as stones.

"There came a day when I observed that Leslie was attracted by the
guest in my house. On that day the plan took root in my brain. I--"

"Good God!" fell from Leslie's lips. "You--you had THAT in mind?"

"It became a fixed, inflexible purpose, Leslie. Not that I hated
you as I hated the rest, for you tried to be considerate. The
one grudge I held against you was that in seeking to sustain me
you defamed your own brother. You came to me with stories of his
misdeeds; you said that he was a scoundrel and that you would not
blame me for 'showing him up.' Do you not remember? And so my plot
involved you; you were the only one through whom I could strike.
There were times when I faltered. I could not bear the thought of
sacrificing Hetty Castleton, nor was it easy to thoroughly appease
my conscience in respect to you. Still, if I could have had my way
a few months ago, if coercion had been of any avail, you would now
be the husband of your brother's slayer. Then I came to know that
she was not what I had thought she was. She was honest. My bubble
burst. I came out of the maze in which I had been living and saw
clearly that what I had contemplated was the most atrocious--"

"Atrocious?" cried Mrs. Redmond Wrandall between her set teeth.
"Diabolical! Diabolical! My God, Sara, what a devil you--" She did
not complete the sentence, but sank back in her chair and stared
with wide, horror-struck eyes at her rigid daughter-in-law.

Her husband, his hand shaking as if with palsy, pointed a finger at
Hetty. "And so YOU are the one we have been hunting for all these
months, Miss Castleton! You are the one we want! You who have sat
at our table, you who have smiled in our faces--"

"Stop, Mr. Wrandall!" commanded Sara, noting the ashen face of the
girl. "Don't let the fact escape you that I am the guilty person.
Don't forget that she owed her freedom, if not her life to me.
I alone kept her from giving herself up to the law. All that has
transpired since that night in March must be placed to my account.
Hetty Castleton has been my prisoner. She has rebelled a thousand
times and I have conquered--not by threats but by LOVE! Do you
understand? Because of her love for me, and because she believed
that I loved her, she submitted. You are not to accuse her, Mr.
Wrandall. Accuse me! I am on trial here. Hetty Castleton is a
witness against me, if you choose to call upon her as such. If not,
I shall ask her to speak in my defence, if she can do so."

"This is lunacy!" cried Mr. Wrandall, coming to his feet. "I don't
care what your motives may have been. They do not make her any the
less a murderess. She--"

"We must give her over to the police--" began his wife, struggling
to her feet. She staggered. It was Booth who stepped quickly to
her side to support her. Leslie was staring at Hetty.

Vivian touched her father's arm. She was very pale but vastly more
composed than the others.

"Father, listen to me," she said. Her voice trembled in spite of
her effort to control it. "We are condemning Miss Castleton unheard.
Let us hear everything before we--"

"Good God, Vivian! Do you mean to--"

"How can we place any reliance on what she may say?" cried Mrs.
Wrandall.

"Nevertheless," said Vivian firmly, "I for one shall not condemn
her unheard. I mean to be as fair to her as Sara has been. It shall
not be said that ALL the Wrandalls are smaller than Sara Gooch!"

"My child--" began her father incredulously. His jaw dropped
suddenly. His daughter's shot had landed squarely in the heart of
the Wrandall pride.

"If she has anything to say,"--said Mrs. Wrandall, waving Booth
aside and sinking stiffly into her chair. Her husband sat down.
Their jaws set hard.

"Thank you, Vivian," said Sara, surprised in spite of herself. "You
are nobler than I--"

"Please don't thank me, Sara," said Vivian icily. "I was speaking
for Miss Castleton."

Sara flushed. "I suppose it is useless to ask you to be fair to
Sara Gooch, as you choose to call me."

"Do you feel in your heart that we still owe you anything?"

"Enough of this, Vivian," spoke up her father harshly. "If Miss
Castleton desires to speak we will listen to her. I must advise
you, Miss Castleton, that the extraordinary disclosures made by my
daughter-in-law do not lessen your culpability. We do not insist on
this confession from you. You deliver it at your own risk. I want
to be fair with you. If Mr. Carroll is your counsel, he may advise
you now to refuse to make a statement."

Mr. Carroll bowed slightly in the general direction of the Wrandalls.
"I have already advised Miss Castleton to state the case fully and
completely to you, Mr. Wrandall. It was I who originally suggested
this--well, what you might call a private trial for her. I am
firmly convinced that when you have heard her story, you, as her
judges, will acquit her of the charge of murder. Moreover, you
will be content to let your own verdict end the matter, sparing
yourselves the shame and ignominy of having her story told in a
criminal court for the delectation of an eager but somewhat implacable
world."

"Your language is extremely unpleasant, Mr. Carroll," said Mr.
Wrandall coldly.

"I meant to speak kindly, sir."

"Do you mean, sir, that we will let the matter rest after hearing
the--"

"That is precisely what I mean, Mr. Wrandall. You will not consider
her guilty of a crime. Please bear in mind this fact: but for
Sara and Miss Castleton you would not have known the truth. Miss
Castleton could not be convicted in a court of justice. Nor will
she be convicted here this evening, in this little court of ours."

"Miss Castleton is not on trial," interposed Sara calmly. "I am
the offender. She has already been tried and proved innocent."

Leslie, in his impatience, tapped sharply on the table with his
seal ring.

"Please let her tell the story. Permit me to say, Miss Castleton,
that you will not find the Wrandalls as harsh and vindictive as
you may have been led to believe."

Mrs. Wrandall passed her hand over her eyes. "To think that we have
been friendly to this girl all these--"

"Calm yourself, my dear," said her husband, after a glance at his
son and daughter, a glance of unspeakable helplessness. He could
not understand them.

As Hetty arose, Mrs. Wrandall senior lowered her eyes and not
once did she look up during the recital that followed. Her hands
were lying limply in her lap, and she breathed heavily, almost
stertoriously. The younger Wrandalls leaned forward with their clear,
unwavering gaze fixed on the earnest face of the young Englishwoman
who had slain their brother.

"You have heard Sara accuse herself," said the girl slowly,
dispassionately. "The shock was no greater to you than it was
to me. All that she has said is true, and yet I--I would so much
rather she had left herself unarraigned. We were agreed that I
should throw myself on your mercy. Mr. Carroll said that you were
fair and just people, that you would not condemn me under the
circumstances. But that Sara should seek to take the blame is--"

"Alas, my dear, I AM to blame," said Sara, shaking her head. "But
for me your story would have been told months ago, the courts would
have cleared you, and all the world would have execrated my husband
for the thing HE did--my husband and your son, Mrs. Wrandall,--whom
we both loved. God believe me, I think I loved him more than all
of you put together!"

She sat down abruptly and buried her face in her arms on the edge
of the table.

"If I could only induce you to forgive her," began Hetty, throwing
out her hands to the Wrandalls, only to be met by a gesture of
repugnance from the grim old man.

"Your story, Miss Castleton," he said hoarsely.

"From the beginning, if you please," added the lawyer quietly.
"Leave out nothing."

Clearly, steadily and with the utmost sincerity in her voice and
manner, the girl began the story of her life. She passed hastily
over the earlier periods, frankly exposing the unhappy conditions
attending her home life, her subsequent activities as a performer
on the London stage after Colonel Castleton's defection; the
few months devoted to posing for Hawkright the painter, and later
on her engagement as governess in the wealthy Budlong family. She
devoted some time and definiteness to her first encounter with
Challis Wrandall on board the westbound steamer, an incident that
came to pass in a perfectly natural way. Her deck chair stood next
to his, and he was not slow in making himself agreeable. It did not
occur to her till long afterwards that he deliberately had traded
positions with an elderly gentleman who occupied the chair on the
first day out. Before the end of the voyage they were very good
friends....

"When we landed in New York, he assisted me in many ways. Afterwards,
on learning that I was not to go California, I called him up on
the telephone to explain my predicament. He urged me to stay in New
York; he guaranteed that there would be no difficulty in securing
a splendid position in the East. I had no means of knowing that he
was married. I accepted him for what I thought him to be: a genuine
American gentleman. They are supposed to be particularly considerate
with women. His conduct toward me was beyond reproach, I have never
known a man who was so courteous, so gentle. To me, he was the most
fascinating man in the world. No woman could have resisted him, I
am sure of that."

She shot a quick, appealing glance at Booth's hard-set face. Her
lip trembled for a second.

"I fell madly in love with him," she went on resolutely. "I dreamed
of him, I could hardly wait for the time to come when I was to see
him. He never came to the wretched little lodging house I have told
you about. I--I met him outside. One night he told me that he loved
me, loved me passionately. I--I said that I would be his wife.
Somehow it seemed to me that he regarded me very curiously for
a moment or two. He seemed to be surprised, uncertain. I remember
that he laughed rather queerly. It did not occur to me to doubt
him. One day he came for me, saying that he wanted me to see the
little apartment he had taken, where we were to live after we were
married. I went with him. He said that if I liked it, I could
move in at once, but I would not consent to such an arrangement.
For the first time I began to feel that everything was not as it
should be. I--I remained in the apartment but a few minutes. The
next day he came to me, greatly excited and more demonstrative than
ever before, to say that he had arranged for a quiet, jolly little
wedding up in the country. Strangely enough I experienced a queer
feeling that all was not as it should be, but his eagerness his
persistence dispelled the small doubt that had begun even then to
shape itself. I consented to go with him on the next night to an
inn out in the country, where a college friend who was a minister
of the gospel would meet us, driving over from his parish a few
miles away. I said that I preferred to be married in a church. He
laughed and said it could be arranged when we got to the inn and
had talked it over with the minister. Still uneasy, I asked why it
was necessary to employ secrecy. He told me that his family were
in Europe and that he wanted to surprise them by giving them a
daughter who was actually related to an English nobleman. The family
had been urging him to marry a stupid but rich New York girl and
he--oh, well, he uttered a great deal of nonsense about my beauty,
my charm, and all that sort of thing--"

She paused for a moment. No one spoke. Her audience of judges,
with the exception of the elder Mrs. Wrandall, watched her as if
fascinated. Their faces were almost expressionless. With a perceptible
effort, she resumed her story, narrating events that carried it
up to the hour when she walked into the little upstairs room at
Burton's Inn with the man who was to be her husband.

"I did not see the register at the inn. I did not know till
afterwards that we were not booked. Once upstairs, I refused to
remove my hat or my veil or my coat until he brought his friend to
me. He pretended to be very angry over his friend's failure to be
there beforehand, as he had promised. He ordered a supper served
in the room. I did not eat anything. Somehow I was beginning
to understand, vaguely of course, but surely--and bitterly, Mr.
Wrandall. Suddenly he threw off the mask.

"He coolly informed me that he knew the kind of girl I was. I had
been on the stage. He said it was no use trying to work the marriage
game on him. He was too old a bird and too wise to fall for that.
Those were his words. I was horrified, stunned. When I began to cry
out in my fury, he laughed at me but swore he would marry me even
at that if it were not for the fact that he already was married....I
tried to leave the room. He held me. He kissed me a hundred times
before I could break away. I--I tried to scream....A little later
on, when I was absolutely desperate, I--I snatched up the knife.
There was nothing else left for me to do. I struck at him. He fell
back on the bed....I stole out of the house--oh, hours and hours
afterward it seemed to me. I cannot tell you how long I stood there
watching him....I was crazed by fear. I--I--"

Redmond Wrandall held up his hand.

"We will spare you the rest, Miss Castleton," he said, his voice
hoarse and unnatural. "There is no need to say more."

"You--you understand? You DO believe me?" she cried.

He looked down at his wife's bowed head, and received no sign from
her; then at the white, drawn faces of his children. They met his
gaze and he read something in their eyes.

"I--I think your story is so convincing that we--we could not endure
the shame of having it repeated to the world."

"I--I cannot ask you to forgive me, sir. I only ask you to believe
me," she murmured brokenly. "I--I am sorry it had to be. God is my
witness that there was no other way."

Mr. Carroll came to his feet. There were tears in his eyes.

"I think, Mr. Wrandall, you will now appreciate my motives in--"

"Pardon me, Mr. Carroll, if I suggest that Miss Castleton does not
require any defence at present," said Mr. Wrandall stiffly. "Your
motives were doubtless good. Will you be so good as to conduct us
to a room where we may--may be alone for a short while?"

There was something tragic in the man's face. His son and daughter
arose as if moved by an instinctive realisation of a duty, and perhaps
for the first time in their lives were submissive to an influence
they had never quite recognised before: a father's unalterable
right to command. For once in their lives they were meek in his
presence. They stepped to his side and stood waiting, and neither
of them spoke.

Mr. Wrandall laid his hand heavily on his wife's shoulder. She
started, looked up rather vacantly, and then arose without assistance.
He did not make the mistake of offering to assist her. He knew
too well that to question her strength now would be but to invite
weakness. She was strong. He knew her well.

She stood straight and firm for a few seconds, transfixing Hetty
with a look that seemed to bore into the very soul of her, and then
spoke.

"You ask us to be your judges?"

[Illustration: Her audience of judges, with the exception of the
elder Mrs. Wrandall, watched her as if fascinated]

"I ask you to judge not me alone but--your son as well," said
Hetty, meeting her look steadily. "You cannot pronounce me innocent
without pronouncing him guilty. It will be hard."

Sara raised her head from her arms.

"You know the way into my sitting-room, Leslie," she said, with
singular directness. Then she arose and drew her figure to its full
height. "Please remember that it is I who am to be judged. Judge
me as I have judged you. I am not asking for mercy."

Hetty impulsively threw her arms about the rigid figure, and swept a
pleading look from one to the other of the four stony-faced Wrandalls.

They turned away without a word or a revealing look, and slowly
moved off in the direction of the boudoir. They who remained behind
stood still, motionless as statues. It was Vivian who opened the
library door. She closed it after the others had passed through,
and did not look behind.

Half an hour passed. Then the door was opened and the tall old man
advanced into the room.

"We have found against my son, Miss Castleton," he said, his lips
twitching. "He is not here to speak for himself, but he has already
been judged. We, his family, apologise to you for what you have
suffered from the conduct of one of us. Not one but all of us believe
the story you have told. It must never be re-told. We ask this of
all of you. It is not in our hearts to thank Sara for shielding you,
for her hand is still raised against us. We are fair and just. If
you had come to US on that wretched night and told the story of my
son's infamy, WE, the Wrandalls, would have stood between you and
the law. The law could not have touched you then; it shall not touch
you now. Our verdict, if you choose to call it that, is sealed. No
man shall ever hear from the lips of a Wrandall the smallest part
of what has transpired here to-night. Mr. Carroll, you were right.
We thank you for the counsel that led this unhappy girl to place
herself in our hands,"

"Oh, God, I thank thee--I thank thee!" burst from the lips of Sara
Wrandall. She strained Hetty to her breast.

"It is not for us to judge you, Sara," said Redmond Wrandall,
speaking with difficulty. "You are your own judge, and a harsh one
you will find yourself. As for ourselves, we can only look upon
your unspeakable design as the working of a temporarily deranged
mind. You could never have carried it out. You are an honest woman.
At the last you would have revolted, even with victory assured.
Perhaps Leslie is the only one who has a real grievance against
you in this matter. I am convinced that he loved Miss Castleton
deeply. The worst hurt is his, and he has been your most devoted
advocate during all the years of bitterness that has existed between
you and us. You thought to play him a foul trick. You could not have
carried it to the end. We leave you to pass judgment on yourself."

"I have already done so, Mr. Wrandall," said Sara. "Have I not
accused myself before you? Have I not confessed to the only crime
that has been committed? I am not proud of myself, sir."

"You have hated us well."

"And you have hated me. The crime you hold me guilty of was committed
years ago. It was when I robbed you of your son. To this day I am
the leper in your path. I may be forgiven for all else, but not
for allowing Challis Wrandall to become the husband of Sebastian
Gooch's daughter. That is the unpardonable sin."

Mr. Wrandall was silent for a moment.

"You still are Sebastian Gooch's daughter," he said distinctly.
"You can never be anything else."

She paled. "This last transaction proves it, you would say?"

"This last transaction, yes."

She looked about her with troubled, questioning eyes.

"I--I wonder if THAT can be true," she murmured, rather piteously.
"Am I so different from the rest of you? Is the blood to blame?"

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Mr. Carroll nervously. "Don't be silly, Sara,
my child. That is not what Mr. Wrandall means."

Wrandall turned his face away.

"You loved as deeply as you hate, Sara," he said, with a curious
twitching of his chin. "My son was your god. We are not insensible
to that. Perhaps we have never realised until now the depth and
breadth of your love for him. Love is a bitter judge of its enemies.
It knows no mercy, it knows no reason. Hate may be conquered by
love, but love cannot be conquered by hate. You had reason to hate
my son; Instead you persisted in your love for him. We--we owe you
something for that, Sara. We owe you a great deal more than I find
myself able to express in words."

Leslie entered the room at this instant. He had his overcoat on
and carried his gloves and hat in his hand.

"We are ready, father," he said thickly.

After a moment's hesitation, he crossed over to Hetty, who stood
beside Sara.

"I--I can now understand why you refused to marry me, Miss Castleton,"
he said, in a queer, jerky manner. "Won't you let me say that I
wish you all the happiness still to be found in this rather uneven
world of ours?"

The crowning testimonial to an absolutely sincere ego!

CHAPTER XXV

RENUNCIATION

On the third day after the singular trial of Hetty Castleton in
Sara's library, young Mrs. Wrandall's motor drew up in front of
a lofty office building in lower Broadway; its owner stepped down
from the limousine and entered the building. A few moments later
she walked briskly into the splendid offices of Wrandall & Co.,
private bankers and steamship-owners. The clerks in the outer
offices stared for a moment in significant surprise, and then bowed
respectfully to the beautiful silent partner in the great concern.

It was the first time she had been seen in the offices since the
tragic event that had served to make her a member of the firm. A
boy at the information desk, somewhat impressed by her beauty and
the trim elegance of her long black broad-tail coat, to say nothing
of the dark eyes that shone through the narrow veil, forgot the
dignity of his office and went so far as to politely ask her who
she wanted to see and "what name, please."

The senior clerk rushed forward and transfixed the new boy with a
glare.

"A new boy, Mrs. Wrandall," he made haste to explain. To the new
boy's surprise, the visitor was conducted with much bowing and
scraping into the private offices, where no one ventured except by
special edict of the powers.

"Who was it?" he asked, in some awe, of a veteran stenographer who
came up and sneered at him.

"Mrs. Challis Wrandall, you little simpleton," said she, and for
once he failed to snap back.

It is of record that for nearly two whole days, he was polite to
every visitor who approached him and was generally worth his salt.

Sara found herself in the close little room that once had been her
husband's, but was now scrupulously held in reserve for her own use.
Rather a waste of space, she felt as she looked about the office.
The clerk dusted an easy chair and threw open the long unused desk
near the window.

"We are very glad to see you here, madam," he said. "This room
hasn't been used much, as you may observe. Is there anything I can
do for you?"

She continued her critical survey of the room. Nothing had been
changed since the days when she used to visit her husband here on
occasions of rare social importance: such as calling to take him out
to luncheon, or to see that he got safely home on rainy afternoons.
The big picture of a steamship still hung on the wall across the
room. Her own photograph, in a silver frame, stood in one of the
recesses of the desk. She observed that there was a clean white
blotter there, too; but the ink wells appeared to be empty, if
she was to judge by the look of chagrin on the clerk's face as he
inspected them. Photographs of polo scenes in which Wrandall was a
prominent figure, hung about the walls, with two or three pictures
of his favourite ponies, and one of a ragged gipsy girl with
wonderful eyes, carrying a monkey in a crude wooden cage strapped
to her back. On closer observation one would have recognised Sara's
peculiarly gipsy-like features in the face of the girl, and then
one would have noticed the caption written in red ink at the bottom
of the photograph: "The Trumbell's Fancy Dress Ball, January 10,
'07. Sara as Gipsy Mab."

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