"Sister Theresa has left, sir."
Bates had been into Annandale to mail some letters,
and I was staring out upon the park from the library
windows when he entered. Stoddard, having kept watch
the night before, was at home asleep, and Larry was off
somewhere in the house, treasure-hunting. I was feeling
decidedly discouraged over our failure to make any
progress with our investigations, and Bates' news did
not interest me.
"Well, what of it?" I demanded, without turning
round.
"Nothing, sir; but Miss Devereux has come back!"
"The devil!"
I turned and took a step toward the door.
"I said Miss Devereux," he repeated in dignified rebuke.
"She came up this morning, and the Sister left
at once for Chicago. Sister Theresa depends particularly
upon Miss Devereux,-so I've heard, sir. Miss
Devereux quite takes charge when the Sister goes away.
A few of the students are staying in school through the
holidays."
"You seem full of information," I remarked, taking
another step toward my hat and coat.
"And I've learned something else, sir."
"Well?"
"They all came together, sir."
"Who came; if you please, Bates?"
"Why, the people who've been traveling with Mr.
Pickering came back with him, and Miss Devereux came
with them from Cincinnati. That's what I learned in
the village. And Mr. Pickering is going to stay-"
"Pickering stay!"
"At his cottage on the lake for a while. The reason
is that he's worn out with his work, and wishes quiet.
The other people went back to New York in the car."
"He's opened a summer cottage in mid-winter, has
he?"
I had been blue enough without this news. Marian
Devereux had come back to Annandale with Arthur
Pickering; my faith in her snapped like a reed at this
astounding news. She was now entitled to my grandfather's
property and she had lost no time in returning
as soon as she and Pickering had discussed together at
the Armstrongs' my flight from Annandale. Her return
could have no other meaning than that there was a
strong tie between them, and he was now to stay on the
ground until I should be dispossessed and her rights
established. She had led me to follow her, and my forfeiture
had been sealed by that stolen interview at the
Armstrongs'. It was a black record, and the thought of
it angered me against myself and the world.
"Tell Mr. Donovan that I've gone to St. Agatha's,"
I said, and I was soon striding toward the school.
A Sister admitted me. I heard the sound of a piano,
somewhere in the building, and I consigned the inventor
of pianos to hideous torment as scales were
pursued endlessly up and down the keys. Two girls
passing through the hall made a pretext of looking for
a book and came in and exclaimed over their inability
to find it with much suppressed giggling.