The Abandoned Room | Page 2

to the Bedford Foundation--all except a little annuity for you, Katy. It's
hard on you, but I've got no faith left in my flesh and blood."
His voice choked with a sentiment a little repulsive in view of his

ruthless nature, his unbending egotism.
"It's sad, Katy, to grow old with nobody caring for you except to covet
your money."
She arose and went close to him. He drew back, startled.
"You're not fair, Uncle."
With an unexpected movement, nearly savage, he pushed her aside and
started for the door.
"Uncle!" she cried. "Tell me! You must tell me! What makes you
afraid?"
He turned at the door. He didn't answer. She laughed feverishly.
"It--it's not Bobby you're afraid of?"
"You and Bobby," he grumbled, "are thicker than thieves."
She shook her head.
"Bobby and I," she said wistfully, "aren't very good friends, largely
because of this life he's leading."
He went on out of the room, mumbling again incoherently.
She resumed her vigil, unable to read because of her misgivings,
staring at the fire, starting at a harsher gust of wind or any
unaccustomed sound. And for a long time there beat against her brain
the shuffling, searching tread of her uncle. Its cessation about eleven
o'clock increased her uneasiness. He had been so afraid! Suppose
already the thing he had feared had overtaken him? She listened
intently. Even then she seemed to sense the soundless footsteps of
disaster straying in the decayed house, and searching, too.
A morbid desire to satisfy herself that her uncle's silence meant nothing
evil drove her upstairs. She stood in the square main hall at the head of

the stairs, listening. Her uncle's bedroom door lay straight ahead. To
her right and left narrow corridors led to the wings. Her room and
Bobby's and a spare room were in the right-hand wing. The opposite
corridor was seldom used, for the left-hand wing was the oldest portion
of the house, and in the march of years too many legends had gathered
about it. The large bedroom was there with its private hall beyond, and
a narrow, enclosed staircase, descending to the library. Originally it had
been the custom for the head of the family to use that room. Its ancient
furniture still faded within stained walls. For many years no one had
slept in it, because it had sheltered too much suffering, because it had
witnessed the reluctant spiritual departure of too many Blackburns.
Katherine shrank a little from the black entrance of the corridor, but her
anxiety centred on the door ahead. She was about to call when a stirring
beyond it momentarily reassured her.
The door opened and her uncle stepped out. He wore an untidy
dressing-gown. His hair was disordered. His face appeared grayer and
more haggard than it had downstairs. A lighted candle shook in his
right hand.
"What are you doing up here, Katy?" he quavered.
She broke down before the picture of his increased fear. He shuffled
closer.
"What you crying for, Katy?"
She controlled herself. She begged him for an answer to her doubts.
"You make me afraid."
He laughed scornfully.
"You! What you got to be afraid of?"
"I'm afraid because you are," she urged. "You've got to tell me. I'm all
alone. I can't stand it. What are you afraid of?"

He didn't answer. He shuffled on toward the disused wing. Her hand
tightened on the banister.
"Where are you going?" she whispered.
He turned at the entrance to the corridor.
"I am going to the old bedroom."
"Why? Why?" she asked hysterically. "You can't sleep there. The bed
isn't even made."
He lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper:
"Don't you mention I've gone there. If you want to know, I am afraid.
I'm afraid to sleep in my own room any longer."
She nodded.
"And you don't think they'd look for you there. What is it? Tell me
what it is. Why don't you send for some one--a man?"
"Leave me alone," he mumbled. "Nothing for you to be worried about,
except Bobby."
"Yes, there is," she cried. "Yes, there is."
He paid no attention to her fright. He entered the corridor. She heard
him shuffling between its narrow walls. She saw his candle disappear
in its gloomy reaches.
She ran to her own room and locked the door. She hurried to the
window and leaned out, her body shaking, her teeth chattering as if
from a sudden chill. The quiet, assured tread of disaster came nearer.
The two wings, stretching at right angles from the main building,
formed a narrow court. Clouds harrying the moon failed quite to
destroy its power, so that she could see, across the court, the facade of
the old wing and the two windows of the large room through whose

curtains