27. He Must Be Found
Three hours later, an agitated confab took place at the gate, or rather between the two front gates. Mr. Black had rung for admittance, and Mrs. Scoville had answered the call. In the constrained interview which followed, these words were said:
"One moment, Mrs. Scoville. How can I tell the judge! Young Ostrander is gone-- flew the city, and I can get no clew to his whereabouts. Some warning of what is happening here may have reached him, or he may be simply following impulses consequent upon his personal disappointments; but the fact is just this--he asked for two weeks' leave to go West upon business,--and he's been gone three. Meanwhile, no word has come, nor can his best friends tell the place of his destination. I have been burning the telegraph wires ever since the first despatch, and this is the result."
"Poor Judge Ostrander!" Then, in lower and still more pathetic tones, "Poor Reuther!"
"Where is Reuther?"
"At Miss Weeks'. I had to command her to leave me alone with the judge. It's the first time I ever spoke unkindly to her."
"Shall I tell the judge the result of his telegram, or will you?"
"Have you the messages with you?"
He bundled them into her hand.
"I will hand them in to him. We can do nothing less and nothing more. Then if he wants you, I will telephone."
"Mrs. Scoville?"
She felt his hand laid softly on her shoulder.
"Yes, Mr. Black."
"There is some one else in this matter to consider besides Judge Ostrander."
"Reuther? Oh, don't I know it! She's not out of my mind a moment."
"Reuther is young, and has a gallant soul. I mean you, Mrs. Scoville, you! You are not to succumb to this trial. You have a future--a bright future--or should have. Do not endanger it by giving up all your strength now. It's precious, that strength, or would be--"
He broke off; she began to move away. Overhead in the narrow space of sky visible to them from where they stood, the stars burned brightly. Some instinct made them look up; as they did so, their hands met. Then a gruff sound broke the silence. It was Alanson Black's voice uttering a grim farewell.
"He must be found! Oliver must be found!" How the words rung in her ears. She had handed in the messages to the waiting father; she had uttered a word or two of explanation, and then, at his request, had left him. But his last cry followed her: "He must be found!"
When she told it to Mr. Black the next morning, he looked serious.
"Pride or hope?" he asked.
"Desperation," she responded, with a guilty look about her. "Possibly, some hope is in it, too. Perhaps, he thinks that any charge of this nature must fall before Oliver's manly appearance. Whatever he thinks, there is but one thing to do: find Oliver."
"Mrs. Scoville, the police have started upon that attempt. I got the tip this morning."
"We must forestall them. To satisfy the judge, Oliver must come of his own accord to face these charges."
"It's a brave stock. If Oliver gets his father's telegram he will come."
"But how are we to reach him! We are absolutely in the dark."
"If I could go to Detroit, I might strike some clew; but I cannot leave the judge. Mr. Black, he told me this morning when I carried in his breakfast that he should see no one and go nowhere till I brought him word that Oliver was in the house. The hermit life has begun again. What shall we do? Advise me in this emergency, for I feel as helpless as a child,--as a lost child."
They were standing far apart in the little front parlour, and he gave no evidence of wishing to lessen the space between them, but he gave her a look as she said this, which, as she thought it over afterwards, held in its kindly flame something which had never shone upon her before, whether as maid, wife or widow. But, while she noticed it, she did not dwell upon it now, only upon the words which followed it.
"You say you cannot go to Detroit. Shall I go?"
"Mr. Black!"
"Court is adjourned. I know of nothing more important than Judge Ostrander's peace of mind---unless it is yours. I will go if you say so."
"Will it avail? Let me think. I knew him well, and yet not well enough to know where he would be most likely to go under impulse."
"There is some one who knows him better than you do."
"His father?"
"No."
"Reuther? Oh, she mustn't be told--"
"Yes, she must. She's our one adviser. Go for her--or send me."
"It won't be necessary. There's her ring at the gate. But oh, Mr. Black, think again before you trouble this fragile child of mine with doubts and questions which make her mother tremble."
"Has she shown the greater weakness yet?"
"No, but--"
"She has sources of strength which you lack. She believes absolutely in Oliver's integrity. It will carry her through."
"Please let her in, Mr. Black. I will wait here while you tell her."
Mr. Black hurried from the room. When his form became visible on the walk without, Deborah watched him from where she stood far back in the room. Why? Was this swelling of her impetuous heart in the midst of such suspense an instinct of thankfulness? A staff had been put in her hand, rough to the touch, but firm under pressure, and she needed such a staff. Yes, it was thankfulness.
But she forgot gratitude and every lesser emotion in watching Reuther's expression as the two came up the path. The child was radiant, and the mother, thus prepared, was not surprised when the young girl, running into her arms, burst out with the glad cry:
"Oliver is no longer in Detroit, but he's wanted here, and Mr. Black and I are going to find him. I think I know where to look. Get me ready, mother dear; we are going to-night."
"You are going to-night?" This was said after the first moment of