He rose, and Celia accompanied him to the door; it was only a few steps
distant; but the old man moved towards it as if he had been accustomed
to traversing apartments of a larger size. As Celia opened the door, the
one opposite hers opened at the same moment, and a lady came out.
Judging by her figure, for her face was thickly veiled, she was young;
she was plainly but richly dressed, and wore a coat and muff of sable.
Her appearance was so strangely different from that of the residents and
visitors of the Buildings that Celia could not help staring at her with
surprise. As if she were conscious of, and resented, Celia's intent
regard, the lady turned her head away, and, keeping as near the wall as
possible, descended the stairs quickly.
Celia and Mr. Clendon neither exchanged glances nor made any remark.
With a gesture of farewell and thanks, he went down. Half-unconsciously,
she stood looking at the door which the lady had closed after her; then
Celia shut hers and went back to clearing away the tea.
When Mr. Clendon had asked her if she had fitted a history to the young
man who had interested her so much, she had replied in the negative; but
now, involuntarily, she began to do so. Of course, he was in trouble;
probably in debt; this beautifully-dressed woman was his sister, or,
perhaps, his sweetheart; she had come to help him, to comfort him.
Something in the idea was pleasant and welcome to Celia; he was such a
good-looking young fellow; that voice of his, which used to sing but had
become silent lately, had a good, true ring in it; yes, it was nice to
think that his sister--or his sweetheart--had come to bring him comfort.
She sat down to her notes; but she could not concentrate herself upon
her work. The imaginary history of the young man obtruded upon her; she
decided that she would go out for a walk, and take up her work again
when she returned. She was getting her coat and hat when Mr. Clendon
began to play; she changed her mind about the walk and went to the door
to open it an inch or so, that she might hear more distinctly the soft
strains of the Beethoven Sonata which came floating up to her. As she
opened the door, she heard a strange sound rising above the notes of the
music; it was that, perhaps, most terrible of all sounds, the unbidden,
irresistible groan, rising from a man's tortured heart; and it came from
the young man's room.