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Updated: August 14, 2024
She went directly to the book-case, laid her hands upon the books at once, and brought them to my mother. Mother changed them from hand to hand several times, and turned them with the gilt lettering downwards upon her lap. "Now, Selphar, which is Miss Sarah's?" The girl quietly took mine up. The experiment was repeated and varied again and again. In every case the result was the same.
"It's on the right-hand side, under the snow, between the well and the wood-pile. Why, don't you see?" Clara began to look frightened, mother displeased. "Selphar," she said, "this is nonsense. It is impossible for you to see through the walls of two rooms and a wood-shed." "May I go and get it?" said the girl, quietly.
At seventeen she had a violent attack of diphtheria, and her life hung by a thread. Mother's aristocracy had nothing of that false pride which is afraid of contamination from kindly association with its inferiors. She was too thoroughly a lady. She was as tender and unwearying in her care of Selphar as the girl's own mother might have been.
Also, that her room looked out upon the opposite side of the house from that on which the well-curb stood. "Why, look at Sel!" said Clara, suddenly, "she has her eyes shut." The girl was just passing the toast. Mother spoke to her. "Selphar, what is the matter?" "I don't know." "Why don't you open your eyes?" "I can't." "Hand the salt to Miss Sarah."
When we told her what had happened, she burst into terrified tears. For some time after this there was no return of the "tantrums," as Selphar had called the condition, whatever it was. I began to get up vague theories of a trance state. But mother said, "Nonsense!" and Clara was too much frightened to reason at all about the matter. One Sunday morning Sel complained of a headache.
She made no mistake. It was no guess-work. All this was done with the bandage tightly drawn about her eyes. She did not see those letters with them. That evening we were sitting quietly in the dining-room. Selphar sat a little apart with her sewing, her eyes still closed. We kept her with us, and kept her in sight. The parlor, which was a long room, was between us and the front of the house.
It was precisely what Creston expected, and just like the Dugalds for all the world, gone to hunt up material for that genealogical book, or map, or tree, or something, that they thought nobody knew they were going to publish. O yes, Creston understood it perfectly. Space forbids me to relate in detail the clews which Selphar had given as to the whereabouts of the wanderer.
"It's on the right-hand side, under the snow, between the well and the wood-pile. Why, don't you see?" Clara began to look frightened, mother displeased. "Selphar," she said, "this is nonsense. It is impossible for you to see through the walls of two rooms and a wood-shed." "May I go and get it?" said the girl, quietly.
"Selphar," said my mother, a little suspiciously, "how did you know the robbers were there?" "Robbers!" said the girl, aghast. She knew nothing of the robbers. She knew nothing of the ear-ring. She remembered nothing that had happened since she went up the garret-stairs to bed, the night before. And, as I said, the girl was as honest as the sunlight.
"Down in the ditch; we passed them before I spoke. I see them on a blackberry-bush; they've got little brass buttons on the wrist." Three rods past now, and we could not see our horse's head. "Selphar," said my mother, quickly, "what is the matter with you?" "If you please, ma'am, I don't know," replied the girl, hanging her head. "May I get out and bring 'em to you?"
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