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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/15496-8.txt b/15496-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f363798 --- /dev/null +++ b/15496-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7333 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Militants, by Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Militants + Stories of Some Parsons, Soldiers, and Other Fighters in the World + +Author: Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews + +Release Date: March 29, 2005 [EBook #15496] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MILITANTS *** + + + + +Produced by Kentuckiana Digital Library, David Garcia, Martin Pettit +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + +THE MILITANTS + +_"The sword of the Lord and of Gideon."_ + + + + +BOOKS BY MARY R.S. ANDREWS + +PUBLISHED BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS + + + +The Militants. Illustrated $1.50 + +Bob and the Guides. Illustrated $1.50 + +The Perfect Tribute. With Frontispiece $0.50 + +Vive L'Empereur. Illustrated $1.00 + + + +[Illustration: "I took her in my arms and held her."] + + + + +THE MILITANTS + + +STORIES OF SOME PARSONS, SOLDIERS + +AND OTHER FIGHTERS IN THE WORLD + + +BY + +MARY RAYMOND SHIPMAN ANDREWS + + +ILLUSTRATED + + +NEW YORK + +CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS + +1907 + +Published, May, 1907 + + + + + THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF A MAN WHO WAS WITH HIS + WHOLE HEART A PRIEST AND WITH HIS WHOLE STRENGTH A SOLDIER OF THE + CHURCH MILITANT. + + JACOB SHAW SHIPMAN + + + + +CONTENTS + + + _I. The Bishop's Silence_ + + _II. The Witnesses_ + + _III. The Diamond Brooches_ + + _IV. Crowned with Glory and Honor_ + + _V. A Messenger_ + + _VI. The Aide-de-Camp_ + + _VII. Through the Ivory Gate_ + +_VIII. The Wife of the Governor_ + + _IX. The Little Revenge_ + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + +_"I took her in my arms and held her"_ + +_"Many waters shall not wash out love", said Eleanor_ + +_He stared into the smoldering fire_ + +_"Look!" he said, and Miles swung about toward the ridge behind_ + +_"I got behind a turn and fired as a man came on alone"_ + +_"I reckon I shall have to ask you to not pick any more of those +roses," a voice said_ + +_"You see, the boat is very new and clean, Miss," he was saying_ + +_I felt myself pulled by two pairs of hands_ + + + + +THE BISHOP'S SILENCE + + +The Bishop was walking across the fields to afternoon service. It was a +hot July day, and he walked slowly--for there was plenty of time--with +his eyes fixed on the far-off, shimmering sea. That minstrel of heat, +the locust, hidden somewhere in the shade of burning herbage, pulled a +long, clear, vibrating bow across his violin, and the sound fell lazily +on the still air--the only sound on earth except a soft crackle under +the Bishop's feet. Suddenly the erect, iron-gray head plunged madly +forward, and then, with a frantic effort and a parabola or two, +recovered itself, while from the tall grass by the side of the path +gurgled up a high, soft, ecstatic squeal. The Bishop, his face flushed +with the stumble and the heat and a touch of indignation besides, +straightened himself with dignity and felt for his hat, while his eyes +followed a wriggling cord that lay on the ground, up to a small brown +fist. A burnished head, gleaming in the sunshine like the gilded ball +on a church steeple, rose suddenly out of the waves of dry grass, and a +pink-ginghamed figure, radiant with joy and good-will, confronted him. +The Bishop's temper, roughly waked up by the unwilling and unepiscopal +war-dance just executed, fell back into its chains. + +"Did you tie that string across the path?" + +"Yes," The shining head nodded. "Too bad you didn't fell 'way down. I'm +sorry. But you kicked awf'ly." + +"Oh! I did, did I?" asked the Bishop. "You're an unrepentant young +sinner. Suppose I'd broken my leg?" + +The head nodded again. "Oh, we'd have patzed you up," she said +cheerfully. "Don't worry. Trust in God." + +The Bishop jumped. "My child," he said, "who says that to you?" + +"Aunt Basha." The innocent eyes faced him without a sign of +embarrassment. "Aunt Basha's my old black mammy. Do you know her? All +her name's longer'n that. I can say it." Then with careful, slow +enunciation, "Bathsheba Salina Mosina Angelica Preston." + +"Is that your little bit of name too?" the Bishop asked, "Are you a +Preston?" + +"Why, of course." The child opened her gray eyes wide. "Don't you know +my name? I'm Eleanor. Eleanor Gray Preston." + +For a moment again the locust had it all to himself. High and insistent, +his steady note sounded across the hot, still world. The Bishop looked +down at the gray eyes gazing upward wonderingly, and through a mist of +years other eyes smiled at him. Eleanor Gray--the world is small, the +life of it persistent; generations repeat themselves, and each is young +but once. He put his hand under the child's chin and turned up the baby +face. + +"Ah!" said he--if that may stand for the sound that stood for the +Bishop's reverie. "Ah! Whom were you named for, Eleanor Gray?" + +"For my own muvver." Eleanor wriggled her chin from the big hand and +looked at him with dignity. She did not like to be touched by +strangers. Again the voices stopped and the locust sang two notes and +stopped also, as if suddenly awed. + +"Your mother," repeated the Bishop, "your mother! I hope you are worthy +of the name." + +"Yes, I am," said Eleanor heartily. "Bug's on your shoulder, Bishop! For +de Lawd's sake!" she squealed excitedly, in delicious high notes that a +prima donna might envy; then caught the fat grasshopper from the black +clerical coat, and stood holding it, lips compressed and the joy of +adventure dancing in her eyes. The Bishop took out his watch and looked +at it, as Eleanor, her soul on the grasshopper, opened her fist and +flung its squirming contents, with delicious horror, yards away. Half an +hour yet to service and only five minutes' walk to the little church of +Saint Peter's-by-the-Sea. + +"Will you sit down and talk to me, Eleanor Gray?" he asked, gravely. + +"Oh, yes, if there's time," assented Eleanor, "but you mustn't be late +to church, Bishop. That's naughty." + +"I think there's time. How do you know who I am, Eleanor?" + +"Dick told me." + +The Bishop had walked away from the throbbing sunshine into the +green-black shadows of a tree, and seated himself with a boyish +lightness in piquant contrast with his gray-haired dignity--a lightness +that meant athletic years. Eleanor bent down the branch of a great bush +that faced him and sat on it as if a bird had poised there. She smiled +as their eyes met, and began to hum an air softly. The startled Bishop +slowly made out a likeness to the words of the old hymn that begins + + Am I a soldier of the Cross, + A follower of the Lamb? + +Sweetly and reverently she sang it, over and over, with a difference. + + Am I shoulder of a hoss, + A quarter of a lamb? + +sang Eleanor. + +The Bishop exploded into a great laugh that drowned the music. + +"Aunt Basha taught you that, too, didn't she?" he asked, and off he +went into another deep-toned peal. + +"I thought you'd like that, 'cause it's a hymn and you're a Bishop," +said Eleanor, approvingly. Her effort was evidently meeting with +appreciation. "You can talk to me now, I'm here." She settled herself +like a Brownie, elbows on knees, her chin in the hollows of small, lean +hands, and gazed at him unflinchingly. + +"Thank you," said the Bishop, sobering at once, but laughter still in +his eyes. "Will you be kind enough to tell me then, Eleanor, who is +Dick?" + +Eleanor looked astonished, "You don't know anybody much, do you?" and +there was gentle pity in her voice. "Why, Dick, he's--why, he's--why, +you see, he's my friend. I don't know his uvver names, but Mr. Fielding, +he's Dick's favver." + +"Oh!" said the Bishop with comprehension. "Dick Fielding. Then Dick is +my friend, too. And people that are friends to the same people should +be friends to each other--that's geometry, Eleanor, though it's +possibly not life." + +"Huh?" Eleanor stared, puzzled. + +"Will you be friends with me, Eleanor Gray? I knew your mother a long +time ago, when she was Eleanor Gray." Eleanor yawned frankly. That might +be true, but it did not appear to her remarkable or interesting. The +deep voice went on, with a moment's interval. "Where is your mother? Is +she here?" + +Eleanor laughed. "Oh, no," she said. "Don't you know? What a funny man +you are--you know such a few things. My muvver's up in heaven. She went +when I was a baby, long, _long_ ago. I reckon she must have flewed," she +added, reflectively, raising clear eyes to the pale, heat-worn sky that +gleamed through the branches. + +The Bishop's big hands went up to his face suddenly, and the strong +fingers clasped tensely above his forehead. Between his wrists one could +see that his mouth was set in a hard line. "Dead!" he said. "And I never +knew it." + +Eleanor dug a small russet heel unconcernedly into the ground. +"Naughty, naughty, naughty little grasshopper," she began to chant, +addressing an unconscious insect near the heel. "Don't you go and crawl +up on the Bishop. No, just don't you. 'Cause if you do, oh, naughty +grasshopper, I'll scrunch you!" with a vicious snap on the "scrunch." + +The Bishop lowered his hands and looked at her. "I'm not being very +interesting, Eleanor, am I?" + +"Not very," Eleanor admitted. "Couldn't you be some more int'rstin'?" + +"I'll try," said the Bishop. "But be careful not to hurt the poor +grasshopper. Because, you know, some people say that if he is a good +grasshopper for a long time, then when he dies his little soul will go +into a better body--perhaps a butterfly's body next time." + +Eleanor caught the thought instantly. "And if he's a good butterfly, +then what'll he be? A hummin'-bird? Let's kill him quick, and see him +turn into a butterfly." + +"Oh, no, Eleanor, you can't force the situation. He has to live out his +little grasshopper life the best that he can, before he's good enough to +be a butterfly. If you kill him now you might send him backward. He +might turn into what he was before--a poor little blind worm perhaps." + +"Oh, my Lawd!" said Eleanor. + +The Bishop was still a moment, and then repeated, quietly: + + Slay not the meanest creature, lest thou slay + Some humble soul upon its upward way. + +"Oughtn't to talk to yourself," Eleanor shook her head disapprovingly. +"'Tisn't so very polite. Is that true about the grasshopper, Bishop, or +is it a whopper?" + +The Bishop thought for a moment. "I don't know, Eleanor," he answered, +gently. + +"You don't know so very much, do you?" inquired Eleanor, not as +despising but as wondering, sympathizing with ignorance. + +"Very little," the Bishop agreed. "And I've tried to learn, all my +life"--his gaze wandered off reflectively. + +"Too bad," said Eleanor. "Maybe you'll learn some time." + +"Maybe," said the Bishop and smiled, and suddenly she sprang to her +feet, and shook her finger at him. + +"I'm afraid," she said, "I'm very much afraid you're a naughty boy." + +The Bishop looked up at the small, motherly face, bewildered. "Wh--why?" +he stammered. + +"Do you know what you're bein'? You're bein' late to church!" + +The Bishop sprang up too, at that, and looked at his watch quickly. "Not +late yet, but I'll walk along. Where are you going, waif? Aren't you in +charge of anybody?" + +"Huh?" inquired Eleanor, her head cocked sideways. + +"Whom did you come out with?" + +"Madge and Dick, but they're off there," nodding toward the wood behind +them. "Madge is cryin'. She wouldn't let me pound Dick for makin' her, +so I went away." + +"Who is Madge?" + +Eleanor, drifting beside him through the sunshine like a rose-leaf on +the wind, stopped short. "Why, Bishop, don't you know even Madge? Funny +Bishop! Madge is my sister--she's grown up. Dick made her cry, but I +think he wasn't much naughty, 'cause she would _not_ let me pound him. +She put her arms right around him." + +"Oh!" said the Bishop, and there was silence for a moment. "You mustn't +tell me any more about Madge and Dick, I think, Eleanor." + +"All right, my lamb!" Eleanor assented, cheerfully, and conversation +flagged. + +"How old are you, Eleanor Gray?" + +"Six, praise de Lawd!" + +The Bishop considered deeply for a moment, then his face cleared. + +"'Their angels do always behold the face of my Father,'" and he smiled. +"I say it too, praise the Lord that she is six." + +"Madge is lots more'n that," the soft little voice, with its gay, +courageous inflection, went on. "She's twenty. Isn't that old? You +aren't much different of that, are you?" and the heavy, cropped, +straight gold mass of her hair swung sideways as she turned her face up +to scrutinize the tall Bishop. + +He smiled down at her. "Only thirty years different. I'm fifty, +Eleanor." + +"Oh!" said Eleanor, trying to grasp the problem. Then with a sigh she +gave it up, and threw herself on the strength of maturity. "Is fifty +older'n twenty?" she asked. + +More than once as they went side by side on the narrow foot-path across +the field the Bishop put out his hand to hold the little brown one near +it, but each time the child floated from his touch, and he smiled at the +unconscious dignity, the womanly reserve of the frank and friendly +little lady. "Thus far and no farther," he thought, with the quick +perception of character that was part of his power. But the Bishop was +as unconscious as the child of his own charm, of the magnetism in him +that drew hearts his way. Only once had it ever failed, and that was the +only time he had cared. But this time it was working fast as they walked +and talked together quietly, and when they reached the open door that +led from the fields into the little robing-room of Saint Peter's, +Eleanor had met her Waterloo. Being six, it was easy to say so, and she +did it with directness, yet without at all losing the dignity that was +breeding, that had come to her from generations, and that she knew of as +little as she knew the names of her bones. Three steps led to the +robing-room, and Eleanor flew to the top and turned, the childish figure +in its worn pink cotton dress facing the tall powerful one in sober +black broadcloth. + +"I love you," she said. "I'll kiss you," and the long, strong little +arms were around his neck, and it seemed to the Bishop as if a kiss that +had never been given came to him now from the lips of the child of the +woman he had loved. As he put her down gently, from the belfry above +tolled suddenly a sweet, rolling note for service. + +When the Bishop came out from church the "peace that passeth +understanding" was over him. The beautiful old words that to churchmen +are dear as their mothers' faces, haunting as the voices that make home, +held him yet in the last echo of their music. Peace seemed, too, to lie +across the world, worn with the day's heat, where the shadows were +stretching in lengthening, cooling lines. And there at the vestry step, +where Eleanor had stood an hour before, was Dick Fielding, waiting for +him, with as unhappy a face as an eldest scion, the heir to millions, +well loved, and well brought up, and wonderfully unspoiled, ever carried +about a country-side. The Bishop was staying at the Fieldings'. He +nodded and swung past Dick, with a look from the tail of his eye that +said: "Come along." Dick came, and silently the two turned into the path +of the fields. The scowl on Dick's dark face deepened as they walked, +and that was all there was by way of conversation for some time. +Finally: + +"You don't know about it, do you, Bishop?" he asked. + +"A very little, my boy," the Bishop answered. + +Dick was on the defensive in a moment. "My father told you--you agree +with him?" + +"Your father has told me nothing. I only came last night, remember. I +know that you made Madge cry, and that Eleanor wasn't allowed to punish +you." + +The boyish face cleared a little, and he laughed. "That little rat! Has +she been talking? It's all right if it's only to you, but Madge will +have to cork her up." Then anxiety and unhappiness seized Dick's buoyant +soul again. "Bishop, let me talk to you, will you please? I'm knocked up +about this, for there's never been trouble between my father and me +before, and I can't give in. I know I'm right--I'd be a cad to give in, +and I wouldn't if I could. If you would only see your way to talking to +the governor, Bishop! He'll listen to you when he'd throw any other chap +out of the house." + +"Tell me the whole story if you can, Dick, I don't understand, you see." + +"I suppose it will sound rather commonplace to you," said Dick, humbly, +"but it means everything to me. I--I'm engaged to Madge Preston. I've +known her for a year, and been engaged half of it, and I ought to know +my own mind by now. But father has simply set his forefeet and won't +hear of it. Won't even let me talk to him about it." + +Dick's hands went into his pockets and his head drooped, and his big +figure lagged pathetically. The Bishop put his hand on the young man's +shoulder, and left it there as they walked slowly on, but he said +nothing. + +"It's her father, you know," Dick went on. "Such rot, to hold a girl +responsible for her ancestors! Isn't it rot, now? Father says they're a +bad stock, dissipated and arrogant and spendthrift and shiftless and +weak--oh, and a lot more! He's not stingy with his adjectives, bless +you! Picture to yourself Madge being dissipated and arrogant and--have +you seen Madge?" he interrupted himself. + +The Bishop shook his head. "Eleanor made an attempt on my life with a +string across the path, to-day. We were friends over that." + +"She's a winning little rat," said Dick, smiling absent-mindedly, "but +nothing to Madge. You'll understand when you see Madge how I couldn't +give her up. And it isn't so much that--my feeling for her--though +that's enough in all conscience, but picture to yourself, if you please, +a man going to a girl and saying: 'I'm obliged to give you up, because +my father threatens to disinherit me and kick me out of the business. He +objects because your father's a poor lot.' That's a nice line of conduct +to map out for your only son. Yet that's practically what my father +wishes me to do. But he's brought me up a gentleman, by George," said +Dick straightening himself, "and it's too late to ask me to be a beastly +cad. Besides that," and voice and figure drooped to despondency again, +"I just can't give her up." + +The Bishop's keen eyes were on the troubled face, and in their depths +lurked a kindly shade of amusement. He could see stubborn old Dick +Fielding in stubborn young Dick Fielding so plainly. Dick the elder had +been his friend for forty years. But he said nothing. It was better to +let the boy talk himself out a bit. In a moment Dick began again. + +"Can't see why the governor's so keen against Colonel Preston, anyway. +He's lost his money and made a mess of his life, and I rather fancy he +drinks too much. But he's the sort of man you can't help being proud +of--bad clothes and vices and all--handsome and charming and +thorough-bred--and father must know it. His children love him--he can't +be such a brute as the governor says. Anyway, I don't want to marry the +Colonel--what's the use of rowing about the Colonel?" inquired Dick, +desperately. + +The Bishop asked a question now: "How many children are there?" + +"Only Madge and Eleanor. They're here with their cousins, the Vails, +summers. Two or three died between those two, I believe. Lucky, perhaps, +for the family has been awfully hard up. Lived on in their big old +place, in Maryland, with no money at all. I've an idea Madge's mother +wasn't so sorry to die--had a hard life of it with the fascinating +Colonel." The Bishop's hand dropped from the boy's shoulder, and shut +tightly. "But that has nothing to do with my marrying Madge," Dick went +on. + +"No," said the Bishop, shortly. + +"And you see," said Dick, slipping to another tangent, "it's not the +money I'm keenest about, though of course I want that too, but it's +father. You believe I think more of my father than of his money, don't +you? We've been good friends all my life, and he's such a crackerjack +old fellow. I'd hate to get along without him." Dick sighed, from his +boots up--almost six feet. "Couldn't you give him a dressing down, +Bishop? Make him see reason?" He looked anxiously up the three inches +that the Bishop towered above him. + +At ten o'clock the next morning Richard Fielding, owner of the great +Fielding Foundries, strolled out on his wide piazza, which, luxurious in +deep wicker chairs and Japanese rugs and light, cool furniture, looked +under scarlet and white awnings, across long boxes of geraniums and +vines, out to the sparkling Atlantic. The Bishop, a friendly light +coming into his thoughtful eyes, took his cigar from his lips and +glanced up at his friend. Mr. Fielding kicked a hassock aside, moved a +table between them, and settled himself in another chair, and with the +scratch of a match, but without a word spoken, they entered into the +companionship which had been a life-long joy to both. + +"Father and the Bishop are having a song and dance without words," Dick +was pleased sometimes to say, and felt that he hit it off. The breeze +carried the scent of the tobacco in intermittent waves of fragrance, and +on the air floated delicately that subtle message of peace, prosperity, +and leisure which is part of the mission of a good cigar. The +pleasantness of the wide, cool piazza, with its flowers and vines and +gay awnings; the charm of the summer morning, not yet dulled by wear and +tear of the day; the steady, deliberate dash of the waves on the beach +below; the play and shimmer of the big, quiet water, stretching out to +the edge of the world; all this filled their minds, rested their souls. +There was no need for words. The Bishop sighed comfortably as he pushed +his great shoulders back against the cool wicker of the chair and swung +one long leg across the other. Fielding, chin up and lips rounded to let +out a cloud of smoke, rested his hand, cigar between the fingers, on the +table, and gazed at him satisfied. This was the man, after Dick, dearest +to him in the world. Into which peaceful Eden stole at this point the +serpent, and, as is usual, in the shape of woman. Little Eleanor, +long-legged, slim, fresh as a flower in her crisp, faded pink dress, +came around the corner. In one hot hand she carried, by their heads, a +bunch of lilac and pink and white sweet peas. It cost her no trouble at +all, and about half a minute of time, to charge the atmosphere, so full +of sweet peace and rest, with a saturated solution of bitterness and +disquiet. Her presence alone was a bombshell, and with a sentence or two +in her clear, innocent voice, the fell deed was done. Fielding stopped +smoking, his cigar in mid-air, and stared with a scowl at the child; but +Eleanor, delighted to have found the Bishop, saw only him. A shower of +crushed blossoms fell over his knees. + +"I ran away from Aunt Basha. I brought you a posy for 'Good-mornin','" +she said. The Bishop, collecting the plunder, expressed gratitude. "Dick +picked a whole lot for Madge, and then they went walkin' and forgot 'em. +Isn't Dick funny?" she went on. + +Mr. Fielding looked as if Dick's drollness did not appeal to him, but +the Bishop laughed, and put his arm around her. + +"Will you give me a kiss, too, for 'Good-morning,'" he said; and then, +"That's better than the flowers. You had better run back to Aunt Basha +now, Eleanor--she'll be frightened." + +Eleanor looked disappointed, "I wanted to ask you 'bout what dead +chickens gets to be, if they're good. Pups? Do you reckon it's pups?" + +The theory of transmigration of souls had taken strong hold. Mr. +Fielding lost his scowl in a look of bewilderment, and the Bishop +frankly shouted out a big laugh. + +"Listen, Eleanor. This afternoon I'll come for you to walk, and we'll +talk that all over. Go home now, my lamb." And Eleanor, like a pale-pink +over-sized butterfly, went. + +"Do you know that child, Jim?" Mr. Fielding asked, grimly. + +"Yes," answered the Bishop, with a serene pull at his cigar. + +"Do you know she's the child of that good-for-nothing Fairfax Preston, +who married Eleanor Gray against her people's will and took her South +to--to--starve, practically?" + +The Bishop drew a long breath, and then he turned and looked at his old +friend with a clear, wide gaze. "She's Eleanor Gray's child, too, Dick," +he said. + +Mr. Fielding was silent a moment. "Has the boy talked to you?" he asked. +The Bishop nodded. "It's the worst trouble I've ever had. It would kill +me to see him marry that man's daughter. I can't and won't resign myself +to it. Why should I? Why should Dick choose, out of all the world, the +one girl in it who would be insufferable to me. I can't give in about +this. Much as Dick is to me I'll let him go sooner. I hope you'll see +I'm right, Jim, but right or wrong, I've made up my mind." + +The Bishop stretched a large, bony hand across the little table that +stood between them. Fielding's fell on it. Both men smoked silently for +a minute. + +"Have you anything against the girl, Dick?" asked the Bishop, presently. + +"That she's her father's daughter--it's enough. The bad blood of +generations is in her. I don't like the South--I don't like +Southerners. And I detest beyond words Fairfax Preston. But the girl is +certainly beautiful, and they say she is a good girl, too," he +acknowledged, gloomily. + +"Then I think you're wrong," said the Bishop. + +"You don't understand, Jim," Fielding took it up passionately. "That man +has been the _bête noir_ of my life. He has gotten in my way +half-a-dozen times deliberately, in business affairs, little as he +amounts to himself. Only two years ago--but that isn't the point after +all." He stopped gloomily. "You'll wonder at me, but it's an older feud +than that. I've never told anyone, but I want you to understand, Jim, +how impossible this affair is." He bit off the end of a fresh cigar, +lighted it and then threw it across the geraniums into the grass. "I +wanted to marry her mother," he said, brusquely. "That man got her. Of +course, I could have forgiven that, but it was the way he did it. He +lied to her--he threw it in my teeth that I had failed. Can't you see +how I shall never forgive him--never, while I live!" The intensity of a +life-long, silent hatred trembled in his voice. + +"It's the very thing it's your business to do, Dick," said the Bishop, +quietly. "'Love your enemies, bless them that curse you'--what do you +think that means? It's your very case. It may be the hardest thing in +the world, but it's the simplest, most obvious." He drew a long puff at +his cigar, and looked over the flowers to the ocean. + +"Simple! Obvious!" Fielding's voice was full of bitterness. "That's the +way with you churchmen! You live outside passions and temptations, and +then preach against them, with no faintest notion of their force. It +sounds easy, doesn't it? Simple and obvious, as you say. You never loved +Eleanor Gray, Jim; you never had to give her up to a man you knew +beneath her; you never had to shut murder out of your heart when you +heard that he'd given her a hard life and a glad death. Eleanor Gray! Do +you remember how lovely she was, how high-spirited and full of the joy +of life?" The Bishop's great figure was still as if the breath in it had +stopped, but Fielding, carried on the flood of his own rushing feeling, +did not notice. "Do you remember, Jim?" he repeated. + +"I remember," the Bishop said, and his voice sounded very quiet. + +"Jove! How calm you are!" exploded the other. + +"You're a churchman; you live behind a wall, you hear voices through it, +but you can't be in the fight--it's easy for you." + +"Life isn't easy for anyone, Dick," said the Bishop, slowly. "You know +that. I'm fighting the current as well as you. You are a churchman as +well as I. If it's my _métier_ to preach against human passion, it's +yours to resist it. You're letting this man you hate mould your +character; you're letting him burn the kindness out of your soul. He's +making you bitter and hard and unjust--and you're letting him. I thought +you had more will--more poise. It isn't your affair what he is, even +what he does, Dick--it's your affair to keep your own judgment unwarped, +your own heart gentle, your own soul untainted by the poison of hatred. +We are both churchmen, as you put it--loyalty is for us both. You live +your sermon--I say mine. I have said it. Now live yours. Put this +wormwood away from you. Forgive Preston, as you need forgiveness at +higher hands. Don't break the girl's heart, and spoil your boy's +life--it may spoil it--the leaven of bitterness works long. You're at a +parting of the ways--take the right turn. Do good and not evil with your +strength; all the rest is nothing. After all the years there is just one +thing that counts, and that our mothers told us when we were little +chaps together--be good, Dick." + +The magnetic voice, that had swayed thousands, the indescribable trick +of inflection that caught the heart-strings, the pure, high personality +that shone through look and tone, had never, in all his brilliant +career, been more full of power than for this audience of one. Fielding +got up, trembling, and stood before him. + +"Jim," he said, "whatever else is so, you are that--you are a good man. +The trouble is you want me to be as good as you are; and I can't. If you +had had temptations like mine, trials like mine, I might try to follow +you--I would try. But you haven't--you're an impossible model for me. +You want me to be an angel of light, and I'm only--a man." He turned +and went into the house. + +The oldest inhabitant had not seen a devotion like the Bishop's and +Eleanor's. There was in it no condescension on one side, no strain on +the other. The soul that through fulness of life and sorrow and +happiness and effort had reached at last a child's peace met as its like +the little child's soul, that had known neither life nor sorrow nor +conscious happiness, and was without effort as a lily of the field. It +may be that the wisdom of babyhood and the wisdom of age will look very +alike to us when we have the wisdom of eternity. And as all the colors +of the spectrum make sunlight, so all his splendid powers that patient +years had made perfect shone through the Bishop's character in the white +light of simplicity. No one knew what they talked about, the child and +the man, on the long walks that they took together almost every day, +except from Eleanor's conversation after. Transmigration, done into the +vernacular, and applied with startling directness, was evidently a +fascinating subject from the first. She brought back as well a vivid +and epigrammatic version of the nebular hypothesis. + +"Did you hear 'bout what the world did?" she demanded, casually, at the +lunch-table. "We were all hot, nasty steam, just like a tea-kettle, and +we cooled off into water, sailin' around so much, and then we got crusts +on us, bless de Lawd, and then, sir, we kept on gettin' solid, and +circus animals grewed all over us, and then they died, and thank God for +that, and Adam and Evenin' camed, and Madge _can't_ I have some more +gingerbread? I'd just as soon be a little sick if you'll let me have +it." + +The "fairyland of science and the long results of time," passing from +the Bishop's hands into the child's, were turned into such graphic +tales, for Eleanor, with all her airy charm, struck straight from the +shoulder. Never was there a sense of superiority on the Bishop's side, +or of being lectured on Eleanor's. + +"Why do you like to walk with the Bishop?" Mrs. Vail asked, curiously. + +"Because he hasn't any morals," said the little girl, fresh from a +Sunday-school lesson. + +Saturday night Mr. Fielding stayed late in the city, and Dick was with +his lady-love at the Vails; so the Bishop, after dining alone, went down +on the wide beach below the house and walked, as he smoked his cigar. +Through the week he had been restless under the constant prick of a duty +undone, which he could not make up his mind to do. Over and over he +heard his friend's agitated voice. "If you had had temptations like +mine, trials like mine, I would try to follow you," it said. He knew +that the man would be good as his word. He could perhaps win Dick's +happiness for him if he would pick up the gauntlet of that speech. If he +could bring himself to tell Fielding the whole story that he had shut so +long ago into silence--that he, too, had cared for Eleanor Gray, and had +given her up in a harder way than the other, for the Bishop had made it +possible that the Southerner should marry her. But it was like tearing +his soul to do it. No one but his mother, who was dead, had known this +one secret of a life like crystal. The Bishop's reticence was the +intense sort, that often goes with a frank exterior, and he had never +cared for another woman. Some men's hearts are open pleasure-grounds, +where all the world may come and go, and the earth is dusty with many +feet; and some are like theatres, shut perhaps to the world in general, +but which a passport of beauty or charm may always open; and with many, +of finer clay, there are but two or three ways into a guarded temple, +and only the touchstone of quality may let pass the lightest foot upon +the carefully tended sod. But now and then a heart is Holy of Holies. +Long ago the Bishop, lifting a young face from the books that absorbed +him, had seen a girl's figure filling the narrow doorway, and dazzled by +the radiance of it, had placed that image on the lonely altar, where the +flame waited, before unconsecrated. Then the girl had gone, and he had +quietly shut the door and lived his life outside. But the sealed place +was there, and the fire burned before the old picture. Why should he, +for Dick Fielding, for any one, let the light of day upon that +stillness? The one thing in life that was his own, and all these years +he had kept it sacred--why should he? Fiercely, with the old animal +jealousy of ownership, he guarded for himself that memory--what was +there on earth that could make him share it? And in answer there rose +before him the vision of Madge Preston, with a haunting air of her +mother about her; of young Dick Fielding, almost his own child from +babyhood, his honest soul torn between two duties; of old Dick Fielding, +loyal and kind and obstinate, his stubborn feet, the feet that had +walked near his for forty years, needing only a touch to turn them into +the right path. + +Back and forth the thoughts buffeted each other, and the Bishop sighed, +and threw away his cigar, and then stopped and stared out at the +darkening, great ocean. The steady rush and pause and low wash of +retreat did not calm him to-night. + +"I'd like to turn it off for five minutes. It's so eternally right," he +said aloud and began to walk restlessly again. + +Behind him came light steps, but he did not hear them on the soft sand, +in the noise of a breaking wave. A small, firm hand slipped into his was +the first that he knew of another presence, and he did not need to look +down at the bright head to know it was Eleanor, and the touch thrilled +him in his loneliness. Neither spoke, but swung on across the sand, side +by side, the child springing easily to keep pace with his great step. +Beside the gift of English, Eleanor had its comrade gift of excellent +silence. Those who are born to know rightly the charm and the power and +the value of words, know as well the value of the rests in the music. +Little Eleanor, her nervous fingers clutched around the Bishop's big +thumb, was pouring strength and comfort into him, and such an instinct +kept her quiet. + +So they walked for a long half-hour, the Bishop fighting out his battle, +sometimes stopping, sometimes talking aloud to himself, but Eleanor, +through it all, not speaking. Once or twice he felt her face laid +against his hand, and her hair that brushed his wrist, and the savage +selfishness of reserve slowly dissolved in the warmth of that light +touch and the steady current of gentleness it diffused through him. +Clearly and more clearly he saw his way and, as always happens, as he +came near to the mountain, the mountain grew lower. "Over the Alps lies +Italy." Why should he count the height when the Italy of Dick's +happiness and Fielding's duty done lay beyond? The clean-handed, +light-hearted disregard of self that had been his habit of mind always +came flooding back like sunshine as he felt his decision made. After +all, doing a duty lies almost entirely in deciding to do it. He stooped +and picked Eleanor up in his arms. + +"Isn't the baby sleepy? We've settled it together--it's all right now, +Eleanor. I'll carry you back to Aunt Basha." + +"Is it all right now?" asked Eleanor, drowsily. "No, I'll walk," kicking +herself downward. "But you come wiv me." And the Bishop escorted his +lady-love to her castle, where the warden, Aunt Basha, was for this half +hour making night vocal with lamentations for the runaway. + +"Po' lil lamb!" said Aunt Basha, with an undisguised scowl at the +Bishop. "Seems like some folks dunno nuff to know a baby's bedtime. +Seems like de Lawd's anointed wuz in po' business, ti'in' out chillens!" + +"I'm sorry, Aunt Basha," said the Bishop, humbly. "I'll bring her back +earlier again. I forgot all about the time." + +"Huh!" was all the response that Aunt Basha vouchsafed, and the Bishop, +feeling himself hopelessly in the wrong, withdrew in discreet silence. + +Luncheon was over the next day and the two men were quietly smoking +together in the hot, drowsy quiet of the July mid-afternoon before the +Bishop found a chance to speak to Fielding alone. There was an hour and +a half before service, and this was the time to say his say, and he +gathered himself for it, when suddenly the tongue of the ready speaker, +the _savoir faire_ of the finished man of the world, the mastery of +situations which had always come as easily as his breath, all failed him +at once. + +"Dick," he stammered, "there is something I want to tell you," and he +turned on his friend a face which astounded him. + +"What on earth is it? You look as if you'd been caught stealing a hat," +he responded, encouragingly. + +The Bishop felt his heart thumping as that healthy organ had not +thumped for years. "I feel a bit that way," he gasped. "You remember +what we were talking of the other day?" + +"The other day--talking--" Fielding looked bewildered. Then his face +darkened. "You mean Dick--the affair with that girl." His voice was at +once hard and unresponsive. "What about it?" + +"Not at all," said the Bishop, complainingly. "Don't misunderstand like +that, Dick--it's so much harder." + +"Oh!" and Fielding's look cleared. "Well, what is it then, old man? Out +with it--want a check for a mission? Surely you don't hesitate to tell +me that! Whatever I have is yours, too--you know it." + +The Bishop looked deeply disgusted. "Muddlehead!" was his unexpected +answer, and Fielding, serene in the consciousness of generosity and good +feeling, looked as if a hose had been turned on him. + +"What the devil!" he said. "Excuse me, Jim, but just tell me what you're +after. I can't make you out." + +"It's most difficult." The Bishop seemed to articulate with trouble. +"It was so long ago, and I've never spoken of it." Fielding, mouth and +eyes wide, watched him as he stumbled on. "There were three of us, you +see--though, of course, you didn't know. Nobody knew. She told my +mother, that was all.--Oh, I'd no idea how difficult this would be," and +the Bishop pushed back his damp hair and gasped again. Suddenly a wave +of color rushed over his face. + +"No one could help it, Dick," he said. "She was so lovely, so exquisite, +so--" + +Fielding rose quickly and put his hand on his friend's forehead, "Jim, +my dear boy," he said gravely, "this heat has been too much for you. Sit +there quietly, while I get some ice. Here, let me loosen your collar," +and he put his fingers on the white clerical tie. + +Then the Bishop rose up in his wrath and shook him off, and his deep +blue eyes flashed fire. + +"Let me alone," he said. "It is inexplicable to me how a man can be so +dense. Haven't I explained to you in the plainest way what I have never +told another soul? Is this the reward I am to have for making the +greatest effort I have made for years?" And after a moment's steady, +indignant glare at the speechless Fielding he turned and strode in angry +majesty through the wide hall doorway. + +When he walked out of the same doorway an hour later, on his way to +service, Fielding sat back in a shadowy corner and let him pass without +a word. He watched critically the broad shoulders and athletic figure as +his friend moved down the narrow walk--a body carefully trained to hold +well and easily the trained mind within. But the careless energy that +was used to radiate from the great elastic muscles seemed lacking +to-day, and the erect head drooped. Fielding shook his own head as the +Bishop turned the corner and went out of his view. + +"'_Mens sana in corpore sano_,'" he said aloud, and sighed. "He has +worked too hard this summer. I never saw him like that. If he should--" +and he stopped; then he rose, and looked at his watch and slowly +followed the Bishop's steps. + +The little church of Saint Peter's-by-the-Sea was filled even on this +hot July afternoon, to hear the famous Bishop, and in the half-light +that fell through painted windows and lay like a dim violet veil against +the gray walls, the congregation with summer gowns and flowery hats, had +a billowy effect as of a wave tipped everywhere with foam. Fielding, +sitting far back, saw only the white-robed Bishop, and hardly heard the +words he said, through listening for the modulations of his voice. He +was anxious for the man who was dear to him, and the service and its +minister were secondary to-day. But gradually the calm, reverent, +well-known tones reassured him, and he yielded to the pleasure of +letting his thoughts be led, by the voice that stood to him for +goodness, into the spirit of the words that are filled with the beauty +of holiness. At last it was time for the sermon, and the Bishop towered +in the low stone pulpit and turned half away from them all as he raised +one arm high with a quick, sweeping gesture. + +"In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, Amen!" +he said, and was still. + +A shaft of yellow light fell through a memorial window and struck a +golden bar against the white lawn of his surplice, and Fielding, staring +at him with eyes of almost passionate devotion, thought suddenly of Sir +Galahad, and of that "long beam" down which had "slid the Holy Grail." +Surely the flame of that old vigorous Christianity had never burned +higher or steadier. A marvellous life for this day, kept, like the +flower of Knighthood, strong and beautiful and "unspotted from the +world." Fielding sighed as he thought of his own life, full of good +impulses, but crowded with mistakes, with worldliness, with lowered +ideals, with yieldings to temptation. Then, with a pang, he thought +about Dick, about the crisis for him that the next week must bring, and +he heard again the Bishop's steady, uncompromising words as they talked +on the piazza. And on a wave of selfish feeling rushed back the old +excuses. "It is different. It is easy for him to be good. Dick is not +his son. He has never been tempted like other men. He never hated +Fairfax Preston--he never loved Eleanor Gray." And back somewhere in the +dark places of his consciousness began to work a dim thought of his +friend's puzzling words of that day: "No one could help loving her--she +was so lovely--so exquisite!" + +The congregation rustled softly everywhere as the people settled +themselves to listen--they listened always to him. And across the hush +that followed came the Bishop's voice again, tranquilly breaking, not +jarring, the silence. "Not disobedient to the heavenly vision," were the +words he was saying, and Fielding dropped at once the thread of his own +thought to listen. + +He spoke quickly, clearly, in short Anglo-Saxon words--the words that +carry their message straightest to hearts red with Saxon blood--of the +complex nature of every man--how the angel and the demon live in each +and vary through all the shades of good and bad. How yet in each there +is always the possibility of a highest and best that can be true for +that personality only--a dream to be realized of the lovely life, +blooming into its own flower of beauty, that God means each life to be. +In his own rushing words he clothed the simple thought of the charge +that each one has to keep his angel strong, the white wings free for +higher flights that come with growth. + +"The vision," he said, "is born with each of us, and though we lose it +again and again, yet again and again it comes back and beckons, calls, +and the voice thrills us always. And we must follow, or lose the way. +Through ice and flame we must follow. And no one may look across where +another soul moves on a quick, straight path and think that the way is +easier for the other. No one can see if the rocks are not cutting his +friend's feet; no one can know what burning lands he has crossed to +follow, to be so close to his angel, his messenger. Believe always that +every other life has been more tempted, more tried than your own; +believe that the lives higher and better than your own are so not +through more ease, but more effort; that the lives lower than yours are +so through less opportunity, more trial. Believe that your friend with +peace in his heart has won it, not happened on it--that he has fought +your very fight. So the mist will melt from your eyes and you will see +clearer the vision of your life and the way it leads you; selfishness +will fall from your shoulders and you will follow lightly. And at the +end, and along the way you will have the glory of effort, the joy of +fighting and winning, the beauty of the heights where only an ideal can +take you." + +What more he said Fielding did not hear--for him one sentence had been +the final word. The unlaid ghost of the Bishop's puzzling talk an hour +before rose up and from its lips came, as if in full explanation, "He +has fought your very fight." He sat in his shadowy, dark corner of the +cool, little stone church, and while the congregation rose and knelt and +sang and prayed, he was still. Piece by piece he fitted the mosaic of +past and present, and each bit slipped faultlessly into place. There was +no question in his mind now as to the fact, and his manliness and honor +rushed to meet the situation. He had said that where his friend had gone +he would go. If it was down the road of renunciation of a life-long +enmity, he would not break his word. Complex problems resolve themselves +at the point of action into such simple axioms. Dick should have a +blessing and his sweetheart; he would do his best for Fairfax Preston; +with his might he would keep his word. A great sigh and a wrench at his +heart as if a physical growth of years were tearing away, and the +decision was made. Then, in a mist of pain and effort, and a surprised +new freedom from the accustomed pang of hatred, he heard the rustle and +movement of a kneeling congregation, and, as he looked, the Bishop +raised his arms. Fielding bent his gray head quickly in his hands, and +over it, laden with "peace" and "the blessing of God Almighty," as if a +general commended his soldier on the field of battle, swept the solemn +words of the benediction. + +Peace touched the earth on the blue and white September day when Madge +and Dick were married. Pearly piled-up clouds, white "herded elephants," +lay still against a sparkling sky, and the air was alive like cool wine, +and breathing warm breaths of sunlight. No wedding was ever gayer or +prettier, from the moment when the smiling holiday crowd in little Saint +Peter's caught their breath at the first notes of "Lohengrin" and +turned to see Eleanor, white-clad and solemn, and impressed with +responsibility, lead the procession slowly up the aisle, her eyes raised +to the Bishop's calm face in the chancel, to the moment when, in showers +of rice and laughter and slippers, the Fielding carriage dashed down the +driveway, and Dick, leaning out, caught for a last picture of his +wedding-day, standing apart from the bright colors grouped on the lawn, +the black and white of the Bishop and Eleanor, gazing after them, hand +in hand. + +Bit by bit the brilliant kaleidoscopic effect fell apart and resolved +itself into light groups against the dark foliage or flashing masses of +carriages and people and horses, and then even the blurs on the distance +were gone, and the place was still and the wedding was over. The long +afternoon was before them, with its restless emptiness, as if the bride +and groom had taken all the reason for life with them. + +There were bridesmaids and ushers staying at the Fieldings'. The +graceful girl who poured out the Bishop's tea on the piazza, some hours +later, and brought it to him with her own hands, stared a little at his +face for a moment. + +"You look tired, Bishop. Is it hard work marrying people? But you must +be used to it after all these years," and her blue eyes fell gently on +his gray hair. "So many love-stories you have finished--so many, many!" +she went on, and then quite softly, "and yet never to have a love-story +of your own!" + +At this instant Eleanor, lolling on the arm of his chair, slipped over +on his knee and burrowed against his coat a big pink bow that tied her +hair. The Bishop's arm tightened around the warm, alive lump of white +muslin, and he lifted his face, where lines showed plainly to-day, with +a smile like sunshine. + +"You are wrong, my daughter. They never finish--they only begin here. +And my love-story"--he hesitated and his big fingers spread over the +child's head, "It is all written in Eleanor's eyes." + +"I hope when mine comes I shall have the luck to hear anything half as +pretty as that. I envy Eleanor," said the graceful bridesmaid as she +took the tea-cup again, but the Bishop did not hear her. + +[Illustration: "Many waters shall not wash out this love," said Eleanor] + +He had turned toward the sea and his eyes wandered out across the +geraniums where the shadow of a sun-filled cloud lay over uncounted +acres of unhurried waves. His face was against the little girl's bright +head, and he said something softly to himself, and the child turned her +face quickly and smiled at him and repeated the words: + +"Many waters shall not wash out love," said Eleanor. + + + + +THE WITNESSES + + +The old clergyman sighed and closed the volume of "Browne on The +Thirty-nine Articles," and pushed it from him on the table. He could not +tell what the words meant; he could not keep his mind tense enough to +follow an argument of three sentences. It must be that he was very +tired. He looked into the fire, which was burning badly, and about the +bare, little, dusty study, and realized suddenly that he was tired all +the way through, body and soul. And swiftly, by way of the leak which +that admission made in the sea-wall of his courage, rushed in an ocean +of depression. It had been a hard, bad day. Two people had given up +their pews in the little church which needed so urgently every ounce of +support that held it. And the junior warden, the one rich man of the +parish, had come in before service in the afternoon to complain of the +music. If that knife-edged soprano did not go, he said, he was afraid he +should have to go himself; it was impossible to have his nerves scraped +to the raw every Sunday. + +The old clergyman knew very little about music, but he remembered that +his ear had been uncomfortably jarred by sounds from the choir, and that +he had turned once and looked at them, and wondered if some one had made +a mistake, and who it was. It must be, then, that dear Miss Barlow, who +had sung so faithfully in St. John's for twenty-five years, was perhaps +growing old. But how could he tell her so; how could he deal such a blow +to her kind heart, her simple pride and interest in her work? He was +growing old, too. + +His sensitive mouth carved downward as he stared into the smoldering +fire, and let himself, for this one time out of many times he had +resisted, face the facts. It was not Miss Barlow and the poor music; it +was not that the church was badly heated, as one of the ex-pewholders +had said, nor that it was badly situated, as another had claimed; it was +something of deeper, wider significance, a broken foundation, that made +the ugly, widening crack all through the height of the tower. It was +his own inefficiency. The church was going steadily down, and he was +powerless to lift it. His old enthusiasm, devotion, confidence--what had +become of them? They seemed to have slipped by slow degrees, through the +unsuccessful years, out of his soul, and in their place was a dull +distrust of himself; almost--God forgive him--distrust in God's +kindness. He had worked with his might all the years of his life, and +what he had to show for it was a poor, lukewarm parish, a diminished +congregation, debt--to put it in one dreadful word, failure! + +[Illustration: He stared into the smoldering fire.] + +By the pitiless searchlight of hopelessness, he saw himself for the +first time as he was--surely devoted and sincere, but narrow, limited, a +man lacking outward expression of inward and spiritual grace. He had +never had the gift to win hearts. That had not troubled him much, +earlier, but lately he had longed for a little appreciation, a little +human love, some sign that he had not worked always in vain. He +remembered the few times that people had stopped after service to praise +his sermons, and to-night he remembered not so much the glow at his +heart that the kind words had brought, as the fact that those times had +been very few. He did not preach good sermons; he faced that now, +unflinchingly. He was not broad minded; new thoughts were unattractive, +hard for him to assimilate; he had championed always theories that were +going out of fashion, and the half-consciousness of it put him ever on +the defensive; when most he wished to be gentle, there was something in +his manner which antagonized. As he looked back over his colorless, +conscientious past, it seemed to him that his life was a failure. The +souls he had reached, the work he had done with such infinite effort--it +might all have been done better and easily by another man. He would not +begrudge his strength and his years burned freely in the sacred fire, if +he might know that the flame had shone even faintly in dark places, that +the heat had warmed but a little the hearts of men. But--he smiled +grimly at the logs in front of him, in the small, cheap, black marble +fireplace--his influence was much like that, he thought, cold, dull, +ugly with uncertain smoke. He, who was not worthy, had dared to +consecrate himself to a high service, and it was his reasonable +punishment that his life had been useless. + +Like a stab came back the thought of the junior warden, of the two more +empty pews, and then the thought, in irresistible self-pity, of how hard +he had tried, how well he had meant, how much he had given up, and he +felt his eyes filling with a man's painful, bitter tears. There had been +so little beauty, reward, in his whole past. Once, thirty years before, +he had gone abroad for six weeks, and he remembered the trip with a +thrill of wonder that anything so lovely could have come into his sombre +life--the voyage, the bit of travel, the new countries, the old cities, +the expansion, broadening of mind he had felt for a time as its result. +More than all, the delight of the people whom he had met, the unused +experience of being understood at once, of light touch and easy +flexibility, possible, as he had not known before, with good and serious +qualities. One man, above all, he had never forgotten. It had been a +pleasant memory always to have known him, to have been friends with him +even, for he had felt to his own surprise and joy that something in him +attracted this man of men. He had followed the other's career, a career +full of success unabused, of power grandly used, of responsibility +lifted with a will. He stood over thousands and ruled rightly--a true +prince among men. Somewhat too broad, too free in his thinking--the old +clergyman deplored that fault--yet a man might not be perfect. It was +pleasant to know that this strong and good soul was in the world and was +happy; he had seen him once with his son, and the boy's fine, sensitive +face, his honest eyes, and pretty deference of manner, his pride, too, +in his distinguished father, were surely a guaranty of happiness. The +old man felt a sudden generous gladness that if some lives must be +wasted, yet some might be, like this man's whom he had once known, full +of beauty and service. It would be good if he might add a drop to the +cup of happiness which meant happiness to so many--and then he smiled at +his foolish thought. That he should think of helping that other--a man +of so little importance to help a man of so much! And suddenly again he +felt tears that welled up hotly. + +He put his gray head, with its scanty, carefully brushed hair, back +against the support of the worn armchair, and shut his eyes to keep them +back. He would try not to be cowardly. Then, with the closing of the +soul-windows, mental and physical fatigue brought their own gentle +healing, and in the cold, little study, bare, even, of many books, with +the fire smoldering cheerlessly before him, he fell asleep. + + * * * * * + +A few miles away, in a suburb of the same great city, in a large library +peopled with books, luxurious with pictures and soft-toned rugs and +carved dark furniture, a man sat staring into the fire. The six-foot +logs crackled and roared up the chimney, and the blaze lighted the wide, +dignified room. From the high chimney-piece, that had been the feature +of a great hall in Florence two centuries before, grotesque heads of +black oak looked down with a gaze which seemed weighted with age-old +wisdom and cynicism, at the man's sad face. The glow of the lamp, +shining like a huge gray-green jewel, lighted unobtrusively the generous +sweep of table at his right hand, and on it were books whose presence +meant the thought of a scholar and the broad interests of a man of +affairs. Each detail of the great room, if there had been an observer of +its quiet perfection, had an importance of its own, yet each exquisite +belonging fell swiftly into the dimness of the background of a picture +when one saw the man who was the master. Among a thousand picked men, +his face and figure would have been distinguished. People did not call +him old, for the alertness and force of youth radiated from him, and his +gray eyes were clear and his color fresh, yet the face was lined +heavily, and the thick thatch of hair shone in the firelight silvery +white. Face and figure were full of character and breeding, of life +lived to its utmost, of will, responsibility, success. Yet to-night the +spring of the mechanism seemed broken, and the noble head lay back +against the brown leather of his deep chair as listlessly as a tired +girl's. He watched the dry wood of the fire as it blazed and fell apart +and blazed up brightly again, yet his eyes did not seem to see +it--their absorbed gaze was inward. + +The distant door of the room swung open, but the man did not hear, and, +his head and face clear cut like a cameo against the dark leather, hands +stretched nervelessly along the arms of the chair, eyes gazing gloomily +into the heart of the flame, he was still. A young man, brilliant with +strength, yet with a worn air about him, and deep circles under his +eyes, stood inside the room and looked at him a long minute--those two +in the silence. The fire crackled cheerfully and the old man sighed. + +"Father!" said the young man by the door. + +In a second the whole pose changed, and he sat intense, staring, while +the son came toward him and stood across the rug, against the dark wood +of the Florentine fireplace, a picture of young manhood which any father +would he proud to own. + +"Of course, I don't know if you want me, father," he said, "but I've +come to tell you that I'll be a good boy, if you do." + +The gentle, half-joking manner was very winning, and the play of his +words was trembling with earnest. The older man's face shone as if lamps +were lighted behind his eyes. + +"If I want you, Ted!" he said, and held out his hand. + +With a quick step forward the lad caught it, and then, with quick +impulsiveness, as if his childhood came back to him on the flood of +feeling unashamed, bent down and kissed him. As he stood erect again he +laughed a little, but the muscles of his face were working, and there +were tears in his eyes. With a swift movement he had drawn a chair, and +the two sat quiet a moment, looking at each other in deep and silent +content to be there so, together. + +"Yesterday I thought I'd never see you again this way," said the boy; +and his father only smiled at him, satisfied as yet without words. The +son went on, his eager, stirred feelings crowding to his lips. "There +isn't any question great enough, there isn't any quarrel big enough, to +keep us apart, I think, father. I found that out this afternoon. When a +chap has a father like you, who has given him a childhood and a youth +like mine--" The young voice stopped, trembling. In a moment he had +mastered himself. "I'll probably never be able to talk to you like this +again, so I want to say it all now. I want to say that I know, beyond +doubt, that you would never decide anything, as I would, on impulse, or +prejudice, or from any motives but the highest. I know how well-balanced +you are, and how firmly your reason holds your feelings. So it's a +question between your judgment and mine--and I'm going to trust yours. +You may know me better than I know myself, and anyway you're more to me +than any career, though I did think--but we won't discuss it again. It +would have been a tremendous risk, of course, and it shall be as you +say. I found out this afternoon how much of my life you were," he +repeated. + +The older man kept his eyes fixed on the dark, sensitive, glowing young +face, as if they were thirsty for the sight. "What do you mean by +finding it out this afternoon, Ted? Did anything happen to you?" + +The young fellow turned his eyes, that were still a bit wet with the +tears, to his father's face, and they shone like brown stars. "It was a +queer thing," he said, earnestly, "It was the sort of thing you read in +stories--almost like," he hesitated, "like Providence, you know. I'll +tell you about it; see if you don't think so. Two days ago, when I--when +I left you, father--I caught a train to the city and went straight to +the club, from habit, I suppose, and because I was too dazed and +wretched to think. Of course, I found a grist of men there, and they +wouldn't let me go. I told them I was ill, but they laughed at me. I +don't remember just what I did, for I was in a bad dream, but I was +about with them, and more men I knew kept turning up--I couldn't seem to +escape my friends. Even if I stayed in my room, they hunted me up. So +this morning I shifted to the Oriental, and shut myself up in my room +there, and tried to think and plan. But I felt pretty rotten, and I +couldn't see daylight, so I went down to lunch, and who should be at the +next table but the Dangerfields, the whole outfit, just back from +England and bursting with cheerfulness! They made me lunch with them, +and it was ghastly to rattle along feeling as I did, but I got away as +soon us I decently could--rather sooner, I think--and went for a walk, +hoping the air would clear my head. I tramped miles--oh, a long time, +but it seemed not to do any good; I felt deadlier and more hopeless than +ever--I haven't been very comfortable fighting you," he stopped a +minute, and his tired face turned to his father's with a smile of very +winning gentleness. + +The father tried to speak, but, his voice caught harshly. Then, "We'll +make it up, Ted," he said, and laid his hand on the boy's shoulder. + +The young fellow, as if that touch had silenced him, gazed into the fire +thoughtfully, and the big room was very still for a long minute. Then he +looked up brightly. + +"I want to tell you the rest. I came back from my tramp by the river +drive, and suddenly I saw Griswold on his horse trotting up the +bridle-path toward me. I drew the line at seeing any more men, and +Griswold is the worst of the lot for wanting to do things, so I turned +into a side-street and ran. I had an idea he had seen me, so when I +came to a little church with the doors open, in the first half-block, I +shot in. Being Lent, you know, there was service going on, and I dropped +quietly into a seat at the back, and it came to me in a minute, that I +was in fit shape to say my prayers, so--I said 'em. It quieted me a bit, +the old words of the service. They're fine English, of course, and I +think words get a hold on you when they're associated with every turn of +your life. So I felt a little less like a wild beast, by the time the +clergyman began his sermon. He was a pathetic old fellow, thin and +ascetic and sad, with a narrow forehead and a little white hair, and an +underfed look about him. The whole place seemed poor and badly kept. As +he walked across the chancel, he stumbled on a hole in the carpet. I +stared at him, and suddenly it struck me that he must be about your age, +and it was like a knife in me, father, to see him trip. No two men were +ever more of a contrast, but through that very fact he seemed to be +standing there as a living message from you. So when he opened his mouth +to give out his text I fell back as if he had struck me, for the words +he said were, 'I will arise and go to my father.'" + +The boy's tones, in the press and rush of his little story, were +dramatic, swift, and when he brought out its climax, the older man, +though his tense muscles were still, drew a sudden breath, as if he, +too, had felt a blow. But he said nothing, and the eager young voice +went on. + +"The skies might have opened and the Lord's finger pointed at me, and I +couldn't have felt more shocked. The sermon was mostly tommy-rot, you +know--platitudes. You could see that the man wasn't clever--had no +grasp--old-fashioned ideas--didn't seem to have read at all. There was +really nothing in it, and after a few sentences I didn't listen +particularly. But there were two things about it I shall never forget, +never, if I live to a hundred. First, all through, at every tone of his +voice, there was the thought that the brokenhearted look in the eyes of +this man, such a contrast to you in every way possible, might be the +very look in your eyes after a while, if I left you. I think I'm not +vain to know I make a lot of difference to you, father--considering we +two are all alone." There was a questioning inflection, but he smiled, +as if he knew. + +"You make all the difference. You are the foundation of my life. All the +rest counts for nothing beside you." The father's voice was slow and +very quiet. + +"That thought haunted me," went on the young man, a bit unsteadily, "and +the contrast of the old clergyman and you made it seem as if you were +there beside me. It sounds unreasonable, but it was so. I looked at him, +old, poor, unsuccessful, narrow-minded, with hardly even the dignity of +age, and I couldn't help seeing a vision of you, every year of your life +a glory to you, with your splendid mind, and splendid body, and all the +power and honor and luxury that seem a natural background to you. Proud +as I am of you, it seemed cruel, and then it came to my mind like a stab +that perhaps without me, your only son, all of that would--well, what +you said just now. Would count for nothing--that you would be +practically, some day, just a lonely and pathetic old man like that +other." + +The hand on the boy's shoulder stirred a little. "You thought right, +Ted." + +"That was one impression the clergyman's sermon made, and the other was +simply his beautiful goodness. It shone from him at every syllable, +uninspired and uninteresting as they were. You couldn't help knowing +that his soul was white as an angel's. Such sincerity, devotion, purity +as his couldn't be mistaken. As I realized it, it transfigured the whole +place. It made me feel that if that quality--just goodness--could so +glorify all the defects of his look and mind and manner, it must be +worth while, and I would like to have it. So I knew what was right in my +heart--I think you can always know what's right if you want to know--and +I just chucked my pride and my stubbornness into the street, and--and I +caught the 7:35 train." + +The light of renunciation, the exhaustion of wrenching effort, the +trembling triumph of hard-won victory, were in the boy's face, and the +thought, as he looked at it, dear and familiar in every shadow, that he +had never seen spirit shine through clay more transparently. Never in +their lives had the two been as close, never had the son so unveiled his +soul before. And, as he had said, in all probability never would it be +again. To the depth where they stood words could not reach, and again +for minutes, only the friendly undertone of the crackling fire stirred +the silence of the great room. The sound brought steadiness to the two +who sat there, the old hand on the young shoulder yet. After a time, the +older man's low and strong tones, a little uneven, a little hard with +the effort to be commonplace, which is the first readjustment from deep +feeling, seemed to catch the music of the homely accompaniment of the +fire. + +"It is a queer thing, Ted," he said, "but once, when I was not much +older than you, just such an unexpected chance influence made a crisis +in my life. I was crossing to England with the deliberate intention of +doing something which I knew was wrong. I thought it meant happiness, +but I know now it would have meant misery. On the boat was a young +clergyman of about my own age making his first, very likely his only, +trip abroad. I was thrown with him--we sat next each other at table, and +our cabins faced--and something in the man attracted me, a quality such +as you speak of in this other, of pure and uncommon goodness. He was +much the same sort as your old man, I fancy, not particularly winning, +rather narrow, rather limited in brains and in advantages, with a +natural distrust of progress and breadth. We talked together often, and +one day, I saw, by accident, into the depths of his soul, and knew what +he had sacrificed to become a clergyman--it was what meant to him +happiness and advancement in life. It had been a desperate effort, that +was plain, but it was plain, too, that from the moment he saw what he +thought was the right, there had been no hesitation in his mind. And I, +with all my wider mental training, my greater breadth--as I looked at +it--was going, with my eyes open, to do a wrong because I wished to do +it. You and I must be built something alike, Ted, for a touch in the +right spot seems to penetrate to the core of us--the one and the other. +This man's simple and intense flame of right living, right doing, all +unconsciously to himself, burned into me, and all that I had planned to +do seemed scorched in that fire--turned to ashes and bitterness. Of +course it was not so simple as it sounds. I went through a great deal. +But the steady influence for good was beside me through that long +passage--we were two weeks--the stronger because it was unconscious, the +stronger, I think, too, that it rested on no intellectual basis, but was +wholly and purely spiritual--as the confidence of a child might hold a +man to his duty where the arguments of a sophist would have no effect. +As I say, I went through a great deal. My mind was a battle-field for +the powers of good and evil during those two weeks, but the man who was +leading the forces of the right never knew it. The outcome was that as +soon as I landed I took my passage back on the next boat, which sailed +at once. Within a year, within a month almost, I knew that the decision +I made then was a turning-point, that to have done otherwise would have +meant ruin in more than one way. I tremble now to think how close I was +to shipwreck. All that I am, all that I have, I owe more or less +directly to that man's unknown influence. The measure of a life is its +service. Much opportunity for that, much power has been in my hands, and +I have tried to hold it humbly and reverently, remembering that time. I +have thought of myself many times us merely the instrument, fitted to +its special use, of that consecrated soul." + +The voice stopped, and the boy, his wide, shining eyes fixed on his +father's face, drew a long breath. In a moment he spoke, and the father +knew, as well as if he had said it, how little of his feeling he could +put into words. + +"It makes you shiver, doesn't it," he said, "to think what effect you +may be having on people, and never know it? Both you and I, father--our +lives changed, saved--by the influence of two strangers, who hadn't +the least idea what they were doing. It frightens you." + +"I think it makes you know," said the older man, slowly, "that not your +least thought is unimportant; that the radiance of your character shines +for good or evil where you go. Our thoughts, our influences, are like +birds that fly from us as we walk along the road; one by one, we open +our hands and loose them, and they are gone and forgotten, but surely +there will be a day when they will come back on white wings or dark like +a cloud of witnesses--" + +The man stopped, his voice died away softly, and he stared into the +blaze with solemn eyes, as if he saw a vision. The boy, suddenly aware +again of the strong hand on his shoulder, leaned against it lovingly, +and the fire, talking unconcernedly on, was for a long time the only +sound in the warmth and stillness and luxury of the great room which +held two souls at peace. + + * * * * * + +At that hour, with the volume of Browne under his outstretched hand, his +thin gray hair resting against the worn cloth of the chair, in the bare +little study, the old clergyman slept. And as he slept, a wonderful +dream came to him. He thought that he had gone from this familiar, hard +world, and stood, in his old clothes, with his old discouraged soul, in +the light of the infinitely glorious Presence, where he must surely +stand at last. And the question was asked him, wordlessly, solemnly: + +"Child of mine, what have you made of the life given you?" And he looked +down humbly at his shabby self, and answered: + +"Lord, nothing. My life is a failure. I worked all day in God's garden, +and my plants were twisted and my roses never bloomed. For all my +fighting, the weeds grew thicker. I could not learn to make the good +things grow, I tried to work rightly, Lord, my Master, but I must have +done it all wrong." + +And as he stood sorrowful, with no harvest sheaves to offer as witnesses +for his toiling, suddenly back of him he heard a marvellous, many-toned, +soft whirring, as of innumerable light wings, and over his head flew a +countless crowd of silver-white birds, and floated in the air beyond. +And as he gazed, surprised, at their loveliness, without speech again it +was said to him: + +"My child, these are your witnesses. These are the thoughts and the +influences which have gone from your mind to other minds through the +years of your life." And they were all pure white. + +And it was borne in upon him, as if a bandage had been lifted from his +eyes, that character was what mattered in the great end; that success, +riches, environment, intellect, even, were but the tools the master gave +into his servants' hands, and that the honesty of the work was all they +must answer for. And again he lifted his eyes to the hovering white +birds, and with a great thrill of joy it came to him that he had his +offering, too, he had this lovely multitude for a gift to the Master; +and, as if the thought had clothed him with glory, he saw his poor black +clothes suddenly transfigured to shining garments, and, with a shock, he +felt the rush of a long-forgotten feeling, the feeling of youth and +strength, beating in a warm glow through his veins. With a sigh of deep +happiness, the old man awoke. + +A log had fallen, and turning as it fell, the new surface had caught +life from the half-dead ashes, and had blazed up brightly, and the +warmth was penetrating gratefully through him. The old clergyman +smiled, and held his thin hands to the flame as he gazed into the fire, +but the wonder and awe of his dream were in his eyes. + +"My beautiful white birds!" he said, aloud, but softly. "Mine! They were +out of sight, but they were there all the time. Surely the dream was +sent from Heaven--surely the Lord means me to believe that my life has +been of service after all." And as he still gazed, with rapt face, into +his study fire, he whispered: "Angels came and ministered unto him." + + + + +THE DIAMOND BROOCHES + + +The room was filled with signs of breeding and cultivation; it was +bare of the things which mean money. Books were everywhere; family +portraits, gone brown with time, hung on the walls; a tall silver +candlestick gleamed from a corner; there was the tarnished gold of +carved Florentine frames, such as people bring still from Italy. But +the furniture-covering was faded, the carpet had been turned, the +place itself was the small parlor of a cheap apartment, and the +wall-paper was atrocious. The least thoughtful, listening for a moment +to that language which a room speaks of those who live in it, would +have known this at once as the home of well-bred people who were very +poor. + +So quiet it was that it seemed empty. If an observer had stood in the +doorway, it might have been a minute before he saw that a man sat in +front of the fireless hearth with his arms stretched before him on the +table and his head fallen into them. For many minutes there was no +sound, no stir of the man's nerveless pose; it might have been that he +was asleep. Suddenly the characterless silence of the place was flooded +with tragedy, for the man groaned, and a child would have known that the +sound came from a torn soul. He lifted his face--a handsome, high-bred +face, clever, a bit weak,--and tears were wet on his cheeks. He glanced +about as if fearing to be seen as he wiped them away, and at the moment +there was a light bustle, low voices down the hall. The young man sprang +to his feet and stood alert as a step came toward him. He caught a sharp +breath as another man, iron-gray, professional, stood in the doorway. + +"Doctor! You have made the examination--you think--" he flung at the +newcomer, and the other answered with the cool incisive manner of one +whose words weigh. + +"Mr. Newbold," he said, "when you came to my office this morning I told +you my conjectures and my fear. I need not, therefore, go into details +again. I am very sorry to have to say to you--" he stopped, and looked +at the younger man kindly. "I wish I might make it easier, but it is +better that I should tell you that your mother's condition is as I +expected." + +Newbold gave way a step as if under a blow, and his color went gray. The +doctor had seen souls laid bare before, yet he turned his eyes to the +floor as the muscles pulled and strained in this young face. It seemed +minutes that the two faced each other in the loaded silence, the doctor +gazing gravely at the worn carpet, the other struggling for +self-control. At last Newbold spoke, in the harsh tone which often comes +first after great emotion. + +"You mean that there is--no hope?" + +And the doctor, relieved at the loosening of the tension, answered +readily, glad to merge his humanity in his professional capacity: "No, +Mr. Newbold; I do not mean just that. It is this bleak climate, the raw +winds from the lake, which make it impossible for your mother to take +the first step which might lead to recovery. There is, in fact--" he +hesitated. "I may say that there is no hope for her cure while here. But +if she is taken to a warm climate at once--at once--within two +weeks--and kept there until summer, then, although I have not the gift +of prophecy, yet I believe she would be in time a well woman. No +medicine, can do it, but out-of-doors and warmth would do it--probably." + +He put out his hand with a smile. "I am indeed glad that I may temper +judgment with mercy," he said. "Try the south, Mr. Newbold,--try +Bermuda, for instance. The sea air and the warmth there might set your +mother up marvellously." And as the young man stared at him +unresponsively he gave a grasp to the hand he held, and turning, found +his way out alone. He stumbled down the dark steps of the third-rate +apartment-house and into his brougham, and as the rubber tires bowled +him over the asphalt he communed with himself: + +"Queer about those Newbolds. Badly off, of course, to live in that +place, yet they know what it means to call me in. There must be some +money. I wonder if they have enough for a trip, poor souls. Bah! they +must have--everybody has when it comes to life and death. They'll get it +somehow--rich relations and all that. Burr Claflin is their cousin, I +know. David Newbold himself was rich enough five years ago, when he made +that unlucky gamble in stocks--which killed him, they say. Well--life is +certainly hard." And the doctor turned his mind to a new pair of horses +he had been looking at in the afternoon, with a comfortable sense of a +wind-guard or so, at the least, between himself and the gales of +adversity. + +In the little drawing-room, with its cheap paper and its old portraits, +Randolph Newbold faced his sister with the news. He knew her courage, +yet, even in the stress of his feeling, he wondered at it now; he felt +almost a pang of jealousy when he saw her take the blow as he had not +been able to take it. + +"It is a death-sentence," he said, brokenly. "We have not the money to +send her south, and we cannot get it." + +Katherine Newbold's hands clenched. "We will get it," she said. "I don't +know how just now, but we'll get it, Randolph. Mother's life shall not +go for lack of a few hundred dollars. Oh, think--just think--six years +ago it would have meant nothing. We went south every winter, and we +were all well. It is too cruel! But we'll get the money--you'll see." + +"How?" the young man asked, bitterly. "The last jewel went so that we +could have Dr. Renfrew. There's nothing here to sell--nobody would buy +our ancestors," and he looked up mournfully at the painted figures on +the wall. The very thought seemed an indignity to those stately +personalities--the English judge in his wig, the colonial general in his +buff-faced uniform, harbored for a century proudly among their own, now +speculated upon as possible revenue. The girl put up a hand toward them +as if deprecating her brother's words, and his voice went on: "You know +the doctor practically told me this morning. I have had no hope all day, +and all day I have lived in hell. I don't know how I did my work. +To-night, coming home, I walked past Litterny's. The windows were +lighted and filled with a gorgeous lot of stones--there were a dozen big +diamond brooches. I stopped and looked at them, and thought how she used +to wear such things, and how now her life was going for the value of +one of them, and--you may be horrified, Katherine, but this is true: If +I could have broken into that window and snatched some of that stuff, +I'd have done it. Honesty and all I've been brought up to would have +meant nothing--nothing. I'd do it now, in a second, if I could, to get +the money to save my mother. God! The town is swimming in money, and I +can't get a little to keep her alive!" + +The young man's eyes were wild with a passion of helplessness, but his +sister gazed at him calmly, as if considering a question. From a room +beyond came a painful cough, and the girl was on her feet. + +"She is awake; I must go to her. But I shall think--don't be hopeless, +boy--I shall think of a way." And she was gone. + +Worn out with emotion, Randolph Newbold was sleeping a deep sleep that +night. With a start he awoke, staring at a white figure with long, fair +braids. + +"Randolph, it's I--Katherine. Don't be startled." + +"What's the matter? Is she worse?" He lifted himself anxiously, +blinking sleep from his eyes. + +"No--oh no! She's sleeping well. It's just that I have to talk to you, +Randolph. Now. I can't wait till morning--you'll understand when I tell +you. I haven't been asleep at all; I've been thinking. I know now how we +can get the money." + +"Katherine, are you raving?" the brother demanded; but the girl was not +to be turned aside. + +"Listen to me," she said, and in her tone was the authority of the +stronger personality, and the young man listened. She sat on the edge of +his bed and held his hand as she talked, and through their lives neither +might ever forget that midnight council. + + * * * * * + +The room had an air of having come in perfect and luxurious condition, +fur-lined and jewel-clasped, as it were, from the hands of a good +decorator, and of having stopped at that. The great triple lamp glowed +green as if set with gigantic emeralds; and its soft light shone on a +scheme of color full of charm for the eye. The stuffs, the woodwork, +were of a delightful harmony, but it seemed that the books and the +pictures were chosen to match them. The man talking, in the great carved +armchair by the fire, fitted the place. His vigorous, pleasant face +looked prosperous, and so kindly was his air that one might not cavil at +a lack of subtler qualities. He drew a long breath as he brought out the +last words of the story he was telling. + +"And that, Mr. North," he concluded, "is the way the firm of Litterny +Brothers, the leading jewellers of this city, were done yesterday by a +person or persons unknown, to the tune of five thousand dollars." His +eyes turned from the blazing logs to his guest. + +The young man in his clerical dress stood as he listened, with eyes wide +like a child's, fixed on the speaker. He stooped and picked up a poker +and pushed the logs together as he answered. The deliberateness of the +action would not have prepared one for the intensity of his words. "I +never wanted to be a detective before," he said, "but I'd give a good +deal to catch the man who did that. It was such planned rascality, such +keen-witted scoundrelism, that it gives me a fierce desire to show him +up. I'd like to teach the beggar that honesty can be as intelligent as +knavery; that in spite of his strength of cunning, law and right are +stronger. I wish I could catch him," and the brass poker gleamed in a +savage flourish. "I'd have no mercy. The hungry wretch who steals meat, +the ignorant sinner taught to sin from babyhood--I have infinite +patience for such. But this thief spoke like a gentleman, and the maid +said he was 'a pretty young man'--there's no excuse for him. He simply +wanted money that wasn't his,--there's no excuse. It makes my blood boil +to think of a clever rascal like that succeeding in his rascality." With +that the intense manner had dropped from him as a garment, and he was +smiling the gentlest, most whimsical smile at the older man. "You'll +think, Mr. Litterny, that it's the loss of my new parish-house that's +making me so ferocious, but, honestly, I'd forgotten all about it." And +no one who heard him could doubt his sincerity. "I was thinking of the +case from your point of view. As to the parish-house, it's a +disappointment, but of course I know that a large loss like this must +make a difference in a man's expenditures. You have been very good to +St. John's already,--a great many times you have been good to us." + +"It's a disappointment to me as well," Litterny said. "Old St. John's of +Newburyport has been dear to me many years. I was confirmed and married +there--but _you_ know. Everything I could do for it has been a +satisfaction. And I looked forward to giving this parish-house. In +ordinary years a theft of five thousand dollars would not have prevented +me, but there have been complications and large expenses of late, to +which this loss is the last straw. I shall have to postpone the +parish-house,--but it shall be only postponed, Mr. North, only +postponed." + +The young rector answered quietly: "As I said before, Mr. Litterny, you +have been most generous. We are grateful more than I know how to say." +His manner was very winning, and the older man's kind face brightened. + +"The greatest luxury which money brings is to give it away. St. John's +owes its thanks not to me, but to you, Mr. North. I have meant for some +time to put into words my appreciation of your work there. In two years +you have infused more life and earnestness into that sleepy parish than +I thought possible. You've waked them up, put energy into them, and got +it out of them. You've done wonders. It's right you should know that +people think this of you, and that your work is valued." + +"I am glad," Norman North said, and the restraint of the words carried +more than a speech. + +Mr. Litterny went on: "But there's such a thing as overdoing, young man, +and you're shaving the edge of it. You're looking ill--poor color--thin +as a rail. You need a rest." + +"I think I'll go to Bermuda. My senior warden was there last year, and +he says it's a wonderful little place--full of flowers and tennis and +sailing, and blue sea and nice people." He stood up suddenly and +broadened his broad shoulders. "I love the south," he said. "And I love +out-of-doors and using my muscles. It's good to think of whole days +with no responsibility, and with exercise till my arms and legs ache. I +get little exercise, and I miss it. I was on the track team at Yale, you +see, and rather strong at tennis." + +Mr. Litterny smiled, and his smile was full of sympathy. "We try to make +a stained-glass saint out of you," he said, "and all the time you're a +human youngster with a human desire for a good time. A mere lad," he +added, reflectively, and went on: "Go down to Bermuda with a light +heart, my boy, and enjoy yourself,--it will do your church as much good +as you. Play tennis and sail--fall in love if you find the right +girl,--nothing makes a man over like that." North was putting out his +hand. "And remember," Litterny added, "to keep an eye out for my thief. +You're retained as assistant detective in the case." + + * * * * * + +On a bright, windy morning a steamship wound its careful way through the +twisted water-road of Hamilton Harbor, Bermuda. Up from cabins mid +corners poured figures unknown to the decks during the passage, and +haggard faces brightened under the balmy breeze, and tired eyes smiled +at the dark hills and snowy sands of the sliding shore. In a sheltered +corner of the deck a woman lay back in a chair and drew in breaths of +soft air, and a tall girl watched her. + +"You feel better already, don't you?" she demanded, and Mrs. Newbold put +her hand into her daughter's. + +"It is Paradise," she said. "I am going to get well." + +In an hour the landing had been made, the custom-house passed; the gay, +exhilarating little drive had been taken to the hotel, through white +streets, past white-roofed houses buried in trees and flowers and vines; +the sick woman lay quiet and happy on her bed, drawn to the open window, +where the healing of the breeze touched her gently, and where her eyes +dreamed over a fairy stretch of sea and islands. Katherine, moving about +the room, unpacking, came to sit in a chair by her mother and talk to +her for a moment. + +"To-morrow, if you're a good child, you shall go for a drive. Think--a +drive in an enchanted island. It's Shakespeare's _Tempest_ island,--did +I tell you I heard that on the boat? We might run across Caliban any +minute, and I think at least we'll find 'M' and 'F', for Miranda and +Ferdinand, cut into the bark of a tree somewhere. We'll go for a drive +every day, every single day, till we find it. You'll see." + +Mrs. Newbold's eyes moved from the sea and rested, perplexed, on her +daughter. "Katherine, how can we afford to drive every day? How can we +be here at all? I don't understand it. I'm sure there was nothing left +to sell except the land out west, and Mr. Seaton told us last spring +that it was worthless. How did you and Randolph conjure up the money for +this beautiful journey that is going to save my life?" + +The girl bent impulsively and kissed her with tender roughness. "It is +going to do that--it is!" she cried, and her voice broke. Then: "Never +mind how the money came, dear,--invalids mustn't be curious. It strains +their nerves. Wait till you're well and perhaps you'll hear a tale about +that land out west." + +Day after day slipped past in the lotus-eating land whose unreality +makes it almost a change of planets from every-day America. Each day +brought health with great rapidity, and soon each day brought new +friends. Mrs. Newbold was full of charm, and the devotion between the +ill mother and the blooming daughter was an attractive sight. Yet the +girl was not light-hearted. Often the mother, waking in the night, heard +a shivering sigh through the open door between their rooms; often she +surprised a harassed look in the young eyes which, with all that the +family had gone through, was new to them. But Katherine laughed at +questions, and threw herself so gayly into the pleasures which came to +her that Mrs. Newbold, too happy to be analytical, let the straws pass +and the wind blow where it would. + +There came a balmy morning when the two were to take, with half a dozen +others, the long drive to St. George's. The three carriage-loads set off +in a pleasant hubbub from the white-paved courtyard of the hotel, and as +Katherine settled her mother with much care and many rugs, her camera +dropped under the wheels. Everybody was busy, nobody was looking, and +she stooped and reached for it in vain. Then out of a blue sky a voice +said: + +"I'll get it for you," She was pushed firmly aside and a figure in a +blue coat was grovelling adventurously beneath the trap. It came out, +straightened; she had her camera; she was staring up into a face which +contemplated her, which startled her, so radiant, so everything +desirable it seemed to her to be. The man's eyes considered her a moment +as she thanked him, and then he had lifted his hat and was gone, +running, like a boy in a hurry for a holiday, toward the white stone +landing. An empty sail flopped big at the landing, and the girl stood +and looked as he sprang in under it and took the rudder. Joe, the head +porter, the familiar friend of every one, was stowing in a rug. + +"That gen'l'man's the Reverend Norman North,--he come by the _Trinidad_ +last Wednesday; he's sailin' to St. George's," Joe volunteered. "Don't +look much like a reverend, do he?" And with that the carriage had +started. + +Seeing the sights at St. George's, they came to the small old church, +on its western side a huge flight of steps, capped with a meek doorway; +on its eastern end a stone tower guarding statelily a flowery graveyard. +The moment the girl stepped inside, the spell of the bright peace which +filled the place caught her. The Sunday decorations were still there, +and hundreds of lilies bloomed from the pillars; sunshine slanted +through the simple stained glass and lay in colored patches on the +floor; there were square pews of a bygone day; there was a pulpit with a +winding stair; there were tablets on the walls to shipwrecked sailors, +to governors and officers dead here in harness. The clumsy woodwork, the +cheap carpets, the modest brasses, were in perfect order; there were +marks everywhere of reverent care. + +"Let me stay," the girl begged. "I don't want to drive about. I want to +stay in this place. I'll meet you at the hotel for lunch, if you'll +leave me." And they left her. + +The verger had gone, and she was quite alone. Deep in the shadow of a +gallery she slid to her knees and hid her face. "O God!" she +whispered,--"O God, forgive me!" And again the words seemed torn from +her--"O God, forgive me!" + +There were voices in the vestibule, but the girl in the stress of her +prayer did not hear. + +"Deal not with us according to our sins, neither reward us according to +our iniquities," she prayed, the accustomed words rushing to her want, +and she was suddenly aware that two people stood in the church. One of +them spoke. + +"Don't bother to stay with me," he said, and in the voice, it seemed, +were the qualities that a man's speech should have--strength, certainty, +the unteachable tone of gentle blood, and beyond these the note of +personality, always indescribable, in this case carrying an appeal and +an authority oddly combined. "Don't stay with me. I like to be alone +here. I'm a clergyman, and I enjoy an old church like this. I'd like to +be alone in it," and a bit of silver flashed. + +If the tip did it or the compelling voice, the verger murmured a word +about luncheon, was gone, and the girl in her dim corner saw, as the +other turned, that he was the rescuer of her camera, whose name was, +Joe had said and she remembered, Norman North. She was about to move, to +let herself be seen, when the young man knelt suddenly in the +old-fashioned front pew, as a good child might kneel who had been taught +the ways of his mother church, and bent his dark head. She waited +quietly while this servant spoke to his Master. There was no sound in +the silent, sun-lanced church, but outside one heard as from far away +the noises of the village. Katherine's eyes rested on the bowed head, +and she wondered uncertainly if she should let him know of her presence, +or if it might not be better to slip out unnoticed, when in a moment he +had risen and was swinging with a vigorous step up the little corkscrew +stairway of the pulpit. There he stood, facing the silence, facing the +flower-starred shadows, the empty spaces; facing her, but not seeing +her. And the girl forgot herself and the question of her going as she +saw the look in his face, the light which comes at times to those who +give their lives to holiness, since the day when the people, gazing at +Stephen, the martyr, "saw his face as it had been the face of an +angel." When his voice floated out on the dim, sunny atmosphere it +rested as lightly on the silence as if the notes of an organ rolled +through its own place. He spoke a prayer of a service which, to those +whose babyhood has been consecrated by it, whose childhood and youth +have listened to its simple and stately words, whose manhood and +womanhood have been carried over many a hard place by the lift of its +familiar sentences,--he spoke a prayer of that service which is less +dear only, to those bred in it, than the voices of their dearest. As a +priest begins to speak to his congregation he began, and the hearer in +the shadow of the gallery listened, awed: + +"The Lord is in His holy temple: let all the earth keep silence before +Him." + +And in the little church was silence as if all the earth obeyed. The +collect for the day came next, and a bit of jubilant Easter service, and +then his mind seemed to drift back to the sentences with which the +prayer-book opens. + +"This is the day which the Lord hath made," the ringing voice announced. +"Let us rejoice and be glad in it." And then, stabbing into the girl's +fevered conscience, "I acknowledge my transgressions, and my sin is ever +before me." It was as if an inflexible judge spoke the words for her. +"When the wicked man turneth away from his wickedness, and doeth that +which is lawful and right, he shall save his soul alive," the pure, +stern tones went on. + +She was not turning away from wickedness; she did not mean to turn away; +she would not do that which was lawful. The girl shivered. She could not +hear this dreadful accusal from the very pulpit. She must leave this +place. And with that the man, as if in a sudden passion of feeling, had +tossed his right hand high above him; his head was thrown back; his eyes +shone up into the shadows of the roof as if they would pierce material +things and see Him who reigned; he was pleading as if for his life, +pleading for his brothers, for human beings who sin and suffer. + +"O Lord," he prayed, "spare all those who confess their sins unto Thee, +that they whose consciences by sin are accused, by Thy merciful pardon +may be absolved; through Christ our Lord." And suddenly he was using the +very words which had come to her of themselves a few minutes before. +"Deal not with us according to our sins--deal not with us," he repeated, +as if wresting forgiveness for his fellows from the Almighty. "Deal not +with us according to our sins, neither reward us according to our +iniquities." And while the echo of the words yet held the girl +motionless he was gone. + + * * * * * + +Down by the road which runs past the hotel, sunken ten feet below its +level, are the tennis-courts, and soldiers in scarlet and khaki, and +blue-jackets with floating ribbons, and negro bell-boys returning from +errands, and white-gowned American women with flowery hats, and men in +summer flannels stop as they pass, and sit on the low wall and watch the +games. There is always a gallery for the tennis-players. But on a +Tuesday morning about eleven o'clock the audience began to melt away in +disgust. Without doubt they were having plenty of amusement among +themselves, these tennis-players grouped at one side of the court and +filling the air with explosions of laughter. But the amusement of the +public was being neglected. Why in the world, being rubber-shod as to +the foot and racqueted as to the hand, did they not play tennis? A girl +in a short white dress, wearing white tennis-shoes and carrying a +racquet, came tripping down the flight of stone steps, and stopped as +she stood on the last landing and seemed to ask the same question. She +came slowly across the empty court, looking with curiosity at the bunch +of absorbed people, and presently she caught her breath. The man who was +the centre of the group, who was making, apparently, the amusement, was +the young clergyman, Norman North. + +There was an outburst, a chorus of: "You can't have that one, Mr. +North!" "That's been used!" "That's Mr. Dennison's!" + +A tall English officer--a fine, manly mixture of big muscles and fresh +color and khaki--looked up, saw the girl, and swung toward her. "Good +morning, Miss Newbold. Come and join the fun. Devil of a fellow, that +North,--they say he's a parson." + +"What is it? What are they laughing at?" Katherine demanded. + +"They're doing a Limerick tournament, which is what North calls the +game. Mr. Gale is timekeeper. They're to see which recites most rhymes +inside five minutes. The winner picks his court and plays with Miss +Lee." + +Captain Comerford imparted this in jerky whispers, listening with one +ear all the time to a sound which stirred Katherine, the voice which she +had heard yesterday in the church at St. George's. The Englishman's +spasmodic growl stopped, and she drifted a step nearer, listening. As +she caught the words, her brows drew together with displeasure, with +shocked surprise. The inspired saint of yesterday was reciting with +earnestness, with every delicate inflection of his beautiful voice, +these words: + + "There was a young curate of Kidderminster, + Who kindly, but firmly, chid a spinster, + Because on the ice + She said something not nice + When he quite inadvertently slid ag'inst her." + +As the roar which followed this subsided, Katherine's face cleared. +What right had she to make a pattern of solemn righteousness for this +stranger and be insulted if he did not fit? Certainly he was +saintly--she had seen his soul bared to her vision; but certainly he was +human also, as this moment was demonstrating. It flashed over her +vaguely to wonder which was the dominant quality--which would rule in a +stress of temptation--the saintly side or the human? But at least he was +human with a winning humanity. His mirth and his enjoyment of it were as +spontaneous as a mischievous, bright child's, and it was easy to see +that the charm of his remarkable voice attracted others as it had +attracted her. + + "There was a young fellow from Clyde, + Who was often at funerals espied--" + +he had begun, and with that, between her first shock and her swift +recovery, with the contrast between the man of yesterday and the man of +to-day, Katherine suddenly laughed aloud. North stopped short, and +turned and looked at her, and for a second and their eyes met, and each +read recognition and friendliness. The Limerick went on: + + "When asked who was dead, + He nodded and said, + '_I_ don't know--_I_ just came for the ride.'" + +"Eleven for Mr. North--one-half minute more," called Mr. Gale, and +instantly North was in the breach: + + "A sore-hipped hippopotamus quite flustered + Objected to a poultice made of custard; + 'Can't you doctor up my hip + With anything but flip?' + So they put upon the hip a pot o' mustard.'" + +And the half-minute was done and North had won, and there was clapping +of hands for the victor, and at once, before the little uproar was over, +Katherine saw him speak a word to Mr. Gale, and saw the latter, turning, +stare about as if searching for some one, and, meeting her glance, +smile. + +"I want to present Mr. North, Miss Newbold," Gale said. + +"Why did you laugh in the middle of my Limerick? Had you heard it?" +North demanded, as if they had known each other a year instead of a +minute. + +"No, I had not heard it." Katherine shook her head. + +"Then why did you laugh?" + +She looked at him reflectively. "I don't know you well enough to tell +you that." + +"How soon will you know me well enough--if I do my best?" + +She considered. "About three weeks from yesterday." + + * * * * * + +Many things grow fast in southern climates--fruits, flowers, even +friendship and love. Three weeks later, on a hot, bright morning of +April, North and Katherine Newbold were walking down a road of Bermuda +to the sea, and between them was what had ripened in the twenty-one days +from a germ to a full-grown bud, ready to open at the lightest touch +into flower. As they walked down such a road of a dream, the man talked +to the girl as he had never talked to any one before. He spoke of his +work and its hopes and disappointments, of the pathos, the tragedy, the +comedy often of a way of life which leads by a deeper cut through men's +hearts than any other, and he told her also, modestly indeed, and +because he loved to tell her what meant much to him, of the joy of +knowing himself successful in his parish. He went into details, +absorbingly interesting to him, and this new luxury of speaking freely +carried him away. + +"I hope I'm not boring you." His frank gaze turned on her anxiously. "I +don't know what right I have to assume that the increase in the +Sunday-school, or even the new brass pulpit, is a fascinating subject to +you. I never did this before," he said, and there was something in his +voice which hindered the girl from answering his glance. But there was +no air of being bored about her, and he went on. "However, life isn't +all good luck. I had a serious blow just before I came down here--a +queer thing happened. I told you just now that all the large gifts to +St. John's had come from one man--a former parishioner. The man was +James Litterny, of the great firm of--Why, what's the matter--what is +it?" For Katherine had stopped short, in her fast, swinging walk, and +without a sound had swayed and caught at the wall as if to keep herself +from falling. Before he could reach her she had straightened herself and +was smiling. + +"I felt ill for a second--it's nothing,--let's go along." + +North made eager suggestions for her comfort, but the girl was firm in +her assertion, that she was now quite well, so that, having no sisters +and being ignorant that a healthy young woman does not, any more than a +healthy young man, go white and stagger without reason, he yielded, and +they walked briskly on. + +"You were telling me something that happened to you--something connected +with Mr.--with the rich parishioner." Her tone was steady and casual, +but looking at her, he saw that she was still pale. + +"Do you really want to hear my yarns? You're sure it isn't that which +made you feel faint--because I talked so much?" + +"It's always an effort not to talk myself," she laughed up at him, yet +with a strange look in her eyes. "All the same, talk a little more. +Tell me what you began to tell about Mr. Litterny." The name came out +full and strong. + +"Oh, that! Well, it's a story extraordinary enough for a book. I think +it will interest you." + +"I think it will," Katherine agreed. + +"You see," he went on, "Mr. Litterny promised us a new parish-house, the +best and largest practicable. It was to cost, with the lot, ten thousand +dollars. It was to be begun this spring. Not long before I came to +Bermuda, I had a note one morning from him, asking me to come to his +house the next evening. I went, and he told me that the parish-house +would have to be given up for the present, because the firm of Litterny +Brothers had just met with a loss, through a most skilful and original +robbery, of five thousand dollars." + +"A robbery?" the girl repeated. "Burglars, you mean?" + +"Something much more artistic than burglars. I told you this story was +good enough for a book. It's been kept quiet because the detectives +thought the chance better that way of hunting the thief to earth." (Why +should she catch her breath?) "But I'm under no promise--I'm sure I may +tell you. You're not likely to have any connection with the rascal." + +Katherine's step hung a little as if she shrank from the words, but she +caught at a part of the sentence and repeated it, "'Hunting the thief to +earth'--you say that as if you'd like to see it done." + +"I would like to see it done," said North, with slow emphasis. "Nothing +has ever more roused my resentment. I suppose it's partly the loss of +the parish-house, but, aside from that, it makes me rage to think of +splendid old James Litterny, the biggest-hearted man I know, being done +in that way. Why, he'd have helped the scoundrel in a minute if he'd +gone to him instead of stealing from him. Usually my sympathies are with +the sinner, but I believe if I caught this one I'd be merciless." + +"Would you mind sitting down here?" Katherine asked, in a voice which +sounded hard. "I'm not ill, but I feel--tired. I want to sit here and +listen to the story of that unprincipled thief and his wicked robbery." + +North was all solicitude in a moment, but the girl put him aside +impatiently. + +"I'm quite right. Don't bother. I just want to be still while you talk. +See what a good seat this is." + +Over the russet sand of the dunes the sea flashed a burning blue; +storm-twisted cedars led a rutted road down to it; in the salt air the +piny odor was sharp with sunlight. Katherine had dropped beneath one of +the dwarfed trees, and leaning back, smiled dimly up at him with a +stricken face which North did not understand. + +"You are ill," he said, anxiously. "You look ill. Please let me take +care of you. There is a house back there--let me--" but she interrupted: + +"I'm not ill, and I won't be fussed over. I'm not exactly right, but I +will be in a few minutes. The best thing for me is just to rest here and +have you talk to me. Tell me that story you are so slow about." + +He took her at her word. Lying at full length at her feet--his head +propped on a hillock so that he might look into her face, one of his +hands against the hem of her white dress,--the shadows of the cedars +swept back and forth across him, the south sea glittered beyond the +sand-dunes, and he told the story. + +"Mr. Litterny was in his office in the early afternoon of February 18," +he began, "when a man called him up on the telephone. Mr. Litterny did +not recognize the voice, but the man stated at once that he was Burr +Claflin, whose name you may know. He is a rich broker, and a personal +friend of both the Litternys. Voice is so uncertain a quantity over a +telephone that it did not occur to Mr. Litterny to be suspicious on that +point, and the conversation was absolutely in character otherwise. The +talker used expressions and a manner of saying things which the jeweller +knew to be characteristic of Claflin. + +"He told Mr. Litterny that he had just made a lucky hit in stocks, and +'turned over a bunch of money,' as he put it, and that he wanted to make +his wife a present. 'Now--this afternoon--this minute,' he said, which +was just like Burr Claflin, who is an impetuous old chap. 'I want to +give her a diamond brooch, and I want her to wear it out to dinner +to-night,' he said. 'Can't you send two or three corkers up to the house +for me?' That surprised Mr. Litterny and he hesitated, but finally said +that he would do it. It was against the rules of the house, but as it +was for Mr. Claflin he would do it. They had a little talk about the +details, and Claflin arranged to call up his wife and tell her that the +jewels would be there at four-thirty, so that she could look out for +them personally. All that was the Litterny end of the affair. Simple +enough, wasn't it?" + +Katherine's eyes were so intent, so brilliant, that Norman North went on +with a pleased sense that he told the tale well: + +"Now begins the Claflin experience. At half past four a clerk from +Litterny's left a package at the Claflin house in Cleveland Avenue, +which was at once taken, as the man desired, to Mrs. Claflin. She opened +it and found three very handsome diamond brooches, which astonished her +extremely, as she knew nothing about them. However, it was not unusual +for Claflin to give her jewelry, and he is, as I said, an impulsive man, +so that unexpected presents had come once or twice before; and +altogether, being much taken with the stones, she concluded simply that +she would understand when her husband came home to dinner. + +"However, her hopes were dashed, for twenty minutes later, barely long +enough for the clerk to have got back to the shop, she was called to the +telephone by a message, said to be from Litterny's, and a most polite +and apologetic person explained over the line that a mistake had been +made; that the diamonds had been addressed and sent to her by an error +of the shipping-clerk; that they were not intended for Mrs. Burr +Claflin, but for Mrs. Bird Catlin, and that the change in name had been +discovered on the messenger's return. Would Mrs. Claflin pardon the +trouble caused, and would she be good enough to see that the package was +given to their man, who would call for it in fifteen minutes? Now the +Catlins, as you must know, are richer people even than the Claflins, so +that the thing was absolutely plausible. Mrs. Claflin tied up the jewels +herself, and entrusted them to her own maid, who has been with her for +years, and this woman answered the door and gave the parcel into the +hands of a man who said that he was sent from Litterny's for it. All +that the maid could say of him was that he was 'a pretty young man, with +a speech like a gentleman.' And that was the last that has been seen of +the diamond brooches. Wasn't it simple? Didn't I tell you that this +affair was an artistic one?" North demanded. + +Katherine Newbold drew a deep breath, and the story-teller, watching her +face, saw that she was stirred with an emotion which he put down, with a +slight surprise, to interest in his narrative. + +"Is there no clew to the--thief? Have they no idea at all? Haven't those +wonderful detectives yet got on--his track?" + +North shook his head. "I had a letter by yesterday's boat from Mr. +Litterny about another matter, and he spoke of this. He said the police +were baffled--that he believed now that it could never be traced." + +"Thank God!" Katherine said, slowly and distinctly, and North stared in +astonishment. + +"What?" His tone was incredulous. + +"Oh; don't take me so seriously," said the girl, impatiently. "It's only +that I can't sympathize with your multimillionaire, who loses a little +of his heaps of money, against some poor soul to whom that little may +mean life or death--life or death, maybe, for his nearest and dearest. +Mr. Litterny has had a small loss, which he won't feel in a year from +now. The thief, the rascal, the scoundrel, as you call him so fluently, +has escaped for now, perhaps, with his ill-gotten gains, but he is a +hunted thing, living with a black terror of being found out--a terror +which clutches him when he prays and when he dances. It's the thief I'm +sorry for--I'm sorry for him--I'm sorry for him." Her voice was agitated +and uneven beyond what seemed reasonable. + +"'The way of the transgressor is hard,'" Norman North said, slowly, and +looked across the shifting sand-stretch to the inevitable sea, and +spoke the words pitilessly, as if an inevitable law spoke through him. + +They cut into the girl's soul. A quick gasp of pain broke from her, and +the man turned and saw her face and sprang to his feet. + +"Come," he said,--"come home," and held out his hands. + +She let him take hers, and he lifted her lightly, and did not let her +hands go. For a second they stood, and into the silence a deep boom of +the water against the beach thundered and died away. He drew the hands +slowly toward him till he held them against him. There seemed not to be +any need for words. + +Half an hour later, as they walked back through the sweet loneliness of +Springfield Avenue, North said: "You've forgotten something. You've +forgotten that this is the day you were to tell me why you had the bad +manners to laugh at me before you knew me. Now that we are engaged it's +your duty to tell me if I'm ridiculous." + +There was none of the responsive, soft laughter he expected. "We're not +engaged--we can't be engaged," she threw back, impetuously, and as he +looked at her there was suffering in her face. + +"What do you mean? You told me you loved me." His voice was full of its +curious mixture of gentleness and sternness, and she shrank visibly from +the sternness. + +"Don't be hard on me," she begged, like a frightened child, and he +caught her hand with a quick exclamation. "I'll tell you--everything. +Not only that little thing about my laughing, but--but more--everything. +Why I cannot be engaged to you. I must tell you--I know it--but, oh! not +to-day--not for a little while! Let me have this little time to be +happy. You sail a week from to-day. I'll write it all for you, and you +can read it on the way to New York. That will do--won't that do?" she +pleaded. + +North took both her hands in a hard grasp and searched her face and her +eyes--eyes clear and sweet, though filled with misery. "Yes, that will +do," he said. "It's all nonsense that you can't be engaged to me. You +are engaged to me, and you are going to marry me. If you love me--and +you say you do,--there's nothing I'll let interfere. Nothing--absolutely +nothing." There was little of the saint in his look now; it was filled +with human love and masterful determination, and in his eyes smouldered +a recklessness, a will to have his way, that was no angel, but all man. + +A week later Norman North sailed to New York, and in his pocket was a +letter which was not to be read till Bermuda was out of sight. When the +coral reef was passed, when the fairy blue of the island waters had +changed to the dark swell of the Atlantic, he slipped the bolt in the +door of his cabin and took out the letter. + +"I laughed because you were so wonderfully two men in one," it began, "I +was in the church at St. George's the day when you sent the verger away +and went into the pulpit and said parts of the service. I could not tell +you this before because it came so close to the other thing which I must +tell you now; because I sat trembling before you that day, hidden in the +shadow of a gallery, knowing myself a criminal, while you stood above me +like a pitiless judge and rolled out sentences that were bolts of fire +emptied on my soul. The next morning I heard you reciting Limericks. Are +you surprised that I laughed when the contrast struck me? Even then I +wondered which was the real of you, the saint or the man,--which would +win if it came to a desperate fight. The fight is coming, Norman. + +"That's all a preamble. Here is what you must know: I am the thief who +stole Mr. Litterny's diamonds." + +The letter fell, and the man caught at it as it fell. His hand shook, +but he laughed aloud. + +"It is a joke," he said, in a queer, dry voice. "A wretched joke. How +can she?" And he read on: + +"You won't believe this at first; you will think I am making a poor +joke; but you will have to believe it in the end. I will try to put the +case before you as an outside person would put it, without softening or +condoning. My mother was very ill; the specialist, to pay whom we had +sold her last jewel, said that she would die if she were not taken +south; we had no money to take her south. That night my brother lost +his self-control and raved about breaking into a shop and stealing +diamonds, to get money to save her life. That put the thought into my +mind, and I made a plan. Randolph, my brother, is a clever amateur +actor, and the rich Burr Claflin is our distant cousin. We both know him +fairly well, and it was easy enough for Randolph to copy his mannerisms. +We knew also, of course, more or less, his way of living, and that it +would not be out of drawing that he should send up diamonds to his wife +unexpectedly. I planned it all, and I made Randolph do it. I have always +been able to influence him to what I pleased. The sin is all mine, not +his. We had been selling my mother's jewels little by little for several +years, so we had no difficulty in getting rid of the stones, which +Randolph took from their settings and sold to different dealers. My +mother knows nothing of where the money came from. We are living in +Bermuda now, in comfort and luxury, I as well as she, on the profits of +my thievery. I am not sorry. It has wrecked life, perhaps eternity, for +me, but I would do it again to save my mother. + +"I put this confession into your hands to do with, as far as I am +concerned, what you like. If the saint in you believes that I ought to +be sent to jail, take this to Mr. Litterny and have him send me to +jail. But you shan't touch Randolph--you are not free there. It was I +who did it--he was my tool,--any one will tell you I have the stronger +will. You shall not hurt Randolph--that is barred. + +"You see now why I couldn't be engaged to you--you wouldn't want to +marry a thief, would you, Norman? I can never make restitution, you +know, for the money will be mostly gone before we get home, and there is +no more to come. You could not, either, for you said that you had little +beyond your salary. We could never make it good to Mr. Litterny, even if +you wanted to marry me after this. Mr. Litterny is your best friend; you +are bound to him by a thousand ties of gratitude and affection. You +can't marry a thief who has robbed him of five thousand dollars, and +never tell him, and go on taking his gifts. That is the way the saint +will look at it--the saint who thundered awful warnings at me in the +little church at St. George's. But even that day there was something +gentler than the dreadful holiness of you. Do you remember how you +pleaded, begged as if of your father, for your brothers and sisters? +'Deal not with us according to our sins, neither reward us according to +our iniquities,' you said. Do you remember? As you said that to God, I +say it to you, I love you. I leave my fate at your mercy. But don't +forget that you yourself begged that, with your hands stretched out to +heaven, as I stretch my hands to you, Norman, Norman--'Deal not with me +according to my sins, neither reward me according to my iniquities.'" + +The noises of a ship moving across a quiet ocean went on steadily. Many +feet tramped back and forth on the deck, and cheerful voices and +laughter floated through the skylight, and down below a man knelt in a +narrow cabin with his head buried in his arms, motionless. + + + + +CROWNED WITH GLORY AND HONOR + + +Mists blew about the mountains across the river, and over West Point +hung a raw fog. Some of the officers who stood with bared heads by the +heap of earth and the hole in the ground shivered a little. The young +Chaplain read, solemnly, the solemn and grand words of the service, and +the evenness of his voice was unnatural enough to show deep feeling. He +remembered how, a year before, he had seen the hero of this scene +playing football on just such a day, tumbling about and shouting, his +hair wild and matted and his face filled with fresh color. Such a mere +boy he was, concerned over the question as to where he could hide his +contraband dress boots, excited by an invitation to dine out Saturday +night. The dear young chap! There were tears in the Chaplain's eyes as +he thought of little courtesies to himself, of little generosities to +other cadets, of a manly and honest heart shown everywhere that +character may show in the guarded life of the nation's schoolboys. + +The sympathetic, ringing voice stopped, and he watched the quick, +dreadful, necessary work of the men at the grave, and then his sad eyes +wandered pitifully over the rows of boyish faces where the cadets stood. +Just such a child as those, thought the Chaplain--himself but a few +years older--no history; no life, as we know life; no love, and what was +life without--you may see that the Chaplain was young; the poor boy was +taken from these quiet ways and sent direct on the fire-lit stage of +history, and in the turn, behold! he was a hero. The white-robed +Chaplain thrilled and his dark eyes flashed. He seemed to see that day; +he would give half his life to have seen it--this boy had given all of +his. The boy was wounded early, and as the bullets poured death down the +hill he crept up it, on hands and knees, leading his men. The strong +life in him lasted till he reached the top, and then the last of it +pulled him to his feet and he stood and waved and cheered--and fell. But +he went up San Juan Hill. After all, he lived. He missed fifty years, +perhaps, but he had Santiago. The flag wrapped him, he was the honored +dead of the nation. God keep him! The Chaplain turned with a swing and +raised his prayer-book to read the committal. The long black box--the +boy was very tall--was being lowered gently, tenderly. Suddenly the +heroic vision of Santiago vanished and he seemed to see again the +rumpled head and the alert, eager, rosy face of the boy playing +football--the head that lay there! An iron grip caught his throat, and +if a sound had come it would have been a sob. Poor little boy! Poor +little hero! To exchange all life's sweetness for that fiery glory! Not +to have known the meaning of living--of loving--of being loved! + +The beautiful, tender voice rang out again so that each one heard it to +the farthest limit of the great crowd--"We therefore commit his body to +the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; looking for +the general resurrection in the last day, and the life of the world to +come." + + * * * * * + +An hour later the boy's mother sat in her room at the hotel and opened +a tin box of letters, found with his traps, and given her with the rest. +She had planned it for this time and had left the box unopened. +To-morrow she must take up life and try to carry it, with the boy gone, +but to-day she must and would be what is called morbid. She looked over +the bend in the river to the white-dotted cemetery--she could tell where +lay the new mound, flower-covered, above his yellow head. She looked +away quickly and bent over the box in her lap and turned the key. Her +own handwriting met her eyes first; all her letters for six months back +were there, scattered loosely about the box. She gathered them up, +slipping them through her fingers to be sure of the writing. Letter +after letter, all hers. + +"They were his love-letters," she said to herself. "He never had any +others, dear little boy--my dear little boy!" + +Underneath were more letters, a package first; quite a lot of them, +thirty, fifty--it was hard to guess--held together by a rubber strap. +The strap broke as she drew out the first envelope and they fell all +about her, some on the floor, but she did not notice it, for the address +was in a feminine writing that had a vague familiarity. She stopped a +moment, with the envelope in one hand and the fingers of the other hand +on the folded paper inside. It felt like a dishonorable thing to +do--like prying into the boy's secrets, forcing his confidence; and she +had never done that. Yet some one must know whether these papers of his +should be burned or kept, and who was there but herself? She drew out +the letter. It began "My dearest." The boy's mother stopped short and +drew a trembling breath, with a sharp, jealous pain. She had not known. +Then she lifted her head and saw the dots of white on the green earth +across the bay and her heart grew soft for that other woman to whom he +had been "dearest" too, who must suffer this sorrow of losing him too. +But she could not read her letters, she must send them, take them to +her, and tell her that his mother had held them sacred. She turned to +the signature. + +"And so you must believe, darling, that I am and always will +be--always, always, with love and kisses, your own dear, little 'Good +Queen Bess.'" + +It was not the sort of an ending to a letter she would have expected +from the girl he loved, for the boy, though most undemonstrative, had +been intense and taken his affections seriously always. But one can +never tell, and the girl was probably quite young. But who was she? The +signature gave no clew; the date was two years before, and from New +York--sufficiently vague! She would have to read until she found the +thread, and as she read the wonder grew that so flimsy a personality +could have held her boy. One letter, two, three, six, and yet no sign to +identify the writer. She wrote first from New York on the point of +starting for a long stay abroad, and the other letters were all from +different places on the other side. Once in awhile a familiar name +cropped up, but never to give any clew. There were plenty of people whom +she called by their Christian names, but that helped nothing. And often +she referred to their engagement--to their marriage to come. It was hard +for the boy's mother, who believed she had had his confidence. But +there was one letter from Vienna that made her lighter-hearted as to +that. + +"My dear sweet darling," it began, "I haven't written you very often +from here, but then I don't believe you know the difference, for you +never scold at all, even if I'm ever so long in writing. And as for you, +you rascal, you write less and less, and shorter and shorter. If I +didn't know for certain--but then, of course, you love me? Don't you, +you dearest boy? Of course you do, and who wouldn't? Now don't think I'm +really so conceited as that, for I only mean it in joke, but in earnest, +I might think it if I let myself, for they make such a fuss over me +here--you never saw anything like it! The Prince von H---- told Mamma +yesterday I was the prettiest girl who had been here in ten years--what +do you think of that, sir? The officers are as thick as bees wherever I +go, and I ride with them and dance with them and am having just the +loveliest time! You don't mind that, do you, darling, even if we are +engaged? Oh, about telling your mother--no, sir, you just cannot! You've +begged me all along to do that, but you might as well stop, for I +won't. You write more about that than anything else, it seems to me, and +I'll believe soon you are more in love with your mother than with me. So +take care! Remember, you promised that night at the hop at West +Point--what centuries ago it seems, and it was a year and a half!--that +you would not tell a living soul, not even your mother, until I said so. +You see, it might get out and--oh, what's the use of fussing? It might +spoil all my good time, and though I'm just as devoted as ever, and as +much in love, you big, handsome thing--yes, just exactly!--still, I want +to have a good time. Why shouldn't I? As the Prince would say, I'm +pretty enough--but that's nonsense, of course." + +The letter was signed like all the others "Good Queen Bess," a foolish +enough name for a girl to call herself, the boy's mother thought, a +touch contemptuously. She sat several minutes with that letter in her +hand. + +"I'll believe soon that you are more in love with your mother than you +are with me"--that soothed the sore spot in her heart wonderfully. +Wasn't it so, perhaps. It seemed to her that the boy had fallen into +this affair suddenly, impulsively, without realizing its meaning, and +that his loyalty had held him fast, after the glamour was gone. And +perhaps the girl, too. For the boy had much besides himself, and there +were girls who might think of that. + +The next letter went far to confirm this theory. + +"Of course I don't want to break our engagement," the girl wrote. "What +makes you ask such a question? I fully expect to marry you some day, of +course, when I have had my little 'fling,' and I should just go crazy if +I thought you didn't love me as much as always. You would if you saw me, +for they all say I'm prettier than ever. You don't want to break the +engagement, do you? Please, please, don't say so, for I couldn't bear +it." + +And in the next few lines she mentioned herself by name. It was a +well-known name to the boy's mother, that of the daughter of a cousin +with whom she had never been over-intimate. She had had notes from the +girl a few times, once or twice from abroad, which accounted for the +familiarity of the writing. So she gathered the letters together, the +last one dated only a month before, and put them one side to send back. + +"She will soon get over it," she said, and sighed as she turned to the +papers still left in the bottom of the box. There were only a few, a +thin packet of six or eight, and one lying separate. She slipped the +rubber band from the packet and looked hard at the irregular, strong +writing, woman's or man's, it was hard to say which. Then she spread out +the envelopes and took them in order by the postmarks. The first was a +little note, thanking him for a book, a few lines of clever nothing +signed by a woman's name which she had never heard. + + * * * * * + +"My dear Mr. ----," it ran. "Indeed you did get ahead of 'all the others' +in sending me 'The Gentleman from Indiana,' So far ahead that the next +man in the procession is not even in sight yet. I hate to tell you that, +but honesty demands it. I have taken just one sidewise peep at 'The +Gentleman'--and like his looks immensely--but to-morrow night I am +going to pretend I have a headache and stay home from the concert where +the family are going, and turn cannibal and devour him. I hope nothing +will interrupt me. Unless--I wonder if you are conceited enough to +imagine what is one of the very few things I would like to have +interrupt me? After that bit of boldness I think I must stop writing to +you. I mean it just the same. And thanking you a thousand times again, I +am, + + "Sincerely yours." + +There were four or five more of this sort, sometimes only a day or two, +sometimes a month apart; always with some definite reason for the +writing, flowers or books to thank him for, a walk to arrange, an +invitation to dinner. Charming, bright, friendly notes, with the happy +atmosphere of a perfect understanding between them, of mutual interests +and common enthusiasms. + +"She was very different from the other," the boy's mother sighed, as she +took up an unread letter--there were but two more. There was no harm in +reading such letters as these, she thought with relief, and noticed as +she drew the paper from the envelope that the postmark was two months +later. + +"You want me to write once that I love you"--that is the way it began. + +The woman who read dropped it suddenly as if it had burned her. Was it +possible? Her light-hearted boy, whose short life she had been so sure +had held nothing but a boy's, almost a child's, joys and sorrows! The +other affair was surprise enough, and a sad surprise, yet after all it +had not touched him deeply, she felt certain of that; but this was +another question. She knew instinctively that if love had grown from +such a solid foundation as this sweet and happy and reasonable +friendship with this girl, whose warm heart and deep soul shone through +her clear and simple words, it would be a different love from anything +that other poor, flimsy child could inspire. "L'amitié, c'est l'amour +sans ailes." But sometimes when men and women have let the quiet, safe +god Friendship fold his arms gently around them, he spreads suddenly a +pair of sinning wings and carries them off--to heaven--wherever he +wills it, and only then they see that he is not Friendship, but Love. + +She picked up the letter again and read on: + +"You want me to write once that I love you, so that you may read it with +your eyes, if you may not hear it with your ears. Is that it--is that +what you want, dear? Which question is a foolish sort of way for me to +waste several drops of ink, considering that your letter is open before +me. And your picture just back of it, your brown eyes looking over the +edge so eagerly, so actually alive that it seems very foolish to be +making signs to you on paper at all. How much simpler just to say half a +word and then--then! Only we two can fill up that dash, but we can fill +it full, can't we? However, I'm not doing what you want, and--will you +not tell yourself, if I tell you something? To do what you want is just +the one thing on earth I like most to do. I think you have magnetized me +into a jelly-fish, for at times I seem to have no will at all. I believe +if you asked me to do the Chinese kotow, and bend to the earth before +you, I'd secretly be dying to do it. But I wouldn't, you know, I +promise you that. I give you credit for liking a live woman, with a will +of her own, better than a jelly-fish. And anyway I wouldn't--if you +liked me for it or not--so you see it's no use urging me. And still I +haven't done what you want--what was it now? Oh, to tell you that--but +the words frighten me, they are so big. That I--I--I--love you. Is it +that? I haven't said it yet, remember. I'm only asking a question. Do +you know I have an objection to sitting here in cold blood and writing +that down in cold ink? If it were only a little dark now, and your +shoulder--and I could hide my head--you can't get off for a minute? Ah, +I am scribbling along light-heartedly, when all the time the sword of +Damocles is hanging over us both, when my next letter may have to be +good-by for always. If that fate comes you will find me steady to stand +by you, to help you. I will say those three little words, so little and +so big, to you once again, and then I will live them by giving up what +is dearest to me--that's you, dear--that your 'conduct' may not be +'unbecoming an officer and a gentleman.' You must keep your word. If +the worst comes, will you always remember that as an American woman's +patriotism. There could be none truer. I could send you marching off to +Cuba--and how about that, is it war surely?--with a light heart, knowing +that you were giving yourself for a holy cause and going to honor and +fame, though perhaps, dear, to a soldier's death. And I would pray for +you and remember your splendid strength, and think always of seeing you +march home again, and then only your mother could be more proud than I. +That would be easy, in comparison. Write me about the war--but, of +course, you would not be sent. + +"Now here is the very end of my letter, and I haven't yet said it--what +you wanted. But here it Is, bend your head, from away up there, and +listen. Now--do you hear--I love you. Good-by, good-by, I love you." + +The papers rustled softly in the silent room, and the boy's mother, as +she put the letter back, kissed it, and it was as if ghostly lips +touched hers, for the boy had kissed those words, she knew. + +The next was only a note, written just before his sailing to Cuba. + +"A fair voyage and a short one, a good fight and a quick one," the note +said. "It is my country as well as yours you are going to fight for, and +I give you with all my heart. All of it will be with you and all my +thoughts, too, every minute of every day, so you need never wonder if +I'm thinking of you. And soon the Spaniards will be beaten and you'll be +coming home again 'crowned with glory and honor,' and the bands will +play fighting music, and the flag will be flying over you, for you, and +in all proud America there will be no prouder soul than I--unless it is +your mother. Good-by, good-by--God be with you, my very dearest." + +He had come home "crowned with glory and honor." And the bands had +played martial music for him. But his horse stood riderless by his +grave, and the empty cavalry boots hung, top down, from the saddle. + +Loose in the bottom of the box lay a folded sheet of paper, and, hidden +under it, an envelope, the face side down. When the boy's mother opened +the paper, it was his own crabbed, uneven writing that met her eye. + +"They say there will be a fight to-morrow," he wrote, "and we're likely +to be in it. If I come out right, you will not see this, and I hope I +shall, for the world is sweet with you in it. But if I'm hit, then this +will go to you. I'm leaving a line for my mother and will enclose this +and ask her to send it to you. You must find her and be good to her, if +that happens. I want you to know that if I die, my last thought will +have been of you, and if I have the chance to do anything worth while, +it will be for your sake. I could die happy if I might do even a small +thing that would make you proud of me." + +The sorrowful woman drew a long, shivering breath as she thought of the +magnificent courage of that painful passing up San Juan Hill, wounded, +crawling on, with a pluck that the shades of death could not dim. Would +she be proud of him? + +The line for herself he had never written. There was only the empty +envelope lying alone in the box. She turned it in her hand and saw it +was addressed to the girl to whom he had been engaged. Slowly it dawned +on her that to every appearance this envelope belonged to the letter she +had just read, his letter of the night before the battle. She recoiled +at the thought--those last sacred words of his, to go to that +empty-souled girl! All that she would find in them would be a little +fuel for her vanity, while the other--she put her fingers on the +irregular, back writing, and felt as if a strong young hand held hers +again. She would understand, that other; she had thought of his mother +in the stress of her own strongest feeling; she had loved him for +himself, not for vanity. This letter was hers, the mother knew it. And +yet the envelope, with the other address, had lain just under it, and +she had been his promised wife. She could not face her boy in heaven if +this last earthly wish of his should go wrong through her. How could she +read the boy's mind now? What was right to do? + +The twilight fell over Crow Nest, and over the river and the heaped-up +mountains that lie about West Point, and in the quiet room the boy's +mother sat perplexed, uncertain, his letter in her hands; yet with a +vague sense of coming comfort in her heart as she thought of the girl +who would surely "find her and be good to her," But across the water, on +the hillside, the boy lay quiet. + + + + +A MESSENGER + + + How oft do they their silver bowers leave, + To come to succour us that succour want! + How oft do they with golden pineons cleave + The flitting skyes, like flying Pursuivant, + Against fowle feendes to ayd us militant! + They for us fight, they watch and dewly ward, + And their bright Squadrons round about us plant; + And all for love, and nothing for reward. + O! Why should heavenly God to men have such + regard? + + --_Spenser's "Faerie Queene."_ + + +That the other world of our hope rests on no distant, shining star, but +lies about us as an atmosphere, unseen yet near, is the belief of many. +The veil of material life shades earthly eyes, they say, from the +glories in which we ever are. But sometimes when the veil wears thin in +mortal stress, or is caught away by a rushing, mighty wind of +inspiration, the trembling human soul, so bared, so purified, may look +down unimagined heavenly vistas, and messengers may steal across the +shifting boundary, breathing hope and the air of a brighter world. And +of him who speaks his vision, men say "He is mad," or "He has dreamed." + + * * * * * + +The group of officers in the tent was silent for a long half minute +after Colonel Wilson's voice had stopped. Then the General spoke. + +"There is but one thing to do," he said. "We must get word to Captain +Thornton at once." + +The Colonel thought deeply a moment, and glanced at the orderly outside +the tent. "Flannigan!" The man, wheeling swiftly, saluted. "Present my +compliments to Lieutenant Morgan and say that I should like to see him +here at once," and the soldier went off, with the quick military +precision in which there is no haste and no delay. + +"You have some fine, powerful young officers, Colonel," said the General +casually. "I suppose we shall see in Lieutenant Morgan one of the best. +It will take strength and brains both, perhaps, for this message." + +A shadow of a smile touched the Colonel's lips. "I think I have chosen +a capable man, General," was all he said. + +Against the doorway of the tent the breeze blew the flap lazily back and +forth. A light rain fell with muffled gentle insistence on the canvas +over their heads, and out through the opening the landscape was +blurred--the wide stretch of monotonous, billowy prairie, the sluggish, +shining river, bending in the distance about the base of Black Wind +Mountain--Black Wind Mountain, whose high top lifted, though it was +almost June, a white point of snow above dark pine ridges of the hills +below. The five officers talked a little as they waited, but +spasmodically, absent-mindedly. A shadow blocked the light of the +entrance, and in the doorway stood a young man, undersized, slight, +blond. He looked inquiringly at the Colonel. + +"You sent for me, sir?" and the General and his aide, and the grizzled +old Captain, and the big, fresh-faced young one, all watched him. + +In direct, quiet words--words whose bareness made them dramatic for the +weight of possibility they carried--the Colonel explained. Black Wolf +and his band were out on the war-path. A soldier coming in wounded, +escaped from the massacre of the post at Devil's Hoof Gap, had reported +it. With the large command known to be here camped on Sweetstream Fork, +they would not come this way; they would swerve up the Gunpowder River +twenty miles away, destroying the settlement and Little Fort Slade, and +would sweep on, probably for a general massacre, up the Great Horn as +far as Fort Doncaster. He himself, with the regiment, would try to save +Fort Slade, but in the meantime, Captain Thornton's troop, coming to +join him, ignorant that Black Wolf had taken the war-path, would be +directly in their track. Some one must be sent to warn them, and of +course the fewer the quicker. Lieutenant Morgan would take a sergeant, +the Colonel ordered quietly, and start at once. + +In the misty light inside the tent, the young officer looked hardly more +than seventeen years old as he stood listening. His small figure was +light, fragile; his hair was blond to an extreme, a thick thatch of +pale gold; and there was about him, among these tanned, stalwart men in +uniform, a presence, an effect of something unusual, a simplicity out of +place yet harmonious, which might have come with a little child into a +scene like this. His large blue eyes were fixed on the Colonel as he +talked, and in them was just such a look of innocent, pleased wonder, as +might be in a child's eyes, who had been told to leave studying and go +pick violets. But as the Colonel ended he spoke, and the few words he +said, the few questions he asked, were full of poise, of crisp +directness. As the General volunteered a word or two, he turned to him +and answered with a very charming deference, a respect that was yet full +of gracious ease, the unconscious air of a man to whom generals are +first as men, and then as generals. The slight figure in its dark +uniform was already beyond the tent doorway when the Colonel spoke +again, with a shade of hesitation in his manner. + +"Mr. Morgan!" and the young officer turned quickly. "I think it may be +right to warn you that there is likely to be more than usual danger in +your ride." + +"Yes, sir." The fresh, young voice had a note of inquiry. + +"You will--you will"--what was it the Colonel wanted to say? He finished +abruptly. "Choose the man carefully who goes with you." + +"Thank you, Colonel," Morgan responded heartily, but with a hint of +bewilderment. "I shall take Sergeant O'Hara," and he was gone. + +There was a touch of color in the Colonel's face, and he sighed as if +glad to have it over. The General watched him, and slowly, after a +pause, he demanded: + +"May I ask, Colonel, why you chose that blond baby to send on a mission +of uncommon danger and importance?" + +The Colonel answered quietly: "There were several reasons, General--good +ones. The blond baby"--that ghost of a smile touched the Colonel's lips +again--"the blond baby has some remarkable qualities. He never loses his +head; he has uncommon invention and facility of getting out of bad +holes; he rides light and so can make a horse last longer than most, +and"--the Colonel considered a moment--"I may say he has no fear of +death. Even among my officers he is known for the quality of his +courage. There is one more reason: he is the most popular man I have, +both with officers and men; if anything happened to Morgan the whole +command would race into hell after the devils that did it, before they +would miss their revenge." + +The General reflected, pulling at his mustache. "It seems a bit like +taking advantage of his popularity," he said. + +"It is," the Colonel threw back quickly. "It's just that. But that's +what one must do--a commanding officer--isn't it so, General? In this +war music we play on human instruments, and if a big chord comes out +stronger for the silence of a note, the note must be silenced--that's +all. It's cruel, but it's fighting; it's the game." + +The General, as if impressed with the tense words, did not respond, and +the other officers stared at the Colonel's face, as carved, as stern as +if done in marble--a face from which the warm, strong heart seldom +shone, held back always by the stronger will. + +The big, fresh-colored young Captain broke the silence. "Has the General +ever heard of the trick Morgan played on Sun Boy, sir?" he asked. + +"Tell the General, Captain Booth," the Colonel said briefly, and the +Captain turned toward the higher officer. + +"It was apropos of what the Colonel said of his inventive faculties, +General," he began. "A year ago the youngster with a squad of ten men +walked into Sun Boy's camp of seventy-five warriors. Morgan had made +quite a pet of a young Sioux, who was our prisoner for five months, and +the boy had taught him a lot of the language, and assured him that he +would have the friendship of the band in return for his kindness to Blue +Arrow--that was the chap's name. So he thought he was safe; but it +turned out that Blue Arrow's father, a chief, had got into a row with +Sun Boy, and the latter would not think of ratifying the boy's promise. +So there was Morgan with his dozen men, in a nasty enough fix. He knew +plenty of Indian talk to understand that they were discussing what they +would do with him, and it wasn't pleasant. + +"All of a sudden he had an inspiration. He tells the story himself, sir, +and I assure you he'd make you laugh--Morgan is a wonderful mimic. Well, +he remembered suddenly, as I said, that he was a mighty good +ventriloquist, and he saw his chance. He gave a great jump like a +startled fawn, and threw up his arms and stared like one demented into +the tree over their heads. There was a mangy-looking crow sitting up +there on a branch, and Morgan pointed at him as if at something +marvellous, supernatural, and all those fool Indians stopped pow-wowing +and stared up after him, as curious as monkeys. Then to all appearances, +the crow began to talk. Morgan said they must have thought that spirits +didn't speak very choice Sioux, but he did his best. The bird cawed out: + +"'Oh, Sun Boy, great chief, beware what you do!' + +"And then the real bird flapped its wings and Morgan thought it was +going to fly, and he was lost. But it settled back again on the branch, +and Morgan proceeded to caw on: + +"'Hurt not the white man, or the curses of the gods will come upon Sun +Boy and his people.' + +"And he proceeded to give a list of what would happen if the Indians +touched a hair of their heads. By this time the red devils were all down +on their stomachs, moaning softly whenever Morgan stopped cawing. He +said he quite got into the spirit of it and would have liked to go on +some time, but he was beginning to get hoarse, and besides he was in +deadly terror for fear the crow would fly before he got to the point. So +he had the spirit order them to give the white men their horses and turn +them loose instanter; and just as he got all through, off went the thing +with a big flap and a parting caw on its own account. I wish I could +tell it as Morgan does--you'd think he was a bird and an Indian rolled +together. He's a great actor spoiled, that lad." + +"You leave out a fine point, to my mind, Captain Booth," the Colonel +said quickly. "About his going back." + +"Oh! certainly that ought to be told," said the Captain, and the +General's eyes turned to him again. "Morgan forgot to see young Blue +Arrow, his friend, before he got away, and nothing would do but that he +should go back and speak to him. He said the boy would be disappointed. +The men were visibly uneasy at his going, but that didn't affect him. He +ordered them to wait, and back he went, pell-mell, all alone into that +horde of fiends. They hadn't got over their funk, luckily, and he saw +Blue Arrow and made his party call and got out again all right. He +didn't tell that himself, but Sergeant O'Hara made the camp ring with +it. He adores Morgan, and claims that he doesn't know what fear is. I +believe it's about so. I've seen him in a fight three times now. His cap +always goes off--he loses a cap every blessed scrimmage--and with that +yellow mop of hair, and a sort of rapt expression he gets, he looks like +a child saying its prayers all the time he is slashing and shooting like +a berserker." Captain Booth faced abruptly toward the Colonel. "I beg +your pardon for talking so long, sir," he said. "You know we're all +rather keen about little Miles Morgan." + +The General lifted his head suddenly. "Miles Morgan?" he demanded. "Is +his name Miles Morgan." + +The Colonel nodded. "Yes. The grandson of the old Bishop--named for +him." + +"Lord!" ejaculated the General. "Miles Morgan was my earliest friend, my +friend until he died! This must be Jim's son--Miles's only child. And +Jim is dead these ten years," he went on rapidly. "I've lost track of +him since the Bishop died, but I knew Jim left children. Why, he +married"--he searched rapidly in his memory--"he married a daughter of +General Fitzbrian's. This boy's got the church and the army both in him. +I knew his mother," he went on, talking to the Colonel, garrulous with +interest. "Irish and fascinating she was--believed in fairies and ghosts +and all that, as her father did before her. A clever woman, but with the +superstitious, wild Irish blood strong in her. Good Lord! I wish I'd +known that was Miles Morgan's grandson." + +The Colonel's voice sounded quiet and rather cold after the General's +impulsive enthusiasm. "You have summed him up by his antecedents, +General," he said. "The church and the army--both strains are strong. He +is deeply religious." + +The General looked thoughtful. "Religious, eh? And popular? They don't +always go together." + +Captain Booth spoke quickly. "It's not that kind, General," he said. +"There's no cant in the boy. He's more popular for it--that's often so +with the genuine thing, isn't it? I sometimes think"--the young +Captain hesitated and smiled a trifle deprecatingly--"that Morgan is +much of the same stuff as Gordon--Chinese Gordon; the martyr stuff, you +know. But it seems a bit rash to compare an every-day American youngster +to an inspired hero." + +"There's nothing in Americanism to prevent either inspiration or heroism +that I know of," the General affirmed stoutly, his fine old head up, his +eyes gleaming with pride of his profession. + +Out through the open doorway, beyond the slapping tent-flap, the keen, +gray eyes of the Colonel were fixed musingly on two black points which +crawled along the edge of the dulled silver of the distant river--Miles +Morgan and Sergeant O'Hara had started. + + * * * * * + +"Sergeant!" They were eight miles out now, and the camp had disappeared +behind the elbow of Black Wind Mountain. "There's something wrong with +your horse. Listen! He's not loping evenly." The soft cadence of eight +hoofs on earth had somewhere a lighter and then a heavier note; the ear +of a good horseman tells in a minute, as a musician's ear at a false +note, when an animal saves one foot ever so slightly, to come down +harder on another. + +"Yessirr. The Lieutenant'll remimber 'tis the horrse that had a bit of a +spavin, Sure I thot 'twas cured, and 'tis the kindest baste in the +rigiment f'r a pleasure ride, sorr--that willin' 'tis. So I tuk it. I +think 'tis only the stiffness at furrst aff. 'Twill wurruk aff later. +Plaze God, I'll wallop him." And the Sergeant walloped with a will. + +But the kindest beast in the regiment failed to respond except with a +plunge and increased lameness. Soon there was no more question of his +incapacity. + +Lieutenant Morgan halted his mount, and, looking at the woe-begone +O'Hara, laughed. "A nice trick this is, Sergeant," he said, "to start +out on a trip to dodge Indians with a spavined horse. Why didn't you get +a broomstick? Now go back to camp as fast as you can go; and that horse +ought to be blistered when you get there. See if you can't really cure +him. He's too good to be shot." He patted the gray's nervous head, and +the beast rubbed it gently against his sleeve, quiet under his hand. + +"Yessirr. The Lieutenant'll ride slow, sorr, f'r me to catch up on ye, +sorr?" + +Miles Morgan smiled and shook his head. "Sorry, Sergeant, but there'll +be no slow riding in this. I'll have to press right on without you; I +must be at Massacre Mountain to-night to catch Captain Thornton +to-morrow." + +Sergeant O'Hara's chin dropped. "Sure the Lieutenant'll niver be +thinkin' to g'wan alone--widout _me_?" and with all the sergeant's +respect of his superiors, it took the Lieutenant ten valuable minutes to +get the man started back, shaking his head and muttering forebodings, to +the camp. + +It was quiet riding on alone. There were a few miles to go before there +was any chance of Indians, and no particular lookout to be kept, so he +put the horse ahead rapidly while he might, and suddenly he found +himself singing softly as he galloped. How the words had come to him he +did not know, for no conscious train of thought had brought them; but +they surely fitted to the situation, and a pleasant sense of +companionship, of safety, warmed him as the swing of an old hymn carried +his voice along with it. + + God shall charge His angel legions + Watch and ward o'er thee to keep; + Though thou walk through hostile regions, + Though in desert wilds thou sleep. + +Surely a man riding toward--perhaps through--skulking Indian hordes, as +he must, could have no better message reach him than that. The bent of +his mind was toward mysticism, and while he did not think the train of +reasoning out, could not have said that he believed it so, yet the +familiar lines flashing suddenly, clearly, on the curtain of his mind, +seemed to him, very simply, to be sent from a larger thought than his +own. As a child might take a strong hand held out as it walked over +rough country, so he accepted this quite readily and happily, as from +that Power who was never far from him, and in whose service, beyond most +people, he lived and moved. Low but clear and deep his voice went on, +following one stanza with its mate: + + Since with pure and firm affection + Thou on God hast set thy love, + With the wings of His protection + He will shield thee from above. + +The simplicity of his being sheltered itself in the broad promise of the +words. + +Light-heartedly he rode on and on, though now more carefully; lying flat +and peering over the crests of hills a long time before he crossed +their tops; going miles perhaps through ravines; taking advantage of +every bit of cover where a man and a horse might be hidden; travelling +as he had learned to travel in three years of experience in this +dangerous Indian country, where a shrub taken for granted might mean a +warrior, and that warrior a hundred others within signal. It was his +plan to ride until about twelve--to reach Massacre Mountain, and there +rest his horse and himself till gray daylight. There was grass there and +a spring--two good and innocent things that had been the cause of the +bad, dark thing which had given the place its name. A troop under +Captain James camping at this point, because of the water and grass, had +been surprised and wiped out by five hundred Indian braves of the wicked +and famous Red Crow. There were ghastly signs about the place yet; +Morgan had seen them, but soldiers may not have nerves, and it was good +camping ground. + +On through the valleys and half-way up the slopes, which rolled here far +away into a still wilder world, the young man rode. Behind the distant +hills in the east a glow like fire flushed the horizon. A rim of pale +gold lifted sharply over the ridge; a huge round ball of light pushed +faster, higher, and lay, a bright world on the edge of the world, great +against the sky--the moon had risen. The twilight trembled as the yellow +rays struck into its depths, and deepened, dying into purple shadows. +Across the plain zigzagged pools of a level stream, as if a giant had +spilled handfuls of quicksilver here and there. + +Miles Morgan, riding, drank in all the mysterious, wild beauty, as a man +at ease; as open to each fair impression as if he were not riding each +moment into deeper danger, as if his every sense were not on guard. On +through the shining moonlight and in the shadow of the hills he rode, +and, where he might, through the trees, and stopped to listen often, to +stare at the hill-tops, to question a heap of stones or a bush. + +At last, when his leg-weary horse was beginning to stumble a bit, he +saw, as he came around a turn, Massacre Mountain's dark head rising in +front of him, only half a mile away. The spring trickled its low song, +as musical, as limpidly pure as if it had never run scarlet. The +picketed horse fell to browsing and Miles sighed restfully as he laid +his head on his saddle and fell instantly to sleep with the light of the +moon on his damp, fair hair. But he did not sleep long. Suddenly with a +start he awoke, and sat up sharply, and listened. He heard the horse +still munching grass near him, and made out the shadow of its bulk +against the sky; he heard the stream, softly falling and calling to the +waters where it was going. That was all. Strain his hearing as he might +he could hear nothing else in the still night. Yet there was something. +It might not be sound or sight, but there was a presence, a +something--he could not explain. He was alert in every nerve. Suddenly +the words of the hymn he had been singing in the afternoon flashed again +into his mind, and, with his cocked revolver in his hand, alone, on +guard, in the midnight of the savage wilderness, the words came that +were not even a whisper: + + God shall charge His angel legions + Watch and ward o'er thee to keep; + Though thou walk through hostile regions, + Though in desert wilds thou sleep. + +He gave a contented sigh and lay down. What was there to worry about? It +was just his case for which the hymn was written. "Desert wilds"--that +surely meant Massacre Mountain, and why should he not sleep here +quietly, and let the angels keep their watch and ward? He closed his +eyes with a smile. But sleep did not come, and soon his eyes were open +again, staring into blackness, thinking, thinking. + +It was Sunday when he started out on this mission, and he fell to +remembering the Sunday nights at home--long, long ago they seemed now. +The family sang hymns after supper always; his mother played, and the +children stood around her--five of them, Miles and his brothers and +sisters. There was a little sister with brown hair about her shoulders, +who always stood by Miles, leaned against him, held his hand, looked up +at him with adoring eyes--he could see those uplifted eyes now, shining +through the darkness of this lonely place. He remembered the big, +home-like room; the crackling fire; the peaceful atmosphere of books and +pictures; the dumb things about its walls that were yet eloquent to him +of home and family; the sword that his great-grandfather had worn under +Washington; the old ivories that another great-grandfather, the Admiral, +had brought from China; the portraits of Morgans of half a dozen +generations which hung there; the magazine table, the books and books +and books. A pang of desperate homesickness suddenly shook him. He +wanted them--his own. Why should he, their best-beloved, throw away his +life--a life filled to the brim with hope and energy and high ideals--on +this futile quest? He knew quite as well as the General or the Colonel +that his ride was but a forlorn hope. As he lay there, longing so, in +the dangerous dark, he went about the library at home in his thought and +placed each familiar belonging where he had known it all his life. And +as he finished, his mother's head shone darkly golden by the piano; her +fingers swept over the keys; he heard all their voices, the dear +never-forgotten voices. Hark! They were singing his hymn--little Alice's +reedy note lifted above the others--"God shall charge His angel +legions--" + +Now! He was on his feet with a spring, and his revolver pointed +steadily. This time there was no mistaking--something had rustled in the +bushes. There was but one thing for it to be--Indians. Without realizing +what he did, he spoke sharply. + +"Who goes there?" he demanded, and out of the darkness a voice answered +quietly: + +"A friend." + +"A friend?" With a shock of relief the pistol dropped by his side, and +he stood tense, waiting. How might a friend be here, at midnight in this +desert? As the thought framed itself swiftly the leaves parted, and his +straining eyes saw the figure of a young man standing before him. + +"How came you here?" demanded Miles sternly. "Who are you?" + +Even in the dimness he could see the radiant smile that answered him. +The calm voice spoke again: "You will understand that later. I am here +to help you." + +As if a door had suddenly opened into that lighted room of which he +dreamed, Miles felt a sense of tranquillity, of happiness stirring +through him. Never in his life had he known such a sudden utter +confidence in anyone, such a glow of eager friendliness as this +half-seen, mysterious stranger inspired. "It is because I was lonelier +than I knew," he said mentally. "It is because human companionship gives +courage to the most self-reliant of us"; and somewhere in the words he +was aware of a false note, but he did not stop to place it. + +The low, even voice of the stranger spoke again. "There are Indians on +your trail," he said. "A small band of Black Wolf's scouts. But don't be +troubled. They will not hurt you." + +"You escaped from them?" demanded Miles eagerly, and again the light of +a swift smile shone into the night. "You came to save me--how was it? +Tell me, so that we can plan. It is very dark yet, but hadn't we better +ride? Where is your horse?" + +He threw the earnest questions rapidly across the black night, and the +unhurried voice answered him. "No," it said, and the verdict was not to +be disputed. "You must stay here." + +Who this man might be or how he came Miles could not tell, but this much +he knew, without reason for knowing it; it was someone stronger than he, +in whom he could trust. As the newcomer had said, it would be time +enough later to understand the rest. Wondering a little at his own swift +acceptance of an unknown authority, wondering more at the peace which +wrapped him as an atmosphere at the sound of the stranger's voice, Miles +made a place for him by his side, and the two talked softly to the +plashing undertone of the stream. + +Easily, naturally, Miles found himself telling how he had been homesick, +longing for his people. He told him of the big familiar room, and of the +old things that were in it, that he loved; of his mother; of little +Alice, and her baby adoration for the big brother; of how they had +always sung hymns together Sunday night; he never for a moment doubted +the stranger's interest and sympathy--he knew that he cared to hear. + +"There is a hymn," Miles said, "that we used to sing a lot--it was my +favorite; 'Miles's hymn,' the family called it. Before you came +to-night, while I lay there getting lonelier every minute, I almost +thought I heard them singing it. You may not have heard it, but it has a +grand swing. I always think"--he hesitated--"it always seems to me as if +the God of battles and the beauty of holiness must both have filled the +man's mind who wrote it." He stopped, surprised at his own lack of +reserve, at the freedom with which, to this friend of an hour, he spoke +his inmost heart. + +"I know," the stranger said gently. There was silence for a moment, and +then the wonderful low tones, beautiful, clear, beyond any voice Miles +had ever heard, began again, and it was as if the great sweet notes of +an organ whispered the words: + + God shall charge His angel legions + Watch and ward o'er thee to keep; + Though thou walk through hostile regions, + Though in desert wilds thou sleep. + +"Great Heavens!" gasped Miles. "How could you know I meant that? Why, +this is marvellous--why, this"--he stared, speechless, at the dim +outlines of the face which he had never seen before to-night, but which +seemed to him already familiar and dear beyond all reason. As he gazed +the tall figure rose, lightly towering above him. "Look!" he said, and +Miles was on his feet. In the east, beyond the long sweep of the +prairie, was a faint blush against the blackness; already threads of +broken light, of pale darkness, stirred through the pall of the air; the +dawn was at hand. + +"We must saddle," Miles said, "and be off. Where is your horse +picketed?" he demanded again. + +But the strange young man stood still; and now his arm was stretched +pointing. "Look," he said again, and Miles followed the direction with +his eyes. + +From the way he had come, in that fast-growing glow at the edge of the +sky, sharp against the mist of the little river, crept slowly half a +dozen pin points, and Miles, watching their tiny movement, knew that +they were ponies bearing Indian braves. He turned hotly to his +companion. + +"It's your fault," he said. "If I'd had my way we'd have ridden from +here an hour ago. Now here we are caught like rats in a trap; and who's +to do my work and save Thornton's troop--who's to save them--God!" The +name was a prayer, not an oath. + +"Yes," said the quiet voice at his side, "God,"--and for a second there +was a silence that was like an Amen. + +Quickly, without a word, Miles turned and began to saddle. Then suddenly +as he pulled at the girth, he stopped. "It's no use," he said. "We can't +get away except over the rise, and they'll see us there"; he nodded at +the hill which rose beyond the camping ground three hundred yards away, +and stretched in a long, level sweep into other hills and the west. "Our +chance is that they're not on my trail after all--it's quite possible." +There was a tranquil unconcern about the figure near him; his own bright +courage caught the meaning of its relaxed lines with a hound of +pleasure. "As you say, it's best to stay here," he said, and as if +thinking aloud--"I believe you must always be right." Then he added, as +if his very soul would speak itself to this wonderful new friend: "We +can't be killed, unless the Lord wills it, and if he does it's right. +Death is only the step into life; I suppose when we know that life, we +will wonder how we could have cared for this one." + +Through the gray light the stranger turned his face swiftly, bent toward +Miles, and smiled once again, and the boy thought suddenly of the +martyrdom of St. Stephen, and how those who were looking "saw his face +as it had been the face of an angel." + +Across the plain, out of the mist-wreaths, came rushing, scurrying, the +handful of Indian braves. Pale light streamed now from the east, +filtering over a hushed world. Miles faced across the plain, stood close +to the tall stranger whose shape, as the dawn touched it, seemed to rise +beyond the boy's slight figure wonderfully large and high. There was a +sense of unending power, of alertness, of great, easy movement about +him; one might have looked at him, and looking away again, have said +that wings were folded about him. But Miles did not see him. His eyes +were on the fast-nearing, galloping ponies, each with its load of +filthy, cruel savagery. This was his death coming; there was disgust, +but not dread in the thought for the boy. In a few minutes he should be +fighting hopelessly, fiercely against this froth of a lower world; in a +few minutes after that he should be lying here still--for he meant to be +killed; he had that planned. They should not take him--a wave of sick +repulsion at that thought shook him. Nearer, nearer, right on his track +came the riders pell-mell. He could hear their weird, horrible cries; +now he could see gleaming through the dimness the huge headdress of the +foremost, the white coronet of feathers, almost the stripes of paint on +the fierce face. + +Suddenly a feeling that he knew well caught him, and he laughed. It was +the possession that had held in him in every action which he had so far +been in. It lifted his high-strung spirit into an atmosphere where there +was no dread and no disgust, only a keen rapture in throwing every atom +of soul and body into physical intensity; it was as if he himself were +a bright blade, dashing, cutting, killing, a living sword rejoicing to +destroy. With the coolness that may go with such a frenzy he felt that +his pistols were loose; saw with satisfaction that he and his new ally +were placed on the slope to the best advantage, then turned swiftly, +eager now for the fight to come, toward the Indian band. As he looked, +suddenly in mid-career, pulling in their plunging ponies with a jerk +that threw them, snorting, on their haunches, the warriors halted. Miles +watched in amazement. The bunch of Indians, not more than a hundred +yards away, were staring, arrested, startled, back of him to his right, +where the lower ridge of Massacre Mountain stretched far and level over +the valley that wound westward beneath it on the road to Fort +Rain-and-Thunder. As he gazed, the ponies had swept about and were +galloping back as they had come, across the plain. + +Before he knew if it might be true, if he were not dreaming this curious +thing, the clear voice of his companion spoke in one word again, like +the single note of a deep bell. "Look!" he said, and Miles swung about +toward the ridge behind, following the pointing finger. + +In the gray dawn the hill-top was clad with the still strength of an +army. Regiment after regiment, silent, motionless, it stretched back +into silver mist, and the mist rolled beyond, above, about it; and +through it he saw, as through rifts in broken gauze, lines interminable +of soldiers, glitter of steel. Miles, looking, knew. + +He never remembered how long he stood gazing, earth and time and self +forgotten, at a sight not meant for mortal eyes; but suddenly, with a +stab it came to him, that if the hosts of heaven fought his battle it +was that he might do his duty, might save Captain Thornton and his men; +he turned to speak to the young man who had been with him. There was no +one there. Over the bushes the mountain breeze blew damp and cold; they +rustled softly under its touch; his horse stared at him mildly; away off +at the foot-hills he could see the diminishing dots of the fleeing +Indian ponies; as he wheeled again and looked, the hills that had been +covered with the glory of heavenly armies, lay hushed and empty. And +his friend was gone. + +[Illustration: "Look!" he said, and Miles swung about toward the ridge +behind.] + +Clatter of steel, jingle of harness, an order ringing out far but +clear--Miles threw up his head sharply and listened. In a second he was +pulling at his horse's girth, slipping the bit swiftly into its +mouth--in a moment more he was off and away to meet them, as a body of +cavalry swung out of the valley where the ridge had hidden them. + +"Captain Thornton's troop?" the officer repeated carelessly. "Why, yes; +they are here with us. We picked them up yesterday, headed straight for +Black Wolf's war-path. Mighty lucky we found them. How about you--seen +any Indians, have you?" + +Miles answered slowly: "A party of eight were on my trail; they were +riding for Massacre Mountain, where I camped, about an hour--about half +an hour--awhile ago." He spoke vaguely, rather oddly, the officer +thought, "Something--stopped them about a hundred yards from the +mountain. They turned, and rode away." + +"Ah," said the officer. "They saw us down the valley." + +"I couldn't see you," said Miles. + +The officer smiled. "You're not an Indian, Lieutenant. Besides, they +were out on the plain and had a farther view behind the ridge." And +Miles answered not a word. + +General Miles Morgan, full of years and of honors, has never but twice +told the story of that night of forty years ago. But he believes that +when his time comes, and he goes to join the majority, he will know +again the presence which guarded him through the blackness of it, and +among the angel legions he looks to find an angel, a messenger, who was +his friend. + + + + +THE AIDE-DE-CAMP + + +Age has a point or two in common with greatness; few willingly achieve +it, indeed, but most have it thrust upon them, and some are born old. +But there are people who, beginning young, are young forever. One might +fancy that the careless fates who shape souls--from cotton-batting, from +stone, from wood and dynamite and cheese--once in an æon catch, by +chance, a drop of the fountain of youth, and use it in their business, +and the soul so made goes on bubbling and sparkling eternally, and gray +dust of years cannot dim it. It might be imagined, in another flight of +fancy, that a spark of divine fire from the brazier of the immortals +snaps loose once in a century and lodges in somebody, and is a +heart--with such a clean and happy flame burns sometimes a heart one +knows. + +On a January evening, in a room where were books and a blazing hearth, +a man with a famous name and a long record told me a story, and through +his blunt speech flashed in and out all the time the sparkle of the fire +and the ripple of the fountain. Unsuspecting, he betrayed every minute +the queer thing that had happened to him--how he had never grown up and +his blood had never grown cold. So that the story, as it fell in easy +sequence, had a charm which was his and is hard to trap, yet it is too +good a story to leave unwritten. A picture goes with it, what I looked +at as I listened: a massive head on tremendous shoulders; bright white +hair and a black bar of eyebrows, striking and dramatic; underneath, +eyes dark and alive, a face deep red-and-brown with out of doors. His +voice had a rough command in it, because, I suppose, he had given many +orders to men. I tell the tale with this memory for a setting; the +firelight, the soldierly presence, the gayety of youth echoing through +it. + +The fire had been forgotten as we talked, and I turned to see it dull +and lifeless. "It hasn't gone out, however," I said, and coughed as I +swallowed smoke. "There's no smoke without some fire," I poked the logs +together. "That's an old saw; but it's true all the same." + +"Old saws always are true," said the General. "If there isn't something +in them that people know is so they don't get old--they die young. I +believe in the ridden-to-death proverbs--little pitchers with big +ears--cats with nine lives--still waters running deep--love at first +sight, and the rest. They're true, too." His straight look challenged me +to dispute him. + +The pine knots caught and blazed up, and I went back comfortably into my +chair and laughed at him. + +"O General! Come! You don't believe in love at first sight." + +I liked to make him talk sentiment. He was no more afraid of it than of +anything else, and the warmest sort came out of his handling natural and +unashamed. + +"I don't? Yes, I do, too," he fired at me. "I know it happens, +sometimes." + +With that the lines of his face broke into the sunshiniest smile. He +threw back his head with sudden boyishness, and chuckled, "I ought to +know; I've had experience," he said. His look settled again +thoughtfully. "Did I ever tell you that story--the story about the day I +rode seventy-five miles? Well, I did that several times--I rode it once +to see my wife. But this was the first time, and a good deal happened. +It was a history-making day for me all right. That was when I was +aide-de-camp to General Stoneman. Have I told you that?" + +"No," I said; and "oh, do tell me." I knew already that a fire and a +deep chair and one of the General's stories made a good combination. + +His manner had a quality uncommon to storytellers; he spoke as if what +he told had occurred not in times gone by, but perhaps last week; it was +more gossip than history. Probably the sharp, full years had been so +short to him that the interval between twenty and seventy was no great +matter; things looked as clear and his interest was as lively as a +half-century ago. This trick of mind made a narrative of his vivid. With +eyes on the fire, with his dominant voice absorbing the crisp sound of +the crackling wood, he began to talk. + +"It was down in Virginia in--let me see--why, certainly, it was in +'63--right away after the battle of Chancellorsville, you know." I kept +still and hoped the General thought I knew the date of the battle of +Chancellorsville. "I was part of a cavalry command that was sent from +the Army of the Potomac under General Stoneman--I was his aide. Well, +we did a lot of things--knocked out bridges and railroads, and all that; +our object was, you see, to destroy communication between Lee's army and +Richmond. We even got into Richmond--we thought every Confederate +soldier was with Lee at the front, and we had a scheme to free the +prisoners in Libby, and perhaps capture Jefferson Davis--but we counted +wrong. The defence was too strong, and our force too small; we had to +skedaddle, or we'd have seen Libby in a way we didn't like. We found a +negro who could pilot us, and we slipped out through fields and swamps +beyond the reach of the enemy. Then the return march began. Let me put +that log on." + +"No. Talk," I protested; but the General had the wood in his vigorous +left hand--where a big scar cut across the back. + +"You needn't be so independent," he threw at me. "Now you've got a +splinter in your finger--serves you right." I laughed at the savage +tone, and his eyes flashed fiercely--and he laughed back. + +"What was I talking about--you interrupted. Oh, that march. Well, we'd +had a pretty rough time when the march back began. For nine days we +hadn't had a real meal--just eaten standing up, whatever we could get +cooked--or uncooked. We hadn't changed our clothes, and we'd slept on +the ground every night." + +"Goodness!" I interjected with amateur vagueness. "What about the +horses?" + +"Oh, they got it, too," the General said carelessly. "We seldom +unsaddled them at all, and when we did it was just to give them a +rub-down and saddle again. We'd made one march toward home and halted, +late at night, when General Stoneman called for his aide-de-camp. I went +to him, rather sleepy, and he told me he'd decided to communicate with +his chief and report his success, and that I was to start at daylight +and find the Army of the Potomac. I had my pick of ten of the best men +and horses from the brigade, and I got off at gray dawn with them, and +with the written report in my boot to the commanding general, and verbal +orders to find him wherever he might be. Nothing else, except the +tools--swords and pistols, and that sort of thing. Oh, yes, there was +one thing more. General Ladd, who was a Virginian, had given my chief a +letter for his people, thinking we'd get into their country. His family +were all on the Confederate side of the fence, while he was a Union +officer. That was not uncommon in our civil war. But we didn't get near +the Ladd estate, and so Stoneman commissioned me to return the letter to +the general with the explanation. Does this bore you?" he stopped +suddenly to ask, and his alert eye shot the glance at me like a bullet. + +"Stop once more and I'll be likely to cry," I predicted. + +"For Heaven's sake don't do that." He reached across and took the +poker. "Here's the Rapidan River," he sketched down the rug. "Runs east +and west. And this blue diagonal north of it is the Rappahannock. I +started south of the Rapidan, to cross it and go north, hoping to find +our army victorious and south of the Rappahannock. Which I didn't--but +that's farther along. Well, we were off at daylight, ten men and the +officer--me. It was a fine spring morning, and the bunch of horsemen +made a pretty sight as the sun came up, moving through the +greenness--the foliage is well out down there in May. The bits jingled +and the saddles creaked under our legs--I remember how it sounded as we +started off. We'd had a strenuous week, but we were a strong lot and +ready for anything. We were going to get it, too." The General chuckled +suddenly, as if something had hit his funny-bone. "I skirted along the +south bank of the Rapidan, keeping off the roads most of the time, and +out of sight, which was better for our health--we were in Confederate +country--and we got to Germania Ford without seeing anybody, or being +seen. Said I, 'Here's the place we'll cross.' We'd had breakfast before +starting, but we'd been in the saddle three hours since that, and I was +thirsty. I could see a house back in the trees as we came to the ford--a +beautiful old house--the kind you see a lot of in the South--high white +pillars--dignified and aristocratic. It seemed to be quiet and safe, so +we trotted up the drive, the eleven of us. The front door was open, and +I jumped off my horse and ran up the steps and stood in the doorway. +There were four or five people in the hall, and they'd seen us coming +and were scared. A nice old lady was lying back in a chair, as pale as +ashes, with her hand to her heart, gasping ninety to the second, and two +or three negroes stood around her with their eyes rolling. And right in +the middle of the place a red-headed girl in a white dress was bending +over a grizzled old negro man who was locking a large travelling-bag. As +cool as a cucumber that girl was." + +The General stopped and considered. + +"I wish I could describe the scene the way I saw it--I remember exactly. +It was a big, square hall running through from front to back, and the +back door was open, and you saw a garden with box hedges, and woods +behind it. Stairs went up each side the hall and a balcony ran around +the second story, with bedrooms opening off it. There was a high, oval +window at the back over the balcony, and the sun poured through. + +"The girl finished locking her bag as if she hadn't noticed scum of the +earth like us, and then she deliberately picked up a bunch of long white +flowers that lay by the bag--lilies, I think you call them--and stood +up, and looked right past me, as if she was struck with the landscape, +and didn't see me. She was a tall girl, and when she stood straight the +light from the back window just hit her hair and shone through the loose +part of it--there was a lot, and it was curly. I give you my word that, +as she stood there and looked calmly beyond me, in her white dress, with +the stalk of flowers over her shoulder, and the sun turning that +wonderful red-gold hair into a halo--I give you my word she was a +perfect picture of a saint out of a stained-glass window in a church. +But she didn't act like one." + +The General was seized with sudden, irresistible laughter. He sobered +quickly. + +"I took one look at the vision, and I knew it was all up with me. Talk +about love at first sight--before she ever spoke a word I--well." He +pulled up the sentence as if it were a horse. "I snatched off my cap and +I said, said I, 'I'm very sorry to disturb you,' just as politely as I +knew how, but all the answer she gave me was to glance across at the old +lady. Then she went find put her arm around her as she lay back gasping +in a great curved chair. + +"'Don't be afraid, Aunt Virginia,' she said. 'Nothing shall hurt you. I +can manage this man.' + +"The way she said 'this man' was about as contemptuous as they make 'em. +I guess she was right, too--I guess she could. She turned her head +toward me, but did not look at me. + +"'Do you want anything here?'" she asked. + +"Her voice was the prettiest, softest sound you ever heard--she was mad +as a hornet, too." The General's swift chuckle caught him. "'Hyer,' she +said it," he repeated. "'Hyer.'" He liked to say it, evidently. "I +stood holding my cap in my hand, so tame by this time you could have put +me on a perch in a cage, for the pluck of the girl was as fascinating as +her looks. I spoke up like a man all the same. + +"'I wanted to ask,' said I, 'if I might send my men around to your well +for a drink of water. They're thirsty.' + +"The way she answered, looking all around me and never once at me, made +me uncomfortable. 'I suppose you can if you wish,' she said. 'You're +stronger than we are. You can take what you choose. But I won't give you +anything--not if you were dying--not a glass of water.' + +"Well, in spite of her having played football with my heart, that made +me angry. + +"'I didn't know before that to be Southern made a woman unwomanly,' I +said. 'Where I came from I don't believe there's a girl would say a +cruel thing like that or refuse a drink of cold water to soldiers doing +their duty, friends or enemies. We've slept on the ground nine nights +and ridden nine days, and had very little to eat--my men are tired and +thirsty. I shan't make them go without any refreshment they can get, +even if it is grudged.' + +"I gave an order over my shoulder, and my party went off to the back of +the house. Then I made a low bow to the old lady and to Miss +High-and-Mighty, and I swung about and walked down the steps and mounted +my horse. I was parched for water, but I wouldn't have had it if I'd +choked, after that. Between taking an almighty shine to the girl and +getting stirred up that way, and then being all frozen over with icicles +by her cool insultingness, I was pretty savage, and I stared away from +the place and thought the men would never come. All of a sudden I felt +something touch my arm, and I looked around quick, and there was the +girl. She stood by the horse, her red hair close to my elbow as I sat in +the saddle, and she held up a glass of water. I never was so astonished +in my life. + +"'You're thirsty and tired, too,' she said, speaking as low as if she +was afraid the horse might hear. 'For my self-respect--for Southern +women'--she brought it out in that soft, sliding way, but the words +were all mixed up with embarrassment--and red--my, but she blushed! Then +she went on. 'You were right,' said she. 'I was cruel; you're my enemy +and I hate you, but I ought not to grudge you water. Take it.' + +"I put my hand right on top of hers as she held the glass, and bent down +and drank so, making her hold it to my lips, and my hand over +hers--bless her heart!" + +The General came to a full stop. He was smiling into the fire, and his +face was as if a flame burned back of it. I waited very quietly, fearing +to change the current by a word, and in a moment the strong voice, with +its vibrating note, not to be described, began again. + +"I drained every drop," he said, "I'd have drunk a hogshead. When I +finished I raised my head and looked down at her without a word +said--but I didn't let go of the glass with her hand holding it inside +mine--and she lifted her eyes very slowly, and for the first time looked +at me. Well--" he shut his lips a moment--"these things don't tell well, +but something happened. I held her eyes into mine, us if I gripped them +with my muscles, and there came over her face an extraordinary +expression--first as if she was surprised that it was me, then as if she +was glad, and then--well, you may believe it or not, but I knew that +second that the girl--loved me. She hated me all right five minutes +before--I was her people's enemy--the chances were she'd never see me +again--all that's true, but it simply didn't count. She cared for me, +and I for her, and we both knew it--that's all there was about it. +People live faster in war-time, I think--anyhow, that's the way it was. + +"The men and horses came pouring around the house, and I let her hand +loose--it was hard to do it, too--and then she was gone, and we rode on +to the ford. We stopped when we got to the stream to let the horses have +their turn at drinking, and as I sat loafing in the saddle, with my mind +pretty full of what had just passed, my eyes were all over. Every +cavalry officer, and especially an aide-de-camp, gets to be a sort of +hawk in active service--nothing can move within range that he doesn't +see. So as I looked about me I took in among other things the house +we'd just left, and suddenly I spied a handkerchief waving from behind +one of the big white pillars. Of course you've got to be wary in an +enemy's country, and these people were rabid Confederates, as I'd +occasion to know. All the same it would have been bad judgment to +neglect such a signal, and what's more, I'd have staked my life on that +girl's honesty. If the handkerchief had been a cannon I'd have gone +back. So back I went, taking a couple of men with me. As I jumped off my +horse I saw her standing inside the front door, back in the shadow, and +I ran up the steps to her. + +"'Well?' said I. + +"She looked up at me and laughed, showing a row of white teeth. That was +the first time I ever saw her laugh. 'I knew you'd come back,' said she, +as mischievous as a child, and her eyes danced. + +"I didn't mean to be made a fool of, for I had my duty to think about, +so I spoke rather shortly. 'Well, and now I'm here--what?' + +"With that she drew an excited little gasp. 'I couldn't let you be +killed,' she brought out in a sort of breathless whisper, so low I had +to bend over close to hear her. 'You mustn't go on--in that +direction--you'll be taken. The Union army's been defeated--at +Chancellorsville. They're driven north of the Rappahannock--to Falmouth. +Our troops are in their old camps. There's an outpost across the +ford--just over the hill.' + +"It was the first I'd heard of the defeat at Chancellorsville, and it +stunned me for a second. 'Are you telling me the truth?' I asked her +pretty sharply. + +"'You know I am,' she said, as haughty as you please all of a sudden, +and drew herself up with her head in the air. + +"And I did know it. Something else struck me just about then. The old +lady and the servants were gone from the hall. There wasn't anybody in +it but herself and me; my men were out of sight on the driveway. I +forgot our army and the war and everything else, and I caught her bands +in between mine, and said I, 'Why couldn't you let me be killed?'" + +At his words I drew a quick breath, too. For a moment I was the +Southern girl with the red-gold hair. I could feel the clasp of the +young officer's hands; I could hear his voice asking the rough, tender +question, "Why couldn't you let me be killed?" + +"It was mighty still for a minute. Then she lifted up her eyes as I held +her fingers in a vise, and gave me a steady look. That was all--but it +was plenty. + +"I don't know how I got on my horse or what order I gave, but my head +was clear enough for business purposes, and I had to use it--quickly, +too. There were thick woods near by, and I hurried my party into them +and gave men and horses a short rest till I could decide what to do. The +Confederates were east of us, around Chancellorsville and in the +triangle between the Rapidan and the Rappahannock, so that It was unsafe +travelling in that direction. It's the business of an aide-de-camp +carrying despatches to steal as quietly as possible through an enemy's +country, and the one fatal thing is to be captured. So I concluded I +wouldn't get into the thick of it till I had to, but would turn west +and make a _détour_, crossing by Morton's Ford, farther up the Rapidan. +Germania Ford lies in a deep loop of the river, and that made our ride +longer, but we found a road and crossed all right as I planned it, and +then we doubled back, as we had to, eastward. + +"It was a pretty ride in the May weather, through that beautiful +Virginia country. We kept in the woods and the lonely roads as much as +we could and hardly saw a soul for hours, and though I knew we were +getting into dangerous parts again, I hoped we might work through all +right. Of course I thought first about my errand, and my mind was on +every turn of the road and every speck in the landscape, but all the +same there was one corner of it--or of something--that didn't forget +that red-headed girl--not an instant. I kept wondering if I'd ever see +her again, and I was mighty clear that I would, if there was enough left +of me by the time I could get off duty to go and look her up. The touch +of her hands stayed with me all day. + +"About two o'clock or so we passed a house, just a cabin, but a neat +sort of place, and I looked at it as I did at everything, and saw an old +negro with grizzled hair standing some distance in front of it. Now +everything reminded me of that girl because she was on my mind, and +instantly I was struck with the idea, that the old fellow looked like +the servant who had been locking the bag in the house by Germania Ford. +I wasn't sure it was the same darky, but I thought I'd see. There was a +patch of woods back of the house, and I ordered the party to wait there +till I joined them, and I threw my bridle to a soldier and turned in at +the gate. The man loped out for the house, but I halted him. Then I went +along past the negro to the cabin, and opened the door, which had been +shut tight. + +"There was a table littered with papers in the middle of the room, and +behind it, in a gray riding-habit, with a gray soldier-cap on her red +hair, writing for dear life, sat the girl. She lifted her head quick, as +the door swung open, and then made a jump to get between me and the +table. I took off my cap, and said I: + +"'I'm very glad to see you. I was just wondering if we'd ever meet +again.' She only stared at me. Then I said: 'I'm sorry, but I'll have to +ask you for those papers.' I knew by the look of them that they were +some sort of despatches. + +"At that she laughed in a kind of a friendly, cocksure way. She wasn't +afraid of anything, that girl. 'No,' she threw at me--just like +that--'No.'" The General tossed back his big head and did a poor +imitation of a girl's light tone--a poor imitation, but the way he did +it was winning. "'No,' said she, shaking her head sidewise. 'You can't +have those papers--not ever,' and with that she swept them together and +popped them into a drawer of the table and then hopped up on the table +and sat there laughing at me, with her little riding-hoots swinging. 'At +least, unless you knock me down, and I don't believe you'll do that,' +said she. + +"Well, I had to have those papers. I didn't know how important they +might be, but if this girl was sending information to the Southern +commanders I was inclined to think it would be accurate and worth while. +It wouldn't do not to capture it. At the same time I wouldn't have laid +a finger on her, to compel her, for a million dollars. I stood and +stared like a blockhead for a minute, at my wit's end, and she sat there +and smiled. All of a sudden I had an idea. I caught the end of the table +and tipped it up, and off slid the young lady, and I snatched at the +knob of the drawer, and had the papers in a second. + +"It was simple, but it worked. Then it was her turn to look foolish. Of +course she had a temper, with that colored hair, and she was raging. She +looked at me as if she'd like to tear me to pieces. There wasn't +anything she could say, however, and not lose her dignity, and I guess +she pretty nearly exploded for a minute, and then, in a flash, the joke +of it struck her. Her eyes began to dance, and she laughed because she +couldn't help it, and I with her. For a whole minute we forgot what a +big business we were both after, and acted like two children. + +"'That's right,' said I finally. 'I had to get them, but I did it in the +kindest spirit. I see you understand that.' + +"'Oh, I don't care,' she answered with her chin up--a little way she +had. 'They're not much, anyway. I hadn't got to the important part.' + +"'Won't you finish?' said I politely, and pretended to offer her the +papers--and then I got serious. 'What are you doing here?' I asked her. +'Where are you going?' + +"She looked up at me, and--I knew she liked me. She caught her breath +before she answered. 'What right have you got to ask me questions?' said +she, making a bluff at righteous indignation. + +"But I just gripped her fingers into mine--it was getting to be a habit, +holding her hand. + +"'And what are _you_ doing here?' she went on saucily, but her voice was +a whisper, and she let her hand lie. + +"'I'll tell you what I'm doing,' said I. 'I'm obeying the Bible. My +Bible tells me to love my enemies, and I'm going to. I do,' said I. +'What does your Bible tell you?' + +"'My Bible tells me to resist the devil and he will flee from me,' she +answered back like a flash, standing up straight and looking at me +squarely, as solemn as a church. + +"'Well, I guess I'm not that kind of a devil,' said I. 'I don't want to +flee worth a cent.' + +"And at that she broke into a laugh and showed all her little teeth at +me. That was one of the prettiest things about her, the row of small +white teeth she showed every time she laughed. + +"'Just at that second the old negro stuck his head in at the door. +'We're busy, uncle,' said I. 'I'll give you five dollars for five +minutes.' + +"But the girl put her hand on my arm to stop me, 'What is it, Uncle +Ebenezer?' she asked him anxiously. + +"'It's young Marse, Miss Lindy,' the man said, 'Him'n Marse Philip +Breck'nridge 'n' Marse Tom's ridin' down de branch right now. Close to +hyer--dey'll be hyer in fo'-five minutes.' + +"She nodded at him coolly. 'All right. Shut the door, Uncle Ebenezer,' +said she, and he went out and shut it. + +"And before I could say Jack Robinson she was dragging me into the next +room, and pushing me out of a door at the back. + +"'Go--hurry up--oh, go!' she begged. 'I won't let them take you.' + +"Well, I didn't like to leave her suddenly like that, so I said, said I: +'What's the hurry? I want to tell you something.' + +"'_No_,' she shot at me. 'You can't. Go--won't you, please go?' Then I +picked up a little hand and hold it against my coat. I knew by now just +how she would catch her breath when I did it." + +At about this point the General forgot me. Such good comrades we were +that my presence did not trouble him, but as for telling the story to +me, that was past--he was living it over, to himself alone, with every +nerve in action. + +"'Look here,' said I, 'I don't believe a thing like this ever happened +on the globe before, but this has. It's so--I love you, and I believe +you love me, and I'm not going till you tell me so.' + +"By that time she was in a fit. 'They'll be here in two minutes; they're +Confederate officers. Oh, and you mustn't cross at Kelly's Ford--take +the ford above it'--and she thumped me excitedly with the hand I held. +I laughed, and she burst out again: 'They'll take you--oh, please go!' + +"'Tell me, then,' said I, and she stopped half a second, and gasped +again, and looked up in my eyes and said it. 'I love you,' said she. And +she meant it. + +"'Give me a kiss,' said I, and I leaned close to her, but she pulled +away. + +"'Oh, no--oh, please go now,' she begged. + +"'All right,' said I, 'but you don't know what you're missing,' and I +slid out of the back door at the second the Southerners came in at the +front. + +"There were bushes back there, and I crawled behind them and looked +through into the window, and what do you suppose I saw? I saw the +biggest and best-looking man of the three walk up to the girl who'd just +told me she loved me, and I saw her put up her face and give him the +kiss she wouldn't give me. Well, I went smashing down to the woods, +making such a rumpus that if those officers had been half awake they'd +have been after me twice over. I was so maddened at the sight of that +kiss that I didn't realize what I was doing or that I was endangering +the lives of my men. 'Of course,' said I to myself, 'it's her brother or +her cousin,' but I knew it was a hundred to one that it wasn't, and I +was in a mighty bad temper. + +"I got my men away from the neighborhood quietly, and we rode pretty +cautiously all that afternoon, I knew the road leading to Kelly's Ford, +and I bore to the north, away from there, for I trusted the girl and +believed I'd be safe if I followed her orders. She'd saved my life twice +that day, so I had reason to trust her. But all the time as I jogged +along I was wondering about that man, and wondering what the dickens she +was up to, anyway, and why she was travelling in the same direction that +I was, and where she was going--and over and over I wondered if I'd over +see her again. I felt sure I would, though--I couldn't imagine not +seeing her, after what she'd said. I didn't even know her name, except +that the old negro had called her 'Miss Lindy.' I said that a lot of +times to myself as I rode, with the men's bits jingling at my buck and +their horses' hoofs thud-thudding. 'Lindy--Miss Lindy--Linda--my +Linda--I said it half aloud. It kept first-rate time to the +hoof-beats--'Lindy--Miss Lindy.' + +"I wondered, too, why she wouldn't let me cross the Rappahannock by +Kelly's Ford, for I had reason to think there'd be a Union post on the +east side of the river there, but there was a sense of brains and +capability about the girl, as well as charm--in fact, that's likely to +be a large part of any real charm--and so I trusted to her. + +[Illustration: "I got behind a turn and fired as a man came on alone."] + +"Well, late in the afternoon we were trotting along, feeling pretty +secure. I'd left the Kelly's Ford road at the last turn, and was +beginning to think that we ought to be within a few miles of the river, +when all of a sudden, coming out of some woods into a small clearing +with a farmhouse about the centre of it, we rode on a strong outpost of +the enemy, infantry and cavalry both. We were in the open before I saw +them, so there was nothing to do but make a dash for it and rush past +the cabin before they could reach their arms, and we drew our revolvers +and put the spurs in deep and flew past with a fire that settled some +of them. But a surprise of this sort doesn't last long, and it was only +a few minutes before they were after us--and with fresh mounts. Then it +was a horse-race for the river, and I wasn't certain of the roads. +However, I knew a trick or two about this business, and I was sure some +of the pursuers would forge ahead; so three times I got behind a turn +and fired as a man came on alone. I dismounted several that way. This +relieved the strain enough so that I got within sight of the river with +all my men. It was a quarter of a mile away when I saw it, and at that +point the road split, and which branch led to the ford for the life of +me I didn't know. There wasn't time for meditation, however, so I shot +down the turn to the left, on the gamble, and sure enough there was the +ford--only it wasn't any ford. The Rappahannock was full to the banks +and perhaps two hundred yards across. The Confederates were within +rifle-shot, so there were exactly two things to do--surrender or swim. I +gave my men the choice--to follow me or be captured--and I plunged in, +without any of them." + +"What!" I demanded here, puzzled. "Didn't the men know how to swim?" + +"Oh, yes, they knew how," the General answered, and looked embarrassed. + +"Well, then, why didn't they?" It began to dawn on me, "Were they +afraid--was it dangerous--was the river swift?" + +"Yes," he acknowledged. "The river was swift--it was a foaming torrent." + +"They were afraid--all ten of them--and you weren't--you alone?" The +General looked annoyed. "I didn't want to be captured," he explained +crossly. "I had the despatches besides." He went on: "I slipped off my +horse, keeping hold of the bridle to guide him, and swam low beside him, +because they were firing from the bank. But all at once the shots +stopped, and I heard shouting, and shortly after I got a glimpse, over +my horse's back, of a rider in the water near me, and there was a flash +of a gray cap. One of the Southerners was swimming after me, and I was +due for a tussle when we landed. I made it first. I scrambled to shore +and snatched out my sword--the pistols were wet--and rushed for the +other man as he jumped to the bank, and just as I got to him--just in +time--I saw him. It wasn't him--it was her--the girl. Heavens!" gasped +the General; "she gave me a start that time. I dropped my sword on the +ground, I was so surprised, and stared at her with my mouth open. + +"'Oo-ee!' said that girl, shaking her skirt, as calm as a May morning. +'Oo-ee!' like a baby crowing. 'My, but that's a cold river!' And her +teeth chattered. + +"Well, that time I didn't ask permission. I took her in my arms and held +her--I had to, to keep her warm. Couldn't let her stand there and click +her teeth--could I? And she didn't fight me. 'What did you do such a +crazy thing for?' asked I. + +"'Well, you're mighty par-particular,' said she as saucy as you please, +but still shivering so she couldn't talk straight. 'They were popping +g-guns at you--that's what for. Roger's a right bad shot, but he might +have hit you.' + +"'And he might, have hit you,' said I. 'Did you happen to think of +that?' + +"She just laughed. 'Oh, no--they wouldn't risk hitting me. I'm too +valuable--that's why I jumped in--to protect you.' + +"'Oh!' said I. 'I'm a delicate flower, it seems. You've been protecting +me all day. Who's Roger?' + +"'My brother,' said she, smiling up at me. + +"'Was that the man you kissed in the cabin back yonder?' + +"'Shame!' said she. 'You peeped.' + +"'Was it?' I insisted, for I wanted to know. And she told me. + +"'Yes,' she told me, in that low voice of hers that was hard to hear, +only it paid to listen. + +"'Did you ever kiss any other man?' said I. + +"'It's none of your business,' said the girl. 'But I didn't--the way you +mean.' + +"'Well, it wouldn't make any difference, anyway--nothing would,' I said. +'Except this--are you ever going to?' + +"All this time that bright-colored head of hers was on my shoulder, +Confederate cap and all, and I was afraid of my life to stir, for fear +she'd take it away. But when I said that I put my face down against +hers and repeated the question, 'Are you ever going to?' + +"It seemed like ages before she answered and I was scared--yet she +didn't pull away,--and finally the words came--low, but I heard. 'One,' +said she. 'If he wants it.' + +"Then--" the General stopped suddenly, and the splendid claret and +honey color of his cheeks went a dark shade more to claret. He had come +to from his trance, and remembered me. "I don't know why I'm telling you +all these details," he declared abruptly. "I suppose you're tired to +death listening." His alert eyes questioned me. + +"General," I begged, "don't stop like that again. Don't leave out a +syllable. 'Then--'" + +But he threw back his head boyishly and laughed with a touch of +self-consciousness. "No, madam, I won't tell you about 'then.' I'll +leave so much to your imagination. I guess you're equal to it. It wasn't +a second anyway before she gave a jump that took her six feet from me, +and there she was tugging at the girth of her saddle. + +"'Quick--change the saddles!' she ordered me. 'I must be out of my mind +to throw away time when your life's in danger. They're coming around by +the bridge,' she explained, 'two miles down. And you have to have a +fresh mount. They'd catch you on that.' She threw a contemptuous glance +at my tired brute, and began unbuckling the wet straps with her little +wet fingers. + +"'Don't do that,' said I. 'Let me.' But she pushed me away. 'Mustn't +waste time.' She gave her orders as business-like as an officer. 'Do +your own saddle while I attend to this. Zero can run right away from +anything they're riding--from anything at all. Can't you, Zero?' and she +gave the horse a quick pat in between unbuckling. He was a powerful, +rangy bay, and not winded by his run and his swim. 'He's my father's,' +she went on. 'He'll carry you through to General Hooker's camp at +Falmouth--he knows that camp. It's twenty-five miles yet, and you've +ridden fifty to-day, poor boy.' + +"I wish I could tell you how pretty her voice was when she said things +like that, as if she cared that I'd had a strenuous day and was a little +tired. + +"'How do you know I'm going to Falmouth? How do you know how far I've +ridden?' I asked her, astonished again. + +"'I'm a witch,' she said. 'I find out everything about you-all by magic, +and then I tell our officers. They know it's so if I tell them. Ask +Stonewall Jackson how he discovered the road to take his cavalry around +for the attack on Howard. I reckon I helped a lot at Chancellorsville.' + +"'Do you reckon you're helping now?' I asked, throwing my saddle over +Zero's back. 'Strikes me you're giving aid and comfort to the enemy hand +over fist.' + +"That girl surprised me whatever she did, and the reason was--I figured +it out afterward--that she let herself be what few people let themselves +be--absolutely straightforward. She had the gentlest ways, but she +always hit straight from the shoulder, and that's likely to surprise +people. This time she took three steps to where I stood by Zero and +caught my finger in the middle of pulling up the cinch and held to it. + +"'I'm not a traitor,' she threw at me. 'I'm loyal to my people, and +you're my enemy--and I'm saving you from them. But it's you--it's you,' +she whispered, looking up at me. It was getting dark by now, but I could +see her eyes. 'When you put your hand over mine this morning it was like +somebody'd telegraphed that the one man was coming; and then I looked at +you, and I knew he'd got there. I've never bothered about men--mostly +they're not worth while, when there are horses--but ever since I've been +grown I've known that you'd come some time, and that I'd know you when +you came. Do you think I'm going to let you be taken--shot, maybe? Not +much--I'll guard your life with every breath of mine--and I'll keep it +safe, too.' + +"Now, wasn't that a strange way for a girl to talk? Did you ever hear of +another woman who could talk that way, and live up to it?" he demanded +of me unexpectedly. + +I was afraid to say the wrong thing and I spoke timidly. "What did you +do then?" + +He gave me a glance smouldering with mischief. "I didn't do it. I tried +to, but she wouldn't let me. + +"'Hurry, hurry,' said she, in a panic all of a sudden. 'They'll be +coming. Zero's fast, but you ought to get a good start.' + +"And she hustled me on the horse. And just as I was off, as I bent from +the saddle to catch her hand for the last time, she gave me two more +shocks together." Silent reminiscent laughter shook him. + +"'When am I going to see you again?' asked I hopelessly, for I felt as +if everything was mighty uncertain, and I couldn't bear to leave her. + +"'To-morrow,' said she, prompt as taxes. 'To-morrow. Good-by, Captain +Carruthers.' + +"And she gave the horse a slap that scared him into a leap, and off I +went galloping into darkness, with my brain in a whirl as to where I +could see her to-morrow, and how under creation she knew my name. The +cold bath had refreshed me--I hadn't had the like of it for nine +days--and I galloped on for a while feeling fine, and thinking mighty +hard about the girl I'd left behind me. Twenty-four hours before I'd +never seen her, yet I felt, as if I had known her all my life. I was +sure of this, that in all my days I'd never seen anybody like her, and +never would. And that's true to this minute. I'd had sweethearts +a-plenty--in a way--but the affair of that day was the only time I was +ever in love in my life." + +To tell the truth I had been a little scandalized all through this +story, for I knew well enough that there was a Mrs. Carruthers. I had +not met her--she had been South through the months which her husband had +spent in New York--but the General's strong language concerning the +red-haired girl made me sympathize with his wife, and this last +sentiment was staggering. Poor Mrs. Carruthers! thought I--poor, staid +lady, with this gay lad of a husband declaring his heart forever buried +with the adventure of a day of long ago. Yet, a soldier boy of +twenty-three--the romance of war-time--the glamour of lost love--there +were certainly alleviating circumstances. At all events, it was not my +affair--I could enjoy the story as it came with a clear conscience. So I +smiled at the wicked General--who looked as innocent as a baby--and he +went on. + +"I knew every road on that side the river, and I knew the Confederates +wouldn't dare chase me but a few miles, as it wasn't their country any +longer, so pretty soon I began to take things easy. I thought over +everything that had happened through the day, everything she'd said and +done, every look--I could remember it all. I can now. I wondered who +under heaven she was, and I kicked myself that I hadn't asked her name. +'Lindy'--that's all I knew, and I guess I said that over a hundred +times. I wondered why she'd told me not to go to Kelly's Ford, but I +worked that out the right way--as I found later--that her party expected +to cross there, and she didn't want me to encounter them; and then the +river was too full and they tried a higher ford. And I'd run into them. +Yet I couldn't understand why she planned to cross at Kelly's, anyway, +because there was pretty sure to be a Union outpost on the east bank +there, and she'd have landed right among them. That puzzled me. Who was +the girl, and why on earth was she travelling in that direction, and +where could she be going? I went over that problem again and again, and +couldn't find an answer. + +"Meanwhile it was getting late, and the bracing effect of the cold +water of the Rappahannock was wearing off, and I began to feel the +fatigue of an exciting day and a seventy-five-mile ride--on top of +nine other days with little to eat and not much rest. My wet clothes +chilled me, and the last few miles I have never been able to remember +distinctly--I think I was misty in my mind. At any rate, when I got to +headquarters camp I was just about clear enough to guide Zero through +the maze of tents, and not any more, and when the horse stopped with his +nose against the front pole of the general's fly I was unconscious." + +I exclaimed, horrified: "It was too much for human nature! You must have +been nearly dead. Did you fall off? Were you hurt?" + +"Oh, no--I was all right," he said cheerfully. "I just sat there. But an +equestrian statue in front of the general's tent at 11 P.M. wasn't +usual, and there was a small sensation. It brought out the +adjutant-general and he recognized me, and they carried me into a tent, +and got a surgeon, and he had me stripped and rubbed and rolled in +blankets. They found the despatches in my boots, and those gave all the +information necessary. They found the letter, too, which Stoneman had +given me to hand back to General Ladd, and they didn't understand that, +as it was addressed simply to 'Miss Ladd, Ford Hall,' so they left it +till I waked up. That wasn't till noon the next day." + +The General began chuckling contagiously, and I was alive with curiosity +to know the coming joke. + +"I believe every officer in the camp, from the commanding general down, +had sent me clothes. When I unclosed my eyes that tent was alive with +them. It was a spring opening, I can tell you--all sorts. Well, when I +got the meaning of the array, I lay there and laughed out loud, and an +orderly appeared at that, and then the adjutant-general, and I reported +to him. Then I got into an assortment of the clothes, and did my duty by +a pile of food and drink, and I was ready to start back to join my +chief. Except for the letter of General Ladd--I had to deliver that in +person to give the explanation. General Ladd had been wounded, I found, +at Chancellorsville, but would see me. So off I went to his tent, and +the orderly showed me in at once. He was in bed with his arm and +shoulder bandaged, and by his side, looking as fresh as a rose and as +mischievous as a monkey, sat a girl with red hair--Linda Ladd--Miss +Ladd, of Ford Hall--the old house where I first saw her. Her father +presented me in due form and told me to give her the letter and--that's +all." + +The General stopped short and regarded me quietly. + +"Oh, but--" I stammered. "But that isn't all--why, I don't +understand--it's criminal not to tell the rest--there's a lot." + +"What do you want to hear?" he demanded, "I don't know any more--that's +all that happened." + +"Don't be brutal," I pleaded. "I want to know, for one thing, how she +knew your name." + +"Oh--that." He laughed like an amused child. "That was rather odd. You +remember I told you that when they were chasing us I took shelter and +shot the horses from under some of the Southerners." + +"I remember." + +"Well, the first man dismounted was Tom Ladd, the girl's cousin, who'd +been my classmate at the Point, and he recognized me. He ran back and +told them to make every effort to capture the party, as its leader was +Captain Carruthers, of Stoneman's staff, and undoubtedly carried +despatches." + +"Oh!" I said. "I see. And where was Miss Ladd going, travelling your way +all day?" + +"To see her wounded father at Falmouth, don't you understand? She'd had +word from him the day before. She was escorted by a strong party of +Confederates, including her brother and cousin. She started out with +just the old negro, and it was arranged that she should meet the party +at the cabin where I found her writing. They were to go with her to +Kelly's Ford, where she was to pass over to the Union post on the other +bank--she had a safe-conduct." + +"Oh!" I assimilated this. "And she and her brother were Confederates, +and the father was a Northern general--how extraordinary!" + +"Not in the least," the General corrected me. "It happened so in a +number of cases. She was a power in that campaign. She did more work +than either father or brother. A Southern officer told me afterward that +the men half believed what she said--that she was a witch, and got news +of our movements by magic. Nothing escaped her--she had a wonderful +mind, and did not know what fear was. A wonderful woman!" + +He was smiling to himself again as he sat, with his great shoulders bent +forward and his scarred hand on his knee, looking into the fire. + +"General," I said tentatively, "aren't you going to tell me what she +said when she saw you come into her father's tent?" + +"Said?" asked the General, looking up and frowning. "What could she say? +Good-morning, I guess." + +I wasn't afraid of his frown or of his hammer-and-tongs manner. I'd got +behind both before now. I persisted. + +"But I mean--what did you say to each other, like the day before--how +did it all come out?" + +"Oh, we couldn't do any love-making, if that's what you mean," he +explained in a business-like way, "because the old man was on deck. And +I had to leave in about ten minutes to ride back to join my command. +That was all there was to it." + +I sighed with disappointment. Of course I knew it was just an idyll of +youth, a day long, and that the book was closed forty years before. But +I could not bear to have it closed with a bang. Somewhere in the +narrative had come to me the impression that the heroine of it had died +young in those exciting war-times of long ago. I had a picture in my +mind of the dancing eyes closed meekly in a last sleep; of the young +officer's hand laid sorrowing on the bright halo of hair. + +"Did you ever see the girl again?" I asked softly. + +The General turned on me a quick, queer look. Fun was in it, and memory +gave it gentleness; yet there was impatience, too, at my slowness, in +the boyish brown eyes. + +"Mrs. Carruthers has red hair," he said briefly. + + + + +THROUGH THE IVORY GATE + + +Breeze-filtered through shifting leafage, the June morning sunlight came +in at the open window by the boy's bed, under the green shades, across +the shadowy, white room, and danced a noiseless dance of youth and +freshness and springtime against the wall opposite. The boy's head +stirred on his pillow. He spoke a quick word from out of his dream. "The +key?" he said inquiringly, and the sound of his own voice awoke him. +Dark, drowsy eyes opened, and he stared half seeing, at the picture that +hung facing him. Was it the play of mischievous sunlight, was it the +dream that still held his brain? He knew the picture line by line, and +there was no such figure in it. It was a large photograph of Fairfield, +the Southern home of his mother's people, and the boy remembered it +always hanging there, opposite his bed, the first sight to meet his eyes +every morning since his babyhood. So he was certain there was no figure +in it, more than all one so remarkable as this strapping little chap in +his queer clothes; his dress of conspicuous plaid with large black +velvet squares sewed on it, who stood now in front of the old +manor-house. Could it be only a dream? Could it be that a little ghost, +wandering childlike in dim, heavenly fields, had joined the gay troop of +his boyish visions and shipped in with them through the ivory gate of +pleasant dreams? The boy put his fists to his eyes and rubbed them and +looked again. The little fellow was still there, standing with sturdy +legs wide apart as if owning the scene; he laughed as he held toward the +boy a key--a small key tied with a scarlet ribbon. There was no doubt in +the boy's mind that the key was for him, and out of the dim world of +sleep he stretched his young arm for it; to reach it he sat up in bed. +Then he was awake and knew himself alone in the peace of his own little +room, and laughed shamefacedly at the reality of the vision which had +followed him from dreamland into the very boundaries of consciousness, +which held him even now with gentle tenacity, which drew him back +through the day, from his studies, from his play, into the strong +current of its fascination. + +The first time Philip Beckwith had this dream he was only twelve years +old, and, withheld by the deep reserve of childhood, he told not even +his mother about it, though he lived in its atmosphere all day and +remembered it vividly days longer. A year after it came again; and again +it was a June morning, and as his eyes opened the little boy came once +more out of the picture toward him, laughing and holding out the key on +its scarlet string. The dream was a pleasant one, and Philip welcomed it +eagerly from his sleep as a friend. There seemed something sweet and +familiar in the child's presence beyond the one memory of him, as again +the boy, with eyes half open to every-day life, saw him standing, small +but masterful, in the garden of that old house where the Fairfields had +lived for more than a century. Half consciously he tried to prolong the +vision, tried not to wake entirely for fear of losing it; but the +picture faded surely from the curtain of his mind as the tangible world +painted there its heavier outlines. It was as if a happy little spirit +had tried to follow him, for love of him, from a country lying close, +yet separated; it was as if the common childhood of the two made it +almost possible for them to meet; as if a message that might not be +spoken, were yet almost delivered. + +The third time the dream came it was a December morning of the year when +Philip was fifteen, and falling snow made wavering light and shadow on +the wall where hung the picture. This time, with eyes wide open, yet +with the possession of the dream strongly on him, he lay sub-consciously +alert and gazed, as in the odd, unmistakable dress that Philip knew now +in detail, the bright-faced child swung toward him, always from the +garden of that old place, always trying with loving, merry efforts to +reach Philip from out of it--always holding to him the red-ribboned key. +Like a wary hunter the big boy lay--knowing it unreal, yet living it +keenly--and watched his chance. As the little figure glided close to him +he put out his hand suddenly, swiftly for the key--he was awake. As +always, the dream was gone; the little ghost was baffled again; the two +worlds might not meet. + +That day Mrs. Beckwith, putting in order an old mahogany secretary, +showed him a drawer full of photographs, daguerrotypes. The boy and his +gay young mother were the best of friends, for, only nineteen when he +was born, she had never let the distance widen between them; had held +the freshness of her youth sacred against the time when he should share +it. Year by year, living in his enthusiasms, drawing him to hers, she +had grown young in his childhood, which year by year came closer to her +maturity. Until now there was between the tall, athletic lad and the +still young and attractive woman, an equal friendship, a common youth, +which gave charm and elasticity to the natural tie between them. Yet +even to this comrade-mother the boy had not told his dream, for the +difficulty of putting into words the atmosphere, the compelling power of +it. So that when she opened one of the old-fashioned black cases which +held the early sun-pictures, and showed him the portrait within, he +startled her by a sudden exclamation. From the frame of red velvet and +tarnished gilt there laughed up at him the little boy of his dream. +There was no mistaking him, and if there were doubt about the face, +there was the peculiar dress--the black and white plaid with large +squares of black velvet sewed here and there as decoration. Philip +stared in astonishment at the sturdy figure, the childish face with its +wide forehead and level, strong brows; its dark eyes straight-gazing and +smiling. + +"Mother--who is he? Who is he?" he demanded. + +"Why, my lamb, don't you know? It's your little uncle Philip--my +brother, for whom you were named--Philip Fairfield the sixth. There was +always a Philip Fairfield at Fairfield since 1790. This one was the +last, poor baby! and he died when he was five. Unless you go back there +some day--that's my hope, but it's not likely to come true. You are a +Yankee, except for the big half of you that's me. That's Southern, every +inch." She laughed and kissed his fresh cheek impulsively. "But what +made you so excited over this picture, Phil?" + +Philip gazed down, serious, a little embarrassed, at the open case in +his hand. "Mother," he said after a moment, "you'll laugh at me, but +I've seen this chap in a dream three times now." + +"Oh!" She did laugh at him. "Oh, Philip! What have you been eating for +dinner, I'd like to know? I can't have you seeing visions of your +ancestors at fifteen--it's unhealthy." + +The boy, reddening, insisted. "But, mother, really, don't you think it +was queer? I saw him as plainly as I do now--and I've never seen this +picture before." + +"Oh, yes, you have--you must have seen it," his mother threw back +lightly. "You've forgotten, but the image of it was tucked away in some +dark corner of your mind, and when you were asleep it stole out and +played tricks on you. That's the way forgotten ideas do: they get even +with you in dreams for having forgotten them." + +"Mother, only listen--" But Mrs. Beckwith, her eyes lighting with a +swift turn of thought, interrupted him--laid her finger on his lips. + +"No--you listen, boy dear--quick, before I forget it! I've never told +you about this, and it's very interesting." + +And the youngster, used to these wilful ways of his sister-mother, +laughed and put his fair head against her shoulder and listened. + +"It's quite a romance," she began, "only there isn't any end to it; it's +all unfinished and disappointing. It's about this little Philip here, +whose name you have--my brother. He died when he was five, as I said, +but even then he had a bit of dramatic history in his life. He was born +just before war-time in 1859, and he was a beautiful and wonderful baby; +I can remember all about it, for I was six years older. He was incarnate +sunshine, the happiest child that ever lived, but far too quick and +clever for his years. The servants used to ask him, 'Who is you, Marse +Philip, sah?' to hear him answer, before he could speak it plainly, 'I'm +Philip Fairfield of Fairfield'; he seemed to realize that, and his +responsibility to them and to the place, as soon as he could breathe. He +wouldn't have a darky scolded in his presence, and every morning my +father put him in front of him in the saddle, and they rode together +about the plantation. My father adored him, and little Philip's sunshiny +way of taking possession of the slaves and the property pleased him more +deeply, I think, than anything in his life. But the war came before this +time, when the child was about a year old, and my father went off, of +course, as every Southern man went who could walk, and for a year we did +not see him. Then he was badly wounded at the battle of Malvern Hill; +and came home to get well. However, it was more serious than he knew, +and he did not get well. Twice he went off again to join our army, and +each time he was sent back within a month, too ill to be of any use. He +chafed constantly, of course, because he must stay at home and farm, +when his whole soul ached to be fighting for his flag; but finally in +December, 1863, he thought he was well enough at last for service. He +was to join General John Morgan, who had just made his wonderful escape +from prison at Columbus, and it was planned that my mother should take +little Philip and me to England to live there till the war was over and +we could all be together at Fairfield again. With that in view my +father drew all of his ready money--it was ten thousand dollars in +gold--from the banks in Lexington, for my mother's use in the years they +might be separated. When suddenly, the day before he was to have gone, +the old wound broke out again, and he was helplessly ill in bed at the +hour when he should have been on his horse riding toward Tennessee. We +were fifteen miles out from Lexington, yet it might be rumored that +father had drawn a large sum of money, and, of course, he was well known +as a Southern officer. Because of the Northern soldiers, who held the +city, he feared very much to have the money in the house, yet he hoped +still to join Morgan a little later, and then it would be needed as he +had planned. Christmas morning my father was so much better that my +mother went to church, taking me, and leaving little Philip, then four +years old, to amuse him. What happened that morning was the point of all +this rambling; so now listen hard, my precious thing." + +The boy, sitting erect now, caught his mother's hand silently, and his +eyes stared into hers as he drunk in every word: + +"Mammy, who was, of course, little Philip's nurse, told my mother +afterward that she was sent away before my father and the boy went into +the garden, but she saw them go and saw that my father had a tin box--a +box about twelve inches long, which seemed very heavy--in his arms, and +on his finger swung a long red ribbon with a little key strung on it. +Mother knew it as the key of the box, and she had tied the ribbon on it +herself. + +"It was a bright, crisp Christmas day, pleasant in the garden--the box +hedges were green and fragrant, aromatic in the sunshine. You don't even +know the smell of box in sunshine, you poor child! But I remember that +day, for I was ten years old, a right big girl, and it was a beautiful +morning for an invalid to take the air. Mammy said she was proud to see +how her 'handsome boy' kept step with his father, and she watched the +two until they got away down by the rose-garden, and then she couldn't +see little Philip behind the three-foot hedge, so she turned away. But +somewhere in that big garden, or under the trees beside it, my father +buried the box that held the money--ten thousand dollars. It shows how +he trusted that baby, that he took him with him, and you'll see how his +trust was only too well justified. For that evening, Christmas night, +very suddenly my father died--before he had time to tell my mother where +he had hidden the box. He tried; when consciousness came a few minutes +before the end he gasped out, 'I buried the money'--and then he choked. +Once again he whispered just two words: 'Philip knows.' And my mother +said, 'Yes, dearest--Philip and I will find it--don't worry, dearest,' +and that quieted him. She told me about it so many times. + +"After the funeral she took little Philip and explained to him as well +as she could that he must tell mother where he and father had put the +box, and--this is the point of it all, Philip--he wouldn't tell. She +went over and over it all, again and again, but it was no use. He had +given his word to my father never to tell, and he was too much of a baby +to understand how death had dissolved that promise. My mother tried +every way, of course, explanations and reasoning first, then pleading, +and finally severity; she even punished the poor little martyr, for it +was awfully important to us all. But the four-year-old baby was +absolutely incorruptible, he cried bitterly and sobbed out: + +"'Farver said I mustn't never tell anybody--never! Farver said Philip +Fairfield of Fairfield mustn't _never_ bweak his words,' and that was +all. + +"Nothing could induce him to give the least hint. Of course there was +great search for it, but it was well hidden and it was never found. +Finally, mother took her obdurate son and me and came to New York with +us, and we lived on the little income which she had of her own. Her hope +was that as soon as Philip was old enough she could make him understand, +and go back with him and get that large sum lying underground--lying +there yet, perhaps. But in less than a year the little boy was dead and +the secret was gone with him." + +Philip Beckwith's eyes were intense and wide. The Fairfield eyes, brown +and brilliant, their young fire was concentrated on his mother's face. + +"Do you mean that money is buried down there, yet, mother?" he asked +solemnly. + +Mrs. Beckwith caught at the big fellow's sleeve with slim fingers. +"Don't go to-day, Phil--wait till after lunch, anyway!" + +"Please don't make fun, mother--I want to know about it. Think of it +lying there in the ground!" + +"Greedy boy! We don't need money now, Phil. And the old place will be +yours when I am dead--" The lad's arm went about his mother's shoulders. +"Oh, but I'm not going to die for ages! Not till I'm a toothless old +person with side curls, hobbling along on a stick. Like this!"--she +sprang to her feet and the boy laughed a great peal at the hag-like +effect as his young mother threw herself into the part. She dropped on +the divan again at his side. + +"What I meant to tell you was that your father thinks it very unlikely +that the money is there yet, and almost impossible that we could find it +in any case. But some day when the place is yours you can have it put +through a sieve if you choose. I wish I could think you would ever live +there, Phil; but I can't imagine any chance by which you should. I +should hate to have you sell it--it has belonged to a Philip Fairfield +so many years." + +A week later the boy left his childhood by the side of his mother's +grave. His history for the next seven years may go in a few lines. +School days, vacations, the four years at college, outwardly the +commonplace of an even and prosperous development, inwardly the infinite +variety of experience by which each soul is a person; the result of the +two so wholesome a product of young manhood that no one realized under +the frank and open manner a deep reticence, an intensity, a +sensitiveness to impressions, a tendency toward mysticism which made the +fibre of his being as delicate as it was strong. + +Suddenly, in a turn of the wheel, all the externals of his life changed. +His rich father died penniless and he found himself on his own hands, +and within a month the boy who had owned five polo ponies was a +hard-working reporter on a great daily. The same quick-wittedness and +energy which had made him a good polo player made him a good reporter. +Promotion came fast and, as those who are busiest have most time to +spare, he fell to writing stories. When the editor of a large magazine +took one, Philip first lost respect for that dignified person, then felt +ashamed to have imposed on him, then rejoiced utterly over the check. +After that editors fell into the habit; the people he ran against knew +about his books; the checks grew better reading all the time; a point +came where it was more profitable to stay at home and imagine events +than to go out and report them. He had been too busy as the days +marched, to generalize, but suddenly he knew that he was a successful +writer; that if he kept his head and worked, a future was before him. So +he soberly put his own English by the side of that of a master or two +from his book-shelves, to keep his perspective clear, and then he worked +harder. And it came to be five years after his father's death. + +At the end of those years three things happened at once. The young man +suddenly was very tired and knew that he needed the vacation he had gone +without; a check came in large enough to make a vacation easy--and he +had his old dream. His fagged brain had found it but another worry to +decide where he should go to rest, but the dream settled the vexed +question off-hand--he would go to Kentucky. The very thought of it +brought rest to him, for like a memory of childhood, like a bit of his +own soul, he knew the country--the "God's Country" of its people--which +he had never seen. He caught his breath as he thought of warm, sweet air +that held no hurry or nerve strain; of lingering sunny days whose hours +are longer than in other places; of the soft speech, the serene and +kindly ways of the people; of the royal welcome waiting for him as for +every one, heartfelt and heart-warming; he knew it all from a daughter +of Kentucky--his mother. It was May now, and he remembered she had told +him that the land was filled with roses at the end of May--he would go +then. He owned the old place, Fairfield, and he had never seen it. +Perhaps it had fallen to pieces; perhaps his mother had painted it in +colors too bright; but it was his, the bit of the earth that belonged to +him. The Anglo-Saxon joy of land-owning stirred for the first time +within him--he would go to his own place. Buoyant with the new thought +he sat down and wrote a letter. A cousin of the family, of a younger +branch, a certain John Fairfield, lived yet upon the land. Not in the +great house, for that had been closed many years, but in a small house +almost as old, called Westerly. Philip had corresponded with him once or +twice about affairs of the estate, and each letter of the older man's +had brought a simple and urgent invitation to come South and visit him. +So, pleased as a child with the plan, he wrote that he was coming on a +certain Thursday, late in May. The letter sent, he went about in a dream +of the South, and when its answer, delighted and hospitable, came +simultaneously with one of those bleak and windy turns of weather which +make New York, even in May, a marvellously fitting place to leave, he +could not wait. Almost a week ahead of his time he packed his bag and +took the Southwestern Limited, and on a bright Sunday morning he awoke +in the old Phoenix Hotel in Lexington. He had arrived too late the night +before to make the fifteen miles to Fairfield, but he had looked over +the horses in the livery-stable and chosen the one he wanted, for he +meant to go on horseback, as a Southern gentleman should, to his domain. +That he meant to go alone, that no one, not even John Fairfield, knew of +his coming, was not the least of his satisfactions, for the sight of the +place of his forefathers, so long neglected, was becoming suddenly a +sacred thing to him. The old house and its young owner should meet each +other like sweethearts, with no eyes to watch their greeting, their slow +and sweet acquainting; with no living voices to drown the sound of the +ghostly voices that must greet his home-coming from those walls--voices +of his people who had lived there, voices gone long since into eternal +silence. + +A little crowd of loungers stared with frank admiration at the young +fellow who came out smiling from the door of the Phoenix Hotel, big and +handsome in his riding clothes, his eyes taking in the details of +girths and bits and straps with the keenness of a horseman. + +Philip laughed as he swung into the saddle and looked down at the +friendly faces, most of them black faces, below, "Good-by," he said. +"Wish me good luck, won't you?" and a willing chorus of "Good luck, +boss," came flying after him as the horse's hoofs clattered down the +street. + +Through the bright drowsiness of the little city he rode in the early +Sunday morning, and his heart sang for joy to feel himself again across +a horse, and for the love of the place that warmed him already. The sun +shone hotly, but he liked it; he felt his whole being slipping into +place, fitting to its environment; surely, in spite of birth and +breeding, he was Southern born and bred, for this felt like home more +than any home he had known! + +As he drew away from the city, every little while, through stately +woodlands, a dignified sturdy mansion peeped down its long vista of +trees at the passing cavalier, and, enchanted with its beautiful +setting, with its air of proud unconsciousness, he hoped each time that +Fairfield would look like that. If he might live here--and go to New +York, to be sure, two or three times a year to keep the edge of his +brain sharpened--but if he might live his life as these people lived, in +this unhurried atmosphere, in this perfect climate, with the best things +in his reach for every-day use; with horses and dogs, with out-of-doors +and a great, lovely country to breathe in; with--he smiled vaguely--with +sometime perhaps a wife who loved it as he did--he would ask from earth +no better life than that. He could write, he felt certain, better and +larger things in such surroundings. + +But he pulled himself up sharply as he thought how idle a day-dream it +was. As a fact, he was a struggling young author, he had come South for +two weeks' vacation, and on the first morning he was planning to live +here--he must be light-headed. With a touch of his heel and a word and a +quick pull on the curb, his good horse broke into a canter, and then, +under the loosened rein, into a rousing gallop, and Philip went dashing +down the country road, past the soft, rolling landscape, and under cool +caves of foliage, vivid with emerald greens of May, thoughts and dreams +all dissolved in exhilaration of the glorious movement, the nearest +thing to flying that the wingless animal, man, may achieve. + +He opened his coat as the blood rushed faster through him, and a paper +fluttered from his pocket. He caught it, and as he pulled the horse to a +trot, he saw that it was his cousin's letter. So, walking now along the +brown shadows and golden sunlight of the long white pike, he fell to +wondering about the family he was going to visit. He opened the folded +letter and read: + +"My dear Cousin," it said--the kinship was the first thought in John +Fairfield's mind--"I received your welcome letter on the 14th. I am +delighted that you are coming at last to Kentucky, and I consider that +it is high time you paid Fairfield, which has been the cradle of your +stock for many generations, the compliment of looking at it. We closed +our house in Lexington three weeks ago, and are settled out here now for +the summer, and find it lovelier than ever. My family consists only of +myself and Shelby, my one child, who is now twenty-two years of age. We +are both ready to give you an old-time Kentucky welcome, and Westerly is +ready to receive you at any moment you wish to come." + +The rest was merely arrangement for meeting the traveller, all of which +was done away with by his earlier arrival. + +"A prim old party, with an exalted idea of the family," commented Philip +mentally. "Well-to-do, apparently, or he wouldn't be having a winter +house in the city. I wonder what the boy Shelby is like. At twenty-two +he should be doing something more profitable than spending an entire +summer out here, I should say." + +The questions faded into the general content of his mind at the glimpse +of another stately old pillared homestead, white and deep down its +avenue of locusts. At length he stopped his horse to wait for a ragged +negro trudging cheerfully down the road. + +"Do you know a place around here called Fairfield?" he asked. + +"Yessah. I does that, sah. It's that ar' place right hyeh, sah, by yo' +hoss. That ar's Fahfiel'. Shall I open the gate fo' you, boss?" and +Philip turned to see a hingeless ruin of boards held together by the +persuasion of rusty wire. + +"The home of my fathers looks down in the mouth," he reflected aloud. + +The old negro's eyes, gleaming from under shaggy sheds of eyebrows, +watched him, and he caught the words. + +"Is you a Fahfiel', boss?" he asked eagerly. "Is you my young Marse?" He +jumped at the conclusion promptly. "You favors de fam'ly mightily, sah. +I heard you was comin'"; the rag of a hat went off and he bowed low. +"Hit's cert'nly good news fo' Fahfiel', Marse Philip, hit's mighty good +news fo' us niggers, sah. I'se b'longed to the Fahfiel' fam'ly a hund'ed +years, Marse--me and my folks, and I wishes yo' a welcome home, +sah--welcome home, Marse Philip." + +Philip bent with a quick movement from his horse, and gripped the +twisted old black hand, speechless. This humble welcome on the highway +caught at his heart deep down, and the appeal of the colored people to +Southerners, who know them, the thrilling appeal of a gentle, loyal +race, doomed to live forever behind a veil and hopeless without +bitterness, stirred for the first time his manhood. It touched him to be +taken for granted as the child of his people; it pleased him that he +should be "Marse Philip" as a matter of course, because there had always +been a Marse Philip at the place. It was bred deeper in the bone of him +than he knew, to understand the soul of the black man; the stuff he was +made of had been Southern two hundred years. + +The old man went off down the white limestone road singing to himself, +and Philip rode slowly under the locusts and beeches up the long drive, +grass-grown and lost in places, that wound through the woodland +three-quarters of a mile to his house. And as he moved through the park, +through sunlight and shadow of these great trees that were his, he felt +like a knight of King Arthur, like some young knight long exiled, at +last coming to his own. He longed with an unreasonable seizure of +desire to come here to live, to take care of it, beautify it, fill it +with life and prosperity as it had once been filled, surround it with +cheerful faces of colored people whom he might make happy and +comfortable. If only he had money to pay off the mortgage, to put the +place once in order, it would be the ideal setting for the life that +seemed marked out for him--the life of a writer. + +The horse turned a corner and broke into a canter up the slope, and as +the shoulder of the hill fell away there stood before him the picture of +his childhood come to life, smiling drowsily in the morning sunlight +with shuttered windows that were its sleeping eyes--the great white +house of Fairfield. Its high pillars reached to the roof; its big wings +stretched away at either side; the flicker of the shadow of the leaves +played over it tenderly and hid broken bits of woodwork, patches of +paint cracked away, window-panes gone here and there. It stood as if too +proud to apologize or to look sad for such small matters, as serene, as +stately as in its prime. And its master, looking at it for the first +time, loved it. + +He rode around to the side and tied his mount to an old horse-rack, and +then walked up the wide front steps as if each lift were an event. He +turned the handle of the big door without much hope that it would yield, +but it opened willingly, and he stood inside. A broom lay in a corner, +windows were open--his cousin had been making ready for him. There was +the huge mahogany sofa, horse-hair-covered, in the window under the +stairs, where his mother had read "Ivanhoe" and "The Talisman." Philip +stepped softly across the wide hall and laid his head where must have +rested the brown hair of the little girl who had come to be, first all +of his life, and then its dearest memory. Half an hour he spent in the +old house, and its walls echoed to his footsteps as if in ready homage, +and each empty room whose door he opened met him with a sweet half +familiarity. The whole place was filled with the presence of the child +who had loved it and left it, and for whom this tall man, her child, +longed now as if for a little sister who should be here, and whom he +missed. With her memory came the thought of the five-year-old uncle who +had made history for the family so disastrously. He must see the garden +where that other Philip had gone with his father to hide the money on +the fated Christmas morning. He closed the house door behind him +carefully, as if he would not disturb a little girl reading in the +window, a little boy sleeping perhaps in the nursery above. Then he +walked down the broad sweep of the driveway, the gravel crunching under +the grass, and across what had been a bit of velvet lawn, and stood for +a moment with his hand on a broken vase, weed-filled, which capped the +stone post of a gateway. + +All the garden was misty with memories. Where a tall golden flower +nodded alone, from out of the tangled thicket of an old flower-bed, a +bright-haired child might have laughed with just that air of startled, +gay naughtiness, from the forbidden centre of the blossoms. In the +moulded tan-bark of the path was a vague print, like the ghost of a +footprint that had passed down the way a lifetime ago. The box, half +dead, half sprouted into high unkept growth, still stood stiffly against +the riotous overflow of weeds as if it yet held loyally to its business +of guarding the borders, Philip shifted his gaze slowly, lingering over +the dim contours, the shadowy shape of what the garden had been. +Suddenly his eyes opened wide. How was this? There was a hedge as neat, +as clipped, as any of Southampton in mid-season, and over it a glory of +roses, red and white and pink and yellow, waved gay banners to him in +trim luxuriance. He swung toward them, and the breeze brought him for +the first time in his life the fragrance of box in sunshine. + +Four feet tall, shaven and thick and shining, the old hedge stood, and +the garnered sweetness of a hundred years' slow growth breathed +delicately from it toward the great-great-grandson of the man who +planted it. A box hedge takes as long in the making as a gentleman, and +when they are done the two are much of a sort. No plant in all the +garden has so subtle an air of breeding, so gentle a reserve, yet so +gracious a message of sweetness for all of the world who will stop to +learn it. It keeps a firm dignity under the stress of tempest when +lighter growths are tossed and torn; it shines bright through the snow; +it has a well-bred willingness to be background, with the well-bred gift +of presence, whether as background or foreground. The soul of the +box-tree is an aristocrat, and the sap that runs through it is the blue +blood of vegetation. + +Saluting him bravely in the hot sunshine with its myriad shining +sword-points, the old hedge sent out to Philip on the May breeze its +ancient welcome of aromatic fragrance, and the tall roses crowded gayly +to look over its edge at the new master. Slowly, a little dazed at this +oasis of shining order in the neglected garden, he walked to the opening +and stepped inside the hedge. The rose garden! The famous rose garden of +Fairfield, and as his mother had described it, in full splendor of +cared-for, orderly bloom. Across the paths he stepped swiftly till he +stood amid the roses, giant bushes of Jacqueminot and Maréchal Niel; of +pink and white and red and yellow blooms in thick array. The glory of +them intoxicated him. That he should own all of this beauty seemed too +good to be true, and instantly he wanted to taste his ownership. The +thought came to him that he would enter into his heritage with strong +hands here in the rose garden; he caught a deep-red Jacqueminot almost +roughly by its gorgeous head and broke off the stem. He would gather a +bunch, a huge, unreasonable bunch of his own flowers. Hungrily he broke +one after another; his shoulders bent over them, he was deep in the +bushes. + +"I reckon I shall have to ask you not to pick any more of those roses," +a voice said. + +Philip threw up his head as if he had been shot; he turned sharply with +a great thrill, for he thought his mother spoke to him. Perhaps it was +only the Southern inflection so long unheard, perhaps the sunlight that +shone in his eyes dazzled him, but, as he stared, the white figure +before him seemed to him to look exactly as his mother had looked long +ago. Stumbling over his words, he caught at the first that came. + +"I--I think it's all right," he said. + +The girl smiled frankly, yet with a dignity in her puzzled air. "I'm +afraid I shall have to be right decided," she said. "These roses are +private property and I mustn't let you have them." + +"Oh!" Philip dropped the great bunch of gorgeous color guiltily by his +side, but still held tightly the prickly mass of stems, knowing his +right, yet half wondering if he could have made a mistake. He stammered: + +"I thought--to whom do they belong?" + +"They belong to my cousin, Mr. Philip Fairfield Beckwith"--the sound of +his own name was pleasant as the falling voice strayed through it. "He +is coming home in a few days, so I want them to look their prettiest for +him--for his first sight of them. I take care of this rose garden," she +said, and laid a motherly hand on the nearest flower. Then she smiled. +"It doesn't seem right hospitable to stop you, but if you will come over +to Westerly, to our house, father will be glad to see you, and I will +certainly give you all the flowers you want." The sweet and masterful +apparition looked with a gracious certainty of obedience straight into +Philip's bewildered eyes. + +[Illustration: "I reckon I shall have to ask you not pick any more of +those roses," a voice said.] + +"The boy Shelby!" Many a time in the months after Philip Beckwith +smiled to himself reminiscently, tenderly, as he thought of "the boy +Shelby" whom he had read into John Fairfield's letter; "the boy Shelby" +who was twenty-two years old and the only child; "the boy Shelby" whom +he had blamed with such easy severity for idling at Fairfield; "the boy +Shelby" who was no boy at all, but this white flower of girlhood, +called--after the quaint and reasonable Southern way--as a boy is +called, by the surname of her mother's people. + +Toward Westerly, out of the garden of the old time, out of the dimness +of a forgotten past, the two took their radiant youth and the brightness +of to-day. But a breeze blew across the tangle of weeds and flowers as +they wandered away, and whispered a hope, perhaps a promise; for as it +touched them each tall stalk nodded gayly and the box hedges rustled +delicately an answering undertone. And just at the edge of the woodland, +before they were out of sight, the girl turned and threw a kiss back to +the roses and the box. + +"I always do that," she said. "I love them so!" + +Two weeks later a great train rolled into the Grand Central Station of +New York at half-past six at night, and from it stepped a monstrosity--a +young man without a heart. He had left all of it, more than he had +thought he owned, in Kentucky. But he had brought back with him memories +which gave him more joy than ever the heart had done, to his best +knowledge, in all the years. They were memories of long and sunshiny +days; of afternoons spent in the saddle, rushing through grassy lanes +where trumpet-flowers flamed over gray farm fences, or trotting slowly +down white roads; of whole mornings only an hour long, passed in the +enchanted stillness of an old garden; of gay, desultory searches through +its length and breadth, and in the park that held it, for buried +treasure: of moonlit nights; of roses and June and Kentucky--and always, +through all the memories, the presence that made them what they were, +that of a girl he loved. + +No word of love had been spoken, but the two weeks had made over his +life; and he went back to his work with a definite object, a hope +stronger than ambition, and, set to it as music to words, came +insistently another hope, a dream that he did not let himself dwell +on--a longing to make enough money to pay off the mortgage and put +Fairfield in order, and live and work there all his life--with Shelby. +That was where the thrill of the thought came in, but the place was very +dear to him in itself. + +The months went, and the point of living now were the mails from the +South, and the feast days were the days that brought letters from +Fairfield. He had promised to go back for a week at Christmas, and he +worked and hoarded all the months between with a thought which he did +not formulate, but which ruled his down-sitting and his up-rising, the +thought that if he did well and his bank account grew enough to justify +it he might, when he saw her at Christmas, tell her what he hoped; ask +her--he finished the thought with a jump of his heart. He never worked +harder or better, and each check that came in meant a step toward the +promised land; and each seemed for the joy that was in it to quicken his +pace, to lengthen his stride, to strengthen his touch. Early in November +he found one night when he came to his rooms two letters waiting for +him with the welcome Kentucky postmark. They were in John Fairfield's +handwriting and in his daughter's, and "_place aux dames_" ruled rather +than respect to age, for he opened Shelby's first. His eyes smiling, he +read it. + +"I am knitting you a diamond necklace for Christmas," she wrote. "Will +you like that? Or be sure to write me if you'd rather have me hunt in +the garden and dig you up a box of money. I'll tell you--there ought to +be luck in the day, for it was hidden on Christmas and it should be +found on Christmas; so on Christmas morning we'll have another look, and +if you find it I'll catch you 'Christmas gif'' as the darkies do, and +you'll have to give it to me, and if I find it I'll give it to you; so +that's fair, isn't it? Anyway--" and Philip's eyes jumped from line to +line, devouring the clear, running writing. "So bring a little present +with you, please--just a tiny something for me," she ended, "for I'm +certainly going to catch you 'Christmas gif'.'" + +Philip folded the letter back into its envelope and put it in his +pocket, and his heart felt warmer for the scrap of paper over it. Then +he cut John Fairfield's open dreamily, his mind still on the words he +had read, on the threat--"I'm going to catch you 'Christmas gif'.'" What +was there good enough to give her? Himself, he thought humbly, very far +from it. With a sigh that was not sad he dismissed the question and +began to read the other letter. He stood reading it by the fading light +from the window, his hat thrown by him on a chair, his overcoat still +on, and, as he read, the smile died from his face. With drawn brows he +read on to the end, and then the letter dropped from his fingers to the +floor and he did not notice; his eyes stared widely at the high building +across the street, the endless rows of windows, the lights flashing into +them here and there. But he saw none of it. He saw a stretch of quiet +woodland, an old house with great white pillars, a silent, neglected +garden, with box hedges sweet and ragged, all waiting for him to come +and take care of them--the home of his fathers, the home he had meant, +had expected--he knew it now--would be some day his own, the home he +had lost! John Fairfield's letter was to tell him that the mortgage on +the place, running now so many years, was suddenly to be foreclosed; +that, property not being worth much in the neighborhood, no one would +take it up; that on January 2nd, Fairfield, the house and land, were to +be sold at auction. It was a hard blow to Philip Beckwith. With his +hands in his overcoat pockets he began to walk up and down the room, +trying to plan, to see if by any chance he might save this place he +loved. It would mean eight thousand dollars to pay the mortgage. One or +two thousand more would put the estate in order, but that might wait if +he could only tide over this danger, save the house and land. An hour he +walked so, forgetting dinner, forgetting the heavy coat which he still +wore, and then he gave it up. With all he had saved--and it was a fair +and promising beginning--he could not much more than half pay the +mortgage, and there was no way, which he would consider, by which he +could get the money. Fairfield would have to go, and he set his teeth +and clinched his fists as he thought how he wanted to keep it. A year +ago it had meant nothing to him, a year from now if things went his way +he could have paid the mortgage. That it should happen just this +year--just now! He could not go down at Christmas; it would break his +heart to see the place again as his own when it was just slipping from +his grasp. He would wait until it was all over, and go, perhaps, in the +spring. The great hope of his life was still his own, but Fairfield had +been the setting of that hope; he must readjust his world before he saw +Shelby again. So he wrote them that he would not come at present, and +then tried to dull the ache of his loss with hard work. + +But three days before Christmas, out of the unknown forces beyond his +reasoning swept a wave of desire to go South, which took him off his +feet. Trained to trust his brain and deny his impulse as he was, yet +there was a vein of sentiment, almost of superstition, in him which the +thought of the old place pricked sharply to life. This longing was +something beyond him--he must go--and he had thrown his decisions to the +winds and was feverish until he could get away. + +As before, he rode out from the Phoenix Hotel, and at ten o'clock in +the morning he turned into Fairfield. It was a still, bright Christmas +morning, crisp and cool, and the air like wine. The house stood bravely +in the sunlight, but the branches above it were bare and no softening +leafage hid the marks of time; it looked old and sad and deserted +to-day, and its master gazed at it with a pang in his heart. It was his, +and he could not save it. He turned away and walked slowly to the +garden, and stood a moment as he had stood last May, with his hand on +the stone gateway. It was very silent and lonely here, in the hush of +winter; nothing stirred; even the shadows of the interlaced branches +above lay almost motionless across the walks. + +Something moved to his left, down the pathway--he turned to look. Had +his heart stopped, that he felt this strange, cold feeling in his +breast? Were his eyes--could he be seeing? Was this insanity? Fifty feet +down the path, half in the weaving shadows, half in clear sunlight, +stood the little boy of his life-long vision, in the dress with the +black velvet squares, his little uncle, dead forty years ago. As he +gazed, his breath stopping, the child smiled and held up to him, as of +old, a key on a scarlet string, and turned and flitted as if a flower +had taken wing, away between the box hedges. Philip, his feet moving as +if without his will, followed him. Again the baby face turned its +smiling dark eyes toward him, and Philip knew that the child was calling +him, though there was no sound; and again without volition of his own +his feet took him where it led. He felt his breath coming difficultly, +and suddenly a gasp shook him--there was no footprint on the unfrozen +earth where the vision had passed. Yet there before him, moving through +the deep sunlit silence of the garden, was the familiar, sturdy little +form in its old-world dress. Philip's eyes were open; he was awake, +walking; he saw it. Across the neglected tangle it glided, and into the +trim order of Shelby's rose garden; in the opening between the box walls +it wheeled again, and the sun shone clear on the bronze hair and fresh +face, and the scarlet string flashed and the key glinted at the end of +it. Philip's fascinated eyes saw all of that. Then the apparition +slipped into the shadow of the beech trees and Philip quickened his step +breathlessly, for it seemed that life and death hung on the sight. In +and out through the trees it moved; once more the face turned toward +him; he caught the quick brightness of a smile. The little chap had +disappeared behind the broad tree-trunk, and Philip, catching his +breath, hurried to see him appear again. He was gone. The little spirit +that had strayed from over the border of a world--who can say how far, +how near?--unafraid in this earth-corner once its home, had slipped away +into eternity through the white gate of ghosts and dreams. + +Philip's heart was pumping painfully as he came, dazed and staring, to +the place where the apparition had vanished. It was a giant beech tree, +all of two hundred and fifty years old, and around its base ran a broken +wooden bench, where pretty girls of Fairfield had listened to their +sweethearts, where children destined to be generals and judges had +played with their black mammies, where gray-haired judges and generals +had come back to think over the fights that were fought out. There were +letters carved into the strong bark, the branches swung down +whisperingly, the green tent of the forest seemed filled with the memory +of those who had camped there and gone on. Philip's feet stumbled over +the roots as he circled the veteran; he peered this way and that, but +the woodland was hushed and empty; the birds whistled above, the grasses +rustled below, unconscious, casual, as if they knew nothing of a +child-soul that had wandered back on Christmas day with a Christmas +message, perhaps, of good-will to its own. + +As he stood on the farther side of the tree where the little ghost had +faded from him, at his feet lay, open and conspicuous, a fresh, deep +hole. He looked down absent-mindedly. Some animal--a dog, a rabbit--had +scratched far into the earth. A bar of sunlight struck a golden arm +through the branches above, and as he gazed at the upturned, brown dirt +the rays that were its fingers reached into the hollow and touched a +square corner, a rusty edge of tin. In a second the young fellow was +down on his knees digging as if for his life, and in less than five +minutes he had loosened the earth which had guarded it so many years, +and staggering with it to his feet had lifted to the bench a heavy tin +box. In its lock was the key, and dangling from it a long bit of +no-colored silk, that yet, as he untwisted it, showed a scarlet thread +in the crease. He opened the box with the little key; it turned +scrapingly, and the ribbon crumbled in his fingers, its long duty done. +Then, as he tilted the heavy weight, the double eagles, packed closely, +slipped against each other with a soft clink of sliding metal. The young +man stared at the mass of gold pieces as if he could not trust his +eyesight; he half thought even then that he dreamed it. With a quick +memory of the mortgage he began to count. It was all there--ten thousand +dollars in gold! He lifted his head and gazed at the quiet woodland, the +open shadow-work of the bare branches, the fields beyond lying in the +calm sunlit rest of a Southern winter. Then he put his hand deep into +the gold pieces, and drew a long breath. It was impossible to believe, +but it was true. The lost treasure was found. It meant to him Shelby +and home; as he realized what it meant his heart felt as if it would +break with the joy of it. He would give her this for his Christmas gift, +this legacy of his people and hers, and then he would give her himself. +It was all easy now--life seemed not to hold a difficulty. And the two +would keep tenderly, always, the thought of a child who had loved his +home and his people and who had tried so hard, so long, to bring them +together. He knew the dream-child would not visit him again--the little +ghost was laid that had followed him all his life. From over the border +whence it had come with so many loving efforts it would never come +again. Slowly, with the heavy weight in his arms, he walked back to the +garden sleeping in the sunshine, and the box hedges met him with a wave +of fragrance, the sweetness of a century ago; and as he passed through +their shining door, looking beyond, he saw Shelby. The girl's figure +stood by the stone column of the garden entrance, the light shone on her +bare head, and she had stopped, surprised, as she saw him. Philip's pace +quickened with his heart-throb as he looked at her and thought of the +little ghostly hands that had brought theirs together; and as he looked +the smile that meant his welcome and his happiness broke over her face, +and with the sound of her voice all the shades of this world and the +next dissolved in light. + +"'Christmas gif',' Marse Philip!" called Shelby. + + + + +THE WIFE OF THE GOVERNOR + + +The Governor sat at the head of the big black-oak table in his big +stately library. The large lamps on either end of the table stood in old +cloisonné vases of dull rich reds and bronzes, and their shades were of +thick yellow silk. The light they cast on the six anxious faces grouped +about them was like the light in Rembrandt's picture of The Clinic. + +It was a very important meeting indeed. A city official, who had for +months been rather too playfully skating on the thin ice of bare respect +for the law, had just now, in the opinion of many, broken through. He +had followed a general order of the Governor's by a special order of his +own, contradicting the first in words not at all, but in spirit from +beginning to end. And the Governor wished to make an example of +him--now, instantly, so promptly and so thoroughly that those who ran +might read, in large type, that the attempt was not a success. He was +young for a Governor--thirty-six years old--and it may be that care for +the dignity of his office was not his only feeling on the subject. + +"I won't be badgered, you know," he said to the senior Senator of the +State. "If the man wishes to see what I do when I'm ugly, I propose to +show him. Show me reason, if you can, why this chap shouldn't be +indicted." + +To which they answered various things; for while they sympathized, and +agreed in the main, yet several were for temporizing, and most of them +for going a bit slowly. But the Governor was impetuous and indignant. +And here the case stood when there came a knock at the library door. + +The Governor looked up in surprise, for it was against all orders that +he should be disturbed at a meeting. But he spoke a "Come in," and +Jackson, the stately colored butler, appeared, looking distressed and +alarmed. + +"Oh, Lord! Gov'ner, suh!" was all he got out for a moment, fear at his +own rashness seizing him in its grip at the sight of the six +distinguished faces turned toward him. + +"Jackson! What do you want?" asked the Governor, not so very gently. + +Jackson advanced, with conspicuous lack of his usual style and +sang-froid, a tray in his hand, and a quite second-class-looking +envelope upon it. "Beg pardon, suh. Shouldn't 'a' interrupted, Gov'nor; +please scuse me, suh; but they boys was so pussistent, and it comed fum +the deepo, and I was mos' feared the railways was done gone on a strike, +and I thought maybe you'd oughter know, suh--Gov'ner." + +And in the meantime, while the scared Jackson rambled on thus in an +undertone, the Governor had the cheap, bluish-white envelope in his +hand, and with a muttered "Excuse me" to his guests, had cut it across +and was reading, with a face of astonishment, the paper that was +enclosed. He crumpled it in his hand and threw it on the table. + +"Absurd!" he said, half aloud; and then, "No answer, Jackson," and the +man retired. + +"Now, then, gentlemen, as we were saying before this interruption"--and +in clear, eager sentences he returned to the charge. But a change had +come over him. The Attorney-General, elucidating a point of importance, +caught his chief's eye wandering, and followed it, surprised, to that +ball of paper on the table. The Secretary of State could not understand +why the Governor agreed in so half-hearted a way when he urged with +eloquence the victim's speedy sacrifice. Finally, the august master of +the house growing more and more distrait, he suddenly rose, and picking +up the crumpled paper-- + +"Gentlemen, will you have the goodness to excuse me for five minutes?" +he said. "It is most annoying, but I cannot give my mind to business +until I attend to the matter on which Jackson interrupted us. I beg a +thousand pardons--I shall only keep you a moment." + +The dignitaries left cooling their heels looked at each other blankly, +but the Lieutenant-Governor smiled cheerfully. + +"One of the reasons he is Governor at thirty-six is that he always does +attend to the matters that interrupt him." + +Meanwhile the Governor, rushing out with his usual impulsive energy, had +sent two or three servants flying over the house. "Where's Mrs. Mooney? +Send Mrs. Mooney to me here instantly--and be quick;" and he waited, +impatient, although it was for only three minutes, in a little room +across the hall, where appeared to him in that time a square-shaped, +gray-haired woman with a fresh face and blue eyes full of intelligence +and kindliness. + +"Mary, look here;" and the big Governor put his hand on the stout little +woman's arm and drew her to the light. Mary and his Excellency were +friends of very old standing indeed, their intimacy having begun +thirty-five years before, when the future great man was a rampant baby, +and Mary his nurse and his adorer, which last she was still. "I want to +read you this, and then I want you to telephone to Bristol at once." He +smoothed out the wrinkled single sheet of paper. + +"My dear Governor Rudd," he read,--"My friends the McNaughtons of +Bristol are friends of yours too, I think, and that is my reason for +troubling you with this note. I am on my way to visit them now, and +expected to take the train for Bristol at twenty minutes after eight +to-night, but when I reached here at eight o'clock I found the +time-table had been changed, and the train had gone out twenty minutes +before. And there is no other till to-morrow. I don't know what to do or +where to go, and you are the only person in the city whose name I know. +Would it trouble you to advise me where to go for the night--what hotel, +if it is right for me to go to a hotel? With regret that I should have +to ask this of you when you must be busy with great affairs all the +time, I am, + + "Very sincerely, + "LINDSAY LEE." + +Mary listened, attentive but dazed, and was about to burst out at once +with voluble exclamations and questions when the Governor stopped her. + +"Now, Mary, don't do a lot of talking. Just listen to me. I thought at +first this note was from a man, because it is signed by a man's name. +But it looks and sounds like a woman, and I think it should be attended +to. I want you to telephone to Mr. George McNaughton, at Bristol, and +ask if Mr. or Miss Lindsay Lee is a friend of theirs, and say that, if +so, he--or she--is all right, and is spending the night here. Then, in +that case, send Harper to the station with the brougham, and say that I +beg to have the honor of looking after Mrs. McNaughton's friend for the +night. And you'll see that whoever it is is made very comfortable." + +"Indeed I will, the poor young thing," said Mary, jumping at a +picturesque view of the case. "But, Mr. Jack, do you want me to +telephone to Mr. McNaughton's and ask if a friend of theirs--" + +The Governor cut her short. "Exactly. You know just what I said, Mary +Mooney; you only want to talk it over. I'm much too busy. Tell Jackson +not to come to the library again unless the State freezes over. +Good-night.--I don't think the McNaughtons can complain that I haven't +done their friend brown," said the Governor to himself as he went back +across the hall. + + * * * * * + +Down at the station, beneath the spirited illumination of one whistling +gas-jet, the station-master and Lindsay Lee waited wearily for an answer +from the Governor. It was long in coming, for the station-master's boys, +the Messrs. O'Milligan, seizing the occasion for foreign travel offered +by a sight of the Executive grounds, had made a détour by the Executive +stables, and held deep converse with the grooms. Just as the thought of +duty undone began to prick the leathery conscience of the older one, the +order came for Harper and the brougham. Half an hour later, at the +station, Harper drew up with a sonorous clatter of hoofs. The +station-master hurried forward to interview the coachman. In a moment he +turned with a beaming face. + +"It's good news for ye, miss. The Governor's sent his own kerridge for +ye, then. Blessed Mary, but it's him that's condescendin'. Get right +in, miss." + +Such a sudden safe harbor seemed almost too good to be true. Lindsay was +nearly asleep as the rubber-tired wheels rolled softly along through the +city. The carriage turned at length from the lights and swung up a long +avenue between trees, and then stopped. The door flew open, and Lindsay +looked up steps and into a wide, lighted doorway, where stood a stout +woman, who hastened to seize her bag and umbrella and take voluble +possession of her. The sleepy, dazed girl was vaguely conscious of large +halls and a wide stair and a kind voice by her side that flowed ever on +in a gentle river of words. Then she found herself in a big, pleasant +bed-room, and beyond was the open door of a tiled bath-room. + +"Oh--oh!" she said, and dropped down sideways on the whiteness of the +brass bed, and put her arms around the pillow and her head, hat and all, +on it. + +"Poor child!" said pink-checked, motherly Mrs. Mooney. "You're more than +tired, that I can see without trying, and no wonder, too! I shan't say +another word to you, but just leave you to get to bed and to sleep, and +I'm sure it's the best medicine ever made, is a good comfortable bed and +a night's rest. So I shan't stop to speak another word. But is there +anything at all you'd like, Miss Lee? And there, now, what am I thinking +about? I haven't asked if you wouldn't have a bit of supper! I'll bring +it up myself--just a bit of cold bird and a glass of wine? It will do +you good. But it will," as Lindsay shook her head, smiling. "There's +nothing so bad as going to sleep on an empty stomach when you're tired." + +"But I had dinner on the train, and I'm not hungry; sure enough, I'm +not; thank you a thousand times." + +Mrs. Mooney reluctantly took two steps toward the door, the room shaking +under her soft-footed, heavy tread. + +"You're sure you wouldn't like--" She stopped, embarrassed, and the blue +eyes shone like kindly sapphires above the always-blushing cheeks. "I'm +mortified to ask you for fear you'd laugh at me, but you seem like such +a child, and--would you let me bring you--just a slice of bread and +butter with some brown sugar on it?" + +Lindsay had a gracious way of knowing when people really wished to do +something for her. She flapped her hands, like the child she looked. +"Oh, how did you think of it? I used to have that for a treat at home. +Yes, I'd _love_ it!" And Mrs. Mooney beamed. + +"There! I thought you would! You see, Miss Lee, that's what I used +sometimes to give my boy--that's the Governor--when he was little and +got hungry at bedtime." + +Lindsay, left alone, took off her hat, and with a pull and screw at her +necktie and collar-button, dropped into a chair that seemed to hold its +fat arms up for her. She smiled sleepily and comfortably. "I'm having a +right good time," she said to herself, "but it's funny. I feel as if I +lived here, and I love that old housekeeper-nurse of the Governor's. I +wonder what the Governor is like? I wonder--" And at this point she +became aware, with only slight surprise, of a little boy with a crown +on his head who offered her a slice of bread and butter and sugar a yard +square, and told her he had kept it for her twenty-five years. She was +about to reason with him that it could not possibly be good to eat in +that case, when something jarred the brain that was slipping so easily +down into oblivion, and as her eyes opened again she saw Mrs. Mooney's +solid shape bending over the tub in the bath-room, and a noise of +running water sounded pleasant and refreshing. + +"Oh, did I go to sleep?" she asked, sitting up straight and blinking +wide-open eyes. + +"There! I knew it would wake you, and I couldn't a-bear to do it, my +dear, but it would never do for you to sleep like that in your clothes, +and I drew your bath warm, thinking it would rest you better, but I can +just change it hot or cold as it suits you. And here's the little lunch +for you, and I feel as if it was my own little boy I was taking care of +again; the year he was ten it was he ate so much at night. I saw him +just now, and he's that tired from his meeting--it's a shame how hard he +has to work for this State, time and time again. He said 'Good-night, +Mary,' he said, just the way he did years ago--such a little gentleman +he always was. The dearest and the handsomest thing he was; they used to +call him 'the young prince,' he was that handsome and full of spirit. He +told me to say he hoped for the pleasure of seeing Miss Lee at breakfast +to-morrow at nine; but if you should be tired, Miss Lee, or prefer your +breakfast up here, which you can have it just as well as not, you know. +And here I'm talking you to death again, and you ought to stop me, for +when I begin about the Governor I never know when to stop myself. Just +put up your foot, please, and I'll take your shoes off," And while she +unlaced Lindsay's small boots with capable fingers she apologized +profusely for talking--talking as much again. + +"There's nothing to excuse. It's mighty interesting to hear about him," +said Lindsay. "I shall enjoy meeting him that much more. Is there a +picture of him anywhere around?" looking about the room. + +That was a lucky stroke. Mary Mooney parted the black ribbon that was +tied beneath her neat white collar and turned her face up, all pleased +smiles, to the girl, who leaned down to examine an ivory miniature set +as a brooch. It was a sunny-faced little boy, with thick straight golden +hair and fearless brown eyes--a sweet childish face very easy to admire, +and Lindsay admired it enough to satisfy even Mrs. Mooney. + +"I had it for a Christmas gift the year he was nine," she said. Mary's +calendar ran from The Year of the Governor, 1. "He had whooping-cough +just after that, and was ill seven weeks. Dear me, what teeny little +feet you have!" as she put on them the dressing-slippers from the bag, +and struggled up to her own, heavily but cheerfully. + +Lindsay looked at her thoughtfully. "You haven't mentioned the +Governor's wife," she said. "Isn't she at home?" and she leaned over to +pull up the furry heel of the little slipper. So that she missed seeing +Mary Mooney's face. Expression chased expression over that smiling +landscape--astonishment, perplexity, anxiety, the gleam of a new-born +idea, hesitation, and at last a glow of unselfish kindliness which often +before had transfigured it. + +"No, Miss Lee," said Mary. "She's away from home just now." And then, +unblushingly, "But she's a lovely lady, and she'll be very disappointed +not to see you." + +Almost the next thing Lindsay knew she was watching dreamily spots of +sunlight that danced on a pale pink wall. Then a bird began to sing at +the edge of the window; there was a delicate rustle of skirts, and she +turned her head and saw a maid--not Mary Mooney this time--moving softly +about, opening part way the outside shutters, drawing lip the shades a +bit, letting the light and shadow from tossing trees outside and the air +and the morning in with gentle slowness. She dressed with deliberation, +and, lo! it was a quarter after nine o'clock. + +So that the Governor waited for his breakfast. For ten minutes, while +the paper lasted, waiting was unimportant; and then, being impatient by +nature, and not used to it, he suddenly was cross. + +"Confound the girl!" soliloquized the Governor. "I'll have her indicted +too! First she breaks up a meeting, then she gets the horses out at all +hours, and now, to cap it, she makes me wait for breakfast. Why should I +wait for my breakfast? Why the devil can't she--Now, Mary, what is it? I +warn you I'm cross, and I shan't listen well till I've had breakfast. +I'm waiting for that young lady you're coddling. Where's that young +lady? Why doesn't she--What?" + +For the flood-gates were open, and the soft verbal oceans of Mary were +upon him. He listened two minutes, mute with astonishment, and then he +rose up in his wrath and was verbal also. + +"What! You told her I was _married_? What the dev--And you're +actually asking _me_ to tell her so _too_? Mary, are you insane? +Embarrassed? What if she is embarrassed? And what do I care if--What? +Sweet and pretty? Mary, don't be an idiot. Am I to improvise a wife, in +my own house, because a stray girl may object to visiting a bachelor? +Not if I know it. Not much." The Governor bristled with indignation. +"Confound the girl, I'll--" At this point Mary, though portly, vanished +like a vision of the night, and there stood in the doorway a smiling +embodiment of the morning, crisp in a clean shirt-waist, and free from +consciousness of crime. + +"Is it Governor Rudd?" asked Lindsay; and the Governor was, somehow, +shaking hands like a kind and cordial host, and the bitterness was gone +from his soul. "I certainly don't know how to thank you," she said. +"You-all have been very good to me, and I've been awfully comfortable. I +was so lost and unhappy last night; I felt like a wandering Jewess. I +hope I haven't kept you waiting for breakfast?" + +"Not a moment," said the Governor, heartily, placing her chair, and it +was five minutes before he suddenly remembered that he was cross. Then +he made an effort to live up to his convictions. "This is a mistake," he +said to himself. "I had no intention of being particularly friendly with +this young person. Rudd, I can't allow you to be impulsive in this way. +You're irritated by the delay and by last night: you're bored to be +obliged to entertain a girl when you wish to read the paper; you're +anxious to get down to the Capitol to see those men; all you feel is a +perfunctory politeness for the McNaughtons' friend. Kindly remember +these facts, Rudd, and don't make a fool of yourself gambolling on the +green, instead of sustaining the high dignity of your office." So +reasoned the Governor secretly, and made futile attempts at high +dignity, while his heart became as wax, and he questioned of his soul at +intervals to see if it knew what was going on. + +So the Governor sat before Lindsay Lee at his own table, momentarily +more surprised and helpless. And Lindsay, eating her grape-fruit with +satisfaction, thought him delightful, and wondered what his wife was +like, and how many children he had, and where they all were. It was at +least safe to speak of the wife, for the old house-keeper-nurse had +given her an unqualified recommendation. So she spoke. + +"I'm sorry to hear that Mrs. Rudd is not at home," she began. "It must +be rather lonely in this big house without her." + +The Governor looked at her and laughed. "Not that I've noticed," he +said, and was suddenly seized with a sickness of pity that was the +inevitable effect of Lindsay Lee. She needed no pity, being healthy, +happy, and well-to-do, but she had, for the punishment of men's sins, +sad gray eyes and a mouth whose full lips curved sorrowfully down. Her +complexion was the colorless, magnolia-leaf sort that is typically +Southern; her dark hair lay in thick locks on her forehead as if always +damp with emotion; her swaying, slender figure seemed to appeal to +masculine strength; and the voice that drawled a syllable to twice its +length here, to slide over mouthfuls of words there, had an upward +inflection at the end of sentences that brought tears to one's eyes. +There was no pose about her, but the whole effect of her was +pathetic--illogically, for she caught the glint of humor from every side +light of life, which means pleasure that other people miss. The old +warning against vice says that we "first endure, then pity, then +embrace"; but Lindsay differed from vice so far that people never had to +endure her, but began with pity, finding it often a very short step to +the wish, at least, to embrace her. The Governor after fifteen minutes' +acquaintance had arrived at pitying her, intensely and with his whole +soul, as he did most things. He held another interview with himself. +"Lord! what an innocent face it is!" he said. "Mary said she would be +embarrassed--the brute that would embarrass her! Hanged if I'll do it! +If she would rather have me married, married I'll be." He raised candid +eyes to Lindsay's face. + +"I'm afraid I've shocked you. You mustn't think I shall not be glad +when--Mrs. Rudd--is here. But, you see, I've been very busy lately. I've +hardly had time to breathe--haven't had time to miss--her--at all, +really. All the same--" Now what was the queer feeling in his throat and +lungs--yes, it must be the lungs--as the Governor framed this sentence? +He went on: "All the same, I shall be a happy man when--my wife--comes +home." + +Lindsay's face cleared. This was satisfactory and proper; there was no +more to be said about it. She looked up with a smile to where the old +butler beamed upon her for her youth and beauty and her accent and her +name. + +A handful of busy men left the Capitol in some annoyance that morning +because the Governor had telephoned that he could not be there before +half past eleven. They would have been more annoyed, perhaps, if they +had seen him dashing about the station light-heartedly just before the +eleven-o'clock train for Bristol left. They said to each other: "It must +be a matter of importance that keeps him. Governor Rudd almost never +throws over an appointment. He has been working like the devil over that +street-railway franchise case; probably it's that." + +And the Governor stood by a chair in a parlor-car, his world cleared of +street railways and indictments and their class as if they had never +been, and in his hand was a small white oblong box tied with a tinsel +cord. + +"Good-by," he said, "but remember I'm to be asked down for the garden +party next week, and I'm coming." + +"I certainly won't forget. And I reckon I'd better not try to thank you +for--Oh, thank you! I thought that looked like candy. And bring Mrs. +Rudd with you next week. I want to see her. And--Oh, get off, please; +it's moving. Good-by, good-by." + +And to the mighty music of a slow-clanging bell and the treble of +escaping steam and the deep-rolling accompaniment of powerful wheels the +Governor escaped to the platform, and the capital city of that sovereign +State was empty--practically empty. He noticed it the moment he turned +his eyes from the disappearing train and moved toward Harper and the +brougham. He also noticed that he had never noticed it before. + +A solid citizen, catching a glimpse of the well-known, thoughtful face +through the window of the Executive carriage as it bowled across toward +the Capitol, shook his head. "He works too hard," he said to himself. "A +fine fellow, and young and strong, but the pace is telling. He looks +anxious to-day. I wonder what scheme is revolving in his brain at this +moment." + +And at that moment the Governor growled softly to himself. "I've +overdone it," he said. "She's sure to be offended. No one likes to be +taken in. I ought not to have showed her Mrs. Rudd's conservatory; that +was a mistake. She won't let them ask me down; I shan't see her. Hanged +if I won't telephone Mrs. McNaughton to keep the secret till I've been +down." And he did, before Lindsay could get there, amid much laughter at +both ends of the wire, and no small embarrassment at his own. + +And he was asked down, and having enjoyed himself, was asked again. And +again. So that during the three weeks of Lindsay's visit Bristol saw +more of the Chief Executive officer of the State than Bristol had seen +before, and everybody but Lindsay had an inkling of the reason. But the +time never came to tell her of the shadowy personality of Mrs. Rudd, and +between the McNaughton girls and the Governor, whom they forced into +unexpected statements, to their great though secret glee, Lindsay was +informed of many details in regard to the missing first lady of the +commonwealth. Such a dialogue as the following would occur at the lunch +table: + +_Alice McNaughton_ (speaking with ceremonious politeness from one end of +the table to the Governor at the other end). "When is Mrs. Rudd coming, +Governor?" + +_The Governor_ (with a certain restraint). "Before very long, I hope, +Miss Alice. Mrs. McNaughton, may I have more lobster? I've never in my +life had as much lobster as I wanted." + +_Alice_ (refusing to be side-tracked). "And when did you last hear from +her, Governor?" + +_Chuck McNaughton_ (ornament of the Sophomore class at Harvard. In love +with Lindsay, but more so with the joke. Gifted with a sledgehammer +style of wit). "I've been hoping for a letter from her myself, Governor, +but it doesn't come." + +_The Governor_ (with slight hauteur). "Ah, indeed!" + +_Lindsay_ (at whose first small peep the Governor's eyes turn to hers +and rest there shamelessly). "Why haven't you any pictures of Mrs. Rudd +in the house, Mrs. McNaughton? The Governor's is everywhere and you all +tell me how fascinating she is, and yet don't have her about. It looks +like you don't love her as much as the Governor." (At the mention of +being loved, in that voice, cold shivers seize the Executive nerves.) + +_Mrs. McNaughton_ (entranced with the airy persiflage, but knowing her +own to be no light hand at repartee). "Ask the others, my dear." + +_Alice_ (jumping at the chance). "Oh, the reason of that is very +interesting! Mrs. Rudd has never given even the Governor her picture. +She--she has principles against it. She belongs, you see, to an ancient +Hebrew family--in fact, she is a Jewess" ("A wandering Jewess," the +Governor interjected, _sotto voce_, his glance veering again to +Lindsay's face), "and you know that Jewish families have religious +scruples about portraits of any sort" (pauses, exhausted). + +_Chuck_ (with heavy artillery). "Alice, _taisez-vous_. You're doing +poorly. You can't converse. Your best parlor trick is your red hair. +Miss Lee, I'll show you a picture of Mrs. Rudd some day, and I'll tell +you now what she looks like. She has exquisite melancholy gray eyes, a +mouth like a ripe tomato" (shouts from the table _en masse_, but Chuck +ploughs along cheerily), "hair like the braided midnight" (cries of +"What's that?" and "Hear! Hear!"), "a figure slim and willowy as a +vaulting-pole" (a protest of "No track athletics at meals; that's +forbidden!"), "and a voice--well, if you ever tasted New Orleans +molasses on maple sugar, with 'that tired feeling' thrown in, perhaps +you'll have a glimpse, a mile off, of what that voice is like." (Eager +exclamations of "That's near enough," "Don't do it any more, Chuck," and +"For Heaven's sake, Charlie, stop." Lindsay looks hard with the gray +eyes at the Governor.) + +_Lindsay_, "Why don't you pull your bowie-knife out of your boot, +Governor? It looks like he's making fun of your wife, to me. Isn't +anybody going to fight anybody?" + +And then Mr. McNaughton would reprove her as a bloodthirsty Kentuckian, +and the whole laughing tableful would empty out on the broad porch. At +such a time the Governor, laughing too, amused, yet uncomfortable, and +feeling himself in a false and undignified position, would vow solemnly +that a stop must be put to all this. It would get about, into the papers +even, by horrid possibility; even now a few intimates of the McNaughton +family had been warned "not to kill the Governor's wife." He would +surely tell the girl the next time he could find her alone, and then the +absurdity would collapse. But the words would not come, or if he +carefully framed them beforehand, this bold, aggressive leader of men, +whose nickname was "Jack the Giant-killer," made a giant of Lindsay's +displeasure, and was afraid of it. He had never been afraid of anything +before. He would screw his courage up to the notch, and then, one look +at the childlike face, and down it would go, and he would ask her to go +rowing with him. They were such good friends; it was so dangerous to +change at a blow existing relations, to tell her that he had been +deceiving her all these weeks. These exquisite June weeks that had flown +past to music such us no June had made before; days snowed under with +roses, nights that seemed, as he remembered them, moonlit for a solid +month. The Governor sighed a lingering sigh, and quoted, + + "Oh what a tangled web we weave + When first we practise to deceive!" + +Yes, he must really wait--say two days longer. Then he might be sure +enough of her--regard--to tell her the truth. And then, a little later, +if he could control himself so long, another truth. Beyond that he did +not allow himself to think. + +"Governor Rudd," asked Lindsay suddenly as they walked their horses the +last mile home from a ride on which they had gotten separated--the +Governor knew how--from the rest of the party, "why do they bother you +so about your wife, and why do you let them?" + +"Can't help it, Miss Lindsay. They have no respect for me. I'm that sort +of man. Hard luck, isn't it?" + +Lindsay turned her sad, infantile gray eyes on him searchingly. "I +reckon you're not," she said. "I reckon you're the sort of man people +don't say things to unless they're right sure you will stand it. They +don't trifle with you." She nodded her head with conviction. "Oh, I've +heard them talk about you! I like that; that's like our men down South. +You're right Southern, anyhow, in some ways. You see, I can pay you +compliments because you're a safe old married man," and her eyes smiled +up at him: she rarely laughed or smiled except with those lovely eyes. +"There's some joke about your wife," she went on, "that you-all won't +tell me. There certainly is. I _know_ it, sure enough I do, Governor +Rudd." + +There is a common belief that the Southern accent can be faithfully +rendered in writing if only one spells badly enough. No amount of bad +spelling could tell how softly Lindsay Lee said those last two words. + +"I love to hear you say that--'Guv'na Rudd.' I do, 'sho 'nuff,'" mused +the Governor out loud and irrelevantly. "Would you say it again?" + +"I wouldn't," said Lindsay, with asperity. "Ridiculous! If you are a +Governor! But I was talking about your wife. Isn't she coming home +before I go? Sometimes I don't believe you have a wife." + +That was his chance, and he saw it. He must tell her now or never, and +he drew a long breath. "Suppose I told you that I had not," he said, +"that she was a myth, what would you say?" + +"Oh, I'd just never speak to you again," said Lindsay, carelessly. "I +wouldn't like to be fooled like that. Look, there are the others!" and +off she flew at a canter. + +It is easy to see that the Governor was not hurried headlong into +confession by that speech. But the crash came. It was the night before +Lindsay was to go back home to far-off Kentucky, and with infinite +expenditure of highly trained intellect, for which the State was paying +a generous salary, the Governor had managed to find himself floating on +a moonlit flood through the Forest of Arden with the Blessed Damozel. +That, at least, is the rendering of a walk in the McNaughtons' wood with +Lindsay Lee as it appeared that night to the intellect mentioned. But +the language of such thoughts is idiomatic and incapable of exact +translation. A flame of eagerness to speak, quenched every moment by a +shower-bath of fear, burned in his soul, when suddenly Lindsay tripped +on a root and fell, with an exclamation. Then fear dried beneath the +flames. It is unnecessary to tell what the Governor did, or what he +said. The language, as language, was unoriginal and of striking +monotony, and as to what happened, most people have had experience which +will obviate the necessity of going into brutal facts. But when, +trembling and shaken, he realized a material world again, Lindsay was +fighting him, pushing him away, her eyes blazing fiercely. + +"What do you mean? What _do_ you mean?" she was saying. + +"Mean--mean? That I love you--that I want you to love me, to be my +wife!" She stood up like a white ghost in the silver light and shadow of +the wood. + +"Governor Rudd, are you crazy?" she cried. "You have a wife already." + +The tall Governor threw back his head and laughed a laugh like a child. +The people away off on the porch heard him and smiled. "They are having +a good time, those two," Mrs. McNaughton said. + +"Lindsay--Lindsay," and he bent over and caught her hands and kissed +them. "There isn't any wife--there never will be any but you. It was all +a joke. It happened because--Oh, never mind! I can't tell you now; it's +a long story. But you must forgive that; that's all in the past now. The +question is, will you love me--will you love me, Lindsay? Tell me, +Lindsay!" He could not say her name often enough. But there came no +answering light in Lindsay's face. She looked at him as if he were a +striped convict. + +"I'll never forgive you," she said, slowly. "You've treated me like a +child; you've made a fool of me, all of you. It was insulting. All a +joke, you call it? And I was the joke; you've been laughing at me all +these weeks. Why was it funny, I'd like to know?" + +"Great heavens, Lindsay--you're not going to take it that way? I insult +you--laugh at you! I'd give my life; I'd shoot down any one--Lindsay!" +he broke out appealingly, and made a step toward her. + +"Don't touch me!" she cried. "Don't touch me! I hate you!" And as he +still came closer she turned and ran up the path, into the moonlight of +the driveway, and so, a dim white blotch on the fragrant night, +disappeared. + +When the Governor, walking with dignity, came up the steps of the porch, +three minutes later, he was greeted with questions. + +"What have you done to Lindsay Lee, I'd like to know?" asked Alice +McNaughton. "She said she had fallen and hurt her foot, but she wouldn't +let me go up with her, and she was dignified, which is awfully trying. +Why did you quarrel with her, this last night?" + +"Governor," said Chuck, with more discernment than delicacy, "if you +will accept the sympathies of one not unacquainted with grief--" But at +this point his voice faded away as he looked at the Governor. + +The Governor never remembered just how he got away from the friendly +hatefulness of that porchful. An early train the next morning was +inevitable, for there was a meeting of real importance this time, and at +all events everything looked about the same shade of gray to him; it +mattered very little what he did. Only he must be doing something every +moment. He devoured work as if it were bread and meat and he were +famished. People said all that autumn and winter that anything like the +Governor's energy had never been seen. He evidently wanted a second +term, and really he ought to have it. He was working hard enough to get +it. About New-Year's he went down to Bristol for the first time since +June, for a dinner at the McNaughtons'. Alice McNaughton's friendly +face, under its red-gold hair, beamed at him from far away down the +table, but after dinner, when the men came in from the dining-room, she +took possession of him boldly. + +"Governor, I want to tell you about Lindsay Lee. I know you'll be +interested, though you did have some mysterious fight before she left. +She's been awfully ill with pleurisy, a painful attack, and she's +getting well very slowly. They have just taken her to Paul Smith's. I'm +writing her to-morrow, and I want you to send a good message; it would +please her." + +It was hard to stand with eighteen people grouped about him, all more or +less with an eye on his motions, and be the Governor, calm and +dignified, while hot irons were being applied to his heart by this +smiling girl. + +"But, Miss Alice," he said, slowly, "I'm afraid you are wrong. I was +unfortunate enough to make Miss Lee very angry. I am afraid she would +think a message from me only an impertinence." + +"Sir," said Alice, with decision, "I'm right sometimes, if I'm not +Governor; and it's better to be right than to be Governor, I've +heard--or something. You trust me. Just try the effect of a message, and +see if it isn't a success. What shall I say?" + +The Governor was impetuous, and in spite of all the work he had done so +fiercely, the longing the work had been meant to quiet surged up as +strong as ever. "Miss Alice," he said, eagerly, "if you are right, +would it do--do you think I might deliver the message myself?" + +"Do I think? Well, if _I_ were a man! Faint heart, you know!" + +And the Governor, at that choppy eloquence, openly seized the friendly +young hand and wrung it till Alice begged, laughing but bruised, for +mercy. When he came up, later, to bid her good-night, his face was +bright, and, + +"Good-night, Angel of Peace," he said. + + * * * * * + +Mary Mooney, who through the dark days had watched with anxious though +uncomprehending eyes her boy's dejection and hard effort to live it +down, and had applied partridges and sweetbreads and other forms of +devotion steadily but unsuccessfully, saw at once and with, rapture the +change when the Governor greeted her the next morning. Light-heartedly +she packed his traps two days later--she had done it jealously for +thirty-five years, though almost over the dead body of the Governor's +man sometimes in these later days. And when he told her good-by she had +her reward. The man's boyish heart went out in a burst of gratitude to +the tireless love that had sought only his happiness all his life. He +put his arm around the stout little woman's neck. + +"Mary," he said, "I'm going to see Miss Lee." + +Mary's pink cheeks were scarlet as she patted with a work-worn palm the +strong hand on her shoulder. "Then I know what will happen," she said, +"and I'm glad. And if you don't bring her back with you, Mr. Jack, I +won't let you in." + +So the stately Governor went off like a schoolboy with his nurse's +blessing. And later like an arrow from a bow he swung around the corner +of the snowy piazza at Paul Smith's, where Mrs. Lee had told him he +would find her daughter. There was a bundle of fur in a big chair in the +sunlight, dark against the white hills beyond, with their black lines of +pine-trees. As the impetuous steps came nearer, it turned, and--the +Governor's methods were again such that words do them no justice. But +this time with happier result. Half an hour later, when some coherency +was established, he said: + +"You waited for me! You've been _waiting_ for me!" as if it were the +most astonishing fact in history. "And since when have you been waiting +for me, you--" + +Lindsay laughed, not only with her eyes, but with her soft voice. "Ever +since the morning after, your Excellency. Alice told me all about it +before I left, and made me see reason. And I--and I was right sorry I'd +been so cross. I thought you'd come some time--but you came right slow," +she said, and her eyes travelled over his face as if she were making +sure he was really there. + +"And I never dared to think you would see me!" he said. "But now!" + +And again there were circumstances that are best described by a hiatus. + +The day after, when Mary Mooney, discreetly letting her soul's idol get +into his library before greeting him, trotted into that stately chamber +with soft, heavy footsteps, she was met with a kiss and a bear's hug +that, as she told Mrs. Rudd later, "was like the year he was nine." + +"I didn't bring her, Mary," the Governor said, "but you'd better let me +stay, for she's coming." + + + + +THE LITTLE REVENGE + + +Suddenly a gust of fresh wind caught Sally's hat, and off it flew, a +wide-winged pink bird, over the old, old sea-wall of Clovelly, down +among the rocks of the rough beach, tumbling and jumping from one gray +stone to another, and getting so far away that, in the soft violet +twilight, it seemed as lost as any ship of the Spanish Armada wrecked +long ago on this wild Devonshire coast. + +"Oh!" cried Sally distractedly, and clapped her hands to her head with +the human instinct to shut the stable door after the horse is gone. +"Oh!" she cried again; "my pretty hat! And _oh_! it's in the water!" + +But suddenly, out of somewhere in the twilight, there was a man chasing +it. Sally leaned over the rugged, yellowish, grayish stone wall and +excitedly called to him. + +"Oh, thank you!" she cried, and "That's so good of you!" + +The hat had tacked and was sailing inshore now, one stiff pink taffeta +sail set to the breeze. And in a minute, with a reckless splash into the +dashing waves, the man had it, and an easy, athletic figure swung up the +causeway, holding it away from him, as if it might nip at him. He wore a +dark blue jersey, and loose, flapping trousers of a seaman. + +"He's only a sailor," Sally said under her breath; "I'd better tip him." +Her hand slipped into her pocket and I heard the click of her purse. + +He looked from one to the other of us in the dim light inquiringly, as +he came up, and then off went his cap, and his face broke into the +gentlest, most charming smile as he delivered the hat into Sally's +outstretched hands. + +"I'm afraid it's a bit damp," he said. + +All dark-eyed, stalwart young fellows are attractive to me for the sake +of one like that who died forty years ago, but this sailor had a charm +of manner that is a gift of the gods, let it fall to prince or peasant; +the pretty deference of his few words, and the quick, radiant smile, +were enough to win friendliness from me. More than that, something in +the set of his head, in the straight gaze of his eyes, held a likeness +that made my memory ache. I smiled back at him instantly. But Sally's +heart was on her hat; hats from good shops did not grow on trees for +Sally Meade. + +"I hope it isn't hurt," she said, anxiously, and shook it carefully, and +hardly glanced at the rescuer, who was watching with something that +looked like amusement in his face. Then her good manners came back. + +"Thank you a thousand times," she said, and turned to him brightly. "You +were so quick--but, oh! I'm afraid you're wet." She looked at him, and I +saw a little shock of surprise in her face. Beauty so striking will be +admired, even in a common sailor. + +"It's nothing," he said, looking down at his sopping, wide trousers; +"I'm used to it," and as Sally's hand went forward I caught the flash of +silver, and at the same moment another flash, from the man's eyes. + +It was enough to startle me for the fraction of a second, but, as I +looked again, his expression held only a serious respect, and I was sure +I had been mistaken. He took the money and touched his cap and said, +"Thank you, miss," with perfect dignity. Yet my imagination must have +been lively, for as he slipped it in his pocket, his look turned toward +me, and for another breath of time a gleam of mischief--certainly +mischief--flashed from his dark eyes to mine. + +Then Sally, quite unconscious of this, perhaps imaginary, by-play, had +an idea. "Are you a sailor?" she asked. + +The man looked at her. "Yes--miss," he answered, a little slowly. + +"We want to engage a boat and a man to take us out. Do you know of one? +Have you a boat?" + +The young fellow glanced down across the wall where a hull and mast +gleamed indistinctly through the falling night, swinging at the side of +the quay. "That's mine, yonder," he said, nodding toward it. And then, +with the graceful, engaging frankness that I already knew as his, "I +shall be very glad to take you out"--including us both in his glance. + +"Sally," I said, five minutes later, as we trudged up the one steep, +rocky street of Clovelly,--the picturesque old street that once led +English smugglers to their caves, and that is more of a staircase than a +street, with rows of stone steps across its narrow width--"Sally, you +are a very unexpected girl. You took my breath away, engaging that man +so suddenly to take us sailing to-morrow. How do you know he is +reliable? It would have been safer to try one of the men they +recommended from the Inn. And certainly it would have been more +dignified to let me make the arrangements. You seem to forget that I am +older than you." + +"You aren't," said Sully, giving a squeeze to my arm that she held in +the angle of hers, pushing me with her young strength up the hill. +"You're not as old, cousin Mary. I'm twenty-two, and you're only +eighteen, and I believe you will never be any older." + +I think perhaps I like flattery. I am a foolish old woman, and I have +noticed that it is not the young girls who treat me with great deference +and rise as soon as I come who seem to me the most charming, but the +ones who, with proper manners, of course, yet have a touch of +comradeship, as if they recognized in me something more than a fossil +exhibit. I like to have them go on talking about their beaux and their +work and play, and let me talk about it, too. Sally Meade makes me feel +always that there is in me an undying young girl who has outlived all of +my years and is her friend and equal. + +"I'm sorry if I was forward, cousin Mary, but the sailing is to be my +party, you know, and then I thought you liked him. He had a pretty +manner for a common sailor, didn't he? And his voice--these low-class +English people have wonderfully well-bred, soft voices. I suppose it's +particularly so here in the South. Cousin Mary, did you see the look he +gave you with those delicious dark eyes? It's always the way--gentleman +or hod-carrier--no one has a chance with men when you are about." + +It is pleasant to me, old woman as I am, to be told that people like +me--more pleasant, I think, every year. I never take it for truth, of +course, but I believe it means good feeling, and it makes an atmosphere +easy to breathe. I purred like a contented cat under Sally's talking, +yet, to save my dignity, kept up a protest. + +"Sally, my dear! Delicious dark eyes! I'm ashamed of you--a common +sailor!" + +"I didn't smile at him," said Sally, reflectively. + +So, struggling up the steep street of Clovelly, we went home to the "New +Inn," to cold broiled lobster, to strawberries and clotted Devonshire +cream, and dreamless sleep in the white beds of the quiet rooms whose +windows looked toward the woods and cliffs of Hobby Drive on one side, +and on the other toward the dark, sparkling jewel of the moon-lighted +ocean, and the shadowy line of Lundy Island far in the distance. + +That I, an inland woman, an old maid of sixty, should tell a story of +sailing and of love seems a little ridiculous. My nephews at college +beguile me to talk about boats, and then laugh to hear me, for I think +I get the names of things twisted. And as for what I know of the +other--the only love-making to which I ever listened was ended forty +years ago by one of the northern balls that fell in fiery rain on +Pickett's charge at Gettysburg. Yet, if I but tell the tale as it came +to me, others may feel as I did the thrill of the rushing of the keel +through dashing salt water, the swing of the great white sail above, the +flapping of the fresh wind in the slack of it, the exhilaration of +moving with power like the angels, with the great forces of nature for +muscles, the joy of it all expanding, pulsing through you, till it seems +as if the sky might crack if once you let your delight go free. And some +may catch, too, that other thrill, of the hidden feeling that glorified +those days. Few lives are so poor that the like of it has not brightened +them, and no one quite forgets. + +It is partly Sally Meade's Southern accent that has made me love her +above nearer cousins, from her babyhood. The modulations of her voice +seem always to bring me close to the sound of the voice that went into +silence when Geoffrey Meade, her father's young kinsman, was killed +long ago. + +The Meades, old-time planters in Virginia, have been very poor since the +distant war of the sixties, and it has been one of my luxuries to give +Sally a lift over hard places. Always with instant reward, for the +smallest bit of sunlight, going into her prismatic spirit, comes out a +magnificent rainbow of happiness. So when the idea came that they might +let me have the girl to take abroad that summer, her friend, the girl +spirit in me, jumped for joy. There was no difficulty made; it was one +of the rare good things too good to be true, that yet are true. She did +more for me than I for her, for I simply spent some superfluous idle +money, while she filled every day with a new enjoyment, the reflection +of her own fresh pleasure in every day as it came. + +So here we were prowling about the south of England with "Westward Ho!" +for a guide-book; coaching through deep, tawny Devonshire lanes from +Bideford to Clovelly; searching for the old tombstone of Will Cary's +grave in the churchyard on top of the hill; gathering tales of +Salvation Yeo and of Amyas Leigh; listening to echoes of the +three-hundred-year-old time when the great sea-battle was fought in the +channel and many ships of the Armada wrecked along this Devonshire +coast. And always coming back to sleep in the fascinating little "New +Inn," as old as the hills, built on both sides of the one rocky ladder +street of Clovelly, the street so steep that no horses can go in it, and +at the bottom of whose breezy tunnel one sees the rolling floor of the +sea. In so careless a way does the Inn ramble about the cliff that when +I first went to my room, two flights up from the front, I caught my +breath at a blaze of scarlet and yellow nasturtiums that faced me +through a white-painted doorway opening on the hillside and on a tiny +garden at the back. + +The irresponsible pleasure of our first sail the next afternoon was +never quite repeated. The boat shot from the landing like a high-strung +horse given his head, out across the unbordered road of silver water, +and in a moment, as we raced toward the low white clouds, we turned and +saw the cliffs of the coast and the tiny village, a gay little pile of +white, green-latticed houses steeped in foliage lying up a crack in the +precipice. Above was the long stretch of the woods of Hobby Drive. +Clovelly is so old that its name is in Domesday Book; so old, some say, +that it was a Roman station, and its name was Clausa Vaillis. But it is +a nearer ancientness that haunts it now. Every wave that dashes on the +rocky shore carries a legend of the ships of the Invincible Armada. As +we asked question after question of our sailor, handsomer than ever +to-day with a red silk handkerchief knotted sailor-fashion about his +strong neck, story after story flashed out, clear and dramatic, from his +answers. The bunch of houses there on the shore? Yes, that had a +history. The people living there were a dark-featured, reticent lot, +different from other people hereabouts. It was said that one of the +Spanish galleons went ashore there, and the men had been saved and had +settled on the spot and married Devonshire women, but their descendants +had never lost the tradition of their blood. Certainly their speech and +their customs were peculiar, unlike those of the villages near. He had +been there and had seen them, had heard them talk. Yes, they were +distinct. He laughed a little to acknowledge it, with an Englishman's +distrust of anything theatrical. A steep cliff started out into the +waves, towering three hundred feet in almost perpendicular lines. Had +that a name? Yes, that was called "Gallantry Bower." No; it was not a +sentimental story--it was the old sea-fight again. It was said that an +English sailor threw a rope from the height and saved life after life of +the crew of a Spaniard wrecked under the point. + +"You know the history of your place very well," said Sally. The young +man kept his eyes on his steering apparatus and a slow half-smile +troubled his face and was gone. + +"I've had a bit of an education for a seaman--Miss," he said. And then, +after apparently reflecting a moment, "My people live near the Leighs of +Burrough Court, and I was playmate to the young gentlemen and was given +a chance to learn with them, with their tutors, more than a common man +is likely to get always." + +At that Sally's enthusiasm broke through her reserve, and I was only a +little less eager. + +"The Leighs! The real, old Leighs of Burrough? Amyas Leigh's +descendants? Was that story true? Oh!--" And here manners and +curiosity met and the first had the second by the throat. She stopped. +But our sailor looked up with a boyish laugh that illumined his dark +face. + +"Is it so picturesque? I have been brought up so close that it seems +commonplace to me. Every one must be descended from somebody, you know." + +"Yes, but Amyas Leigh!" went on Sally, flushed and excited, forgetting +the man in his story. "Why, he's my hero of all fiction! Think of it, +Cousin Mary--there are men near here who are his great--half-a-dozen +greats--grandchildren! Cousin Mary," she stopped and looked at me +impressively, oblivious of the man so near her, "if I could lay my hands +on one of those young Leighs of Burrough I'd marry him in spite of his +struggles, just to be called by that name. I believe I would." + +"Sally!" I exclaimed, and glanced at the man; Sally's cheeks colored as +she followed my look. His mouth was twitching, and his eyes smouldered +with fun. But he behaved well. On some excuse of steering he turned his +back instantly and squarely toward us. But Sally's interest was +irrepressible. + +"Would you mind telling me their names, Cary?" she asked. He had told us +to call him Cary. "The names of the Mr. Leighs of Burrough." + +"No, Cary," I said. "I think Miss Meade doesn't notice that she is +asking you personal questions about your friends." + +Cary turned on me a look full of gentleness and chivalry. "Miss Meade +doesn't ask anything that I cannot answer perfectly well," he said. +"There are two sons of the Leighs, Richard Grenville, the older, and +Amyas Francis, the younger. They keep the old names you see. +Richard--Sir Richard, I should say--is the head of the family, his +father being dead." + +"Sir Richard Grenville Leigh!" said Sally, quite carried away by that +historic combination. "That's better than Amyas," she went on, +reflectively. "Is he decent? But never mind. I'll marry _him_, Cousin +Mary." + +At that our sailor-man shook with laughter, and as I met his eyes +appealing for permission, I laughed as hard as he. Only Sally was +apparently quite serious. + +"He would he very lucky--Miss," he said, restraining his mirth with a +respect that I thought remarkable, and turned again to his rudder. + +Sally, for the first time having felt the fascination of breathing +historic air, was no longer to be held. The sweeping, free motion, the +rush of water under the bow as we cut across the waves, the wide sky and +the air that has made sailors and soldiers and heroes of Devonshire men +for centuries on end, the exhilaration of it all had gone to the girl's +head. She was as unconscious of Cary as if he had been part of his boat. +I had seen her act so when she was six, and wild with the joy of an +autumn morning, intoxicated with oxygen. We had been put for safety into +the hollow part of the boat where the seats are--I forget what they call +it--the scupper, I think. But I am apt to be wrong on the nomenclature. +At all events, there we were, standing up half the time to look at the +water, the shore, the distant sails, and because life was too intense to +sit down. But when Sally, for all her gentle ways, took the bit in her +teeth, it was too restricted for her there. + +"Is there any law against my going up and holding on to the mast?" she +asked Cary. + +"Not if you won't fall overboard, Miss," he answered. + +The girl, with a strong, self-reliant jump, a jump that had an echo of +tennis and golf and horseback, scrambled up and forward, Cary taking his +alert eyes a moment from his sailing, to watch her to safety, I thought +her pretty as a picture as she stood swaying with one arm around the +mast, in her white shirt-waist and dark dress, her head bare, and brown, +untidy hair blowing across the fresh color of her face, and into her +clear hazel eyes. + +"What is the name of this boat?" she demanded, and Cary's deep, gentle +voice lifted the two words of his answer across the twenty feet between +them. + +"The Revenge" he said. + +Then there was indeed joy. "The Revenge! The Revenge! I am sailing on +the Revenge, with a man who knows Sir Richard Grenville and Amyas Leigh! +Cousin Mary, listen to that--this is the Revenge we're on--this!" She +hugged the mast, "And there are Spanish galleons, great three-deckers, +with yawning tiers of guns, all around us! You may not see them, but +they are here! They are ghosts, but they are here! There is the great +San Philip, hanging over us like a cloud, and we are--we are--Oh, I +don't know who we are, but we're in the fight, the most beautiful fight +in history!" She began to quote: + + And half of their fleet to the right, and half to the left were seen, + And the little Revenge ran on through the long sea-lane between. + +And then: + + Thousands of their sailors looked down from the decks and laughed; + Thousands of their soldiers made mock at the mad little craft + Running on and on till delayed + By the mountain-like San Philip that, of fifteen hundred tons, + And towering high above us with her yawning tiers of guns, + Took the breath from our sails, and we stayed. + +The soft, lingering voice threw the words at us with a thrill and a leap +forward, just us the Revenge was carrying us with long bounds, over the +shining sea. We were spinning easily now, under a steady light wind, and +Cary, his hand on the rudder, was opposite me. He turned with a start as +the girl began Tennyson's lines, and his shining dark eyes stared up at +her. + +"Do you know that?" he said, forgetting the civil "Miss" in his +earnestness. + +"Do I know it? Indeed I do!" cried Sally from her swinging rostrum. "Do +you know it, too? I love it--I love every word of it--listen," And I, +who knew her good memory, and the spell that the music of a noble poem +cast over her, settled myself with resignation. I was quite sure that, +short of throwing her overboard, she would recite that poem from +beginning to end. And she did. Her skirts and her hair blowing, her eyes +full of the glory of that old "forlorn hope," gazing out past us to the +seas that had borne the hero, she said it. + + At Flores in the Azores, Sir Richard Grenville lay, + And a pinnace, like a frightened bird, came flying from far away; + Spanish ships of war at sea, we have sighted fifty-three! + Then up spake Sir Thomas Howard + "'Fore God, I am no coward"-- + +She went on and on with the brave, beautiful story. How Sir Thomas would +not throw away his six ships of the line in a hopeless fight against +fifty-three; how yet Sir Richard, in the Revenge, would not leave behind +his "ninety men and more, who were lying sick ashore"; how at last Sir +Thomas + + sailed away + With five ships of war that day + Till they melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven, + But Sir Richard bore in hand + All his sick men from the land, + Very carefully and slow, + Men of Bideford in Devon-- + And he laid them on the ballast down below; + And they blessed him in their pain + That they were not left to Spain, + To the thumbscrew and the stake, for the glory of the Lord. + +The boat sailed softly, steadily now, as if it would not jar the rhythm +of the voice telling, with soft inflections, with long, rushing meter, +the story of that other Revenge, of the men who had gone from these +shores, under the great Sir Richard, to that glorious death. + + And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer + sea, + And not one moment ceased the fight of the one and the fifty-three. + Ship after ship, the whole night long, their high-built galleons + came; + Ship after ship, the whole night long, with their battle thunder and + flame; + Ship after ship, the whole night long, drew back with her dead and + her shame; + For some they sunk, and many they shattered so they could fight no + more. + God of battles! Was ever a battle like this in the world before? + +As I listened, though I knew the words almost, by heart too, my eyes +filled with tears and my soul with the desire to have been there, to +have fought as they did, on the little Revenge one after another of the +great Spanish ships, till at last the Revenge was riddled and helpless, +and Sir Richard called to the master-gunner to sink the ship for him, +but the men rebelled, and the Spaniards took what was left of ship and +fighters. And Sir Richard, mortally wounded, was carried on board the +flagship of his enemies, and died there, in his glory, while the +captains + + --praised him to his face. + With their courtly Spanish grace. + +So died, never man more greatly, Sir Richard Grenville, of Stow in +Devon. + +The crimson and gold of sunset were streaming across the water as she +ended, and we sat silent. The sailor's face was grim, as men's faces are +when they are deeply stirred, but in his dark eyes burned an intensity +that reserve could not bold back, and as he still stared at the girl a +look shot from them that startled me like speech. She did not notice. +She was shaken with the passion of the words she had repeated, and +suddenly, through the sunlit, rippling silence, she spoke again. + +"It's a great thing to be a Devonshire sailor," she said, solemnly. "A +wonderful inheritance--it ought never to be forgotten. And as for that +man--that Sir Richard Grenville Leigh--he ought to carry his name so +high that nothing low or small could ever touch it. He ought never to +think a thought that is not brave and fine and generous." + +There was a moment's stillness and then I said, "Sally, my child, it +seems to me you are laying down the law a little freely for Devonshire. +You have only been here four days." And in a second she was on her usual +gay terms with the world again. + +"A great preacher was wasted in me," she said. "How I could have +thundered at everybody else about their sins! Cousin Mary, I'm coming +down--I'm all battered, knocking against the must, and the little +trimmings hurt my hands." + +Cary did not smile. His face was repressed and expressionless and in it +was a look that I did not understand. He turned soberly to his rudder +and across the broken gold and silver of the water the boat drew in to +shadowy Clovelly. + +It was a shock, after we had landed and I had walked down the quay a few +yards to inspect the old Red Lion Inn, the house of Salvation Yeo, to +come back and find Sally dickering with Cary. I had agreed that this +sail should be her "party," because it pleased the girl's proud spirit +to open her small purse sometimes for my amusement. But I did not mean +to let her pay for all our sailing, and I was horrified to find her +trying to get Cary cheaper by the quantity. When I arrived, Sally, a +little flustered and very dignified and quite evidently at the end of a +discussion as to terms, was concluding an engagement, and there was a +gleam in the man's wonderful eyes, which did much of his talking for +him. + +"You see the boat is very new and clean, Miss," he was saying, "and I +hope you were satisfied with me?" + +I upset Sally's business affairs at once, engaged Cary, and told him he +must take out no one else without knowing our plans. My handkerchief +fell as I talked to him and he picked it up and presented it with as +much ease and grace as if he had done such things all his life. It was a +remarkable sailor we had happened on. A smile came like sunshine over +his face--the smile that made him look as Geoffrey Meade looked, half a +century ago. + +"I'll promise not to take any one else, ma'am," he said. And then, with +the pretty, engaging frankness that won my heart over again each time, +"And I hope you'll want to go often--not so much for the money, but +because it is a pleasure to me to take you--both." + +There was mail for us waiting at the Inn. "Listen, Sally," I said, as I +read mine in my room after dinner. "This is from Anne Ford. She wants to +join us here the 6th of next month, to fill in a week between visits at +country-houses." + +[Illustration: "You see, the boat is very new and clean, Miss," he was +saying.] + +Sally, sitting on the floor before the fire, her dark hair loose and her +letters lying about her, looked up attentively, and discreetly answered +nothing. Anne Ford was my cousin, but not hers, and I knew without +discussing it, that Sally cared for her no more than I. She was made of +showy fibre, woven in a brilliant pattern, but the fibre was a little +coarse, and the pattern had no shading. She was rich and a beauty and so +used to being the centre of things, and largely the circumference too, +that I, who am a spoiled old woman, and like a little place and a little +consideration, find it difficult to be comfortable as spoke upon her +wheel. + +"It's too bad," I went on regretfully. "Anne will not appreciate +Clovelly, and she will spoil it for us. She is not a girl I care for. I +don't see why I should he made a convenience for Anne Ford," I argued in +my selfish way. "I think I shall write her not to come." + +Sally laughed cheerfully. "She won't bother us, Cousin Mary. It would be +too bad to refuse her, wouldn't it? She can't spoil Clovelly--it's been +here too long. Anne is rather overpowering," Sally went on, a bit +wistfully. "She's such a beauty, and she has such stunning clothes." + +The firelight played on the girl's flushed, always-changing face, full +of warm light and shadow; it touched daintily the white muslin and pink +ribbons of the pretty negligee she wore, Sally was one of the poor girls +whose simple things are always fresh and right. I leaned over and patted +her rough hair affectionately. + +"Your clothes are just as pretty," I said, "and Anne doesn't compare +with you in my eyes." I lifted the unfinished letter and glanced over +it. "All about her visit to Lady Fisher," I said aloud, giving a résumé +as I read. "What gowns she wore to what functions; what men were devoted +to her--their names--titles--incomes too." I smiled. "And--what is +this?" I stopped talking, for a name had caught my eye. I glanced over +the page. "Isn't this curious! Listen, my dear," I said. "This will +interest you!" I read aloud from Anne's letter. + +"'But the man who can have me if he wants me is Sir Richard Leigh. He is +the very best that ever happened, and moreover, quite the catch of the +season. His title is old, and he has a yacht and an ancestral place or +two, and is very rich, they say--but that isn't it. My heart is his +without his decorations--well, perhaps not quite that, but it's +certainly his with the decorations. He is such a beauty, Cousin Mary! +Even you would admire him. It gives you quite a shock when he comes into +a room, yet he is so unconscious and modest, and has the most graceful, +fascinatingly quiet manners and wonderful brown eyes that seem to talk +for him. He does everything well, and everything hard, is a dare-devil +on horseback, a reckless sailor, and a lot besides. If you could see the +way those eyes look at me, and the smile that breaks over his face as if +the sun had come out suddenly! But alas! the sun has gone under now, for +he went this morning, and it's not clear if he's coming back or not. +They say his yacht is near Bideford, where his home is, and Clovelly is +not far from that, is it?'" + +I stopped and looked at Sally, listening, on the floor. She was staring +into the fire. + +"What do you think of that?" I asked. Sally was slow at answering; she +stared on at the burning logs that seemed whispering answers to the +blaze. + +"Some girls have everything," she said at length. "Look at Anne. She's +beautiful and rich and everybody admires her, and she goes about to big +country-houses and meets famous and interesting people. And now this Sir +Richard Leigh comes like the prince into the story, and I dare say he +will fall in love with her and if she finds no one that suits her better +she will marry him and have that grand old historic name." + +"Sally, dear," I said, "you're not envying Anne, are you?" + +A quick blush rushed to her face. "Cousin Mary! What foolishness I've +been talking! How could I! What must you think of me! I didn't mean +it--please believe I didn't. I'm the luckiest girl on earth, and I'm +having the most perfect time, and you are a fairy godmother to me, +except that you're more like a younger sister. I was thinking aloud. +Anne is such a brilliant being compared to me, that the thought of her +discourages me sometimes. It was just Cinderella admiring the princess, +you know." + +"Cinderella got the prince," I said, smiling. + +"I don't want the prince," said Sally, "even if I could get him. I +wouldn't marry an Englishman. I don't care about a title. To be a +Virginian is enough title for me. It was just his name, magnificent Sir +Richard Grenville's name and the Revenge-Armada atmosphere that took my +fancy. I don't know if Anne would care for that part," she added, +doubtfully. + +"I'm sure Anne would know nothing about it," I answered decidedly, and +Sally went on cheerfully. + +"She's very welcome to the modern Sir Richard, yacht and title and all. +I don't believe he's as attractive as your sailor, Cousin Mary. +Something the same style, I should say from the description. If you +hadn't owned him from the start, I'd rather like that man to be my +sailor, Cousin Mary--he's so everything that a gentleman is supposed to +be. How did he learn that manner--why, it would flatter you if he let +the boom whack you on the head. Too bad he's only a common sailor--such +a prince gone wrong!" + +I looked at her talking along softly, leaning back on one hand and +gazing at the fire, a small white Turkish slipper--Southern girls always +have little feet--stuck out to the blaze, and something in the leisurely +attitude and low, unhurried voice, something, too, in the reminiscent +crackle of the burning wood, invited me to confidence. I went to my +dressing-table, and when I came back, dropped, as if I were another +girl, on the rug beside her. "I want to show you this," I said, and +opened a case that travels always with me. From the narrow gold rim of +frame inside, my lover smiled gayly up at her brown hair and my gray, +bending over it together. + +None of the triumphs of modern photographers seem to my eyes so +delicately charming as the daguerrotypes of the sixties. As we tipped +the old picture this way and that, to catch the right light on the image +under the glass, the very uncertainty of effect seemed to give it an +elusive fascination. To my mind the birds in the bush have always +brighter plumage than any in the hand, and one of these early +photographs leaves ever, no matter from what angle you look upon it, +much to the imagination. So Geoff in his gray Southern uniform, young +and soldierly, laughed up at Sally and me from the shadowy lines beneath +the glass, more like a vision of youth than like actual flesh and blood +that had once been close and real. His brown hair, parted far to one +side, swept across his forehead in a smooth wave, as was the +old-fashioned way; his collar was of a big, queer sort unknown to-day; +the cut of his soldier's coat was antique; but the beauty of the boyish +face, the straight glance of his eyes, and ease of the broad shoulders +that military drill could not stiffen, these were untouched, were +idealized even by the old-time atmosphere that floated up from the +picture like fragrance of rose-leaves. As I gazed down at the boy, it +came to me with a pang that he was very young and I growing very old, +and I wondered would he care for me still. Then I remembered that where +he lived it was the unworn soul and not the worn-out body that counted, +and I knew that the spirit within me would meet his when the day came, +with as fresh a joy as forty years ago. And as I still looked, happy in +the thought, I felt all at once as if I had seen his face, heard his +voice, felt the touch of his young hand that day--could almost feel it +yet. Perhaps my eyes were a little dim, perhaps the uncertainty of the +old daguerrotype helped the illusion, but the smile of the master of the +Revenge seemed to shine up at me from my Geoff's likeness, and then +Sally's slow voice broke the pause. + +"It's Cousin Geoffrey, isn't it?" she asked. Her father was Geoffrey +Meade's cousin--a little boy when Geoff died, "Was he as beautiful as +that?" she said, gently, putting her hand over mine that held the velvet +case. And then, after another pause, she went on, hesitatingly; "Cousin +Mary, I wonder if you would mind if I told you whom he looks like to +me?" + +"No, my dear," I answered easily, and like an echo to my thought her +words came. + +"It is your sailor. Do you see it? He is only a common seaman, of +course, but I think he must have a wonderful face, for with all his +dare-devil ways I always think of 'Blessed are the pure in spirit' when +I see him. And the eyes in the picture have the same expression--do you +mind my saying it, Cousin Mary?" + +"I saw it myself the first time I looked at him," I said. And then, as +people do when they are on the verge of crying, I laughed. "Anne Ford +would think me ridiculous, wouldn't she?" and I held Geoff's picture in +both my hands. "He is much better suited to her or to you. A splendid +young fellow of twenty-four to belong to an old woman like me--it is +absurd, isn't it?" + +"He is suited to no one but you, dear, and you are just his age and +always will be," and as Sally's arms caught me tight I felt tears that +were not my own on my cheek. + +It was ten days yet before Anne was due to arrive, and almost every day +of the ten we sailed. The picturesque coast of North Devon, its deep +bays, its stretches of high, tree-topped cliffs, grew to be home-like to +us. We said nothing of Cary and his boat at the Inn, for we soon saw +that both were far-and-away better than common, and we were selfish. +Nor did the man himself seem to care for more patronage. He was always +ready when we wished to go, and jumped from his spick-and-span deck to +meet us with a smile that started us off in sunshine, no matter what the +weather. And with my affection for the lovely, uneven coast and the seas +that held it in their flashing fingers, grew my interest in the winning +personality that seemed to combine something of the strength of the +hills and the charm of the seas of Devonshire. + +One day after another he loosed the ropes with practised touch, and the +wind taught the sail with a gay rattle and the little Revenge flung off +the steep street and the old sea-wall and the green cliffs of Clovelly, +and first yards and then miles of rippling ocean lay between us and +land, and we sailed away, we did not need to know or care where, with +our fate for the afternoon in his reliable hands. Little by little we +forgot artificial distinctions in the out-of-doors, natural atmosphere, +or that the man was anything but himself--a self always simple, always +right. Looking back, I see how deeply I was to blame, to have been so +blind, at my age, but the figure by the rudder, swinging to the boat's +motion, grew to be so familiar and pleasant a sight, that I did not +think of being on guard against him. Little as he talked, his moods were +varied, grave or gay or with a gleam of daring in his eyes that made +him, I think, a little more attractive than any other way. Yet when a +wind of seriousness lifted the still or impetuous surface, I caught a +glimpse, sometimes, of a character of self-reliance, of decision as +solid as the depths under the shifting water of his ocean. There was +never a false note in his gentle manner, and I grew to trust serenely to +his tact and self-respect, and talked to him freely as I chose. Which of +course I should not have done. But there was a temptation to which I +yielded in watching for the likeness in his face, and in listening for a +tone or two of his voice that caught my heart with the echo of a voice +long silent. + +One morning to our astonishment Cary sent up to break our engagement for +the afternoon. Something had happened so that he could not possibly get +away. But it was moonlight and warm--would we not go out in the evening? +The idea seemed to me a little improper, yet very attractive, and +Sally's eyes danced. + +"Let's be bold and bad and go, Cousin Mary," she pleaded, and we went. + +A shower of moonlight fell across the sea and on the dark masses of the +shore; it lay in sharp patches against the black shadows of the sail; it +turned Sally's bare, dark head golden, and tipped each splashing wave +with a quick-vanishing electric light. It was not earth or ocean, but +fairyland. We were sailing over the forgotten, sea-buried land of +Lyonesse; forests where Tristram and Iseult had ridden, lay under our +rushing keel; castles and towers and churches were there--hark! could I +not hear the faint bells in the steeples ringing up through the waves? +The old legend, half true, half fable, was all real to me as I sat in +the shadow of the sail and stared, only half seeing them, at Sally +standing with her hands on the rudder and Cary leaning over her, +teaching her to sail the Revenge. Their voices came to me clear and +musical, yet carrying no impression of what they were saying. Then I saw +Sally's little fingers slip suddenly, and Cary's firm hand close over +them, pushing the rudder strongly to one side. His face was toward me, +and I saw the look that went over it as his hand held hers. It startled +me to life again, and I sat up straight, but he spoke at once with quiet +self-possession. + +"I beg your pardon, Miss Meade. She was heading off a bit dangerously." + +And he went on with directions, laughing at her a little, scolding her a +little, yet all with a manner that could not be criticised. I still +wonder how he could have poised so delicately and so long on that +slender line of possible behavior. + +As the boat slipped over the shimmering ocean, back into the harbor +again, most of the houses up the sharp ascent of Clovelly street were +dark, but out on the water lay a mass of brilliant lights, rocking +slowly on the tide. Sally was first to notice it. + +"There is a ship lying out there. Is it a ship or is it an enchantment? +She is lighted all over. What is it--do you know?" + +Cary was working at the sail and he did not look at us or at it as he +answered. + +"Yes, Miss--I know her. She is Sir Richard Leigh's yacht the Rose. She +was there as we went out, but she was dark and you did not notice her." + +I exclaimed, full of interest, at this, but Sally, standing ghost-like +in her white dress against the sinking sail, said nothing, but stared at +the lights that outlined the yacht against the deep distance of the sky, +and that seemed, as the shadowy hull swung dark on the water, to start +out from nowhere in pin-pricks of diamonds set in opal moonlight. + +Lundy Island lies away from Clovelly to the northwest seventeen miles +off on the edge of the world. Each morning as I opened my window at the +Inn, and looked out for the new day's version of the ocean, it lifted a +vague line of invitation and of challenge. Since we had been in +Devonshire the atmosphere of adventure that hung over Lundy had haunted +me with the wish to go there. It was the "Shutter," the tall pinnacle of +rock at its southern end, that Amyas Leigh saw for his last sight of +earth, when the lightning blinded him, in the historic storm that +strewed ships of the Armada along the shore. I am not a rash person, yet +I was so saturated with the story of "Westward Ho!" that I could not go +away satisfied unless I had set foot on Lundy. But it had the worst of +reputations, and landing was said to be hazardous. + +"It isn't that I can't get you there," said Cary when I talked to him, +"but I might not be able to get you away." + +Then he explained in a wise way that I did not entirely follow, how the +passage through the rocks was intricate, and could only be done with a +right wind, and how, if the wind changed suddenly, it was impossible to +work out until the right wind came again. And that might not be for +days, if one was unlucky. It had been known to happen so. Yet I lingered +over the thought, and the more I realized that it was unreasonable, the +more I wanted to go. The spirit of the Devonshire seas seemed, to my +fancy, to live on the guarded, dangerous rocks, and I must pay tribute +before I left his kingdom. Cary laughed a little at my one bit of +adventurous spirit so out of keeping with my gray hairs, but it was easy +to see that he too wanted to go, and that only fear for our safety and +comfort made him hesitate. The day before Anne Ford was due we went. It +was the day, too, after our sail in the moonlight that I half believed, +remembering its lovely unreality, had been a dream. But as we sailed +out, there lay Sir Richard Leigh's yacht to prove it, smart and +impressive, shining and solid in the sunlight as it had been ethereal +the night before. I gazed at her with some curiosity. + +"Have you been on board?" I asked our sailor. "Is Sir Richard there?" + +Cary glanced at Sally, who had turned a cold shoulder to the yacht and +was looking back at Clovelly village, crawling up its deep crack in the +cliff. "Yes," he said; "I've been on her twice. Sir Richard is living on +her." + +"I suppose he's some queer little rat of a man," Sally brought out in +her soft voice, to nobody in particular. + +I was surprised at the girl's incivility, but Cary answered promptly, +"Yes, Miss!" with such cheerful alacrity that I turned to look at him, +more astonished. I met eyes gleaming with a hardly suppressed amusement +which, if I had stopped to reason about it, was much out of place. But +yet, as I looked at him with calm dignity and seriousness, I felt myself +sorely tempted to laugh back. I am a bad old woman sometimes. + +The Revenge careered along over the water as if mad to get to Lundy, +under a strong west wind. In about two hours the pile of fantastic rocks +lay stretched in plain view before us. We were a mile or more away--I am +a very uncertain judge of distance--but we could see distinctly the +clouds of birds, glittering white sea-gulls, blowing hither and thither +above the wild little continent where were their nests. There are +thousands and thousands of gulls on Lundy. We had sailed out from +Clovelly at two in bright afternoon sunshine, but now, at nearly four, +the blue was covering with gray, and I saw Cary look earnestly at the +quick-moving sky. + +"Is it going to rain?" I asked. + +He stood at the rudder, feet apart and shoulders full of muscle and full +of grace, the handkerchief around his neck a line of flame between blue +clothes and olive face. A lock of bronze hair blew boyishly across his +forehead. + +"Worse than that," he said, and his eyes were keen as he stared at the +uneven water in front of us. A basin of smoother water and the yellow +tongue of a sand-beach lay beyond it at the foot of a line of high +rocks. "The passage is there"--he nodded. "If I can make it before the +squall catches us"--he glanced up again and then turned to Sally. "Could +you sail her a moment while I see to the sheet? Keep her just so." His +hand placed Sally's with a sort of roughness on the rudder. "Are you +afraid?" He paused a second to ask it. + +"Not a bit," said the girl, smiling up at him cheerfully, and then he +was working away, and the little Revenge was flying, ripping the waves, +every breath nearer by yards to that tumbling patch of wolf-gray water. + +As I said, I know less about a boat than a boy of five. I can never +remember what the parts of it are called and it is a wonder to me how +they can make it go more than one way. So I cannot tell in any +intelligent manner what happened. But, as it seemed, suddenly, while I +watched Sally standing steadily with both her little hands holding the +rudder, there was a crack as if the earth had split, then, with a +confused rushing and tearing, a mass of something fell with a long-drawn +crash, and as I stared, paralyzed, I saw the mast strike against the +girl as she stood, her hands still firmly on the rudder, and saw her go +down without a sound. There were two or three minutes of which I +remember nothing but the roaring of water. I think I must have been +caught under the sail, for the next I knew I was struggling from beneath +its stiff whiteness, and as I looked about, dazed, behold! we had passed +the reefs and lay rocking quietly. I saw that first, and then I saw +Cary's head as it bent over something he held in his arms--and it was +Sally! I tried to call, I tried to reach them, but the breath must have +been battered out of me, for I could not, and Cary did not notice me. I +think he forgot I was on earth. As I gazed at them speechless, +breathless, Sally's eyes opened and smiled up at him, and she turned her +face against his shoulder like a child. Cary's dark cheek went down +against hers, and through the sudden quiet I heard him whisper. + +"Sweetheart! sweetheart!" he said. + +Both heads, close against each other, were still for a long moment, and +then my gasping, rasping voice came back to me. + +"Cary!" I cried, "for mercy's sake, come and take me out of this jib!" + +I have the most confused recollection of the rest of that afternoon. +Cary hammered and sawed and worked like a beaver with the help of two +men who lived on Lundy, fishermen by the curious name of Heaven. Sally +and I helped, too, whenever we could, but all in a heavy silence. Sally +was wrapped in dignity as in a mantle, and her words were few and +practical. Cary, quite as practical, had no thought apparently for +anything but his boat. As for me, I was like a naughty old cat. I fussed +and complained till I must have been unendurable, for the emotions +within me were all at cross-purposes. I was frightened to death when I +thought of General Meade; I was horrified at the picture stamped on my +memory of his daughter, trusted to my care, smiling up with that +unmistakable expression into the eyes of a common sailor. Horrified! My +blood froze at the thought. Yet--it was unpardonable of me--yet I felt a +thrill as I saw again those two young heads together, and heard the +whispered words that were not meant for me to hear. + +Somehow or other, after much difficulty, and under much mental strain, +we got home. Sally hardly spoke as we toiled up the stony hill in the +dark beneath a pouring rain, and I, too, felt my tongue tied in an +embarrassed silence. At some time, soon, we must talk, but we both felt +strongly that it was well to wait till we could change our clothes. + +At last we reached the friendly brightness of the New Inn windows; we +trudged past them to the steps, we mounted them, and as the front door +opened, the radiant vision burst upon us of Anne Ford, come a day before +her time, fresh and charming and voluble--voluble! It seemed the last +straw to our tired and over-taxed nerves, yet no one could have been +more concerned and sympathetic, and that we were inclined not to be +explicit as to details suited her exactly. All the sooner could she get +to her own affairs. Sir Richard Leigh's yacht was the burden of her lay, +and that it was here and we had seen it added lustre to our adventures. +That we had not been on board and did not know him, was satisfactory +too, and neither of us had the heart to speak of Cary. We listened +wearily, feeling colorless and invertebrate beside this brilliant +creature, while Anne planned to send her card to him to-morrow, and +conjectured gayeties for all of us, beyond. Sir Richard Leigh and his +yacht did not fill a very large arc on our horizon to-night. Sally came +into my room to tell me good-night, when we went up-stairs, and she +looked so wistful and tired that I gave her two kisses instead of one. + +"Thank you," she said, smiling mistily. "We won't talk to-night, will +we, Cousin Mary?" So without words, we separated. + +Next morning as I opened my tired eyes on a world well started for the +day, there came a tap at the door and in floated Anne Ford, a fine bird +in fine feathers, wide-awake and brisk. + +"Never saw such lazy people!" she exclaimed. "I've just been in to see +Sally and she refuses to notice me. I suppose it's exhaustion from +shipwreck. But I wasn't shipwrecked, and I've had my breakfast, and it's +too glorious a morning to stay indoors, so I'm going to walk down to the +water and look at Sir Richard's boat, and send off my card to him by a +sailor or something. Then, if he's a good boy, he will turn up to-day, +and then--!" The end of Anne's sentence was wordless ecstasy. + +But the mention of the sailor had opened the flood-gates for me, and in +rushed all my responsibilities. What should I do with this situation +into which I had so easily slipped, and let Sally slip? Should I +instantly drag her off to France like a proper chaperone? Then how could +I explain to Anne--Anne would be heavy dragging with that lodestone of a +yacht in the harbor. Or could we stay here as we had planned and not see +Cary again? The unformed shapes of different questions and answers came +dancing at me like a legion of imps as I lay with my head on the pillow +and looked at Anne's confident, handsome face, and admired the freshness +and cut of her pale blue linen gown. + +"Well, Cousin Mary," she said at last, "you and Sally seem both to be +struck dumb from your troubles. I'm going off to leave you till you can +be a little nicer to me. I may come back with Sir Richard--who knows! +Wish me good luck, please!" and she swept off on a wave of good-humor +and good looks. + +I lay and thought. Then, with a pleasant leisure that soothed my nerves +a little, I dressed, and went down to breakfast in the quaint +dining-room hung from floor to ceiling with china brought years ago from +the far East by a Clovelly sailor. As I sat over my egg and toast Sally +came in, pale, but sweet and crisp in the white that Southern girls wear +most. There was a constraint over us for the reckoning that we knew was +coming. Each felt guilty toward the other and the result was a formal +politeness. So it was a relief when, just at the last bit of toast, Anne +burst in, all staccato notes of suppressed excitement. + +"Cousin Mary! Sally! Sir Richard Leigh is here! He's there!" nodding +over her shoulder. "He walked up with me--he wants to see you both. +But"--her voice dropped to an intense whisper--"he has asked to see Miss +Walton first--wants to speak to her alone! What does he mean?" Anne was +in a tremendous flutter, and it was plain that wild ideas were coursing +through her. "You are my chaperone, of course, but what can he want to +see you for alone--Cousin Mary?" + +I could not imagine, either, yet it seemed quite possible that this +beautiful creature had taken a susceptible man by storm, even so +suddenly. I laid my napkin on the table and stood up. + +"The chaperone is ready to meet the fairy prince," I said, and we went +across together to the little drawing-room. + +It was a bit dark as Anne opened the door and I saw first only a man's +figure against the window opposite, but as he turned quickly and came +toward us, I caught my breath, and stared, and gasped and stared again. +Then the words came tumbling over each other before Anne could speak. + +"Cary!" I cried. "What are you doing here--in those clothes?" + +Poor Anne! She thought I had made some horrid mistake, and had disgraced +her. But I forgot Anne entirely for the familiar brown eyes that were +smiling, pleading into mine, and in a second he had taken my hand and +bending over, with a pretty touch of stateliness, had kissed it, and the +charm that no one could resist had me fast in its net. + +"Miss Walton! You will forgive me? You were always good to me--you won't +lay it up against me that I'm Richard Leigh and not a picturesque +Devonshire sailor! You won't be angry because I deceived you! The devil +tempted me suddenly and I yielded, and I'm glad. Dear devil! I never +should have known either of you if I had not." + +There were more of the impetuous sentences that I cannot remember, and +somewhere among them Anne gathered that she was not the point of them, +and left the room like a slighted but still reigning princess. It was +too bad that any one should feel slighted, but if it had to be, it was +best that it should be Anne. + +Then my sailor told me his side of the story; how Sally's tip for the +rescue of her hat had showed him what we took him to be; how her +question about a boat had suggested playing the part; how he had begun +it half for the fun of it and half, even then, for the interest the girl +had roused in him--and he put in a pretty speech for the chaperone just +there, the clever young man! He told me how his yacht had come sooner +than he had expected, and that he had to give up one afternoon with her +was so severe a trial that he knew then how much Sally meant to him. + +"That moonlight sail was very close sailing indeed," he said, his face +full of a feeling that he did not try to hide. "There was nearly a +shipwreck, when--when she steered wrong." And I remembered. + +Then, with no great confidence in her mood, I went in search of my girl. +She is always unexpected, and a dead silence, when I had anxiously told +my tale, was what I had not planned for. After a minute, + +"Well?" I asked. + +And "Well?" answered Sally, with scarlet cheeks, but calmly. + +"He is waiting for you down-stairs," I said. + +Then she acted in the foolish way that seemed natural. She dropped on +her knees and put her face against my shoulder. + +"Cousin Mary! I can't! It's a strange man--it isn't our sailor any more. +I hate it. I don't like Englishmen." + +"He's very much the same as yesterday," I said. "You needn't like him if +you don't want to, but you must go and tell him so yourself." I think +that was rather clever of me. + +So, holding my hand and trembling, she went down. When I saw Richard +Leigh's look as he stood waiting, I tried to loosen that clutching hand +and leave them, but Sally, always different from any one else, held me +tight. + +"Cousin Mary, I won't stay unless you stay," she said, firmly. + +I looked at the young man and he laughed. + +"I don't care. I don't care if all the world hears me," he said, and he +took a step forward and caught her hands. + +Sally looked up at him. "You're a horrid lord or something," she said. + +He laughed softly. "Do you mind? I can't help it. It's hard, but I want +you to help me try to forget it. I'd gladly he a sailor again if you'd +like me better." + +"I did like you--before you deceived me. You pretended you were that." + +"But I have grievances too--you said I was a queer little rat of a man." + +Sally's laugh was gay but trembling. "I did say that, didn't I?" + +"Yes, and you tried to underpay me, too." + +"Oh, I didn't! You charged a lot more than the others." + +Sir Richard shook his head firmly. "Not nearly as much as the Revenge +was worth. I kept gangs of men scrubbing that boat till I nearly went +into bankruptcy. And, what's more, you ought to keep your word, you +know. You said you were going to marry Richard Leigh--Richard Grenville +Cary Leigh is his whole name, you know. Will you keep your word?" + +"But I--but you--but I didn't know," stammered Sally, feebly. + +He went on eagerly. "You told me how he should wear his name--high +and--and all that." He had no time for abstractions. "He can never do it +alone--will you come and help him?" + +Sally was palpably starching about for weapons to aid her losing fight. +"Why do you like me? I'm not beautiful like Anne Ford." He laughed. "I'm +not rich, you know, like lots of American girls. We're very poor"--she +looked at him earnestly. + +[Illustration: I felt myself pulled by two pairs of hands.] + +"I don't care if you're rich or poor," he said. "I don't know if +you're beautiful--I only know you're you. It's all I want." + +She shook a little at his vehemence, but she was a long fighter. "You +don't know me very much," she went on, her soft voice breaking. "Maybe +it's only a fancy--the moonlight and the sailing and all--maybe you only +imagine you like me." + +"Imagine I like you!" + +And then, at the sight of his quick movement and of Sally's face I +managed to get behind a curtain and put my fingers in my ears. No woman +has a right to more than one woman's love-making. And as I stood there, +a few minutes later, I felt myself pulled by two pairs of hands, and +Sally and her lover were laughing at me. + +"May I have her? I want her very much," he said, and I wondered if ever +any one could say no to anything he asked. So, with a word about Sally's +far-away mother and father, I told him, as an old woman might, that I +had loved him from the first, and then I said a little of what Sally was +to me. + +"I like her very much," I said, in a shaky voice that tried to be +casual. "Are you sure that you like her enough?" For all of his answer, +he turned, not even touching her hands, and looked at her. + +It was as if I caught again the fragrance of the box hedges in the +southern sunshine of a garden where I had walked on a spring morning +long ago. Love is as old-fashioned as the ocean, and us little changed +in all the centuries. Its always yielding, never retreating arms lie +about the lands that are built and carved and covered with men's +progress; it keeps the air sweet and fresh above them, and from +generation to generation its look and its depths are the same. That it +is stronger than death does not say it all. I know that it is stronger +than life. Death, with its crystal touch, may make a weak love strong; +life, with its every-day wear and tear, must make any but a strong love +weak. + +I like to think that the look I saw in Richard Leigh's eyes as he turned +toward my girl was the same look I shall see, not so very many years +from now, when I close mine on this dear old world, and open them, by +the shore of the ocean of eternity, on the face of Geoffrey Meade. + + + + + * * * * * + +ADVERTISEMENTS + + * * * * * + +BOB AND THE GUIDES + +_By_ + +MARY RAYMOND SHIPMAN ANDREWS + +Illustrated by F.C. YOHN + +12mo. $1.50 + + +"The sketches are breezy, with a freshness nothing short of alluring. +They would make a sportsman of a monk. The characters of Walter, Bob, +the Bishop, the Judge and his Guide are drawn in a fashion that attracts +both sympathy and emulation, while the rollicking but delicate humor has +rarely been excelled in fiction."--Louisville _Courier-Journal_. + + +"A keen sense of humor runs through them all. Exceedingly interesting +and entertaining."--Baltimore _News_. + + +"A book of hunting stories which can be read aloud and out of doors, two +severe tests for a book."--_Independent_. + + +"It is difficult to recall any book that contains in it more of the +out-door spirit mingled with a really charming story-telling +capacity."--_Recreation_. + + * * * * * + +Books by Mary R.S. Andrews + +VIVE L'EMPEREUR + +Illustrated by F.C. YOHN + +12mo. $1.00 + + +"A very well-written story and one that the reader will be bound to +like."--New York _Sun_. + + +"The humor is good, the love motive sweet, and the background +picturesque. As history, 'Vive L'Empereur' is unique; as romance, it is +charming."--_The Reader_. + + * * * * * + +The Great Lincoln Story + +THE PERFECT TRIBUTE + +50 cents net; postpaid, 53 cents + + +"One of the best of recent short stories,"--Philadelphia _Inquirer_. + + +"An exquisitely tender, pathetic, and patriotic story."--Chicago _Daily +News_. + + +"It is the best sort of history for it reproduces the spirit of the time +and of the man."--New York _Christian Advocate_. + + +"Dramatically conceived and strongly written."--Los Angeles _Times_. + + * * * * * + +CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, NEW YORK + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Militants, by Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MILITANTS *** + +***** This file should be named 15496-8.txt or 15496-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/4/9/15496/ + +Produced by Kentuckiana Digital Library, David Garcia, Martin Pettit +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/15496-8.zip b/15496-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..de755ac --- /dev/null +++ b/15496-8.zip diff --git a/15496-h.zip b/15496-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..46ba406 --- /dev/null +++ b/15496-h.zip diff --git a/15496-h/15496-h.htm b/15496-h/15496-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9ce7e8b --- /dev/null +++ b/15496-h/15496-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7482 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= + "text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"/> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Militants, by Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + .solid {border-style: solid; + padding-left: 1em; + padding-right: 1em; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .narrow {margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10% + } + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .center {text-align: center;} + .right {text-align: right;} + .left {text-align: left;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem div {display: block; margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem div.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} + .poem div.i8 {display: block; margin-left: 8em;} + + ul li { padding-top: .5em ; } + ul ul ul, ul li ul li { padding: 0; } + ul { list-style: none; } + + .subitem { display: block; padding-left: 2em; } + + .caption {text-align: center; + font-weight: bold; + } + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Militants, by Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Militants + Stories of Some Parsons, Soldiers, and Other Fighters in the World + +Author: Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews + +Release Date: March 29, 2005 [EBook #15496] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MILITANTS *** + + + + +Produced by Kentuckiana Digital Library, David Garcia, Martin Pettit +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + + +<h1>THE MILITANTS</h1> + +<p class='center'><i>"The sword of the Lord and of Gideon."</i></p> + + + +<hr /> +<div class="narrow"><div class='solid'><h2>BOOKS BY MARY R.S. ANDREWS</h2> + +<p class='center'>PUBLISHED BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS</p> + +<hr /> +<table border='0' summary='advertisement'> + <tr> + <td> + <b>The Militants.</b> Illustrated + </td> + <td> + $1.50 + </td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td> + <b>Bob and the Guides.</b> Illustrated + </td> + <td> + $1.50 + </td> + </tr> <tr> + <td> + <b>The Perfect Tribute.</b> With Frontispiece + </td> + <td> + $0.50 + </td> + </tr> <tr> + <td> + <b>Vive L'Empereur.</b> Illustrated + </td> + <td> + $1.00 + </td> + </tr> + <tr><td> </td></tr> +</table> +</div></div> +<hr /> +<p class="center"><a name="illustr-01.jpg" id="illustr-01.jpg"></a><img src="images/illustr-01.jpg" width="363" height="560" alt="I took her in my arms and held her." /></p> + +<p class="caption">"I took her in my arms and held her."</p> + +<hr /> +<h1>THE MILITANTS</h1> + + +<h2>STORIES OF SOME PARSONS, SOLDIERS AND OTHER FIGHTERS IN THE WORLD</h2> + + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>MARY RAYMOND SHIPMAN ANDREWS</h2> + + +<p class='center'>ILLUSTRATED</p> + + +<p class='center'>NEW YORK</p> + +<p class='center'>CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS</p> + +<p class='center'>1907</p> + + +<blockquote><p class='center'>THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF A MAN WHO WAS WITH HIS + WHOLE HEART A PRIEST AND WITH HIS WHOLE STRENGTH A SOLDIER OF THE + CHURCH MILITANT.</p> + +<p class='center'>JACOB SHAW SHIPMAN</p></blockquote> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<ul> +<li> <a href="#THE_BISHOPS_SILENCE"><i>I. THE BISHOP'S SILENCE</i></a></li> +<li> <a href="#THE_WITNESSES"><i>II. THE WITNESSES</i></a></li> +<li> <a href="#THE_DIAMOND_BROOCHES"><i>III. THE DIAMOND BROOCHES</i></a></li> +<li> <a href="#CROWNED_WITH_GLORY_AND_HONOR"><i>IV. CROWNED WITH GLORY AND HONOR</i></a></li> +<li> <a href="#A_MESSENGER"><i>V. A MESSENGER</i></a></li> +<li> <a href="#THE_AIDE_DE_CAMP"><i>VI. THE AIDE-DE-CAMP</i></a></li> +<li> <a href="#THROUGH_THE_IVORY_GATE"><i>VII. THROUGH THE IVORY GATE</i></a></li> +<li> <a href="#THE_WIFE_OF_THE_GOVERNOR"><i>VIII. THE WIFE OF THE GOVERNOR</i></a></li> +<li> <a href="#THE_LITTLE_REVENGE"><i>IX. THE LITTLE REVENGE</i></a></li> +</ul> + +<hr /> +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + +<ul> +<li> <a href="#illustr-01.jpg"><i>"I took her in my arms and held her."</i></a></li> +<li> <a href="#illustr-02.jpg"><i>"Many waters shall not wash out love," said Eleanor.</i></a></li> +<li> <a href="#illustr-03.jpg"><i>He stared into the smoldering fire.</i></a></li> +<li> <a href="#illustr-04.jpg"><i>"Look!" he said, and Miles swung about toward the ridge behind.</i></a></li> +<li> <a href="#illustr-05.jpg"><i>"I got behind a turn and fired as a man came on alone."</i></a></li> +<li> <a href="#illustr-06.jpg"><i>"I reckon I shall have to ask you not pick any more of those roses," a voice said.</i></a></li> +<li> <a href="#illustr-07.jpg"><i>"You see, the boat is very new and clean, Miss," he was +saying.</i></a></li> +<li> <a href="#illustr-08.jpg"><i>I felt myself pulled by two pairs of hands.</i></a></li></ul> + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="THE_BISHOPS_SILENCE" id="THE_BISHOPS_SILENCE"></a>THE BISHOP'S SILENCE</h2> + +<p>The Bishop was walking across the fields to afternoon service. It was a +hot July day, and he walked slowly—for there was plenty of time—with +his eyes fixed on the far-off, shimmering sea. That minstrel of heat, +the locust, hidden somewhere in the shade of burning herbage, pulled a +long, clear, vibrating bow across his violin, and the sound fell lazily +on the still air—the only sound on earth except a soft crackle under +the Bishop's feet. Suddenly the erect, iron-gray head plunged madly +forward, and then, with a frantic effort and a parabola or two, +recovered itself, while from the tall grass by the side of the path +gurgled up a high, soft, ecstatic squeal. The Bishop, his face flushed +with the stumble and the heat and a touch of indignation besides, +straightened himself with dignity and felt for his hat, while his eyes +followed a wriggling cord that lay on the ground, up to a small brown +fist. A burnished head, gleaming in the sunshine like the gilded ball +on a church steeple, rose suddenly out of the waves of dry grass, and a +pink-ginghamed figure, radiant with joy and good-will, confronted him. +The Bishop's temper, roughly waked up by the unwilling and unepiscopal +war-dance just executed, fell back into its chains.</p> + +<p>"Did you tie that string across the path?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," The shining head nodded. "Too bad you didn't fell 'way down. I'm +sorry. But you kicked awf'ly."</p> + +<p>"Oh! I did, did I?" asked the Bishop. "You're an unrepentant young +sinner. Suppose I'd broken my leg?"</p> + +<p>The head nodded again. "Oh, we'd have patzed you up," she said +cheerfully. "Don't worry. Trust in God."</p> + +<p>The Bishop jumped. "My child," he said, "who says that to you?"</p> + +<p>"Aunt Basha." The innocent eyes faced him without a sign of +embarrassment. "Aunt Basha's my old black mammy. Do you know her? All +her name's longer'n that. I can say it." Then with careful, slow +enunciation, "Bathsheba Salina Mosina Angelica Preston."</p> + +<p>"Is that your little bit of name too?" the Bishop asked, "Are you a +Preston?"</p> + +<p>"Why, of course." The child opened her gray eyes wide. "Don't you know +my name? I'm Eleanor. Eleanor Gray Preston."</p> + +<p>For a moment again the locust had it all to himself. High and insistent, +his steady note sounded across the hot, still world. The Bishop looked +down at the gray eyes gazing upward wonderingly, and through a mist of +years other eyes smiled at him. Eleanor Gray—the world is small, the +life of it persistent; generations repeat themselves, and each is young +but once. He put his hand under the child's chin and turned up the baby +face.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said he—if that may stand for the sound that stood for the +Bishop's reverie. "Ah! Whom were you named for, Eleanor Gray?"</p> + +<p>"For my own muvver." Eleanor wriggled her chin from the big hand and +looked at him with dignity. She did not like to be touched by +strangers. Again the voices stopped and the locust sang two notes and +stopped also, as if suddenly awed.</p> + +<p>"Your mother," repeated the Bishop, "your mother! I hope you are worthy +of the name."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am," said Eleanor heartily. "Bug's on your shoulder, Bishop! For +de Lawd's sake!" she squealed excitedly, in delicious high notes that a +prima donna might envy; then caught the fat grasshopper from the black +clerical coat, and stood holding it, lips compressed and the joy of +adventure dancing in her eyes. The Bishop took out his watch and looked +at it, as Eleanor, her soul on the grasshopper, opened her fist and +flung its squirming contents, with delicious horror, yards away. Half an +hour yet to service and only five minutes' walk to the little church of +Saint Peter's-by-the-Sea.</p> + +<p>"Will you sit down and talk to me, Eleanor Gray?" he asked, gravely.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, if there's time," assented Eleanor, "but you mustn't be late +to church, Bishop. That's naughty."</p> + +<p>"I think there's time. How do you know who I am, Eleanor?"</p> + +<p>"Dick told me."</p> + +<p>The Bishop had walked away from the throbbing sunshine into the +green-black shadows of a tree, and seated himself with a boyish +lightness in piquant contrast with his gray-haired dignity—a lightness +that meant athletic years. Eleanor bent down the branch of a great bush +that faced him and sat on it as if a bird had poised there. She smiled +as their eyes met, and began to hum an air softly. The startled Bishop +slowly made out a likeness to the words of the old hymn that begins</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Am I a soldier of the Cross,</div> +<div>A follower of the Lamb?</div> +</div></div> + +<p>Sweetly and reverently she sang it, over and over, with a difference.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Am I shoulder of a hoss,</div> +<div>A quarter of a lamb?</div> +</div></div> + +<p>sang Eleanor.</p> + +<p>The Bishop exploded into a great laugh that drowned the music.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Basha taught you that, too, didn't she?" he asked, and off he +went into another deep-toned peal.</p> + +<p>"I thought you'd like that, 'cause it's a hymn and you're a Bishop," +said Eleanor, approvingly. Her effort was evidently meeting with +appreciation. "You can talk to me now, I'm here." She settled herself +like a Brownie, elbows on knees, her chin in the hollows of small, lean +hands, and gazed at him unflinchingly.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said the Bishop, sobering at once, but laughter still in +his eyes. "Will you be kind enough to tell me then, Eleanor, who is +Dick?"</p> + +<p>Eleanor looked astonished, "You don't know anybody much, do you?" and +there was gentle pity in her voice. "Why, Dick, he's—why, he's—why, +you see, he's my friend. I don't know his uvver names, but Mr. Fielding, +he's Dick's favver."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said the Bishop with comprehension. "Dick Fielding. Then Dick is +my friend, too. And people that are friends to the same people should +be friends to each other—that's geometry, Eleanor, though it's +possibly not life."</p> + +<p>"Huh?" Eleanor stared, puzzled.</p> + +<p>"Will you be friends with me, Eleanor Gray? I knew your mother a long +time ago, when she was Eleanor Gray." Eleanor yawned frankly. That might +be true, but it did not appear to her remarkable or interesting. The +deep voice went on, with a moment's interval. "Where is your mother? Is +she here?"</p> + +<p>Eleanor laughed. "Oh, no," she said. "Don't you know? What a funny man +you are—you know such a few things. My muvver's up in heaven. She went +when I was a baby, long, <i>long</i> ago. I reckon she must have flewed," she +added, reflectively, raising clear eyes to the pale, heat-worn sky that +gleamed through the branches.</p> + +<p>The Bishop's big hands went up to his face suddenly, and the strong +fingers clasped tensely above his forehead. Between his wrists one could +see that his mouth was set in a hard line. "Dead!" he said. "And I never +knew it."</p> + +<p>Eleanor dug a small russet heel unconcernedly into the ground. +"Naughty, naughty, naughty little grasshopper," she began to chant, +addressing an unconscious insect near the heel. "Don't you go and crawl +up on the Bishop. No, just don't you. 'Cause if you do, oh, naughty +grasshopper, I'll scrunch you!" with a vicious snap on the "scrunch."</p> + +<p>The Bishop lowered his hands and looked at her. "I'm not being very +interesting, Eleanor, am I?"</p> + +<p>"Not very," Eleanor admitted. "Couldn't you be some more int'rstin'?"</p> + +<p>"I'll try," said the Bishop. "But be careful not to hurt the poor +grasshopper. Because, you know, some people say that if he is a good +grasshopper for a long time, then when he dies his little soul will go +into a better body—perhaps a butterfly's body next time."</p> + +<p>Eleanor caught the thought instantly. "And if he's a good butterfly, +then what'll he be? A hummin'-bird? Let's kill him quick, and see him +turn into a butterfly."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, Eleanor, you can't force the situation. He has to live out his +little grasshopper life the best that he can, before he's good enough to +be a butterfly. If you kill him now you might send him backward. He +might turn into what he was before—a poor little blind worm perhaps."</p> + +<p>"Oh, my Lawd!" said Eleanor.</p> + +<p>The Bishop was still a moment, and then repeated, quietly:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Slay not the meanest creature, lest thou slay</div> +<div>Some humble soul upon its upward way.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>"Oughtn't to talk to yourself," Eleanor shook her head disapprovingly. +"'Tisn't so very polite. Is that true about the grasshopper, Bishop, or +is it a whopper?"</p> + +<p>The Bishop thought for a moment. "I don't know, Eleanor," he answered, +gently.</p> + +<p>"You don't know so very much, do you?" inquired Eleanor, not as +despising but as wondering, sympathizing with ignorance.</p> + +<p>"Very little," the Bishop agreed. "And I've tried to learn, all my +life"—his gaze wandered off reflectively.</p> + +<p>"Too bad," said Eleanor. "Maybe you'll learn some time."</p> + +<p>"Maybe," said the Bishop and smiled, and suddenly she sprang to her +feet, and shook her finger at him.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid," she said, "I'm very much afraid you're a naughty boy."</p> + +<p>The Bishop looked up at the small, motherly face, bewildered. "Wh—why?" +he stammered.</p> + +<p>"Do you know what you're bein'? You're bein' late to church!"</p> + +<p>The Bishop sprang up too, at that, and looked at his watch quickly. "Not +late yet, but I'll walk along. Where are you going, waif? Aren't you in +charge of anybody?"</p> + +<p>"Huh?" inquired Eleanor, her head cocked sideways.</p> + +<p>"Whom did you come out with?"</p> + +<p>"Madge and Dick, but they're off there," nodding toward the wood behind +them. "Madge is cryin'. She wouldn't let me pound Dick for makin' her, +so I went away."</p> + +<p>"Who is Madge?"</p> + +<p>Eleanor, drifting beside him through the sunshine like a rose-leaf on +the wind, stopped short. "Why, Bishop, don't you know even Madge? Funny +Bishop! Madge is my sister—she's grown up. Dick made her cry, but I +think he wasn't much naughty, 'cause she would <i>not</i> let me pound him. +She put her arms right around him."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said the Bishop, and there was silence for a moment. "You mustn't +tell me any more about Madge and Dick, I think, Eleanor."</p> + +<p>"All right, my lamb!" Eleanor assented, cheerfully, and conversation +flagged.</p> + +<p>"How old are you, Eleanor Gray?"</p> + +<p>"Six, praise de Lawd!"</p> + +<p>The Bishop considered deeply for a moment, then his face cleared.</p> + +<p>"'Their angels do always behold the face of my Father,'" and he smiled. +"I say it too, praise the Lord that she is six."</p> + +<p>"Madge is lots more'n that," the soft little voice, with its gay, +courageous inflection, went on. "She's twenty. Isn't that old? You +aren't much different of that, are you?" and the heavy, cropped, +straight gold mass of her hair swung sideways as she turned her face up +to scrutinize the tall Bishop.</p> + +<p>He smiled down at her. "Only thirty years different. I'm fifty, +Eleanor."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Eleanor, trying to grasp the problem. Then with a sigh she +gave it up, and threw herself on the strength of maturity. "Is fifty +older'n twenty?" she asked.</p> + +<p>More than once as they went side by side on the narrow foot-path across +the field the Bishop put out his hand to hold the little brown one near +it, but each time the child floated from his touch, and he smiled at the +unconscious dignity, the womanly reserve of the frank and friendly +little lady. "Thus far and no farther," he thought, with the quick +perception of character that was part of his power. But the Bishop was +as unconscious as the child of his own charm, of the magnetism in him +that drew hearts his way. Only once had it ever failed, and that was the +only time he had cared. But this time it was working fast as they walked +and talked together quietly, and when they reached the open door that +led from the fields into the little robing-room of Saint Peter's, +Eleanor had met her Waterloo. Being six, it was easy to say so, and she +did it with directness, yet without at all losing the dignity that was +breeding, that had come to her from generations, and that she knew of as +little as she knew the names of her bones. Three steps led to the +robing-room, and Eleanor flew to the top and turned, the childish figure +in its worn pink cotton dress facing the tall powerful one in sober +black broadcloth.</p> + +<p>"I love you," she said. "I'll kiss you," and the long, strong little +arms were around his neck, and it seemed to the Bishop as if a kiss that +had never been given came to him now from the lips of the child of the +woman he had loved. As he put her down gently, from the belfry above +tolled suddenly a sweet, rolling note for service.</p> + +<p>When the Bishop came out from church the "peace that passeth +understanding" was over him. The beautiful old words that to churchmen +are dear as their mothers' faces, haunting as the voices that make home, +held him yet in the last echo of their music. Peace seemed, too, to lie +across the world, worn with the day's heat, where the shadows were +stretching in lengthening, cooling lines. And there at the vestry step, +where Eleanor had stood an hour before, was Dick Fielding, waiting for +him, with as unhappy a face as an eldest scion, the heir to millions, +well loved, and well brought up, and wonderfully unspoiled, ever carried +about a country-side. The Bishop was staying at the Fieldings'. He +nodded and swung past Dick, with a look from the tail of his eye that +said: "Come along." Dick came, and silently the two turned into the path +of the fields. The scowl on Dick's dark face deepened as they walked, +and that was all there was by way of conversation for some time. +Finally:</p> + +<p>"You don't know about it, do you, Bishop?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"A very little, my boy," the Bishop answered.</p> + +<p>Dick was on the defensive in a moment. "My father told you—you agree +with him?"</p> + +<p>"Your father has told me nothing. I only came last night, remember. I +know that you made Madge cry, and that Eleanor wasn't allowed to punish +you."</p> + +<p>The boyish face cleared a little, and he laughed. "That little rat! Has +she been talking? It's all right if it's only to you, but Madge will +have to cork her up." Then anxiety and unhappiness seized Dick's buoyant +soul again. "Bishop, let me talk to you, will you please? I'm knocked up +about this, for there's never been trouble between my father and me +before, and I can't give in. I know I'm right—I'd be a cad to give in, +and I wouldn't if I could. If you would only see your way to talking to +the governor, Bishop! He'll listen to you when he'd throw any other chap +out of the house."</p> + +<p>"Tell me the whole story if you can, Dick, I don't understand, you see."</p> + +<p>"I suppose it will sound rather commonplace to you," said Dick, humbly, +"but it means everything to me. I—I'm engaged to Madge Preston. I've +known her for a year, and been engaged half of it, and I ought to know +my own mind by now. But father has simply set his forefeet and won't +hear of it. Won't even let me talk to him about it."</p> + +<p>Dick's hands went into his pockets and his head drooped, and his big +figure lagged pathetically. The Bishop put his hand on the young man's +shoulder, and left it there as they walked slowly on, but he said +nothing.</p> + +<p>"It's her father, you know," Dick went on. "Such rot, to hold a girl +responsible for her ancestors! Isn't it rot, now? Father says they're a +bad stock, dissipated and arrogant and spendthrift and shiftless and +weak—oh, and a lot more! He's not stingy with his adjectives, bless +you! Picture to yourself Madge being dissipated and arrogant and—have +you seen Madge?" he interrupted himself.</p> + +<p>The Bishop shook his head. "Eleanor made an attempt on my life with a +string across the path, to-day. We were friends over that."</p> + +<p>"She's a winning little rat," said Dick, smiling absent-mindedly, "but +nothing to Madge. You'll understand when you see Madge how I couldn't +give her up. And it isn't so much that—my feeling for her—though +that's enough in all conscience, but picture to yourself, if you please, +a man going to a girl and saying: 'I'm obliged to give you up, because +my father threatens to disinherit me and kick me out of the business. He +objects because your father's a poor lot.' That's a nice line of conduct +to map out for your only son. Yet that's practically what my father +wishes me to do. But he's brought me up a gentleman, by George," said +Dick straightening himself, "and it's too late to ask me to be a beastly +cad. Besides that," and voice and figure drooped to despondency again, +"I just can't give her up."</p> + +<p>The Bishop's keen eyes were on the troubled face, and in their depths +lurked a kindly shade of amusement. He could see stubborn old Dick +Fielding in stubborn young Dick Fielding so plainly. Dick the elder had +been his friend for forty years. But he said nothing. It was better to +let the boy talk himself out a bit. In a moment Dick began again.</p> + +<p>"Can't see why the governor's so keen against Colonel Preston, anyway. +He's lost his money and made a mess of his life, and I rather fancy he +drinks too much. But he's the sort of man you can't help being proud +of—bad clothes and vices and all—handsome and charming and +thorough-bred—and father must know it. His children love him—he can't +be such a brute as the governor says. Anyway, I don't want to marry the +Colonel—what's the use of rowing about the Colonel?" inquired Dick, +desperately.</p> + +<p>The Bishop asked a question now: "How many children are there?"</p> + +<p>"Only Madge and Eleanor. They're here with their cousins, the Vails, +summers. Two or three died between those two, I believe. Lucky, perhaps, +for the family has been awfully hard up. Lived on in their big old +place, in Maryland, with no money at all. I've an idea Madge's mother +wasn't so sorry to die—had a hard life of it with the fascinating +Colonel." The Bishop's hand dropped from the boy's shoulder, and shut +tightly. "But that has nothing to do with my marrying Madge," Dick went +on.</p> + +<p>"No," said the Bishop, shortly.</p> + +<p>"And you see," said Dick, slipping to another tangent, "it's not the +money I'm keenest about, though of course I want that too, but it's +father. You believe I think more of my father than of his money, don't +you? We've been good friends all my life, and he's such a crackerjack +old fellow. I'd hate to get along without him." Dick sighed, from his +boots up—almost six feet. "Couldn't you give him a dressing down, +Bishop? Make him see reason?" He looked anxiously up the three inches +that the Bishop towered above him.</p> + +<p>At ten o'clock the next morning Richard Fielding, owner of the great +Fielding Foundries, strolled out on his wide piazza, which, luxurious in +deep wicker chairs and Japanese rugs and light, cool furniture, looked +under scarlet and white awnings, across long boxes of geraniums and +vines, out to the sparkling Atlantic. The Bishop, a friendly light +coming into his thoughtful eyes, took his cigar from his lips and +glanced up at his friend. Mr. Fielding kicked a hassock aside, moved a +table between them, and settled himself in another chair, and with the +scratch of a match, but without a word spoken, they entered into the +companionship which had been a life-long joy to both.</p> + +<p>"Father and the Bishop are having a song and dance without words," Dick +was pleased sometimes to say, and felt that he hit it off. The breeze +carried the scent of the tobacco in intermittent waves of fragrance, and +on the air floated delicately that subtle message of peace, prosperity, +and leisure which is part of the mission of a good cigar. The +pleasantness of the wide, cool piazza, with its flowers and vines and +gay awnings; the charm of the summer morning, not yet dulled by wear and +tear of the day; the steady, deliberate dash of the waves on the beach +below; the play and shimmer of the big, quiet water, stretching out to +the edge of the world; all this filled their minds, rested their souls. +There was no need for words. The Bishop sighed comfortably as he pushed +his great shoulders back against the cool wicker of the chair and swung +one long leg across the other. Fielding, chin up and lips rounded to let +out a cloud of smoke, rested his hand, cigar between the fingers, on the +table, and gazed at him satisfied. This was the man, after Dick, dearest +to him in the world. Into which peaceful Eden stole at this point the +serpent, and, as is usual, in the shape of woman. Little Eleanor, +long-legged, slim, fresh as a flower in her crisp, faded pink dress, +came around the corner. In one hot hand she carried, by their heads, a +bunch of lilac and pink and white sweet peas. It cost her no trouble at +all, and about half a minute of time, to charge the atmosphere, so full +of sweet peace and rest, with a saturated solution of bitterness and +disquiet. Her presence alone was a bombshell, and with a sentence or two +in her clear, innocent voice, the fell deed was done. Fielding stopped +smoking, his cigar in mid-air, and stared with a scowl at the child; but +Eleanor, delighted to have found the Bishop, saw only him. A shower of +crushed blossoms fell over his knees.</p> + +<p>"I ran away from Aunt Basha. I brought you a posy for 'Good-mornin','" +she said. The Bishop, collecting the plunder, expressed gratitude. "Dick +picked a whole lot for Madge, and then they went walkin' and forgot 'em. +Isn't Dick funny?" she went on.</p> + +<p>Mr. Fielding looked as if Dick's drollness did not appeal to him, but +the Bishop laughed, and put his arm around her.</p> + +<p>"Will you give me a kiss, too, for 'Good-morning,'" he said; and then, +"That's better than the flowers. You had better run back to Aunt Basha +now, Eleanor—she'll be frightened."</p> + +<p>Eleanor looked disappointed, "I wanted to ask you 'bout what dead +chickens gets to be, if they're good. Pups? Do you reckon it's pups?"</p> + +<p>The theory of transmigration of souls had taken strong hold. Mr. +Fielding lost his scowl in a look of bewilderment, and the Bishop +frankly shouted out a big laugh.</p> + +<p>"Listen, Eleanor. This afternoon I'll come for you to walk, and we'll +talk that all over. Go home now, my lamb." And Eleanor, like a pale-pink +over-sized butterfly, went.</p> + +<p>"Do you know that child, Jim?" Mr. Fielding asked, grimly.</p> + +<p>"Yes," answered the Bishop, with a serene pull at his cigar.</p> + +<p>"Do you know she's the child of that good-for-nothing Fairfax Preston, +who married Eleanor Gray against her people's will and took her South +to—to—starve, practically?"</p> + +<p>The Bishop drew a long breath, and then he turned and looked at his old +friend with a clear, wide gaze. "She's Eleanor Gray's child, too, Dick," +he said.</p> + +<p>Mr. Fielding was silent a moment. "Has the boy talked to you?" he asked. +The Bishop nodded. "It's the worst trouble I've ever had. It would kill +me to see him marry that man's daughter. I can't and won't resign myself +to it. Why should I? Why should Dick choose, out of all the world, the +one girl in it who would be insufferable to me. I can't give in about +this. Much as Dick is to me I'll let him go sooner. I hope you'll see +I'm right, Jim, but right or wrong, I've made up my mind."</p> + +<p>The Bishop stretched a large, bony hand across the little table that +stood between them. Fielding's fell on it. Both men smoked silently for +a minute.</p> + +<p>"Have you anything against the girl, Dick?" asked the Bishop, presently.</p> + +<p>"That she's her father's daughter—it's enough. The bad blood of +generations is in her. I don't like the South—I don't like +Southerners. And I detest beyond words Fairfax Preston. But the girl is +certainly beautiful, and they say she is a good girl, too," he +acknowledged, gloomily.</p> + +<p>"Then I think you're wrong," said the Bishop.</p> + +<p>"You don't understand, Jim," Fielding took it up passionately. "That man +has been the <i>bête noir</i> of my life. He has gotten in my way +half-a-dozen times deliberately, in business affairs, little as he +amounts to himself. Only two years ago—but that isn't the point after +all." He stopped gloomily. "You'll wonder at me, but it's an older feud +than that. I've never told anyone, but I want you to understand, Jim, +how impossible this affair is." He bit off the end of a fresh cigar, +lighted it and then threw it across the geraniums into the grass. "I +wanted to marry her mother," he said, brusquely. "That man got her. Of +course, I could have forgiven that, but it was the way he did it. He +lied to her—he threw it in my teeth that I had failed. Can't you see +how I shall never forgive him—never, while I live!" The intensity of a +life-long, silent hatred trembled in his voice.</p> + +<p>"It's the very thing it's your business to do, Dick," said the Bishop, +quietly. "'Love your enemies, bless them that curse you'—what do you +think that means? It's your very case. It may be the hardest thing in +the world, but it's the simplest, most obvious." He drew a long puff at +his cigar, and looked over the flowers to the ocean.</p> + +<p>"Simple! Obvious!" Fielding's voice was full of bitterness. "That's the +way with you churchmen! You live outside passions and temptations, and +then preach against them, with no faintest notion of their force. It +sounds easy, doesn't it? Simple and obvious, as you say. You never loved +Eleanor Gray, Jim; you never had to give her up to a man you knew +beneath her; you never had to shut murder out of your heart when you +heard that he'd given her a hard life and a glad death. Eleanor Gray! Do +you remember how lovely she was, how high-spirited and full of the joy +of life?" The Bishop's great figure was still as if the breath in it had +stopped, but Fielding, carried on the flood of his own rushing feeling, +did not notice. "Do you remember, Jim?" he repeated.</p> + +<p>"I remember," the Bishop said, and his voice sounded very quiet.</p> + +<p>"Jove! How calm you are!" exploded the other.</p> + +<p>"You're a churchman; you live behind a wall, you hear voices through it, +but you can't be in the fight—it's easy for you."</p> + +<p>"Life isn't easy for anyone, Dick," said the Bishop, slowly. "You know +that. I'm fighting the current as well as you. You are a churchman as +well as I. If it's my <i>métier</i> to preach against human passion, it's +yours to resist it. You're letting this man you hate mould your +character; you're letting him burn the kindness out of your soul. He's +making you bitter and hard and unjust—and you're letting him. I thought +you had more will—more poise. It isn't your affair what he is, even +what he does, Dick—it's your affair to keep your own judgment unwarped, +your own heart gentle, your own soul untainted by the poison of hatred. +We are both churchmen, as you put it—loyalty is for us both. You live +your sermon—I say mine. I have said it. Now live yours. Put this +wormwood away from you. Forgive Preston, as you need forgiveness at +higher hands. Don't break the girl's heart, and spoil your boy's +life—it may spoil it—the leaven of bitterness works long. You're at a +parting of the ways—take the right turn. Do good and not evil with your +strength; all the rest is nothing. After all the years there is just one +thing that counts, and that our mothers told us when we were little +chaps together—be good, Dick."</p> + +<p>The magnetic voice, that had swayed thousands, the indescribable trick +of inflection that caught the heart-strings, the pure, high personality +that shone through look and tone, had never, in all his brilliant +career, been more full of power than for this audience of one. Fielding +got up, trembling, and stood before him.</p> + +<p>"Jim," he said, "whatever else is so, you are that—you are a good man. +The trouble is you want me to be as good as you are; and I can't. If you +had had temptations like mine, trials like mine, I might try to follow +you—I would try. But you haven't—you're an impossible model for me. +You want me to be an angel of light, and I'm only—a man." He turned +and went into the house.</p> + +<p>The oldest inhabitant had not seen a devotion like the Bishop's and +Eleanor's. There was in it no condescension on one side, no strain on +the other. The soul that through fulness of life and sorrow and +happiness and effort had reached at last a child's peace met as its like +the little child's soul, that had known neither life nor sorrow nor +conscious happiness, and was without effort as a lily of the field. It +may be that the wisdom of babyhood and the wisdom of age will look very +alike to us when we have the wisdom of eternity. And as all the colors +of the spectrum make sunlight, so all his splendid powers that patient +years had made perfect shone through the Bishop's character in the white +light of simplicity. No one knew what they talked about, the child and +the man, on the long walks that they took together almost every day, +except from Eleanor's conversation after. Transmigration, done into the +vernacular, and applied with startling directness, was evidently a +fascinating subject from the first. She brought back as well a vivid +and epigrammatic version of the nebular hypothesis.</p> + +<p>"Did you hear 'bout what the world did?" she demanded, casually, at the +lunch-table. "We were all hot, nasty steam, just like a tea-kettle, and +we cooled off into water, sailin' around so much, and then we got crusts +on us, bless de Lawd, and then, sir, we kept on gettin' solid, and +circus animals grewed all over us, and then they died, and thank God for +that, and Adam and Evenin' camed, and Madge <i>can't</i> I have some more +gingerbread? I'd just as soon be a little sick if you'll let me have +it."</p> + +<p>The "fairyland of science and the long results of time," passing from +the Bishop's hands into the child's, were turned into such graphic +tales, for Eleanor, with all her airy charm, struck straight from the +shoulder. Never was there a sense of superiority on the Bishop's side, +or of being lectured on Eleanor's.</p> + +<p>"Why do you like to walk with the Bishop?" Mrs. Vail asked, curiously.</p> + +<p>"Because he hasn't any morals," said the little girl, fresh from a +Sunday-school lesson.</p> + +<p>Saturday night Mr. Fielding stayed late in the city, and Dick was with +his lady-love at the Vails; so the Bishop, after dining alone, went down +on the wide beach below the house and walked, as he smoked his cigar. +Through the week he had been restless under the constant prick of a duty +undone, which he could not make up his mind to do. Over and over he +heard his friend's agitated voice. "If you had had temptations like +mine, trials like mine, I would try to follow you," it said. He knew +that the man would be good as his word. He could perhaps win Dick's +happiness for him if he would pick up the gauntlet of that speech. If he +could bring himself to tell Fielding the whole story that he had shut so +long ago into silence—that he, too, had cared for Eleanor Gray, and had +given her up in a harder way than the other, for the Bishop had made it +possible that the Southerner should marry her. But it was like tearing +his soul to do it. No one but his mother, who was dead, had known this +one secret of a life like crystal. The Bishop's reticence was the +intense sort, that often goes with a frank exterior, and he had never +cared for another woman. Some men's hearts are open pleasure-grounds, +where all the world may come and go, and the earth is dusty with many +feet; and some are like theatres, shut perhaps to the world in general, +but which a passport of beauty or charm may always open; and with many, +of finer clay, there are but two or three ways into a guarded temple, +and only the touchstone of quality may let pass the lightest foot upon +the carefully tended sod. But now and then a heart is Holy of Holies. +Long ago the Bishop, lifting a young face from the books that absorbed +him, had seen a girl's figure filling the narrow doorway, and dazzled by +the radiance of it, had placed that image on the lonely altar, where the +flame waited, before unconsecrated. Then the girl had gone, and he had +quietly shut the door and lived his life outside. But the sealed place +was there, and the fire burned before the old picture. Why should he, +for Dick Fielding, for any one, let the light of day upon that +stillness? The one thing in life that was his own, and all these years +he had kept it sacred—why should he? Fiercely, with the old animal +jealousy of ownership, he guarded for himself that memory—what was +there on earth that could make him share it? And in answer there rose +before him the vision of Madge Preston, with a haunting air of her +mother about her; of young Dick Fielding, almost his own child from +babyhood, his honest soul torn between two duties; of old Dick Fielding, +loyal and kind and obstinate, his stubborn feet, the feet that had +walked near his for forty years, needing only a touch to turn them into +the right path.</p> + +<p>Back and forth the thoughts buffeted each other, and the Bishop sighed, +and threw away his cigar, and then stopped and stared out at the +darkening, great ocean. The steady rush and pause and low wash of +retreat did not calm him to-night.</p> + +<p>"I'd like to turn it off for five minutes. It's so eternally right," he +said aloud and began to walk restlessly again.</p> + +<p>Behind him came light steps, but he did not hear them on the soft sand, +in the noise of a breaking wave. A small, firm hand slipped into his was +the first that he knew of another presence, and he did not need to look +down at the bright head to know it was Eleanor, and the touch thrilled +him in his loneliness. Neither spoke, but swung on across the sand, side +by side, the child springing easily to keep pace with his great step. +Beside the gift of English, Eleanor had its comrade gift of excellent +silence. Those who are born to know rightly the charm and the power and +the value of words, know as well the value of the rests in the music. +Little Eleanor, her nervous fingers clutched around the Bishop's big +thumb, was pouring strength and comfort into him, and such an instinct +kept her quiet.</p> + +<p>So they walked for a long half-hour, the Bishop fighting out his battle, +sometimes stopping, sometimes talking aloud to himself, but Eleanor, +through it all, not speaking. Once or twice he felt her face laid +against his hand, and her hair that brushed his wrist, and the savage +selfishness of reserve slowly dissolved in the warmth of that light +touch and the steady current of gentleness it diffused through him. +Clearly and more clearly he saw his way and, as always happens, as he +came near to the mountain, the mountain grew lower. "Over the Alps lies +Italy." Why should he count the height when the Italy of Dick's +happiness and Fielding's duty done lay beyond? The clean-handed, +light-hearted disregard of self that had been his habit of mind always +came flooding back like sunshine as he felt his decision made. After +all, doing a duty lies almost entirely in deciding to do it. He stooped +and picked Eleanor up in his arms.</p> + +<p>"Isn't the baby sleepy? We've settled it together—it's all right now, +Eleanor. I'll carry you back to Aunt Basha."</p> + +<p>"Is it all right now?" asked Eleanor, drowsily. "No, I'll walk," kicking +herself downward. "But you come wiv me." And the Bishop escorted his +lady-love to her castle, where the warden, Aunt Basha, was for this half +hour making night vocal with lamentations for the runaway.</p> + +<p>"Po' lil lamb!" said Aunt Basha, with an undisguised scowl at the +Bishop. "Seems like some folks dunno nuff to know a baby's bedtime. +Seems like de Lawd's anointed wuz in po' business, ti'in' out chillens!"</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry, Aunt Basha," said the Bishop, humbly. "I'll bring her back +earlier again. I forgot all about the time."</p> + +<p>"Huh!" was all the response that Aunt Basha vouchsafed, and the Bishop, +feeling himself hopelessly in the wrong, withdrew in discreet silence.</p> + +<p>Luncheon was over the next day and the two men were quietly smoking +together in the hot, drowsy quiet of the July mid-afternoon before the +Bishop found a chance to speak to Fielding alone. There was an hour and +a half before service, and this was the time to say his say, and he +gathered himself for it, when suddenly the tongue of the ready speaker, +the <i>savoir faire</i> of the finished man of the world, the mastery of +situations which had always come as easily as his breath, all failed him +at once.</p> + +<p>"Dick," he stammered, "there is something I want to tell you," and he +turned on his friend a face which astounded him.</p> + +<p>"What on earth is it? You look as if you'd been caught stealing a hat," +he responded, encouragingly.</p> + +<p>The Bishop felt his heart thumping as that healthy organ had not +thumped for years. "I feel a bit that way," he gasped. "You remember +what we were talking of the other day?"</p> + +<p>"The other day—talking—" Fielding looked bewildered. Then his face +darkened. "You mean Dick—the affair with that girl." His voice was at +once hard and unresponsive. "What about it?"</p> + +<p>"Not at all," said the Bishop, complainingly. "Don't misunderstand like +that, Dick—it's so much harder."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" and Fielding's look cleared. "Well, what is it then, old man? Out +with it—want a check for a mission? Surely you don't hesitate to tell +me that! Whatever I have is yours, too—you know it."</p> + +<p>The Bishop looked deeply disgusted. "Muddlehead!" was his unexpected +answer, and Fielding, serene in the consciousness of generosity and good +feeling, looked as if a hose had been turned on him.</p> + +<p>"What the devil!" he said. "Excuse me, Jim, but just tell me what you're +after. I can't make you out."</p> + +<p>"It's most difficult." The Bishop seemed to articulate with trouble. +"It was so long ago, and I've never spoken of it." Fielding, mouth and +eyes wide, watched him as he stumbled on. "There were three of us, you +see—though, of course, you didn't know. Nobody knew. She told my +mother, that was all.—Oh, I'd no idea how difficult this would be," and +the Bishop pushed back his damp hair and gasped again. Suddenly a wave +of color rushed over his face.</p> + +<p>"No one could help it, Dick," he said. "She was so lovely, so exquisite, +so—"</p> + +<p>Fielding rose quickly and put his hand on his friend's forehead, "Jim, +my dear boy," he said gravely, "this heat has been too much for you. Sit +there quietly, while I get some ice. Here, let me loosen your collar," +and he put his fingers on the white clerical tie.</p> + +<p>Then the Bishop rose up in his wrath and shook him off, and his deep +blue eyes flashed fire.</p> + +<p>"Let me alone," he said. "It is inexplicable to me how a man can be so +dense. Haven't I explained to you in the plainest way what I have never +told another soul? Is this the reward I am to have for making the +greatest effort I have made for years?" And after a moment's steady, +indignant glare at the speechless Fielding he turned and strode in angry +majesty through the wide hall doorway.</p> + +<p>When he walked out of the same doorway an hour later, on his way to +service, Fielding sat back in a shadowy corner and let him pass without +a word. He watched critically the broad shoulders and athletic figure as +his friend moved down the narrow walk—a body carefully trained to hold +well and easily the trained mind within. But the careless energy that +was used to radiate from the great elastic muscles seemed lacking +to-day, and the erect head drooped. Fielding shook his own head as the +Bishop turned the corner and went out of his view.</p> + +<p>"'<i>Mens sana in corpore sano</i>,'" he said aloud, and sighed. "He has +worked too hard this summer. I never saw him like that. If he should—" +and he stopped; then he rose, and looked at his watch and slowly +followed the Bishop's steps.</p> + +<p>The little church of Saint Peter's-by-the-Sea was filled even on this +hot July afternoon, to hear the famous Bishop, and in the half-light +that fell through painted windows and lay like a dim violet veil against +the gray walls, the congregation with summer gowns and flowery hats, had +a billowy effect as of a wave tipped everywhere with foam. Fielding, +sitting far back, saw only the white-robed Bishop, and hardly heard the +words he said, through listening for the modulations of his voice. He +was anxious for the man who was dear to him, and the service and its +minister were secondary to-day. But gradually the calm, reverent, +well-known tones reassured him, and he yielded to the pleasure of +letting his thoughts be led, by the voice that stood to him for +goodness, into the spirit of the words that are filled with the beauty +of holiness. At last it was time for the sermon, and the Bishop towered +in the low stone pulpit and turned half away from them all as he raised +one arm high with a quick, sweeping gesture.</p> + +<p>"In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, Amen!" +he said, and was still.</p> + +<p>A shaft of yellow light fell through a memorial window and struck a +golden bar against the white lawn of his surplice, and Fielding, staring +at him with eyes of almost passionate devotion, thought suddenly of Sir +Galahad, and of that "long beam" down which had "slid the Holy Grail." +Surely the flame of that old vigorous Christianity had never burned +higher or steadier. A marvellous life for this day, kept, like the +flower of Knighthood, strong and beautiful and "unspotted from the +world." Fielding sighed as he thought of his own life, full of good +impulses, but crowded with mistakes, with worldliness, with lowered +ideals, with yieldings to temptation. Then, with a pang, he thought +about Dick, about the crisis for him that the next week must bring, and +he heard again the Bishop's steady, uncompromising words as they talked +on the piazza. And on a wave of selfish feeling rushed back the old +excuses. "It is different. It is easy for him to be good. Dick is not +his son. He has never been tempted like other men. He never hated +Fairfax Preston—he never loved Eleanor Gray." And back somewhere in the +dark places of his consciousness began to work a dim thought of his +friend's puzzling words of that day: "No one could help loving her—she +was so lovely—so exquisite!"</p> + +<p>The congregation rustled softly everywhere as the people settled +themselves to listen—they listened always to him. And across the hush +that followed came the Bishop's voice again, tranquilly breaking, not +jarring, the silence. "Not disobedient to the heavenly vision," were the +words he was saying, and Fielding dropped at once the thread of his own +thought to listen.</p> + +<p>He spoke quickly, clearly, in short Anglo-Saxon words—the words that +carry their message straightest to hearts red with Saxon blood—of the +complex nature of every man—how the angel and the demon live in each +and vary through all the shades of good and bad. How yet in each there +is always the possibility of a highest and best that can be true for +that personality only—a dream to be realized of the lovely life, +blooming into its own flower of beauty, that God means each life to be. +In his own rushing words he clothed the simple thought of the charge +that each one has to keep his angel strong, the white wings free for +higher flights that come with growth.</p> + +<p>"The vision," he said, "is born with each of us, and though we lose it +again and again, yet again and again it comes back and beckons, calls, +and the voice thrills us always. And we must follow, or lose the way. +Through ice and flame we must follow. And no one may look across where +another soul moves on a quick, straight path and think that the way is +easier for the other. No one can see if the rocks are not cutting his +friend's feet; no one can know what burning lands he has crossed to +follow, to be so close to his angel, his messenger. Believe always that +every other life has been more tempted, more tried than your own; +believe that the lives higher and better than your own are so not +through more ease, but more effort; that the lives lower than yours are +so through less opportunity, more trial. Believe that your friend with +peace in his heart has won it, not happened on it—that he has fought +your very fight. So the mist will melt from your eyes and you will see +clearer the vision of your life and the way it leads you; selfishness +will fall from your shoulders and you will follow lightly. And at the +end, and along the way you will have the glory of effort, the joy of +fighting and winning, the beauty of the heights where only an ideal can +take you."</p> + +<p>What more he said Fielding did not hear—for him one sentence had been +the final word. The unlaid ghost of the Bishop's puzzling talk an hour +before rose up and from its lips came, as if in full explanation, "He +has fought your very fight." He sat in his shadowy, dark corner of the +cool, little stone church, and while the congregation rose and knelt and +sang and prayed, he was still. Piece by piece he fitted the mosaic of +past and present, and each bit slipped faultlessly into place. There was +no question in his mind now as to the fact, and his manliness and honor +rushed to meet the situation. He had said that where his friend had gone +he would go. If it was down the road of renunciation of a life-long +enmity, he would not break his word. Complex problems resolve themselves +at the point of action into such simple axioms. Dick should have a +blessing and his sweetheart; he would do his best for Fairfax Preston; +with his might he would keep his word. A great sigh and a wrench at his +heart as if a physical growth of years were tearing away, and the +decision was made. Then, in a mist of pain and effort, and a surprised +new freedom from the accustomed pang of hatred, he heard the rustle and +movement of a kneeling congregation, and, as he looked, the Bishop +raised his arms. Fielding bent his gray head quickly in his hands, and +over it, laden with "peace" and "the blessing of God Almighty," as if a +general commended his soldier on the field of battle, swept the solemn +words of the benediction.</p> + +<p>Peace touched the earth on the blue and white September day when Madge +and Dick were married. Pearly piled-up clouds, white "herded elephants," +lay still against a sparkling sky, and the air was alive like cool wine, +and breathing warm breaths of sunlight. No wedding was ever gayer or +prettier, from the moment when the smiling holiday crowd in little Saint +Peter's caught their breath at the first notes of "Lohengrin" and +turned to see Eleanor, white-clad and solemn, and impressed with +responsibility, lead the procession slowly up the aisle, her eyes raised +to the Bishop's calm face in the chancel, to the moment when, in showers +of rice and laughter and slippers, the Fielding carriage dashed down the +driveway, and Dick, leaning out, caught for a last picture of his +wedding-day, standing apart from the bright colors grouped on the lawn, +the black and white of the Bishop and Eleanor, gazing after them, hand +in hand.</p> + +<p>Bit by bit the brilliant kaleidoscopic effect fell apart and resolved +itself into light groups against the dark foliage or flashing masses of +carriages and people and horses, and then even the blurs on the distance +were gone, and the place was still and the wedding was over. The long +afternoon was before them, with its restless emptiness, as if the bride +and groom had taken all the reason for life with them.</p> + +<p>There were bridesmaids and ushers staying at the Fieldings'. The +graceful girl who poured out the Bishop's tea on the piazza, some hours +later, and brought it to him with her own hands, stared a little at his +face for a moment.</p> + +<p>"You look tired, Bishop. Is it hard work marrying people? But you must +be used to it after all these years," and her blue eyes fell gently on +his gray hair. "So many love-stories you have finished—so many, many!" +she went on, and then quite softly, "and yet never to have a love-story +of your own!"</p> + +<p>At this instant Eleanor, lolling on the arm of his chair, slipped over +on his knee and burrowed against his coat a big pink bow that tied her +hair. The Bishop's arm tightened around the warm, alive lump of white +muslin, and he lifted his face, where lines showed plainly to-day, with +a smile like sunshine.</p> + +<p>"You are wrong, my daughter. They never finish—they only begin here. +And my love-story"—he hesitated and his big fingers spread over the +child's head, "It is all written in Eleanor's eyes."</p> + +<p>"I hope when mine comes I shall have the luck to hear anything half as +pretty as that. I envy Eleanor," said the graceful bridesmaid as she +took the tea-cup again, but the Bishop did not hear her.</p> + +<p>He had turned toward the sea and his eyes wandered out across the +geraniums where the shadow of a sun-filled cloud lay over uncounted +acres of unhurried waves. His face was against the little girl's bright +head, and he said something softly to himself, and the child turned her +face quickly and smiled at him and repeated the words:</p> + +<p>"Many waters shall not wash out love," said Eleanor.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="illustr-02.jpg" id="illustr-02.jpg"></a><img src="images/illustr-02.jpg" width="394" height="560" alt="Many waters shall not wash out love, said Eleanor." /></p> + +<p class="caption">"Many waters shall not wash out love," said Eleanor.</p> + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="THE_WITNESSES" id="THE_WITNESSES"></a>THE WITNESSES</h2> + + +<p>The old clergyman sighed and closed the volume of "Browne on The +Thirty-nine Articles," and pushed it from him on the table. He could not +tell what the words meant; he could not keep his mind tense enough to +follow an argument of three sentences. It must be that he was very +tired. He looked into the fire, which was burning badly, and about the +bare, little, dusty study, and realized suddenly that he was tired all +the way through, body and soul. And swiftly, by way of the leak which +that admission made in the sea-wall of his courage, rushed in an ocean +of depression. It had been a hard, bad day. Two people had given up +their pews in the little church which needed so urgently every ounce of +support that held it. And the junior warden, the one rich man of the +parish, had come in before service in the afternoon to complain of the +music. If that knife-edged soprano did not go, he said, he was afraid he +should have to go himself; it was impossible to have his nerves scraped +to the raw every Sunday.</p> + +<p>The old clergyman knew very little about music, but he remembered that +his ear had been uncomfortably jarred by sounds from the choir, and that +he had turned once and looked at them, and wondered if some one had made +a mistake, and who it was. It must be, then, that dear Miss Barlow, who +had sung so faithfully in St. John's for twenty-five years, was perhaps +growing old. But how could he tell her so; how could he deal such a blow +to her kind heart, her simple pride and interest in her work? He was +growing old, too.</p> + +<p>His sensitive mouth carved downward as he stared into the smoldering +fire, and let himself, for this one time out of many times he had +resisted, face the facts. It was not Miss Barlow and the poor music; it +was not that the church was badly heated, as one of the ex-pewholders +had said, nor that it was badly situated, as another had claimed; it was +something of deeper, wider significance, a broken foundation, that made +the ugly, widening crack all through the height of the tower. It was +his own inefficiency. The church was going steadily down, and he was +powerless to lift it. His old enthusiasm, devotion, confidence—what had +become of them? They seemed to have slipped by slow degrees, through the +unsuccessful years, out of his soul, and in their place was a dull +distrust of himself; almost—God forgive him—distrust in God's +kindness. He had worked with his might all the years of his life, and +what he had to show for it was a poor, lukewarm parish, a diminished +congregation, debt—to put it in one dreadful word, failure!</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="illustr-03.jpg" id="illustr-03.jpg"></a><img src="images/illustr-03.jpg" width="367" height="560" alt="He stared into the smoldering fire." /></p> + +<p class="caption">He stared into the smoldering fire.</p> + +<p>By the pitiless searchlight of hopelessness, he saw himself for the +first time as he was—surely devoted and sincere, but narrow, limited, a +man lacking outward expression of inward and spiritual grace. He had +never had the gift to win hearts. That had not troubled him much, +earlier, but lately he had longed for a little appreciation, a little +human love, some sign that he had not worked always in vain. He +remembered the few times that people had stopped after service to praise +his sermons, and to-night he remembered not so much the glow at his +heart that the kind words had brought, as the fact that those times had +been very few. He did not preach good sermons; he faced that now, +unflinchingly. He was not broad minded; new thoughts were unattractive, +hard for him to assimilate; he had championed always theories that were +going out of fashion, and the half-consciousness of it put him ever on +the defensive; when most he wished to be gentle, there was something in +his manner which antagonized. As he looked back over his colorless, +conscientious past, it seemed to him that his life was a failure. The +souls he had reached, the work he had done with such infinite effort—it +might all have been done better and easily by another man. He would not +begrudge his strength and his years burned freely in the sacred fire, if +he might know that the flame had shone even faintly in dark places, that +the heat had warmed but a little the hearts of men. But—he smiled +grimly at the logs in front of him, in the small, cheap, black marble +fireplace—his influence was much like that, he thought, cold, dull, +ugly with uncertain smoke. He, who was not worthy, had dared to +consecrate himself to a high service, and it was his reasonable +punishment that his life had been useless.</p> + +<p>Like a stab came back the thought of the junior warden, of the two more +empty pews, and then the thought, in irresistible self-pity, of how hard +he had tried, how well he had meant, how much he had given up, and he +felt his eyes filling with a man's painful, bitter tears. There had been +so little beauty, reward, in his whole past. Once, thirty years before, +he had gone abroad for six weeks, and he remembered the trip with a +thrill of wonder that anything so lovely could have come into his sombre +life—the voyage, the bit of travel, the new countries, the old cities, +the expansion, broadening of mind he had felt for a time as its result. +More than all, the delight of the people whom he had met, the unused +experience of being understood at once, of light touch and easy +flexibility, possible, as he had not known before, with good and serious +qualities. One man, above all, he had never forgotten. It had been a +pleasant memory always to have known him, to have been friends with him +even, for he had felt to his own surprise and joy that something in him +attracted this man of men. He had followed the other's career, a career +full of success unabused, of power grandly used, of responsibility +lifted with a will. He stood over thousands and ruled rightly—a true +prince among men. Somewhat too broad, too free in his thinking—the old +clergyman deplored that fault—yet a man might not be perfect. It was +pleasant to know that this strong and good soul was in the world and was +happy; he had seen him once with his son, and the boy's fine, sensitive +face, his honest eyes, and pretty deference of manner, his pride, too, +in his distinguished father, were surely a guaranty of happiness. The +old man felt a sudden generous gladness that if some lives must be +wasted, yet some might be, like this man's whom he had once known, full +of beauty and service. It would be good if he might add a drop to the +cup of happiness which meant happiness to so many—and then he smiled at +his foolish thought. That he should think of helping that other—a man +of so little importance to help a man of so much! And suddenly again he +felt tears that welled up hotly.</p> + +<p>He put his gray head, with its scanty, carefully brushed hair, back +against the support of the worn armchair, and shut his eyes to keep them +back. He would try not to be cowardly. Then, with the closing of the +soul-windows, mental and physical fatigue brought their own gentle +healing, and in the cold, little study, bare, even, of many books, with +the fire smoldering cheerlessly before him, he fell asleep.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>A few miles away, in a suburb of the same great city, in a large library +peopled with books, luxurious with pictures and soft-toned rugs and +carved dark furniture, a man sat staring into the fire. The six-foot +logs crackled and roared up the chimney, and the blaze lighted the wide, +dignified room. From the high chimney-piece, that had been the feature +of a great hall in Florence two centuries before, grotesque heads of +black oak looked down with a gaze which seemed weighted with age-old +wisdom and cynicism, at the man's sad face. The glow of the lamp, +shining like a huge gray-green jewel, lighted unobtrusively the generous +sweep of table at his right hand, and on it were books whose presence +meant the thought of a scholar and the broad interests of a man of +affairs. Each detail of the great room, if there had been an observer of +its quiet perfection, had an importance of its own, yet each exquisite +belonging fell swiftly into the dimness of the background of a picture +when one saw the man who was the master. Among a thousand picked men, +his face and figure would have been distinguished. People did not call +him old, for the alertness and force of youth radiated from him, and his +gray eyes were clear and his color fresh, yet the face was lined +heavily, and the thick thatch of hair shone in the firelight silvery +white. Face and figure were full of character and breeding, of life +lived to its utmost, of will, responsibility, success. Yet to-night the +spring of the mechanism seemed broken, and the noble head lay back +against the brown leather of his deep chair as listlessly as a tired +girl's. He watched the dry wood of the fire as it blazed and fell apart +and blazed up brightly again, yet his eyes did not seem to see +it—their absorbed gaze was inward.</p> + +<p>The distant door of the room swung open, but the man did not hear, and, +his head and face clear cut like a cameo against the dark leather, hands +stretched nervelessly along the arms of the chair, eyes gazing gloomily +into the heart of the flame, he was still. A young man, brilliant with +strength, yet with a worn air about him, and deep circles under his +eyes, stood inside the room and looked at him a long minute—those two +in the silence. The fire crackled cheerfully and the old man sighed.</p> + +<p>"Father!" said the young man by the door.</p> + +<p>In a second the whole pose changed, and he sat intense, staring, while +the son came toward him and stood across the rug, against the dark wood +of the Florentine fireplace, a picture of young manhood which any father +would he proud to own.</p> + +<p>"Of course, I don't know if you want me, father," he said, "but I've +come to tell you that I'll be a good boy, if you do."</p> + +<p>The gentle, half-joking manner was very winning, and the play of his +words was trembling with earnest. The older man's face shone as if lamps +were lighted behind his eyes.</p> + +<p>"If I want you, Ted!" he said, and held out his hand.</p> + +<p>With a quick step forward the lad caught it, and then, with quick +impulsiveness, as if his childhood came back to him on the flood of +feeling unashamed, bent down and kissed him. As he stood erect again he +laughed a little, but the muscles of his face were working, and there +were tears in his eyes. With a swift movement he had drawn a chair, and +the two sat quiet a moment, looking at each other in deep and silent +content to be there so, together.</p> + +<p>"Yesterday I thought I'd never see you again this way," said the boy; +and his father only smiled at him, satisfied as yet without words. The +son went on, his eager, stirred feelings crowding to his lips. "There +isn't any question great enough, there isn't any quarrel big enough, to +keep us apart, I think, father. I found that out this afternoon. When a +chap has a father like you, who has given him a childhood and a youth +like mine—" The young voice stopped, trembling. In a moment he had +mastered himself. "I'll probably never be able to talk to you like this +again, so I want to say it all now. I want to say that I know, beyond +doubt, that you would never decide anything, as I would, on impulse, or +prejudice, or from any motives but the highest. I know how well-balanced +you are, and how firmly your reason holds your feelings. So it's a +question between your judgment and mine—and I'm going to trust yours. +You may know me better than I know myself, and anyway you're more to me +than any career, though I did think—but we won't discuss it again. It +would have been a tremendous risk, of course, and it shall be as you +say. I found out this afternoon how much of my life you were," he +repeated.</p> + +<p>The older man kept his eyes fixed on the dark, sensitive, glowing young +face, as if they were thirsty for the sight. "What do you mean by +finding it out this afternoon, Ted? Did anything happen to you?"</p> + +<p>The young fellow turned his eyes, that were still a bit wet with the +tears, to his father's face, and they shone like brown stars. "It was a +queer thing," he said, earnestly, "It was the sort of thing you read in +stories—almost like," he hesitated, "like Providence, you know. I'll +tell you about it; see if you don't think so. Two days ago, when I—when +I left you, father—I caught a train to the city and went straight to +the club, from habit, I suppose, and because I was too dazed and +wretched to think. Of course, I found a grist of men there, and they +wouldn't let me go. I told them I was ill, but they laughed at me. I +don't remember just what I did, for I was in a bad dream, but I was +about with them, and more men I knew kept turning up—I couldn't seem to +escape my friends. Even if I stayed in my room, they hunted me up. So +this morning I shifted to the Oriental, and shut myself up in my room +there, and tried to think and plan. But I felt pretty rotten, and I +couldn't see daylight, so I went down to lunch, and who should be at the +next table but the Dangerfields, the whole outfit, just back from +England and bursting with cheerfulness! They made me lunch with them, +and it was ghastly to rattle along feeling as I did, but I got away as +soon us I decently could—rather sooner, I think—and went for a walk, +hoping the air would clear my head. I tramped miles—oh, a long time, +but it seemed not to do any good; I felt deadlier and more hopeless than +ever—I haven't been very comfortable fighting you," he stopped a +minute, and his tired face turned to his father's with a smile of very +winning gentleness.</p> + +<p>The father tried to speak, but, his voice caught harshly. Then, "We'll +make it up, Ted," he said, and laid his hand on the boy's shoulder.</p> + +<p>The young fellow, as if that touch had silenced him, gazed into the fire +thoughtfully, and the big room was very still for a long minute. Then he +looked up brightly.</p> + +<p>"I want to tell you the rest. I came back from my tramp by the river +drive, and suddenly I saw Griswold on his horse trotting up the +bridle-path toward me. I drew the line at seeing any more men, and +Griswold is the worst of the lot for wanting to do things, so I turned +into a side-street and ran. I had an idea he had seen me, so when I +came to a little church with the doors open, in the first half-block, I +shot in. Being Lent, you know, there was service going on, and I dropped +quietly into a seat at the back, and it came to me in a minute, that I +was in fit shape to say my prayers, so—I said 'em. It quieted me a bit, +the old words of the service. They're fine English, of course, and I +think words get a hold on you when they're associated with every turn of +your life. So I felt a little less like a wild beast, by the time the +clergyman began his sermon. He was a pathetic old fellow, thin and +ascetic and sad, with a narrow forehead and a little white hair, and an +underfed look about him. The whole place seemed poor and badly kept. As +he walked across the chancel, he stumbled on a hole in the carpet. I +stared at him, and suddenly it struck me that he must be about your age, +and it was like a knife in me, father, to see him trip. No two men were +ever more of a contrast, but through that very fact he seemed to be +standing there as a living message from you. So when he opened his mouth +to give out his text I fell back as if he had struck me, for the words +he said were, 'I will arise and go to my father.'"</p> + +<p>The boy's tones, in the press and rush of his little story, were +dramatic, swift, and when he brought out its climax, the older man, +though his tense muscles were still, drew a sudden breath, as if he, +too, had felt a blow. But he said nothing, and the eager young voice +went on.</p> + +<p>"The skies might have opened and the Lord's finger pointed at me, and I +couldn't have felt more shocked. The sermon was mostly tommy-rot, you +know—platitudes. You could see that the man wasn't clever—had no +grasp—old-fashioned ideas—didn't seem to have read at all. There was +really nothing in it, and after a few sentences I didn't listen +particularly. But there were two things about it I shall never forget, +never, if I live to a hundred. First, all through, at every tone of his +voice, there was the thought that the brokenhearted look in the eyes of +this man, such a contrast to you in every way possible, might be the +very look in your eyes after a while, if I left you. I think I'm not +vain to know I make a lot of difference to you, father—considering we +two are all alone." There was a questioning inflection, but he smiled, +as if he knew.</p> + +<p>"You make all the difference. You are the foundation of my life. All the +rest counts for nothing beside you." The father's voice was slow and +very quiet.</p> + +<p>"That thought haunted me," went on the young man, a bit unsteadily, "and +the contrast of the old clergyman and you made it seem as if you were +there beside me. It sounds unreasonable, but it was so. I looked at him, +old, poor, unsuccessful, narrow-minded, with hardly even the dignity of +age, and I couldn't help seeing a vision of you, every year of your life +a glory to you, with your splendid mind, and splendid body, and all the +power and honor and luxury that seem a natural background to you. Proud +as I am of you, it seemed cruel, and then it came to my mind like a stab +that perhaps without me, your only son, all of that would—well, what +you said just now. Would count for nothing—that you would be +practically, some day, just a lonely and pathetic old man like that +other."</p> + +<p>The hand on the boy's shoulder stirred a little. "You thought right, +Ted."</p> + +<p>"That was one impression the clergyman's sermon made, and the other was +simply his beautiful goodness. It shone from him at every syllable, +uninspired and uninteresting as they were. You couldn't help knowing +that his soul was white as an angel's. Such sincerity, devotion, purity +as his couldn't be mistaken. As I realized it, it transfigured the whole +place. It made me feel that if that quality—just goodness—could so +glorify all the defects of his look and mind and manner, it must be +worth while, and I would like to have it. So I knew what was right in my +heart—I think you can always know what's right if you want to know—and +I just chucked my pride and my stubbornness into the street, and—and I +caught the 7:35 train."</p> + +<p>The light of renunciation, the exhaustion of wrenching effort, the +trembling triumph of hard-won victory, were in the boy's face, and the +thought, as he looked at it, dear and familiar in every shadow, that he +had never seen spirit shine through clay more transparently. Never in +their lives had the two been as close, never had the son so unveiled his +soul before. And, as he had said, in all probability never would it be +again. To the depth where they stood words could not reach, and again +for minutes, only the friendly undertone of the crackling fire stirred +the silence of the great room. The sound brought steadiness to the two +who sat there, the old hand on the young shoulder yet. After a time, the +older man's low and strong tones, a little uneven, a little hard with +the effort to be commonplace, which is the first readjustment from deep +feeling, seemed to catch the music of the homely accompaniment of the +fire.</p> + +<p>"It is a queer thing, Ted," he said, "but once, when I was not much +older than you, just such an unexpected chance influence made a crisis +in my life. I was crossing to England with the deliberate intention of +doing something which I knew was wrong. I thought it meant happiness, +but I know now it would have meant misery. On the boat was a young +clergyman of about my own age making his first, very likely his only, +trip abroad. I was thrown with him—we sat next each other at table, and +our cabins faced—and something in the man attracted me, a quality such +as you speak of in this other, of pure and uncommon goodness. He was +much the same sort as your old man, I fancy, not particularly winning, +rather narrow, rather limited in brains and in advantages, with a +natural distrust of progress and breadth. We talked together often, and +one day, I saw, by accident, into the depths of his soul, and knew what +he had sacrificed to become a clergyman—it was what meant to him +happiness and advancement in life. It had been a desperate effort, that +was plain, but it was plain, too, that from the moment he saw what he +thought was the right, there had been no hesitation in his mind. And I, +with all my wider mental training, my greater breadth—as I looked at +it—was going, with my eyes open, to do a wrong because I wished to do +it. You and I must be built something alike, Ted, for a touch in the +right spot seems to penetrate to the core of us—the one and the other. +This man's simple and intense flame of right living, right doing, all +unconsciously to himself, burned into me, and all that I had planned to +do seemed scorched in that fire—turned to ashes and bitterness. Of +course it was not so simple as it sounds. I went through a great deal. +But the steady influence for good was beside me through that long +passage—we were two weeks—the stronger because it was unconscious, the +stronger, I think, too, that it rested on no intellectual basis, but was +wholly and purely spiritual—as the confidence of a child might hold a +man to his duty where the arguments of a sophist would have no effect. +As I say, I went through a great deal. My mind was a battle-field for +the powers of good and evil during those two weeks, but the man who was +leading the forces of the right never knew it. The outcome was that as +soon as I landed I took my passage back on the next boat, which sailed +at once. Within a year, within a month almost, I knew that the decision +I made then was a turning-point, that to have done otherwise would have +meant ruin in more than one way. I tremble now to think how close I was +to shipwreck. All that I am, all that I have, I owe more or less +directly to that man's unknown influence. The measure of a life is its +service. Much opportunity for that, much power has been in my hands, and +I have tried to hold it humbly and reverently, remembering that time. I +have thought of myself many times us merely the instrument, fitted to +its special use, of that consecrated soul."</p> + +<p>The voice stopped, and the boy, his wide, shining eyes fixed on his +father's face, drew a long breath. In a moment he spoke, and the father +knew, as well as if he had said it, how little of his feeling he could +put into words.</p> + +<p>"It makes you shiver, doesn't it," he said, "to think what effect you +may be having on people, and never know it? Both you and I, father—our +lives changed, saved—by the influence of two strangers, who hadn't +the least idea what they were doing. It frightens you."</p> + +<p>"I think it makes you know," said the older man, slowly, "that not your +least thought is unimportant; that the radiance of your character shines +for good or evil where you go. Our thoughts, our influences, are like +birds that fly from us as we walk along the road; one by one, we open +our hands and loose them, and they are gone and forgotten, but surely +there will be a day when they will come back on white wings or dark like +a cloud of witnesses—"</p> + +<p>The man stopped, his voice died away softly, and he stared into the +blaze with solemn eyes, as if he saw a vision. The boy, suddenly aware +again of the strong hand on his shoulder, leaned against it lovingly, +and the fire, talking unconcernedly on, was for a long time the only +sound in the warmth and stillness and luxury of the great room which +held two souls at peace.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>At that hour, with the volume of Browne under his outstretched hand, his +thin gray hair resting against the worn cloth of the chair, in the bare +little study, the old clergyman slept. And as he slept, a wonderful +dream came to him. He thought that he had gone from this familiar, hard +world, and stood, in his old clothes, with his old discouraged soul, in +the light of the infinitely glorious Presence, where he must surely +stand at last. And the question was asked him, wordlessly, solemnly:</p> + +<p>"Child of mine, what have you made of the life given you?" And he looked +down humbly at his shabby self, and answered:</p> + +<p>"Lord, nothing. My life is a failure. I worked all day in God's garden, +and my plants were twisted and my roses never bloomed. For all my +fighting, the weeds grew thicker. I could not learn to make the good +things grow, I tried to work rightly, Lord, my Master, but I must have +done it all wrong."</p> + +<p>And as he stood sorrowful, with no harvest sheaves to offer as witnesses +for his toiling, suddenly back of him he heard a marvellous, many-toned, +soft whirring, as of innumerable light wings, and over his head flew a +countless crowd of silver-white birds, and floated in the air beyond. +And as he gazed, surprised, at their loveliness, without speech again it +was said to him:</p> + +<p>"My child, these are your witnesses. These are the thoughts and the +influences which have gone from your mind to other minds through the +years of your life." And they were all pure white.</p> + +<p>And it was borne in upon him, as if a bandage had been lifted from his +eyes, that character was what mattered in the great end; that success, +riches, environment, intellect, even, were but the tools the master gave +into his servants' hands, and that the honesty of the work was all they +must answer for. And again he lifted his eyes to the hovering white +birds, and with a great thrill of joy it came to him that he had his +offering, too, he had this lovely multitude for a gift to the Master; +and, as if the thought had clothed him with glory, he saw his poor black +clothes suddenly transfigured to shining garments, and, with a shock, he +felt the rush of a long-forgotten feeling, the feeling of youth and +strength, beating in a warm glow through his veins. With a sigh of deep +happiness, the old man awoke.</p> + +<p>A log had fallen, and turning as it fell, the new surface had caught +life from the half-dead ashes, and had blazed up brightly, and the +warmth was penetrating gratefully through him. The old clergyman +smiled, and held his thin hands to the flame as he gazed into the fire, +but the wonder and awe of his dream were in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"My beautiful white birds!" he said, aloud, but softly. "Mine! They were +out of sight, but they were there all the time. Surely the dream was +sent from Heaven—surely the Lord means me to believe that my life has +been of service after all." And as he still gazed, with rapt face, into +his study fire, he whispered: "Angels came and ministered unto him."</p> + + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="THE_DIAMOND_BROOCHES" id="THE_DIAMOND_BROOCHES"></a>THE DIAMOND BROOCHES</h2> + + +<p>The room was filled with signs of breeding and cultivation; it was bare +of the things which mean money. Books were everywhere; family portraits, +gone brown with time, hung on the walls; a tall silver candlestick +gleamed from a corner; there was the tarnished gold of carved Florentine +frames, such as people bring still from Italy. But the +furniture-covering was faded, the carpet had been turned, the place +itself was the small parlor of a cheap apartment, and the wall-paper was +atrocious. The least thoughtful, listening for a moment to that language +which a room speaks of those who live in it, would have known this at +once as the home of well-bred people who were very poor.</p> + +<p>So quiet it was that it seemed empty. If an observer had stood in the +doorway, it might have been a minute before he saw that a man sat in +front of the fireless hearth with his arms stretched before him on the +table and his head fallen into them. For many minutes there was no +sound, no stir of the man's nerveless pose; it might have been that he +was asleep. Suddenly the characterless silence of the place was flooded +with tragedy, for the man groaned, and a child would have known that the +sound came from a torn soul. He lifted his face—a handsome, high-bred +face, clever, a bit weak,—and tears were wet on his cheeks. He glanced +about as if fearing to be seen as he wiped them away, and at the moment +there was a light bustle, low voices down the hall. The young man sprang +to his feet and stood alert as a step came toward him. He caught a sharp +breath as another man, iron-gray, professional, stood in the doorway.</p> + +<p>"Doctor! You have made the examination—you think—" he flung at the +newcomer, and the other answered with the cool incisive manner of one +whose words weigh.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Newbold," he said, "when you came to my office this morning I told +you my conjectures and my fear. I need not, therefore, go into details +again. I am very sorry to have to say to you—" he stopped, and looked +at the younger man kindly. "I wish I might make it easier, but it is +better that I should tell you that your mother's condition is as I +expected."</p> + +<p>Newbold gave way a step as if under a blow, and his color went gray. The +doctor had seen souls laid bare before, yet he turned his eyes to the +floor as the muscles pulled and strained in this young face. It seemed +minutes that the two faced each other in the loaded silence, the doctor +gazing gravely at the worn carpet, the other struggling for +self-control. At last Newbold spoke, in the harsh tone which often comes +first after great emotion.</p> + +<p>"You mean that there is—no hope?"</p> + +<p>And the doctor, relieved at the loosening of the tension, answered +readily, glad to merge his humanity in his professional capacity: "No, +Mr. Newbold; I do not mean just that. It is this bleak climate, the raw +winds from the lake, which make it impossible for your mother to take +the first step which might lead to recovery. There is, in fact—" he +hesitated. "I may say that there is no hope for her cure while here. But +if she is taken to a warm climate at once—at once—within two +weeks—and kept there until summer, then, although I have not the gift +of prophecy, yet I believe she would be in time a well woman. No +medicine, can do it, but out-of-doors and warmth would do it—probably."</p> + +<p>He put out his hand with a smile. "I am indeed glad that I may temper +judgment with mercy," he said. "Try the south, Mr. Newbold,—try +Bermuda, for instance. The sea air and the warmth there might set your +mother up marvellously." And as the young man stared at him +unresponsively he gave a grasp to the hand he held, and turning, found +his way out alone. He stumbled down the dark steps of the third-rate +apartment-house and into his brougham, and as the rubber tires bowled +him over the asphalt he communed with himself:</p> + +<p>"Queer about those Newbolds. Badly off, of course, to live in that +place, yet they know what it means to call me in. There must be some +money. I wonder if they have enough for a trip, poor souls. Bah! they +must have—everybody has when it comes to life and death. They'll get it +somehow—rich relations and all that. Burr Claflin is their cousin, I +know. David Newbold himself was rich enough five years ago, when he made +that unlucky gamble in stocks—which killed him, they say. Well—life is +certainly hard." And the doctor turned his mind to a new pair of horses +he had been looking at in the afternoon, with a comfortable sense of a +wind-guard or so, at the least, between himself and the gales of +adversity.</p> + +<p>In the little drawing-room, with its cheap paper and its old portraits, +Randolph Newbold faced his sister with the news. He knew her courage, +yet, even in the stress of his feeling, he wondered at it now; he felt +almost a pang of jealousy when he saw her take the blow as he had not +been able to take it.</p> + +<p>"It is a death-sentence," he said, brokenly. "We have not the money to +send her south, and we cannot get it."</p> + +<p>Katherine Newbold's hands clenched. "We will get it," she said. "I don't +know how just now, but we'll get it, Randolph. Mother's life shall not +go for lack of a few hundred dollars. Oh, think—just think—six years +ago it would have meant nothing. We went south every winter, and we +were all well. It is too cruel! But we'll get the money—you'll see."</p> + +<p>"How?" the young man asked, bitterly. "The last jewel went so that we +could have Dr. Renfrew. There's nothing here to sell—nobody would buy +our ancestors," and he looked up mournfully at the painted figures on +the wall. The very thought seemed an indignity to those stately +personalities—the English judge in his wig, the colonial general in his +buff-faced uniform, harbored for a century proudly among their own, now +speculated upon as possible revenue. The girl put up a hand toward them +as if deprecating her brother's words, and his voice went on: "You know +the doctor practically told me this morning. I have had no hope all day, +and all day I have lived in hell. I don't know how I did my work. +To-night, coming home, I walked past Litterny's. The windows were +lighted and filled with a gorgeous lot of stones—there were a dozen big +diamond brooches. I stopped and looked at them, and thought how she used +to wear such things, and how now her life was going for the value of +one of them, and—you may be horrified, Katherine, but this is true: If +I could have broken into that window and snatched some of that stuff, +I'd have done it. Honesty and all I've been brought up to would have +meant nothing—nothing. I'd do it now, in a second, if I could, to get +the money to save my mother. God! The town is swimming in money, and I +can't get a little to keep her alive!"</p> + +<p>The young man's eyes were wild with a passion of helplessness, but his +sister gazed at him calmly, as if considering a question. From a room +beyond came a painful cough, and the girl was on her feet.</p> + +<p>"She is awake; I must go to her. But I shall think—don't be hopeless, +boy—I shall think of a way." And she was gone.</p> + +<p>Worn out with emotion, Randolph Newbold was sleeping a deep sleep that +night. With a start he awoke, staring at a white figure with long, fair +braids.</p> + +<p>"Randolph, it's I—Katherine. Don't be startled."</p> + +<p>"What's the matter? Is she worse?" He lifted himself anxiously, +blinking sleep from his eyes.</p> + +<p>"No—oh no! She's sleeping well. It's just that I have to talk to you, +Randolph. Now. I can't wait till morning—you'll understand when I tell +you. I haven't been asleep at all; I've been thinking. I know now how we +can get the money."</p> + +<p>"Katherine, are you raving?" the brother demanded; but the girl was not +to be turned aside.</p> + +<p>"Listen to me," she said, and in her tone was the authority of the +stronger personality, and the young man listened. She sat on the edge of +his bed and held his hand as she talked, and through their lives neither +might ever forget that midnight council.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The room had an air of having come in perfect and luxurious condition, +fur-lined and jewel-clasped, as it were, from the hands of a good +decorator, and of having stopped at that. The great triple lamp glowed +green as if set with gigantic emeralds; and its soft light shone on a +scheme of color full of charm for the eye. The stuffs, the woodwork, +were of a delightful harmony, but it seemed that the books and the +pictures were chosen to match them. The man talking, in the great carved +armchair by the fire, fitted the place. His vigorous, pleasant face +looked prosperous, and so kindly was his air that one might not cavil at +a lack of subtler qualities. He drew a long breath as he brought out the +last words of the story he was telling.</p> + +<p>"And that, Mr. North," he concluded, "is the way the firm of Litterny +Brothers, the leading jewellers of this city, were done yesterday by a +person or persons unknown, to the tune of five thousand dollars." His +eyes turned from the blazing logs to his guest.</p> + +<p>The young man in his clerical dress stood as he listened, with eyes wide +like a child's, fixed on the speaker. He stooped and picked up a poker +and pushed the logs together as he answered. The deliberateness of the +action would not have prepared one for the intensity of his words. "I +never wanted to be a detective before," he said, "but I'd give a good +deal to catch the man who did that. It was such planned rascality, such +keen-witted scoundrelism, that it gives me a fierce desire to show him +up. I'd like to teach the beggar that honesty can be as intelligent as +knavery; that in spite of his strength of cunning, law and right are +stronger. I wish I could catch him," and the brass poker gleamed in a +savage flourish. "I'd have no mercy. The hungry wretch who steals meat, +the ignorant sinner taught to sin from babyhood—I have infinite +patience for such. But this thief spoke like a gentleman, and the maid +said he was 'a pretty young man'—there's no excuse for him. He simply +wanted money that wasn't his,—there's no excuse. It makes my blood boil +to think of a clever rascal like that succeeding in his rascality." With +that the intense manner had dropped from him as a garment, and he was +smiling the gentlest, most whimsical smile at the older man. "You'll +think, Mr. Litterny, that it's the loss of my new parish-house that's +making me so ferocious, but, honestly, I'd forgotten all about it." And +no one who heard him could doubt his sincerity. "I was thinking of the +case from your point of view. As to the parish-house, it's a +disappointment, but of course I know that a large loss like this must +make a difference in a man's expenditures. You have been very good to +St. John's already,—a great many times you have been good to us."</p> + +<p>"It's a disappointment to me as well," Litterny said. "Old St. John's of +Newburyport has been dear to me many years. I was confirmed and married +there—but <i>you</i> know. Everything I could do for it has been a +satisfaction. And I looked forward to giving this parish-house. In +ordinary years a theft of five thousand dollars would not have prevented +me, but there have been complications and large expenses of late, to +which this loss is the last straw. I shall have to postpone the +parish-house,—but it shall be only postponed, Mr. North, only +postponed."</p> + +<p>The young rector answered quietly: "As I said before, Mr. Litterny, you +have been most generous. We are grateful more than I know how to say." +His manner was very winning, and the older man's kind face brightened.</p> + +<p>"The greatest luxury which money brings is to give it away. St. John's +owes its thanks not to me, but to you, Mr. North. I have meant for some +time to put into words my appreciation of your work there. In two years +you have infused more life and earnestness into that sleepy parish than +I thought possible. You've waked them up, put energy into them, and got +it out of them. You've done wonders. It's right you should know that +people think this of you, and that your work is valued."</p> + +<p>"I am glad," Norman North said, and the restraint of the words carried +more than a speech.</p> + +<p>Mr. Litterny went on: "But there's such a thing as overdoing, young man, +and you're shaving the edge of it. You're looking ill—poor color—thin +as a rail. You need a rest."</p> + +<p>"I think I'll go to Bermuda. My senior warden was there last year, and +he says it's a wonderful little place—full of flowers and tennis and +sailing, and blue sea and nice people." He stood up suddenly and +broadened his broad shoulders. "I love the south," he said. "And I love +out-of-doors and using my muscles. It's good to think of whole days +with no responsibility, and with exercise till my arms and legs ache. I +get little exercise, and I miss it. I was on the track team at Yale, you +see, and rather strong at tennis."</p> + +<p>Mr. Litterny smiled, and his smile was full of sympathy. "We try to make +a stained-glass saint out of you," he said, "and all the time you're a +human youngster with a human desire for a good time. A mere lad," he +added, reflectively, and went on: "Go down to Bermuda with a light +heart, my boy, and enjoy yourself,—it will do your church as much good +as you. Play tennis and sail—fall in love if you find the right +girl,—nothing makes a man over like that." North was putting out his +hand. "And remember," Litterny added, "to keep an eye out for my thief. +You're retained as assistant detective in the case."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>On a bright, windy morning a steamship wound its careful way through the +twisted water-road of Hamilton Harbor, Bermuda. Up from cabins mid +corners poured figures unknown to the decks during the passage, and +haggard faces brightened under the balmy breeze, and tired eyes smiled +at the dark hills and snowy sands of the sliding shore. In a sheltered +corner of the deck a woman lay back in a chair and drew in breaths of +soft air, and a tall girl watched her.</p> + +<p>"You feel better already, don't you?" she demanded, and Mrs. Newbold put +her hand into her daughter's.</p> + +<p>"It is Paradise," she said. "I am going to get well."</p> + +<p>In an hour the landing had been made, the custom-house passed; the gay, +exhilarating little drive had been taken to the hotel, through white +streets, past white-roofed houses buried in trees and flowers and vines; +the sick woman lay quiet and happy on her bed, drawn to the open window, +where the healing of the breeze touched her gently, and where her eyes +dreamed over a fairy stretch of sea and islands. Katherine, moving about +the room, unpacking, came to sit in a chair by her mother and talk to +her for a moment.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow, if you're a good child, you shall go for a drive. Think—a +drive in an enchanted island. It's Shakespeare's <i>Tempest</i> island,—did +I tell you I heard that on the boat? We might run across Caliban any +minute, and I think at least we'll find 'M' and 'F', for Miranda and +Ferdinand, cut into the bark of a tree somewhere. We'll go for a drive +every day, every single day, till we find it. You'll see."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Newbold's eyes moved from the sea and rested, perplexed, on her +daughter. "Katherine, how can we afford to drive every day? How can we +be here at all? I don't understand it. I'm sure there was nothing left +to sell except the land out west, and Mr. Seaton told us last spring +that it was worthless. How did you and Randolph conjure up the money for +this beautiful journey that is going to save my life?"</p> + +<p>The girl bent impulsively and kissed her with tender roughness. "It is +going to do that—it is!" she cried, and her voice broke. Then: "Never +mind how the money came, dear,—invalids mustn't be curious. It strains +their nerves. Wait till you're well and perhaps you'll hear a tale about +that land out west."</p> + +<p>Day after day slipped past in the lotus-eating land whose unreality +makes it almost a change of planets from every-day America. Each day +brought health with great rapidity, and soon each day brought new +friends. Mrs. Newbold was full of charm, and the devotion between the +ill mother and the blooming daughter was an attractive sight. Yet the +girl was not light-hearted. Often the mother, waking in the night, heard +a shivering sigh through the open door between their rooms; often she +surprised a harassed look in the young eyes which, with all that the +family had gone through, was new to them. But Katherine laughed at +questions, and threw herself so gayly into the pleasures which came to +her that Mrs. Newbold, too happy to be analytical, let the straws pass +and the wind blow where it would.</p> + +<p>There came a balmy morning when the two were to take, with half a dozen +others, the long drive to St. George's. The three carriage-loads set off +in a pleasant hubbub from the white-paved courtyard of the hotel, and as +Katherine settled her mother with much care and many rugs, her camera +dropped under the wheels. Everybody was busy, nobody was looking, and +she stooped and reached for it in vain. Then out of a blue sky a voice +said:</p> + +<p>"I'll get it for you," She was pushed firmly aside and a figure in a +blue coat was grovelling adventurously beneath the trap. It came out, +straightened; she had her camera; she was staring up into a face which +contemplated her, which startled her, so radiant, so everything +desirable it seemed to her to be. The man's eyes considered her a moment +as she thanked him, and then he had lifted his hat and was gone, +running, like a boy in a hurry for a holiday, toward the white stone +landing. An empty sail flopped big at the landing, and the girl stood +and looked as he sprang in under it and took the rudder. Joe, the head +porter, the familiar friend of every one, was stowing in a rug.</p> + +<p>"That gen'l'man's the Reverend Norman North,—he come by the <i>Trinidad</i> +last Wednesday; he's sailin' to St. George's," Joe volunteered. "Don't +look much like a reverend, do he?" And with that the carriage had +started.</p> + +<p>Seeing the sights at St. George's, they came to the small old church, +on its western side a huge flight of steps, capped with a meek doorway; +on its eastern end a stone tower guarding statelily a flowery graveyard. +The moment the girl stepped inside, the spell of the bright peace which +filled the place caught her. The Sunday decorations were still there, +and hundreds of lilies bloomed from the pillars; sunshine slanted +through the simple stained glass and lay in colored patches on the +floor; there were square pews of a bygone day; there was a pulpit with a +winding stair; there were tablets on the walls to shipwrecked sailors, +to governors and officers dead here in harness. The clumsy woodwork, the +cheap carpets, the modest brasses, were in perfect order; there were +marks everywhere of reverent care.</p> + +<p>"Let me stay," the girl begged. "I don't want to drive about. I want to +stay in this place. I'll meet you at the hotel for lunch, if you'll +leave me." And they left her.</p> + +<p>The verger had gone, and she was quite alone. Deep in the shadow of a +gallery she slid to her knees and hid her face. "O God!" she +whispered,—"O God, forgive me!" And again the words seemed torn from +her—"O God, forgive me!"</p> + +<p>There were voices in the vestibule, but the girl in the stress of her +prayer did not hear.</p> + +<p>"Deal not with us according to our sins, neither reward us according to +our iniquities," she prayed, the accustomed words rushing to her want, +and she was suddenly aware that two people stood in the church. One of +them spoke.</p> + +<p>"Don't bother to stay with me," he said, and in the voice, it seemed, +were the qualities that a man's speech should have—strength, certainty, +the unteachable tone of gentle blood, and beyond these the note of +personality, always indescribable, in this case carrying an appeal and +an authority oddly combined. "Don't stay with me. I like to be alone +here. I'm a clergyman, and I enjoy an old church like this. I'd like to +be alone in it," and a bit of silver flashed.</p> + +<p>If the tip did it or the compelling voice, the verger murmured a word +about luncheon, was gone, and the girl in her dim corner saw, as the +other turned, that he was the rescuer of her camera, whose name was, +Joe had said and she remembered, Norman North. She was about to move, to +let herself be seen, when the young man knelt suddenly in the +old-fashioned front pew, as a good child might kneel who had been taught +the ways of his mother church, and bent his dark head. She waited +quietly while this servant spoke to his Master. There was no sound in +the silent, sun-lanced church, but outside one heard as from far away +the noises of the village. Katherine's eyes rested on the bowed head, +and she wondered uncertainly if she should let him know of her presence, +or if it might not be better to slip out unnoticed, when in a moment he +had risen and was swinging with a vigorous step up the little corkscrew +stairway of the pulpit. There he stood, facing the silence, facing the +flower-starred shadows, the empty spaces; facing her, but not seeing +her. And the girl forgot herself and the question of her going as she +saw the look in his face, the light which comes at times to those who +give their lives to holiness, since the day when the people, gazing at +Stephen, the martyr, "saw his face as it had been the face of an +angel." When his voice floated out on the dim, sunny atmosphere it +rested as lightly on the silence as if the notes of an organ rolled +through its own place. He spoke a prayer of a service which, to those +whose babyhood has been consecrated by it, whose childhood and youth +have listened to its simple and stately words, whose manhood and +womanhood have been carried over many a hard place by the lift of its +familiar sentences,—he spoke a prayer of that service which is less +dear only, to those bred in it, than the voices of their dearest. As a +priest begins to speak to his congregation he began, and the hearer in +the shadow of the gallery listened, awed:</p> + +<p>"The Lord is in His holy temple: let all the earth keep silence before +Him."</p> + +<p>And in the little church was silence as if all the earth obeyed. The +collect for the day came next, and a bit of jubilant Easter service, and +then his mind seemed to drift back to the sentences with which the +prayer-book opens.</p> + +<p>"This is the day which the Lord hath made," the ringing voice announced. +"Let us rejoice and be glad in it." And then, stabbing into the girl's +fevered conscience, "I acknowledge my transgressions, and my sin is ever +before me." It was as if an inflexible judge spoke the words for her. +"When the wicked man turneth away from his wickedness, and doeth that +which is lawful and right, he shall save his soul alive," the pure, +stern tones went on.</p> + +<p>She was not turning away from wickedness; she did not mean to turn away; +she would not do that which was lawful. The girl shivered. She could not +hear this dreadful accusal from the very pulpit. She must leave this +place. And with that the man, as if in a sudden passion of feeling, had +tossed his right hand high above him; his head was thrown back; his eyes +shone up into the shadows of the roof as if they would pierce material +things and see Him who reigned; he was pleading as if for his life, +pleading for his brothers, for human beings who sin and suffer.</p> + +<p>"O Lord," he prayed, "spare all those who confess their sins unto Thee, +that they whose consciences by sin are accused, by Thy merciful pardon +may be absolved; through Christ our Lord." And suddenly he was using the +very words which had come to her of themselves a few minutes before. +"Deal not with us according to our sins—deal not with us," he repeated, +as if wresting forgiveness for his fellows from the Almighty. "Deal not +with us according to our sins, neither reward us according to our +iniquities." And while the echo of the words yet held the girl +motionless he was gone.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Down by the road which runs past the hotel, sunken ten feet below its +level, are the tennis-courts, and soldiers in scarlet and khaki, and +blue-jackets with floating ribbons, and negro bell-boys returning from +errands, and white-gowned American women with flowery hats, and men in +summer flannels stop as they pass, and sit on the low wall and watch the +games. There is always a gallery for the tennis-players. But on a +Tuesday morning about eleven o'clock the audience began to melt away in +disgust. Without doubt they were having plenty of amusement among +themselves, these tennis-players grouped at one side of the court and +filling the air with explosions of laughter. But the amusement of the +public was being neglected. Why in the world, being rubber-shod as to +the foot and racqueted as to the hand, did they not play tennis? A girl +in a short white dress, wearing white tennis-shoes and carrying a +racquet, came tripping down the flight of stone steps, and stopped as +she stood on the last landing and seemed to ask the same question. She +came slowly across the empty court, looking with curiosity at the bunch +of absorbed people, and presently she caught her breath. The man who was +the centre of the group, who was making, apparently, the amusement, was +the young clergyman, Norman North.</p> + +<p>There was an outburst, a chorus of: "You can't have that one, Mr. +North!" "That's been used!" "That's Mr. Dennison's!"</p> + +<p>A tall English officer—a fine, manly mixture of big muscles and fresh +color and khaki—looked up, saw the girl, and swung toward her. "Good +morning, Miss Newbold. Come and join the fun. Devil of a fellow, that +North,—they say he's a parson."</p> + +<p>"What is it? What are they laughing at?" Katherine demanded.</p> + +<p>"They're doing a Limerick tournament, which is what North calls the +game. Mr. Gale is timekeeper. They're to see which recites most rhymes +inside five minutes. The winner picks his court and plays with Miss +Lee."</p> + +<p>Captain Comerford imparted this in jerky whispers, listening with one +ear all the time to a sound which stirred Katherine, the voice which she +had heard yesterday in the church at St. George's. The Englishman's +spasmodic growl stopped, and she drifted a step nearer, listening. As +she caught the words, her brows drew together with displeasure, with +shocked surprise. The inspired saint of yesterday was reciting with +earnestness, with every delicate inflection of his beautiful voice, +these words:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>"There was a young curate of Kidderminster,</div> +<div>Who kindly, but firmly, chid a spinster,</div> +<div class="i2">Because on the ice</div> +<div class="i2">She said something not nice</div> +<div>When he quite inadvertently slid ag'inst her."</div> +</div></div> + +<p>As the roar which followed this subsided, Katherine's face cleared. +What right had she to make a pattern of solemn righteousness for this +stranger and be insulted if he did not fit? Certainly he was +saintly—she had seen his soul bared to her vision; but certainly he was +human also, as this moment was demonstrating. It flashed over her +vaguely to wonder which was the dominant quality—which would rule in a +stress of temptation—the saintly side or the human? But at least he was +human with a winning humanity. His mirth and his enjoyment of it were as +spontaneous as a mischievous, bright child's, and it was easy to see +that the charm of his remarkable voice attracted others as it had +attracted her.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>"There was a young fellow from Clyde,</div> +<div>Who was often at funerals espied—"</div> +</div></div> + +<p>he had begun, and with that, between her first shock and her swift +recovery, with the contrast between the man of yesterday and the man of +to-day, Katherine suddenly laughed aloud. North stopped short, and +turned and looked at her, and for a second and their eyes met, and each +read recognition and friendliness. The Limerick went on:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div class="i2">"When asked who was dead,</div> +<div class="i2">He nodded and said,</div> +<div>'<i>I</i> don't know—<i>I</i> just came for the ride.'"</div> +</div></div> + +<p>"Eleven for Mr. North—one-half minute more," called Mr. Gale, and +instantly North was in the breach:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>"A sore-hipped hippopotamus quite flustered</div> +<div>Objected to a poultice made of custard;</div> +<div class="i2">'Can't you doctor up my hip</div> +<div class="i2">With anything but flip?'</div> +<div>So they put upon the hip a pot o' mustard.'"</div> +</div></div> + +<p>And the half-minute was done and North had won, and there was clapping +of hands for the victor, and at once, before the little uproar was over, +Katherine saw him speak a word to Mr. Gale, and saw the latter, turning, +stare about as if searching for some one, and, meeting her glance, +smile.</p> + +<p>"I want to present Mr. North, Miss Newbold," Gale said.</p> + +<p>"Why did you laugh in the middle of my Limerick? Had you heard it?" +North demanded, as if they had known each other a year instead of a +minute.</p> + +<p>"No, I had not heard it." Katherine shook her head.</p> + +<p>"Then why did you laugh?"</p> + +<p>She looked at him reflectively. "I don't know you well enough to tell +you that."</p> + +<p>"How soon will you know me well enough—if I do my best?"</p> + +<p>She considered. "About three weeks from yesterday."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Many things grow fast in southern climates—fruits, flowers, even +friendship and love. Three weeks later, on a hot, bright morning of +April, North and Katherine Newbold were walking down a road of Bermuda +to the sea, and between them was what had ripened in the twenty-one days +from a germ to a full-grown bud, ready to open at the lightest touch +into flower. As they walked down such a road of a dream, the man talked +to the girl as he had never talked to any one before. He spoke of his +work and its hopes and disappointments, of the pathos, the tragedy, the +comedy often of a way of life which leads by a deeper cut through men's +hearts than any other, and he told her also, modestly indeed, and +because he loved to tell her what meant much to him, of the joy of +knowing himself successful in his parish. He went into details, +absorbingly interesting to him, and this new luxury of speaking freely +carried him away.</p> + +<p>"I hope I'm not boring you." His frank gaze turned on her anxiously. "I +don't know what right I have to assume that the increase in the +Sunday-school, or even the new brass pulpit, is a fascinating subject to +you. I never did this before," he said, and there was something in his +voice which hindered the girl from answering his glance. But there was +no air of being bored about her, and he went on. "However, life isn't +all good luck. I had a serious blow just before I came down here—a +queer thing happened. I told you just now that all the large gifts to +St. John's had come from one man—a former parishioner. The man was +James Litterny, of the great firm of—Why, what's the matter—what is +it?" For Katherine had stopped short, in her fast, swinging walk, and +without a sound had swayed and caught at the wall as if to keep herself +from falling. Before he could reach her she had straightened herself and +was smiling.</p> + +<p>"I felt ill for a second—it's nothing,—let's go along."</p> + +<p>North made eager suggestions for her comfort, but the girl was firm in +her assertion, that she was now quite well, so that, having no sisters +and being ignorant that a healthy young woman does not, any more than a +healthy young man, go white and stagger without reason, he yielded, and +they walked briskly on.</p> + +<p>"You were telling me something that happened to you—something connected +with Mr.—with the rich parishioner." Her tone was steady and casual, +but looking at her, he saw that she was still pale.</p> + +<p>"Do you really want to hear my yarns? You're sure it isn't that which +made you feel faint—because I talked so much?"</p> + +<p>"It's always an effort not to talk myself," she laughed up at him, yet +with a strange look in her eyes. "All the same, talk a little more. +Tell me what you began to tell about Mr. Litterny." The name came out +full and strong.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that! Well, it's a story extraordinary enough for a book. I think +it will interest you."</p> + +<p>"I think it will," Katherine agreed.</p> + +<p>"You see," he went on, "Mr. Litterny promised us a new parish-house, the +best and largest practicable. It was to cost, with the lot, ten thousand +dollars. It was to be begun this spring. Not long before I came to +Bermuda, I had a note one morning from him, asking me to come to his +house the next evening. I went, and he told me that the parish-house +would have to be given up for the present, because the firm of Litterny +Brothers had just met with a loss, through a most skilful and original +robbery, of five thousand dollars."</p> + +<p>"A robbery?" the girl repeated. "Burglars, you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Something much more artistic than burglars. I told you this story was +good enough for a book. It's been kept quiet because the detectives +thought the chance better that way of hunting the thief to earth." (Why +should she catch her breath?) "But I'm under no promise—I'm sure I may +tell you. You're not likely to have any connection with the rascal."</p> + +<p>Katherine's step hung a little as if she shrank from the words, but she +caught at a part of the sentence and repeated it, "'Hunting the thief to +earth'—you say that as if you'd like to see it done."</p> + +<p>"I would like to see it done," said North, with slow emphasis. "Nothing +has ever more roused my resentment. I suppose it's partly the loss of +the parish-house, but, aside from that, it makes me rage to think of +splendid old James Litterny, the biggest-hearted man I know, being done +in that way. Why, he'd have helped the scoundrel in a minute if he'd +gone to him instead of stealing from him. Usually my sympathies are with +the sinner, but I believe if I caught this one I'd be merciless."</p> + +<p>"Would you mind sitting down here?" Katherine asked, in a voice which +sounded hard. "I'm not ill, but I feel—tired. I want to sit here and +listen to the story of that unprincipled thief and his wicked robbery."</p> + +<p>North was all solicitude in a moment, but the girl put him aside +impatiently.</p> + +<p>"I'm quite right. Don't bother. I just want to be still while you talk. +See what a good seat this is."</p> + +<p>Over the russet sand of the dunes the sea flashed a burning blue; +storm-twisted cedars led a rutted road down to it; in the salt air the +piny odor was sharp with sunlight. Katherine had dropped beneath one of +the dwarfed trees, and leaning back, smiled dimly up at him with a +stricken face which North did not understand.</p> + +<p>"You are ill," he said, anxiously. "You look ill. Please let me take +care of you. There is a house back there—let me—" but she interrupted:</p> + +<p>"I'm not ill, and I won't be fussed over. I'm not exactly right, but I +will be in a few minutes. The best thing for me is just to rest here and +have you talk to me. Tell me that story you are so slow about."</p> + +<p>He took her at her word. Lying at full length at her feet—his head +propped on a hillock so that he might look into her face, one of his +hands against the hem of her white dress,—the shadows of the cedars +swept back and forth across him, the south sea glittered beyond the +sand-dunes, and he told the story.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Litterny was in his office in the early afternoon of February 18," +he began, "when a man called him up on the telephone. Mr. Litterny did +not recognize the voice, but the man stated at once that he was Burr +Claflin, whose name you may know. He is a rich broker, and a personal +friend of both the Litternys. Voice is so uncertain a quantity over a +telephone that it did not occur to Mr. Litterny to be suspicious on that +point, and the conversation was absolutely in character otherwise. The +talker used expressions and a manner of saying things which the jeweller +knew to be characteristic of Claflin.</p> + +<p>"He told Mr. Litterny that he had just made a lucky hit in stocks, and +'turned over a bunch of money,' as he put it, and that he wanted to make +his wife a present. 'Now—this afternoon—this minute,' he said, which +was just like Burr Claflin, who is an impetuous old chap. 'I want to +give her a diamond brooch, and I want her to wear it out to dinner +to-night,' he said. 'Can't you send two or three corkers up to the house +for me?' That surprised Mr. Litterny and he hesitated, but finally said +that he would do it. It was against the rules of the house, but as it +was for Mr. Claflin he would do it. They had a little talk about the +details, and Claflin arranged to call up his wife and tell her that the +jewels would be there at four-thirty, so that she could look out for +them personally. All that was the Litterny end of the affair. Simple +enough, wasn't it?"</p> + +<p>Katherine's eyes were so intent, so brilliant, that Norman North went on +with a pleased sense that he told the tale well:</p> + +<p>"Now begins the Claflin experience. At half past four a clerk from +Litterny's left a package at the Claflin house in Cleveland Avenue, +which was at once taken, as the man desired, to Mrs. Claflin. She opened +it and found three very handsome diamond brooches, which astonished her +extremely, as she knew nothing about them. However, it was not unusual +for Claflin to give her jewelry, and he is, as I said, an impulsive man, +so that unexpected presents had come once or twice before; and +altogether, being much taken with the stones, she concluded simply that +she would understand when her husband came home to dinner.</p> + +<p>"However, her hopes were dashed, for twenty minutes later, barely long +enough for the clerk to have got back to the shop, she was called to the +telephone by a message, said to be from Litterny's, and a most polite +and apologetic person explained over the line that a mistake had been +made; that the diamonds had been addressed and sent to her by an error +of the shipping-clerk; that they were not intended for Mrs. Burr +Claflin, but for Mrs. Bird Catlin, and that the change in name had been +discovered on the messenger's return. Would Mrs. Claflin pardon the +trouble caused, and would she be good enough to see that the package was +given to their man, who would call for it in fifteen minutes? Now the +Catlins, as you must know, are richer people even than the Claflins, so +that the thing was absolutely plausible. Mrs. Claflin tied up the jewels +herself, and entrusted them to her own maid, who has been with her for +years, and this woman answered the door and gave the parcel into the +hands of a man who said that he was sent from Litterny's for it. All +that the maid could say of him was that he was 'a pretty young man, with +a speech like a gentleman.' And that was the last that has been seen of +the diamond brooches. Wasn't it simple? Didn't I tell you that this +affair was an artistic one?" North demanded.</p> + +<p>Katherine Newbold drew a deep breath, and the story-teller, watching her +face, saw that she was stirred with an emotion which he put down, with a +slight surprise, to interest in his narrative.</p> + +<p>"Is there no clew to the—thief? Have they no idea at all? Haven't those +wonderful detectives yet got on—his track?"</p> + +<p>North shook his head. "I had a letter by yesterday's boat from Mr. +Litterny about another matter, and he spoke of this. He said the police +were baffled—that he believed now that it could never be traced."</p> + +<p>"Thank God!" Katherine said, slowly and distinctly, and North stared in +astonishment.</p> + +<p>"What?" His tone was incredulous.</p> + +<p>"Oh; don't take me so seriously," said the girl, impatiently. "It's only +that I can't sympathize with your multimillionaire, who loses a little +of his heaps of money, against some poor soul to whom that little may +mean life or death—life or death, maybe, for his nearest and dearest. +Mr. Litterny has had a small loss, which he won't feel in a year from +now. The thief, the rascal, the scoundrel, as you call him so fluently, +has escaped for now, perhaps, with his ill-gotten gains, but he is a +hunted thing, living with a black terror of being found out—a terror +which clutches him when he prays and when he dances. It's the thief I'm +sorry for—I'm sorry for him—I'm sorry for him." Her voice was agitated +and uneven beyond what seemed reasonable.</p> + +<p>"'The way of the transgressor is hard,'" Norman North said, slowly, and +looked across the shifting sand-stretch to the inevitable sea, and +spoke the words pitilessly, as if an inevitable law spoke through him.</p> + +<p>They cut into the girl's soul. A quick gasp of pain broke from her, and +the man turned and saw her face and sprang to his feet.</p> + +<p>"Come," he said,—"come home," and held out his hands.</p> + +<p>She let him take hers, and he lifted her lightly, and did not let her +hands go. For a second they stood, and into the silence a deep boom of +the water against the beach thundered and died away. He drew the hands +slowly toward him till he held them against him. There seemed not to be +any need for words.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later, as they walked back through the sweet loneliness of +Springfield Avenue, North said: "You've forgotten something. You've +forgotten that this is the day you were to tell me why you had the bad +manners to laugh at me before you knew me. Now that we are engaged it's +your duty to tell me if I'm ridiculous."</p> + +<p>There was none of the responsive, soft laughter he expected. "We're not +engaged—we can't be engaged," she threw back, impetuously, and as he +looked at her there was suffering in her face.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean? You told me you loved me." His voice was full of its +curious mixture of gentleness and sternness, and she shrank visibly from +the sternness.</p> + +<p>"Don't be hard on me," she begged, like a frightened child, and he +caught her hand with a quick exclamation. "I'll tell you—everything. +Not only that little thing about my laughing, but—but more—everything. +Why I cannot be engaged to you. I must tell you—I know it—but, oh! not +to-day—not for a little while! Let me have this little time to be +happy. You sail a week from to-day. I'll write it all for you, and you +can read it on the way to New York. That will do—won't that do?" she +pleaded.</p> + +<p>North took both her hands in a hard grasp and searched her face and her +eyes—eyes clear and sweet, though filled with misery. "Yes, that will +do," he said. "It's all nonsense that you can't be engaged to me. You +are engaged to me, and you are going to marry me. If you love me—and +you say you do,—there's nothing I'll let interfere. Nothing—absolutely +nothing." There was little of the saint in his look now; it was filled +with human love and masterful determination, and in his eyes smouldered +a recklessness, a will to have his way, that was no angel, but all man.</p> + +<p>A week later Norman North sailed to New York, and in his pocket was a +letter which was not to be read till Bermuda was out of sight. When the +coral reef was passed, when the fairy blue of the island waters had +changed to the dark swell of the Atlantic, he slipped the bolt in the +door of his cabin and took out the letter.</p> + +<p>"I laughed because you were so wonderfully two men in one," it began, "I +was in the church at St. George's the day when you sent the verger away +and went into the pulpit and said parts of the service. I could not tell +you this before because it came so close to the other thing which I must +tell you now; because I sat trembling before you that day, hidden in the +shadow of a gallery, knowing myself a criminal, while you stood above me +like a pitiless judge and rolled out sentences that were bolts of fire +emptied on my soul. The next morning I heard you reciting Limericks. Are +you surprised that I laughed when the contrast struck me? Even then I +wondered which was the real of you, the saint or the man,—which would +win if it came to a desperate fight. The fight is coming, Norman.</p> + +<p>"That's all a preamble. Here is what you must know: I am the thief who +stole Mr. Litterny's diamonds."</p> + +<p>The letter fell, and the man caught at it as it fell. His hand shook, +but he laughed aloud.</p> + +<p>"It is a joke," he said, in a queer, dry voice. "A wretched joke. How +can she?" And he read on:</p> + +<p>"You won't believe this at first; you will think I am making a poor +joke; but you will have to believe it in the end. I will try to put the +case before you as an outside person would put it, without softening or +condoning. My mother was very ill; the specialist, to pay whom we had +sold her last jewel, said that she would die if she were not taken +south; we had no money to take her south. That night my brother lost +his self-control and raved about breaking into a shop and stealing +diamonds, to get money to save her life. That put the thought into my +mind, and I made a plan. Randolph, my brother, is a clever amateur +actor, and the rich Burr Claflin is our distant cousin. We both know him +fairly well, and it was easy enough for Randolph to copy his mannerisms. +We knew also, of course, more or less, his way of living, and that it +would not be out of drawing that he should send up diamonds to his wife +unexpectedly. I planned it all, and I made Randolph do it. I have always +been able to influence him to what I pleased. The sin is all mine, not +his. We had been selling my mother's jewels little by little for several +years, so we had no difficulty in getting rid of the stones, which +Randolph took from their settings and sold to different dealers. My +mother knows nothing of where the money came from. We are living in +Bermuda now, in comfort and luxury, I as well as she, on the profits of +my thievery. I am not sorry. It has wrecked life, perhaps eternity, for +me, but I would do it again to save my mother.</p> + +<p>"I put this confession into your hands to do with, as far as I am +concerned, what you like. If the saint in you believes that I ought to +be sent to jail, take this to Mr. Litterny and have him send me to +jail. But you shan't touch Randolph—you are not free there. It was I +who did it—he was my tool,—any one will tell you I have the stronger +will. You shall not hurt Randolph—that is barred.</p> + +<p>"You see now why I couldn't be engaged to you—you wouldn't want to +marry a thief, would you, Norman? I can never make restitution, you +know, for the money will be mostly gone before we get home, and there is +no more to come. You could not, either, for you said that you had little +beyond your salary. We could never make it good to Mr. Litterny, even if +you wanted to marry me after this. Mr. Litterny is your best friend; you +are bound to him by a thousand ties of gratitude and affection. You +can't marry a thief who has robbed him of five thousand dollars, and +never tell him, and go on taking his gifts. That is the way the saint +will look at it—the saint who thundered awful warnings at me in the +little church at St. George's. But even that day there was something +gentler than the dreadful holiness of you. Do you remember how you +pleaded, begged as if of your father, for your brothers and sisters? +'Deal not with us according to our sins, neither reward us according to +our iniquities,' you said. Do you remember? As you said that to God, I +say it to you, I love you. I leave my fate at your mercy. But don't +forget that you yourself begged that, with your hands stretched out to +heaven, as I stretch my hands to you, Norman, Norman—'Deal not with me +according to my sins, neither reward me according to my iniquities.'"</p> + +<p>The noises of a ship moving across a quiet ocean went on steadily. Many +feet tramped back and forth on the deck, and cheerful voices and +laughter floated through the skylight, and down below a man knelt in a +narrow cabin with his head buried in his arms, motionless.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="CROWNED_WITH_GLORY_AND_HONOR" id="CROWNED_WITH_GLORY_AND_HONOR"></a>CROWNED WITH GLORY AND HONOR</h2> + + +<p>Mists blew about the mountains across the river, and over West Point +hung a raw fog. Some of the officers who stood with bared heads by the +heap of earth and the hole in the ground shivered a little. The young +Chaplain read, solemnly, the solemn and grand words of the service, and +the evenness of his voice was unnatural enough to show deep feeling. He +remembered how, a year before, he had seen the hero of this scene +playing football on just such a day, tumbling about and shouting, his +hair wild and matted and his face filled with fresh color. Such a mere +boy he was, concerned over the question as to where he could hide his +contraband dress boots, excited by an invitation to dine out Saturday +night. The dear young chap! There were tears in the Chaplain's eyes as +he thought of little courtesies to himself, of little generosities to +other cadets, of a manly and honest heart shown everywhere that +character may show in the guarded life of the nation's schoolboys.</p> + +<p>The sympathetic, ringing voice stopped, and he watched the quick, +dreadful, necessary work of the men at the grave, and then his sad eyes +wandered pitifully over the rows of boyish faces where the cadets stood. +Just such a child as those, thought the Chaplain—himself but a few +years older—no history; no life, as we know life; no love, and what was +life without—you may see that the Chaplain was young; the poor boy was +taken from these quiet ways and sent direct on the fire-lit stage of +history, and in the turn, behold! he was a hero. The white-robed +Chaplain thrilled and his dark eyes flashed. He seemed to see that day; +he would give half his life to have seen it—this boy had given all of +his. The boy was wounded early, and as the bullets poured death down the +hill he crept up it, on hands and knees, leading his men. The strong +life in him lasted till he reached the top, and then the last of it +pulled him to his feet and he stood and waved and cheered—and fell. But +he went up San Juan Hill. After all, he lived. He missed fifty years, +perhaps, but he had Santiago. The flag wrapped him, he was the honored +dead of the nation. God keep him! The Chaplain turned with a swing and +raised his prayer-book to read the committal. The long black box—the +boy was very tall—was being lowered gently, tenderly. Suddenly the +heroic vision of Santiago vanished and he seemed to see again the +rumpled head and the alert, eager, rosy face of the boy playing +football—the head that lay there! An iron grip caught his throat, and +if a sound had come it would have been a sob. Poor little boy! Poor +little hero! To exchange all life's sweetness for that fiery glory! Not +to have known the meaning of living—of loving—of being loved!</p> + +<p>The beautiful, tender voice rang out again so that each one heard it to +the farthest limit of the great crowd—"We therefore commit his body to +the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; looking for +the general resurrection in the last day, and the life of the world to +come."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>An hour later the boy's mother sat in her room at the hotel and opened +a tin box of letters, found with his traps, and given her with the rest. +She had planned it for this time and had left the box unopened. +To-morrow she must take up life and try to carry it, with the boy gone, +but to-day she must and would be what is called morbid. She looked over +the bend in the river to the white-dotted cemetery—she could tell where +lay the new mound, flower-covered, above his yellow head. She looked +away quickly and bent over the box in her lap and turned the key. Her +own handwriting met her eyes first; all her letters for six months back +were there, scattered loosely about the box. She gathered them up, +slipping them through her fingers to be sure of the writing. Letter +after letter, all hers.</p> + +<p>"They were his love-letters," she said to herself. "He never had any +others, dear little boy—my dear little boy!"</p> + +<p>Underneath were more letters, a package first; quite a lot of them, +thirty, fifty—it was hard to guess—held together by a rubber strap. +The strap broke as she drew out the first envelope and they fell all +about her, some on the floor, but she did not notice it, for the address +was in a feminine writing that had a vague familiarity. She stopped a +moment, with the envelope in one hand and the fingers of the other hand +on the folded paper inside. It felt like a dishonorable thing to +do—like prying into the boy's secrets, forcing his confidence; and she +had never done that. Yet some one must know whether these papers of his +should be burned or kept, and who was there but herself? She drew out +the letter. It began "My dearest." The boy's mother stopped short and +drew a trembling breath, with a sharp, jealous pain. She had not known. +Then she lifted her head and saw the dots of white on the green earth +across the bay and her heart grew soft for that other woman to whom he +had been "dearest" too, who must suffer this sorrow of losing him too. +But she could not read her letters, she must send them, take them to +her, and tell her that his mother had held them sacred. She turned to +the signature.</p> + +<p>"And so you must believe, darling, that I am and always will +be—always, always, with love and kisses, your own dear, little 'Good +Queen Bess.'"</p> + +<p>It was not the sort of an ending to a letter she would have expected +from the girl he loved, for the boy, though most undemonstrative, had +been intense and taken his affections seriously always. But one can +never tell, and the girl was probably quite young. But who was she? The +signature gave no clew; the date was two years before, and from New +York—sufficiently vague! She would have to read until she found the +thread, and as she read the wonder grew that so flimsy a personality +could have held her boy. One letter, two, three, six, and yet no sign to +identify the writer. She wrote first from New York on the point of +starting for a long stay abroad, and the other letters were all from +different places on the other side. Once in awhile a familiar name +cropped up, but never to give any clew. There were plenty of people whom +she called by their Christian names, but that helped nothing. And often +she referred to their engagement—to their marriage to come. It was hard +for the boy's mother, who believed she had had his confidence. But +there was one letter from Vienna that made her lighter-hearted as to +that.</p> + +<p>"My dear sweet darling," it began, "I haven't written you very often +from here, but then I don't believe you know the difference, for you +never scold at all, even if I'm ever so long in writing. And as for you, +you rascal, you write less and less, and shorter and shorter. If I +didn't know for certain—but then, of course, you love me? Don't you, +you dearest boy? Of course you do, and who wouldn't? Now don't think I'm +really so conceited as that, for I only mean it in joke, but in earnest, +I might think it if I let myself, for they make such a fuss over me +here—you never saw anything like it! The Prince von H—— told Mamma +yesterday I was the prettiest girl who had been here in ten years—what +do you think of that, sir? The officers are as thick as bees wherever I +go, and I ride with them and dance with them and am having just the +loveliest time! You don't mind that, do you, darling, even if we are +engaged? Oh, about telling your mother—no, sir, you just cannot! You've +begged me all along to do that, but you might as well stop, for I +won't. You write more about that than anything else, it seems to me, and +I'll believe soon you are more in love with your mother than with me. So +take care! Remember, you promised that night at the hop at West +Point—what centuries ago it seems, and it was a year and a half!—that +you would not tell a living soul, not even your mother, until I said so. +You see, it might get out and—oh, what's the use of fussing? It might +spoil all my good time, and though I'm just as devoted as ever, and as +much in love, you big, handsome thing—yes, just exactly!—still, I want +to have a good time. Why shouldn't I? As the Prince would say, I'm +pretty enough—but that's nonsense, of course."</p> + +<p>The letter was signed like all the others "Good Queen Bess," a foolish +enough name for a girl to call herself, the boy's mother thought, a +touch contemptuously. She sat several minutes with that letter in her +hand.</p> + +<p>"I'll believe soon that you are more in love with your mother than you +are with me"—that soothed the sore spot in her heart wonderfully. +Wasn't it so, perhaps. It seemed to her that the boy had fallen into +this affair suddenly, impulsively, without realizing its meaning, and +that his loyalty had held him fast, after the glamour was gone. And +perhaps the girl, too. For the boy had much besides himself, and there +were girls who might think of that.</p> + +<p>The next letter went far to confirm this theory.</p> + +<p>"Of course I don't want to break our engagement," the girl wrote. "What +makes you ask such a question? I fully expect to marry you some day, of +course, when I have had my little 'fling,' and I should just go crazy if +I thought you didn't love me as much as always. You would if you saw me, +for they all say I'm prettier than ever. You don't want to break the +engagement, do you? Please, please, don't say so, for I couldn't bear +it."</p> + +<p>And in the next few lines she mentioned herself by name. It was a +well-known name to the boy's mother, that of the daughter of a cousin +with whom she had never been over-intimate. She had had notes from the +girl a few times, once or twice from abroad, which accounted for the +familiarity of the writing. So she gathered the letters together, the +last one dated only a month before, and put them one side to send back.</p> + +<p>"She will soon get over it," she said, and sighed as she turned to the +papers still left in the bottom of the box. There were only a few, a +thin packet of six or eight, and one lying separate. She slipped the +rubber band from the packet and looked hard at the irregular, strong +writing, woman's or man's, it was hard to say which. Then she spread out +the envelopes and took them in order by the postmarks. The first was a +little note, thanking him for a book, a few lines of clever nothing +signed by a woman's name which she had never heard.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>"My dear Mr. ——," it ran. "Indeed you did get ahead of 'all the others' +in sending me 'The Gentleman from Indiana,' So far ahead that the next +man in the procession is not even in sight yet. I hate to tell you that, +but honesty demands it. I have taken just one sidewise peep at 'The +Gentleman'—and like his looks immensely—but to-morrow night I am +going to pretend I have a headache and stay home from the concert where +the family are going, and turn cannibal and devour him. I hope nothing +will interrupt me. Unless—I wonder if you are conceited enough to +imagine what is one of the very few things I would like to have +interrupt me? After that bit of boldness I think I must stop writing to +you. I mean it just the same. And thanking you a thousand times again, I +am,</p> + +<p> +"Sincerely yours."<br /> +</p> + +<p>There were four or five more of this sort, sometimes only a day or two, +sometimes a month apart; always with some definite reason for the +writing, flowers or books to thank him for, a walk to arrange, an +invitation to dinner. Charming, bright, friendly notes, with the happy +atmosphere of a perfect understanding between them, of mutual interests +and common enthusiasms.</p> + +<p>"She was very different from the other," the boy's mother sighed, as she +took up an unread letter—there were but two more. There was no harm in +reading such letters as these, she thought with relief, and noticed as +she drew the paper from the envelope that the postmark was two months +later.</p> + +<p>"You want me to write once that I love you"—that is the way it began.</p> + +<p>The woman who read dropped it suddenly as if it had burned her. Was it +possible? Her light-hearted boy, whose short life she had been so sure +had held nothing but a boy's, almost a child's, joys and sorrows! The +other affair was surprise enough, and a sad surprise, yet after all it +had not touched him deeply, she felt certain of that; but this was +another question. She knew instinctively that if love had grown from +such a solid foundation as this sweet and happy and reasonable +friendship with this girl, whose warm heart and deep soul shone through +her clear and simple words, it would be a different love from anything +that other poor, flimsy child could inspire. "L'amitié, c'est l'amour +sans ailes." But sometimes when men and women have let the quiet, safe +god Friendship fold his arms gently around them, he spreads suddenly a +pair of sinning wings and carries them off—to heaven—wherever he +wills it, and only then they see that he is not Friendship, but Love.</p> + +<p>She picked up the letter again and read on:</p> + +<p>"You want me to write once that I love you, so that you may read it with +your eyes, if you may not hear it with your ears. Is that it—is that +what you want, dear? Which question is a foolish sort of way for me to +waste several drops of ink, considering that your letter is open before +me. And your picture just back of it, your brown eyes looking over the +edge so eagerly, so actually alive that it seems very foolish to be +making signs to you on paper at all. How much simpler just to say half a +word and then—then! Only we two can fill up that dash, but we can fill +it full, can't we? However, I'm not doing what you want, and—will you +not tell yourself, if I tell you something? To do what you want is just +the one thing on earth I like most to do. I think you have magnetized me +into a jelly-fish, for at times I seem to have no will at all. I believe +if you asked me to do the Chinese kotow, and bend to the earth before +you, I'd secretly be dying to do it. But I wouldn't, you know, I +promise you that. I give you credit for liking a live woman, with a will +of her own, better than a jelly-fish. And anyway I wouldn't—if you +liked me for it or not—so you see it's no use urging me. And still I +haven't done what you want—what was it now? Oh, to tell you that—but +the words frighten me, they are so big. That I—I—I—love you. Is it +that? I haven't said it yet, remember. I'm only asking a question. Do +you know I have an objection to sitting here in cold blood and writing +that down in cold ink? If it were only a little dark now, and your +shoulder—and I could hide my head—you can't get off for a minute? Ah, +I am scribbling along light-heartedly, when all the time the sword of +Damocles is hanging over us both, when my next letter may have to be +good-by for always. If that fate comes you will find me steady to stand +by you, to help you. I will say those three little words, so little and +so big, to you once again, and then I will live them by giving up what +is dearest to me—that's you, dear—that your 'conduct' may not be +'unbecoming an officer and a gentleman.' You must keep your word. If +the worst comes, will you always remember that as an American woman's +patriotism. There could be none truer. I could send you marching off to +Cuba—and how about that, is it war surely?—with a light heart, knowing +that you were giving yourself for a holy cause and going to honor and +fame, though perhaps, dear, to a soldier's death. And I would pray for +you and remember your splendid strength, and think always of seeing you +march home again, and then only your mother could be more proud than I. +That would be easy, in comparison. Write me about the war—but, of +course, you would not be sent.</p> + +<p>"Now here is the very end of my letter, and I haven't yet said it—what +you wanted. But here it Is, bend your head, from away up there, and +listen. Now—do you hear—I love you. Good-by, good-by, I love you."</p> + +<p>The papers rustled softly in the silent room, and the boy's mother, as +she put the letter back, kissed it, and it was as if ghostly lips +touched hers, for the boy had kissed those words, she knew.</p> + +<p>The next was only a note, written just before his sailing to Cuba.</p> + +<p>"A fair voyage and a short one, a good fight and a quick one," the note +said. "It is my country as well as yours you are going to fight for, and +I give you with all my heart. All of it will be with you and all my +thoughts, too, every minute of every day, so you need never wonder if +I'm thinking of you. And soon the Spaniards will be beaten and you'll be +coming home again 'crowned with glory and honor,' and the bands will +play fighting music, and the flag will be flying over you, for you, and +in all proud America there will be no prouder soul than I—unless it is +your mother. Good-by, good-by—God be with you, my very dearest."</p> + +<p>He had come home "crowned with glory and honor." And the bands had +played martial music for him. But his horse stood riderless by his +grave, and the empty cavalry boots hung, top down, from the saddle.</p> + +<p>Loose in the bottom of the box lay a folded sheet of paper, and, hidden +under it, an envelope, the face side down. When the boy's mother opened +the paper, it was his own crabbed, uneven writing that met her eye.</p> + +<p>"They say there will be a fight to-morrow," he wrote, "and we're likely +to be in it. If I come out right, you will not see this, and I hope I +shall, for the world is sweet with you in it. But if I'm hit, then this +will go to you. I'm leaving a line for my mother and will enclose this +and ask her to send it to you. You must find her and be good to her, if +that happens. I want you to know that if I die, my last thought will +have been of you, and if I have the chance to do anything worth while, +it will be for your sake. I could die happy if I might do even a small +thing that would make you proud of me."</p> + +<p>The sorrowful woman drew a long, shivering breath as she thought of the +magnificent courage of that painful passing up San Juan Hill, wounded, +crawling on, with a pluck that the shades of death could not dim. Would +she be proud of him?</p> + +<p>The line for herself he had never written. There was only the empty +envelope lying alone in the box. She turned it in her hand and saw it +was addressed to the girl to whom he had been engaged. Slowly it dawned +on her that to every appearance this envelope belonged to the letter she +had just read, his letter of the night before the battle. She recoiled +at the thought—those last sacred words of his, to go to that +empty-souled girl! All that she would find in them would be a little +fuel for her vanity, while the other—she put her fingers on the +irregular, back writing, and felt as if a strong young hand held hers +again. She would understand, that other; she had thought of his mother +in the stress of her own strongest feeling; she had loved him for +himself, not for vanity. This letter was hers, the mother knew it. And +yet the envelope, with the other address, had lain just under it, and +she had been his promised wife. She could not face her boy in heaven if +this last earthly wish of his should go wrong through her. How could she +read the boy's mind now? What was right to do?</p> + +<p>The twilight fell over Crow Nest, and over the river and the heaped-up +mountains that lie about West Point, and in the quiet room the boy's +mother sat perplexed, uncertain, his letter in her hands; yet with a +vague sense of coming comfort in her heart as she thought of the girl +who would surely "find her and be good to her," But across the water, on +the hillside, the boy lay quiet.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="A_MESSENGER" id="A_MESSENGER"></a>A MESSENGER</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>How oft do they their silver bowers leave,</div> +<div>To come to succour us that succour want!</div> +<div>How oft do they with golden pineons cleave</div> +<div>The flitting skyes, like flying Pursuivant,</div> +<div>Against fowle feendes to ayd us militant!</div> +<div>They for us fight, they watch and dewly ward,</div> +<div>And their bright Squadrons round about us plant;</div> +<div>And all for love, and nothing for reward.</div> +<div>O! Why should heavenly God to men have such regard?</div> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<div class='i8'>—<i>Spenser's "Faerie Queene."</i></div> +</div></div> + + +<p>That the other world of our hope rests on no distant, shining star, but +lies about us as an atmosphere, unseen yet near, is the belief of many. +The veil of material life shades earthly eyes, they say, from the +glories in which we ever are. But sometimes when the veil wears thin in +mortal stress, or is caught away by a rushing, mighty wind of +inspiration, the trembling human soul, so bared, so purified, may look +down unimagined heavenly vistas, and messengers may steal across the +shifting boundary, breathing hope and the air of a brighter world. And +of him who speaks his vision, men say "He is mad," or "He has dreamed."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The group of officers in the tent was silent for a long half minute +after Colonel Wilson's voice had stopped. Then the General spoke.</p> + +<p>"There is but one thing to do," he said. "We must get word to Captain +Thornton at once."</p> + +<p>The Colonel thought deeply a moment, and glanced at the orderly outside +the tent. "Flannigan!" The man, wheeling swiftly, saluted. "Present my +compliments to Lieutenant Morgan and say that I should like to see him +here at once," and the soldier went off, with the quick military +precision in which there is no haste and no delay.</p> + +<p>"You have some fine, powerful young officers, Colonel," said the General +casually. "I suppose we shall see in Lieutenant Morgan one of the best. +It will take strength and brains both, perhaps, for this message."</p> + +<p>A shadow of a smile touched the Colonel's lips. "I think I have chosen +a capable man, General," was all he said.</p> + +<p>Against the doorway of the tent the breeze blew the flap lazily back and +forth. A light rain fell with muffled gentle insistence on the canvas +over their heads, and out through the opening the landscape was +blurred—the wide stretch of monotonous, billowy prairie, the sluggish, +shining river, bending in the distance about the base of Black Wind +Mountain—Black Wind Mountain, whose high top lifted, though it was +almost June, a white point of snow above dark pine ridges of the hills +below. The five officers talked a little as they waited, but +spasmodically, absent-mindedly. A shadow blocked the light of the +entrance, and in the doorway stood a young man, undersized, slight, +blond. He looked inquiringly at the Colonel.</p> + +<p>"You sent for me, sir?" and the General and his aide, and the grizzled +old Captain, and the big, fresh-faced young one, all watched him.</p> + +<p>In direct, quiet words—words whose bareness made them dramatic for the +weight of possibility they carried—the Colonel explained. Black Wolf +and his band were out on the war-path. A soldier coming in wounded, +escaped from the massacre of the post at Devil's Hoof Gap, had reported +it. With the large command known to be here camped on Sweetstream Fork, +they would not come this way; they would swerve up the Gunpowder River +twenty miles away, destroying the settlement and Little Fort Slade, and +would sweep on, probably for a general massacre, up the Great Horn as +far as Fort Doncaster. He himself, with the regiment, would try to save +Fort Slade, but in the meantime, Captain Thornton's troop, coming to +join him, ignorant that Black Wolf had taken the war-path, would be +directly in their track. Some one must be sent to warn them, and of +course the fewer the quicker. Lieutenant Morgan would take a sergeant, +the Colonel ordered quietly, and start at once.</p> + +<p>In the misty light inside the tent, the young officer looked hardly more +than seventeen years old as he stood listening. His small figure was +light, fragile; his hair was blond to an extreme, a thick thatch of +pale gold; and there was about him, among these tanned, stalwart men in +uniform, a presence, an effect of something unusual, a simplicity out of +place yet harmonious, which might have come with a little child into a +scene like this. His large blue eyes were fixed on the Colonel as he +talked, and in them was just such a look of innocent, pleased wonder, as +might be in a child's eyes, who had been told to leave studying and go +pick violets. But as the Colonel ended he spoke, and the few words he +said, the few questions he asked, were full of poise, of crisp +directness. As the General volunteered a word or two, he turned to him +and answered with a very charming deference, a respect that was yet full +of gracious ease, the unconscious air of a man to whom generals are +first as men, and then as generals. The slight figure in its dark +uniform was already beyond the tent doorway when the Colonel spoke +again, with a shade of hesitation in his manner.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Morgan!" and the young officer turned quickly. "I think it may be +right to warn you that there is likely to be more than usual danger in +your ride."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir." The fresh, young voice had a note of inquiry.</p> + +<p>"You will—you will"—what was it the Colonel wanted to say? He finished +abruptly. "Choose the man carefully who goes with you."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Colonel," Morgan responded heartily, but with a hint of +bewilderment. "I shall take Sergeant O'Hara," and he was gone.</p> + +<p>There was a touch of color in the Colonel's face, and he sighed as if +glad to have it over. The General watched him, and slowly, after a +pause, he demanded:</p> + +<p>"May I ask, Colonel, why you chose that blond baby to send on a mission +of uncommon danger and importance?"</p> + +<p>The Colonel answered quietly: "There were several reasons, General—good +ones. The blond baby"—that ghost of a smile touched the Colonel's lips +again—"the blond baby has some remarkable qualities. He never loses his +head; he has uncommon invention and facility of getting out of bad +holes; he rides light and so can make a horse last longer than most, +and"—the Colonel considered a moment—"I may say he has no fear of +death. Even among my officers he is known for the quality of his +courage. There is one more reason: he is the most popular man I have, +both with officers and men; if anything happened to Morgan the whole +command would race into hell after the devils that did it, before they +would miss their revenge."</p> + +<p>The General reflected, pulling at his mustache. "It seems a bit like +taking advantage of his popularity," he said.</p> + +<p>"It is," the Colonel threw back quickly. "It's just that. But that's +what one must do—a commanding officer—isn't it so, General? In this +war music we play on human instruments, and if a big chord comes out +stronger for the silence of a note, the note must be silenced—that's +all. It's cruel, but it's fighting; it's the game."</p> + +<p>The General, as if impressed with the tense words, did not respond, and +the other officers stared at the Colonel's face, as carved, as stern as +if done in marble—a face from which the warm, strong heart seldom +shone, held back always by the stronger will.</p> + +<p>The big, fresh-colored young Captain broke the silence. "Has the General +ever heard of the trick Morgan played on Sun Boy, sir?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Tell the General, Captain Booth," the Colonel said briefly, and the +Captain turned toward the higher officer.</p> + +<p>"It was apropos of what the Colonel said of his inventive faculties, +General," he began. "A year ago the youngster with a squad of ten men +walked into Sun Boy's camp of seventy-five warriors. Morgan had made +quite a pet of a young Sioux, who was our prisoner for five months, and +the boy had taught him a lot of the language, and assured him that he +would have the friendship of the band in return for his kindness to Blue +Arrow—that was the chap's name. So he thought he was safe; but it +turned out that Blue Arrow's father, a chief, had got into a row with +Sun Boy, and the latter would not think of ratifying the boy's promise. +So there was Morgan with his dozen men, in a nasty enough fix. He knew +plenty of Indian talk to understand that they were discussing what they +would do with him, and it wasn't pleasant.</p> + +<p>"All of a sudden he had an inspiration. He tells the story himself, sir, +and I assure you he'd make you laugh—Morgan is a wonderful mimic. Well, +he remembered suddenly, as I said, that he was a mighty good +ventriloquist, and he saw his chance. He gave a great jump like a +startled fawn, and threw up his arms and stared like one demented into +the tree over their heads. There was a mangy-looking crow sitting up +there on a branch, and Morgan pointed at him as if at something +marvellous, supernatural, and all those fool Indians stopped pow-wowing +and stared up after him, as curious as monkeys. Then to all appearances, +the crow began to talk. Morgan said they must have thought that spirits +didn't speak very choice Sioux, but he did his best. The bird cawed out:</p> + +<p>"'Oh, Sun Boy, great chief, beware what you do!'</p> + +<p>"And then the real bird flapped its wings and Morgan thought it was +going to fly, and he was lost. But it settled back again on the branch, +and Morgan proceeded to caw on:</p> + +<p>"'Hurt not the white man, or the curses of the gods will come upon Sun +Boy and his people.'</p> + +<p>"And he proceeded to give a list of what would happen if the Indians +touched a hair of their heads. By this time the red devils were all down +on their stomachs, moaning softly whenever Morgan stopped cawing. He +said he quite got into the spirit of it and would have liked to go on +some time, but he was beginning to get hoarse, and besides he was in +deadly terror for fear the crow would fly before he got to the point. So +he had the spirit order them to give the white men their horses and turn +them loose instanter; and just as he got all through, off went the thing +with a big flap and a parting caw on its own account. I wish I could +tell it as Morgan does—you'd think he was a bird and an Indian rolled +together. He's a great actor spoiled, that lad."</p> + +<p>"You leave out a fine point, to my mind, Captain Booth," the Colonel +said quickly. "About his going back."</p> + +<p>"Oh! certainly that ought to be told," said the Captain, and the +General's eyes turned to him again. "Morgan forgot to see young Blue +Arrow, his friend, before he got away, and nothing would do but that he +should go back and speak to him. He said the boy would be disappointed. +The men were visibly uneasy at his going, but that didn't affect him. He +ordered them to wait, and back he went, pell-mell, all alone into that +horde of fiends. They hadn't got over their funk, luckily, and he saw +Blue Arrow and made his party call and got out again all right. He +didn't tell that himself, but Sergeant O'Hara made the camp ring with +it. He adores Morgan, and claims that he doesn't know what fear is. I +believe it's about so. I've seen him in a fight three times now. His cap +always goes off—he loses a cap every blessed scrimmage—and with that +yellow mop of hair, and a sort of rapt expression he gets, he looks like +a child saying its prayers all the time he is slashing and shooting like +a berserker." Captain Booth faced abruptly toward the Colonel. "I beg +your pardon for talking so long, sir," he said. "You know we're all +rather keen about little Miles Morgan."</p> + +<p>The General lifted his head suddenly. "Miles Morgan?" he demanded. "Is +his name Miles Morgan."</p> + +<p>The Colonel nodded. "Yes. The grandson of the old Bishop—named for +him."</p> + +<p>"Lord!" ejaculated the General. "Miles Morgan was my earliest friend, my +friend until he died! This must be Jim's son—Miles's only child. And +Jim is dead these ten years," he went on rapidly. "I've lost track of +him since the Bishop died, but I knew Jim left children. Why, he +married"—he searched rapidly in his memory—"he married a daughter of +General Fitzbrian's. This boy's got the church and the army both in him. +I knew his mother," he went on, talking to the Colonel, garrulous with +interest. "Irish and fascinating she was—believed in fairies and ghosts +and all that, as her father did before her. A clever woman, but with the +superstitious, wild Irish blood strong in her. Good Lord! I wish I'd +known that was Miles Morgan's grandson."</p> + +<p>The Colonel's voice sounded quiet and rather cold after the General's +impulsive enthusiasm. "You have summed him up by his antecedents, +General," he said. "The church and the army—both strains are strong. He +is deeply religious."</p> + +<p>The General looked thoughtful. "Religious, eh? And popular? They don't +always go together."</p> + +<p>Captain Booth spoke quickly. "It's not that kind, General," he said. +"There's no cant in the boy. He's more popular for it—that's often so +with the genuine thing, isn't it? I sometimes think"—the young +Captain hesitated and smiled a trifle deprecatingly—"that Morgan is +much of the same stuff as Gordon—Chinese Gordon; the martyr stuff, you +know. But it seems a bit rash to compare an every-day American youngster +to an inspired hero."</p> + +<p>"There's nothing in Americanism to prevent either inspiration or heroism +that I know of," the General affirmed stoutly, his fine old head up, his +eyes gleaming with pride of his profession.</p> + +<p>Out through the open doorway, beyond the slapping tent-flap, the keen, +gray eyes of the Colonel were fixed musingly on two black points which +crawled along the edge of the dulled silver of the distant river—Miles +Morgan and Sergeant O'Hara had started.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>"Sergeant!" They were eight miles out now, and the camp had disappeared +behind the elbow of Black Wind Mountain. "There's something wrong with +your horse. Listen! He's not loping evenly." The soft cadence of eight +hoofs on earth had somewhere a lighter and then a heavier note; the ear +of a good horseman tells in a minute, as a musician's ear at a false +note, when an animal saves one foot ever so slightly, to come down +harder on another.</p> + +<p>"Yessirr. The Lieutenant'll remimber 'tis the horrse that had a bit of a +spavin, Sure I thot 'twas cured, and 'tis the kindest baste in the +rigiment f'r a pleasure ride, sorr—that willin' 'tis. So I tuk it. I +think 'tis only the stiffness at furrst aff. 'Twill wurruk aff later. +Plaze God, I'll wallop him." And the Sergeant walloped with a will.</p> + +<p>But the kindest beast in the regiment failed to respond except with a +plunge and increased lameness. Soon there was no more question of his +incapacity.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Morgan halted his mount, and, looking at the woe-begone +O'Hara, laughed. "A nice trick this is, Sergeant," he said, "to start +out on a trip to dodge Indians with a spavined horse. Why didn't you get +a broomstick? Now go back to camp as fast as you can go; and that horse +ought to be blistered when you get there. See if you can't really cure +him. He's too good to be shot." He patted the gray's nervous head, and +the beast rubbed it gently against his sleeve, quiet under his hand.</p> + +<p>"Yessirr. The Lieutenant'll ride slow, sorr, f'r me to catch up on ye, +sorr?"</p> + +<p>Miles Morgan smiled and shook his head. "Sorry, Sergeant, but there'll +be no slow riding in this. I'll have to press right on without you; I +must be at Massacre Mountain to-night to catch Captain Thornton +to-morrow."</p> + +<p>Sergeant O'Hara's chin dropped. "Sure the Lieutenant'll niver be +thinkin' to g'wan alone—widout <i>me</i>?" and with all the sergeant's +respect of his superiors, it took the Lieutenant ten valuable minutes to +get the man started back, shaking his head and muttering forebodings, to +the camp.</p> + +<p>It was quiet riding on alone. There were a few miles to go before there +was any chance of Indians, and no particular lookout to be kept, so he +put the horse ahead rapidly while he might, and suddenly he found +himself singing softly as he galloped. How the words had come to him he +did not know, for no conscious train of thought had brought them; but +they surely fitted to the situation, and a pleasant sense of +companionship, of safety, warmed him as the swing of an old hymn carried +his voice along with it.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>God shall charge His angel legions</div> +<div class="i2">Watch and ward o'er thee to keep;</div> +<div>Though thou walk through hostile regions,</div> +<div class="i2">Though in desert wilds thou sleep.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>Surely a man riding toward—perhaps through—skulking Indian hordes, as +he must, could have no better message reach him than that. The bent of +his mind was toward mysticism, and while he did not think the train of +reasoning out, could not have said that he believed it so, yet the +familiar lines flashing suddenly, clearly, on the curtain of his mind, +seemed to him, very simply, to be sent from a larger thought than his +own. As a child might take a strong hand held out as it walked over +rough country, so he accepted this quite readily and happily, as from +that Power who was never far from him, and in whose service, beyond most +people, he lived and moved. Low but clear and deep his voice went on, +following one stanza with its mate:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Since with pure and firm affection</div> +<div class="i2">Thou on God hast set thy love,</div> +<div>With the wings of His protection</div> +<div class="i2">He will shield thee from above.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>The simplicity of his being sheltered itself in the broad promise of the +words.</p> + +<p>Light-heartedly he rode on and on, though now more carefully; lying flat +and peering over the crests of hills a long time before he crossed +their tops; going miles perhaps through ravines; taking advantage of +every bit of cover where a man and a horse might be hidden; travelling +as he had learned to travel in three years of experience in this +dangerous Indian country, where a shrub taken for granted might mean a +warrior, and that warrior a hundred others within signal. It was his +plan to ride until about twelve—to reach Massacre Mountain, and there +rest his horse and himself till gray daylight. There was grass there and +a spring—two good and innocent things that had been the cause of the +bad, dark thing which had given the place its name. A troop under +Captain James camping at this point, because of the water and grass, had +been surprised and wiped out by five hundred Indian braves of the wicked +and famous Red Crow. There were ghastly signs about the place yet; +Morgan had seen them, but soldiers may not have nerves, and it was good +camping ground.</p> + +<p>On through the valleys and half-way up the slopes, which rolled here far +away into a still wilder world, the young man rode. Behind the distant +hills in the east a glow like fire flushed the horizon. A rim of pale +gold lifted sharply over the ridge; a huge round ball of light pushed +faster, higher, and lay, a bright world on the edge of the world, great +against the sky—the moon had risen. The twilight trembled as the yellow +rays struck into its depths, and deepened, dying into purple shadows. +Across the plain zigzagged pools of a level stream, as if a giant had +spilled handfuls of quicksilver here and there.</p> + +<p>Miles Morgan, riding, drank in all the mysterious, wild beauty, as a man +at ease; as open to each fair impression as if he were not riding each +moment into deeper danger, as if his every sense were not on guard. On +through the shining moonlight and in the shadow of the hills he rode, +and, where he might, through the trees, and stopped to listen often, to +stare at the hill-tops, to question a heap of stones or a bush.</p> + +<p>At last, when his leg-weary horse was beginning to stumble a bit, he +saw, as he came around a turn, Massacre Mountain's dark head rising in +front of him, only half a mile away. The spring trickled its low song, +as musical, as limpidly pure as if it had never run scarlet. The +picketed horse fell to browsing and Miles sighed restfully as he laid +his head on his saddle and fell instantly to sleep with the light of the +moon on his damp, fair hair. But he did not sleep long. Suddenly with a +start he awoke, and sat up sharply, and listened. He heard the horse +still munching grass near him, and made out the shadow of its bulk +against the sky; he heard the stream, softly falling and calling to the +waters where it was going. That was all. Strain his hearing as he might +he could hear nothing else in the still night. Yet there was something. +It might not be sound or sight, but there was a presence, a +something—he could not explain. He was alert in every nerve. Suddenly +the words of the hymn he had been singing in the afternoon flashed again +into his mind, and, with his cocked revolver in his hand, alone, on +guard, in the midnight of the savage wilderness, the words came that +were not even a whisper:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>God shall charge His angel legions</div> +<div class="i2">Watch and ward o'er thee to keep;</div> +<div>Though thou walk through hostile regions,</div> +<div class="i2">Though in desert wilds thou sleep.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>He gave a contented sigh and lay down. What was there to worry about? It +was just his case for which the hymn was written. "Desert wilds"—that +surely meant Massacre Mountain, and why should he not sleep here +quietly, and let the angels keep their watch and ward? He closed his +eyes with a smile. But sleep did not come, and soon his eyes were open +again, staring into blackness, thinking, thinking.</p> + +<p>It was Sunday when he started out on this mission, and he fell to +remembering the Sunday nights at home—long, long ago they seemed now. +The family sang hymns after supper always; his mother played, and the +children stood around her—five of them, Miles and his brothers and +sisters. There was a little sister with brown hair about her shoulders, +who always stood by Miles, leaned against him, held his hand, looked up +at him with adoring eyes—he could see those uplifted eyes now, shining +through the darkness of this lonely place. He remembered the big, +home-like room; the crackling fire; the peaceful atmosphere of books and +pictures; the dumb things about its walls that were yet eloquent to him +of home and family; the sword that his great-grandfather had worn under +Washington; the old ivories that another great-grandfather, the Admiral, +had brought from China; the portraits of Morgans of half a dozen +generations which hung there; the magazine table, the books and books +and books. A pang of desperate homesickness suddenly shook him. He +wanted them—his own. Why should he, their best-beloved, throw away his +life—a life filled to the brim with hope and energy and high ideals—on +this futile quest? He knew quite as well as the General or the Colonel +that his ride was but a forlorn hope. As he lay there, longing so, in +the dangerous dark, he went about the library at home in his thought and +placed each familiar belonging where he had known it all his life. And +as he finished, his mother's head shone darkly golden by the piano; her +fingers swept over the keys; he heard all their voices, the dear +never-forgotten voices. Hark! They were singing his hymn—little Alice's +reedy note lifted above the others—"God shall charge His angel +legions—"</p> + +<p>Now! He was on his feet with a spring, and his revolver pointed +steadily. This time there was no mistaking—something had rustled in the +bushes. There was but one thing for it to be—Indians. Without realizing +what he did, he spoke sharply.</p> + +<p>"Who goes there?" he demanded, and out of the darkness a voice answered +quietly:</p> + +<p>"A friend."</p> + +<p>"A friend?" With a shock of relief the pistol dropped by his side, and +he stood tense, waiting. How might a friend be here, at midnight in this +desert? As the thought framed itself swiftly the leaves parted, and his +straining eyes saw the figure of a young man standing before him.</p> + +<p>"How came you here?" demanded Miles sternly. "Who are you?"</p> + +<p>Even in the dimness he could see the radiant smile that answered him. +The calm voice spoke again: "You will understand that later. I am here +to help you."</p> + +<p>As if a door had suddenly opened into that lighted room of which he +dreamed, Miles felt a sense of tranquillity, of happiness stirring +through him. Never in his life had he known such a sudden utter +confidence in anyone, such a glow of eager friendliness as this +half-seen, mysterious stranger inspired. "It is because I was lonelier +than I knew," he said mentally. "It is because human companionship gives +courage to the most self-reliant of us"; and somewhere in the words he +was aware of a false note, but he did not stop to place it.</p> + +<p>The low, even voice of the stranger spoke again. "There are Indians on +your trail," he said. "A small band of Black Wolf's scouts. But don't be +troubled. They will not hurt you."</p> + +<p>"You escaped from them?" demanded Miles eagerly, and again the light of +a swift smile shone into the night. "You came to save me—how was it? +Tell me, so that we can plan. It is very dark yet, but hadn't we better +ride? Where is your horse?"</p> + +<p>He threw the earnest questions rapidly across the black night, and the +unhurried voice answered him. "No," it said, and the verdict was not to +be disputed. "You must stay here."</p> + +<p>Who this man might be or how he came Miles could not tell, but this much +he knew, without reason for knowing it; it was someone stronger than he, +in whom he could trust. As the newcomer had said, it would be time +enough later to understand the rest. Wondering a little at his own swift +acceptance of an unknown authority, wondering more at the peace which +wrapped him as an atmosphere at the sound of the stranger's voice, Miles +made a place for him by his side, and the two talked softly to the +plashing undertone of the stream.</p> + +<p>Easily, naturally, Miles found himself telling how he had been homesick, +longing for his people. He told him of the big familiar room, and of the +old things that were in it, that he loved; of his mother; of little +Alice, and her baby adoration for the big brother; of how they had +always sung hymns together Sunday night; he never for a moment doubted +the stranger's interest and sympathy—he knew that he cared to hear.</p> + +<p>"There is a hymn," Miles said, "that we used to sing a lot—it was my +favorite; 'Miles's hymn,' the family called it. Before you came +to-night, while I lay there getting lonelier every minute, I almost +thought I heard them singing it. You may not have heard it, but it has a +grand swing. I always think"—he hesitated—"it always seems to me as if +the God of battles and the beauty of holiness must both have filled the +man's mind who wrote it." He stopped, surprised at his own lack of +reserve, at the freedom with which, to this friend of an hour, he spoke +his inmost heart.</p> + +<p>"I know," the stranger said gently. There was silence for a moment, and +then the wonderful low tones, beautiful, clear, beyond any voice Miles +had ever heard, began again, and it was as if the great sweet notes of +an organ whispered the words:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>God shall charge His angel legions</div> +<div class="i2">Watch and ward o'er thee to keep;</div> +<div>Though thou walk through hostile regions,</div> +<div class="i2">Though in desert wilds thou sleep.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>"Great Heavens!" gasped Miles. "How could you know I meant that? Why, +this is marvellous—why, this"—he stared, speechless, at the dim +outlines of the face which he had never seen before to-night, but which +seemed to him already familiar and dear beyond all reason. As he gazed +the tall figure rose, lightly towering above him. "Look!" he said, and +Miles was on his feet. In the east, beyond the long sweep of the +prairie, was a faint blush against the blackness; already threads of +broken light, of pale darkness, stirred through the pall of the air; the +dawn was at hand.</p> + +<p>"We must saddle," Miles said, "and be off. Where is your horse +picketed?" he demanded again.</p> + +<p>But the strange young man stood still; and now his arm was stretched +pointing. "Look," he said again, and Miles followed the direction with +his eyes.</p> + +<p>From the way he had come, in that fast-growing glow at the edge of the +sky, sharp against the mist of the little river, crept slowly half a +dozen pin points, and Miles, watching their tiny movement, knew that +they were ponies bearing Indian braves. He turned hotly to his +companion.</p> + +<p>"It's your fault," he said. "If I'd had my way we'd have ridden from +here an hour ago. Now here we are caught like rats in a trap; and who's +to do my work and save Thornton's troop—who's to save them—God!" The +name was a prayer, not an oath.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the quiet voice at his side, "God,"—and for a second there +was a silence that was like an Amen.</p> + +<p>Quickly, without a word, Miles turned and began to saddle. Then suddenly +as he pulled at the girth, he stopped. "It's no use," he said. "We can't +get away except over the rise, and they'll see us there"; he nodded at +the hill which rose beyond the camping ground three hundred yards away, +and stretched in a long, level sweep into other hills and the west. "Our +chance is that they're not on my trail after all—it's quite possible." +There was a tranquil unconcern about the figure near him; his own bright +courage caught the meaning of its relaxed lines with a hound of +pleasure. "As you say, it's best to stay here," he said, and as if +thinking aloud—"I believe you must always be right." Then he added, as +if his very soul would speak itself to this wonderful new friend: "We +can't be killed, unless the Lord wills it, and if he does it's right. +Death is only the step into life; I suppose when we know that life, we +will wonder how we could have cared for this one."</p> + +<p>Through the gray light the stranger turned his face swiftly, bent toward +Miles, and smiled once again, and the boy thought suddenly of the +martyrdom of St. Stephen, and how those who were looking "saw his face +as it had been the face of an angel."</p> + +<p>Across the plain, out of the mist-wreaths, came rushing, scurrying, the +handful of Indian braves. Pale light streamed now from the east, +filtering over a hushed world. Miles faced across the plain, stood close +to the tall stranger whose shape, as the dawn touched it, seemed to rise +beyond the boy's slight figure wonderfully large and high. There was a +sense of unending power, of alertness, of great, easy movement about +him; one might have looked at him, and looking away again, have said +that wings were folded about him. But Miles did not see him. His eyes +were on the fast-nearing, galloping ponies, each with its load of +filthy, cruel savagery. This was his death coming; there was disgust, +but not dread in the thought for the boy. In a few minutes he should be +fighting hopelessly, fiercely against this froth of a lower world; in a +few minutes after that he should be lying here still—for he meant to be +killed; he had that planned. They should not take him—a wave of sick +repulsion at that thought shook him. Nearer, nearer, right on his track +came the riders pell-mell. He could hear their weird, horrible cries; +now he could see gleaming through the dimness the huge headdress of the +foremost, the white coronet of feathers, almost the stripes of paint on +the fierce face.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a feeling that he knew well caught him, and he laughed. It was +the possession that had held in him in every action which he had so far +been in. It lifted his high-strung spirit into an atmosphere where there +was no dread and no disgust, only a keen rapture in throwing every atom +of soul and body into physical intensity; it was as if he himself were +a bright blade, dashing, cutting, killing, a living sword rejoicing to +destroy. With the coolness that may go with such a frenzy he felt that +his pistols were loose; saw with satisfaction that he and his new ally +were placed on the slope to the best advantage, then turned swiftly, +eager now for the fight to come, toward the Indian band. As he looked, +suddenly in mid-career, pulling in their plunging ponies with a jerk +that threw them, snorting, on their haunches, the warriors halted. Miles +watched in amazement. The bunch of Indians, not more than a hundred +yards away, were staring, arrested, startled, back of him to his right, +where the lower ridge of Massacre Mountain stretched far and level over +the valley that wound westward beneath it on the road to Fort +Rain-and-Thunder. As he gazed, the ponies had swept about and were +galloping back as they had come, across the plain.</p> + +<p>Before he knew if it might be true, if he were not dreaming this curious +thing, the clear voice of his companion spoke in one word again, like +the single note of a deep bell. "Look!" he said, and Miles swung about +toward the ridge behind, following the pointing finger.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="illustr-04.jpg" id="illustr-04.jpg"></a><img src="images/illustr-04.jpg" width="337" height="560" alt="Look! he said, and Miles swung about toward the ridge +behind." /></p> + +<p class="caption">"Look!" he said, and Miles swung about toward the ridge +behind.</p> + + +<p>In the gray dawn the hill-top was clad with the still strength of an +army. Regiment after regiment, silent, motionless, it stretched back +into silver mist, and the mist rolled beyond, above, about it; and +through it he saw, as through rifts in broken gauze, lines interminable +of soldiers, glitter of steel. Miles, looking, knew.</p> + +<p>He never remembered how long he stood gazing, earth and time and self +forgotten, at a sight not meant for mortal eyes; but suddenly, with a +stab it came to him, that if the hosts of heaven fought his battle it +was that he might do his duty, might save Captain Thornton and his men; +he turned to speak to the young man who had been with him. There was no +one there. Over the bushes the mountain breeze blew damp and cold; they +rustled softly under its touch; his horse stared at him mildly; away off +at the foot-hills he could see the diminishing dots of the fleeing +Indian ponies; as he wheeled again and looked, the hills that had been +covered with the glory of heavenly armies, lay hushed and empty. And +his friend was gone.</p> + +<p>Clatter of steel, jingle of harness, an order ringing out far but +clear—Miles threw up his head sharply and listened. In a second he was +pulling at his horse's girth, slipping the bit swiftly into its +mouth—in a moment more he was off and away to meet them, as a body of +cavalry swung out of the valley where the ridge had hidden them.</p> + +<p>"Captain Thornton's troop?" the officer repeated carelessly. "Why, yes; +they are here with us. We picked them up yesterday, headed straight for +Black Wolf's war-path. Mighty lucky we found them. How about you—seen +any Indians, have you?"</p> + +<p>Miles answered slowly: "A party of eight were on my trail; they were +riding for Massacre Mountain, where I camped, about an hour—about half +an hour—awhile ago." He spoke vaguely, rather oddly, the officer +thought, "Something—stopped them about a hundred yards from the +mountain. They turned, and rode away."</p> + +<p>"Ah," said the officer. "They saw us down the valley."</p> + +<p>"I couldn't see you," said Miles.</p> + +<p>The officer smiled. "You're not an Indian, Lieutenant. Besides, they +were out on the plain and had a farther view behind the ridge." And +Miles answered not a word.</p> + +<p>General Miles Morgan, full of years and of honors, has never but twice +told the story of that night of forty years ago. But he believes that +when his time comes, and he goes to join the majority, he will know +again the presence which guarded him through the blackness of it, and +among the angel legions he looks to find an angel, a messenger, who was +his friend.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="THE_AIDE_DE_CAMP" id="THE_AIDE_DE_CAMP"></a>THE AIDE-DE-CAMP</h2> + + +<p>Age has a point or two in common with greatness; few willingly achieve +it, indeed, but most have it thrust upon them, and some are born old. +But there are people who, beginning young, are young forever. One might +fancy that the careless fates who shape souls—from cotton-batting, from +stone, from wood and dynamite and cheese—once in an æon catch, by +chance, a drop of the fountain of youth, and use it in their business, +and the soul so made goes on bubbling and sparkling eternally, and gray +dust of years cannot dim it. It might be imagined, in another flight of +fancy, that a spark of divine fire from the brazier of the immortals +snaps loose once in a century and lodges in somebody, and is a +heart—with such a clean and happy flame burns sometimes a heart one +knows.</p> + +<p>On a January evening, in a room where were books and a blazing hearth, +a man with a famous name and a long record told me a story, and through +his blunt speech flashed in and out all the time the sparkle of the fire +and the ripple of the fountain. Unsuspecting, he betrayed every minute +the queer thing that had happened to him—how he had never grown up and +his blood had never grown cold. So that the story, as it fell in easy +sequence, had a charm which was his and is hard to trap, yet it is too +good a story to leave unwritten. A picture goes with it, what I looked +at as I listened: a massive head on tremendous shoulders; bright white +hair and a black bar of eyebrows, striking and dramatic; underneath, +eyes dark and alive, a face deep red-and-brown with out of doors. His +voice had a rough command in it, because, I suppose, he had given many +orders to men. I tell the tale with this memory for a setting; the +firelight, the soldierly presence, the gayety of youth echoing through +it.</p> + +<p>The fire had been forgotten as we talked, and I turned to see it dull +and lifeless. "It hasn't gone out, however," I said, and coughed as I +swallowed smoke. "There's no smoke without some fire," I poked the logs +together. "That's an old saw; but it's true all the same."</p> + +<p>"Old saws always are true," said the General. "If there isn't something +in them that people know is so they don't get old—they die young. I +believe in the ridden-to-death proverbs—little pitchers with big +ears—cats with nine lives—still waters running deep—love at first +sight, and the rest. They're true, too." His straight look challenged me +to dispute him.</p> + +<p>The pine knots caught and blazed up, and I went back comfortably into my +chair and laughed at him.</p> + +<p>"O General! Come! You don't believe in love at first sight."</p> + +<p>I liked to make him talk sentiment. He was no more afraid of it than of +anything else, and the warmest sort came out of his handling natural and +unashamed.</p> + +<p>"I don't? Yes, I do, too," he fired at me. "I know it happens, +sometimes."</p> + +<p>With that the lines of his face broke into the sunshiniest smile. He +threw back his head with sudden boyishness, and chuckled, "I ought to +know; I've had experience," he said. His look settled again +thoughtfully. "Did I ever tell you that story—the story about the day I +rode seventy-five miles? Well, I did that several times—I rode it once +to see my wife. But this was the first time, and a good deal happened. +It was a history-making day for me all right. That was when I was +aide-de-camp to General Stoneman. Have I told you that?"</p> + +<p>"No," I said; and "oh, do tell me." I knew already that a fire and a +deep chair and one of the General's stories made a good combination.</p> + +<p>His manner had a quality uncommon to storytellers; he spoke as if what +he told had occurred not in times gone by, but perhaps last week; it was +more gossip than history. Probably the sharp, full years had been so +short to him that the interval between twenty and seventy was no great +matter; things looked as clear and his interest was as lively as a +half-century ago. This trick of mind made a narrative of his vivid. With +eyes on the fire, with his dominant voice absorbing the crisp sound of +the crackling wood, he began to talk.</p> + +<p>"It was down in Virginia in—let me see—why, certainly, it was in +'63—right away after the battle of Chancellorsville, you know." I kept +still and hoped the General thought I knew the date of the battle of +Chancellorsville. "I was part of a cavalry command that was sent from +the Army of the Potomac under General Stoneman—I was his aide. Well, +we did a lot of things—knocked out bridges and railroads, and all that; +our object was, you see, to destroy communication between Lee's army and +Richmond. We even got into Richmond—we thought every Confederate +soldier was with Lee at the front, and we had a scheme to free the +prisoners in Libby, and perhaps capture Jefferson Davis—but we counted +wrong. The defence was too strong, and our force too small; we had to +skedaddle, or we'd have seen Libby in a way we didn't like. We found a +negro who could pilot us, and we slipped out through fields and swamps +beyond the reach of the enemy. Then the return march began. Let me put +that log on."</p> + +<p>"No. Talk," I protested; but the General had the wood in his vigorous +left hand—where a big scar cut across the back.</p> + +<p>"You needn't be so independent," he threw at me. "Now you've got a +splinter in your finger—serves you right." I laughed at the savage +tone, and his eyes flashed fiercely—and he laughed back.</p> + +<p>"What was I talking about—you interrupted. Oh, that march. Well, we'd +had a pretty rough time when the march back began. For nine days we +hadn't had a real meal—just eaten standing up, whatever we could get +cooked—or uncooked. We hadn't changed our clothes, and we'd slept on +the ground every night."</p> + +<p>"Goodness!" I interjected with amateur vagueness. "What about the +horses?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, they got it, too," the General said carelessly. "We seldom +unsaddled them at all, and when we did it was just to give them a +rub-down and saddle again. We'd made one march toward home and halted, +late at night, when General Stoneman called for his aide-de-camp. I went +to him, rather sleepy, and he told me he'd decided to communicate with +his chief and report his success, and that I was to start at daylight +and find the Army of the Potomac. I had my pick of ten of the best men +and horses from the brigade, and I got off at gray dawn with them, and +with the written report in my boot to the commanding general, and verbal +orders to find him wherever he might be. Nothing else, except the +tools—swords and pistols, and that sort of thing. Oh, yes, there was +one thing more. General Ladd, who was a Virginian, had given my chief a +letter for his people, thinking we'd get into their country. His family +were all on the Confederate side of the fence, while he was a Union +officer. That was not uncommon in our civil war. But we didn't get near +the Ladd estate, and so Stoneman commissioned me to return the letter to +the general with the explanation. Does this bore you?" he stopped +suddenly to ask, and his alert eye shot the glance at me like a bullet.</p> + +<p>"Stop once more and I'll be likely to cry," I predicted.</p> + +<p>"For Heaven's sake don't do that." He reached across and took the +poker. "Here's the Rapidan River," he sketched down the rug. "Runs east +and west. And this blue diagonal north of it is the Rappahannock. I +started south of the Rapidan, to cross it and go north, hoping to find +our army victorious and south of the Rappahannock. Which I didn't—but +that's farther along. Well, we were off at daylight, ten men and the +officer—me. It was a fine spring morning, and the bunch of horsemen +made a pretty sight as the sun came up, moving through the +greenness—the foliage is well out down there in May. The bits jingled +and the saddles creaked under our legs—I remember how it sounded as we +started off. We'd had a strenuous week, but we were a strong lot and +ready for anything. We were going to get it, too." The General chuckled +suddenly, as if something had hit his funny-bone. "I skirted along the +south bank of the Rapidan, keeping off the roads most of the time, and +out of sight, which was better for our health—we were in Confederate +country—and we got to Germania Ford without seeing anybody, or being +seen. Said I, 'Here's the place we'll cross.' We'd had breakfast before +starting, but we'd been in the saddle three hours since that, and I was +thirsty. I could see a house back in the trees as we came to the ford—a +beautiful old house—the kind you see a lot of in the South—high white +pillars—dignified and aristocratic. It seemed to be quiet and safe, so +we trotted up the drive, the eleven of us. The front door was open, and +I jumped off my horse and ran up the steps and stood in the doorway. +There were four or five people in the hall, and they'd seen us coming +and were scared. A nice old lady was lying back in a chair, as pale as +ashes, with her hand to her heart, gasping ninety to the second, and two +or three negroes stood around her with their eyes rolling. And right in +the middle of the place a red-headed girl in a white dress was bending +over a grizzled old negro man who was locking a large travelling-bag. As +cool as a cucumber that girl was."</p> + +<p>The General stopped and considered.</p> + +<p>"I wish I could describe the scene the way I saw it—I remember exactly. +It was a big, square hall running through from front to back, and the +back door was open, and you saw a garden with box hedges, and woods +behind it. Stairs went up each side the hall and a balcony ran around +the second story, with bedrooms opening off it. There was a high, oval +window at the back over the balcony, and the sun poured through.</p> + +<p>"The girl finished locking her bag as if she hadn't noticed scum of the +earth like us, and then she deliberately picked up a bunch of long white +flowers that lay by the bag—lilies, I think you call them—and stood +up, and looked right past me, as if she was struck with the landscape, +and didn't see me. She was a tall girl, and when she stood straight the +light from the back window just hit her hair and shone through the loose +part of it—there was a lot, and it was curly. I give you my word that, +as she stood there and looked calmly beyond me, in her white dress, with +the stalk of flowers over her shoulder, and the sun turning that +wonderful red-gold hair into a halo—I give you my word she was a +perfect picture of a saint out of a stained-glass window in a church. +But she didn't act like one."</p> + +<p>The General was seized with sudden, irresistible laughter. He sobered +quickly.</p> + +<p>"I took one look at the vision, and I knew it was all up with me. Talk +about love at first sight—before she ever spoke a word I—well." He +pulled up the sentence as if it were a horse. "I snatched off my cap and +I said, said I, 'I'm very sorry to disturb you,' just as politely as I +knew how, but all the answer she gave me was to glance across at the old +lady. Then she went find put her arm around her as she lay back gasping +in a great curved chair.</p> + +<p>"'Don't be afraid, Aunt Virginia,' she said. 'Nothing shall hurt you. I +can manage this man.'</p> + +<p>"The way she said 'this man' was about as contemptuous as they make 'em. +I guess she was right, too—I guess she could. She turned her head +toward me, but did not look at me.</p> + +<p>"'Do you want anything here?'" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Her voice was the prettiest, softest sound you ever heard—she was mad +as a hornet, too." The General's swift chuckle caught him. "'Hyer,' she +said it," he repeated. "'Hyer.'" He liked to say it, evidently. "I +stood holding my cap in my hand, so tame by this time you could have put +me on a perch in a cage, for the pluck of the girl was as fascinating as +her looks. I spoke up like a man all the same.</p> + +<p>"'I wanted to ask,' said I, 'if I might send my men around to your well +for a drink of water. They're thirsty.'</p> + +<p>"The way she answered, looking all around me and never once at me, made +me uncomfortable. 'I suppose you can if you wish,' she said. 'You're +stronger than we are. You can take what you choose. But I won't give you +anything—not if you were dying—not a glass of water.'</p> + +<p>"Well, in spite of her having played football with my heart, that made +me angry.</p> + +<p>"'I didn't know before that to be Southern made a woman unwomanly,' I +said. 'Where I came from I don't believe there's a girl would say a +cruel thing like that or refuse a drink of cold water to soldiers doing +their duty, friends or enemies. We've slept on the ground nine nights +and ridden nine days, and had very little to eat—my men are tired and +thirsty. I shan't make them go without any refreshment they can get, +even if it is grudged.'</p> + +<p>"I gave an order over my shoulder, and my party went off to the back of +the house. Then I made a low bow to the old lady and to Miss +High-and-Mighty, and I swung about and walked down the steps and mounted +my horse. I was parched for water, but I wouldn't have had it if I'd +choked, after that. Between taking an almighty shine to the girl and +getting stirred up that way, and then being all frozen over with icicles +by her cool insultingness, I was pretty savage, and I stared away from +the place and thought the men would never come. All of a sudden I felt +something touch my arm, and I looked around quick, and there was the +girl. She stood by the horse, her red hair close to my elbow as I sat in +the saddle, and she held up a glass of water. I never was so astonished +in my life.</p> + +<p>"'You're thirsty and tired, too,' she said, speaking as low as if she +was afraid the horse might hear. 'For my self-respect—for Southern +women'—she brought it out in that soft, sliding way, but the words +were all mixed up with embarrassment—and red—my, but she blushed! Then +she went on. 'You were right,' said she. 'I was cruel; you're my enemy +and I hate you, but I ought not to grudge you water. Take it.'</p> + +<p>"I put my hand right on top of hers as she held the glass, and bent down +and drank so, making her hold it to my lips, and my hand over +hers—bless her heart!"</p> + +<p>The General came to a full stop. He was smiling into the fire, and his +face was as if a flame burned back of it. I waited very quietly, fearing +to change the current by a word, and in a moment the strong voice, with +its vibrating note, not to be described, began again.</p> + +<p>"I drained every drop," he said, "I'd have drunk a hogshead. When I +finished I raised my head and looked down at her without a word +said—but I didn't let go of the glass with her hand holding it inside +mine—and she lifted her eyes very slowly, and for the first time looked +at me. Well—" he shut his lips a moment—"these things don't tell well, +but something happened. I held her eyes into mine, us if I gripped them +with my muscles, and there came over her face an extraordinary +expression—first as if she was surprised that it was me, then as if she +was glad, and then—well, you may believe it or not, but I knew that +second that the girl—loved me. She hated me all right five minutes +before—I was her people's enemy—the chances were she'd never see me +again—all that's true, but it simply didn't count. She cared for me, +and I for her, and we both knew it—that's all there was about it. +People live faster in war-time, I think—anyhow, that's the way it was.</p> + +<p>"The men and horses came pouring around the house, and I let her hand +loose—it was hard to do it, too—and then she was gone, and we rode on +to the ford. We stopped when we got to the stream to let the horses have +their turn at drinking, and as I sat loafing in the saddle, with my mind +pretty full of what had just passed, my eyes were all over. Every +cavalry officer, and especially an aide-de-camp, gets to be a sort of +hawk in active service—nothing can move within range that he doesn't +see. So as I looked about me I took in among other things the house +we'd just left, and suddenly I spied a handkerchief waving from behind +one of the big white pillars. Of course you've got to be wary in an +enemy's country, and these people were rabid Confederates, as I'd +occasion to know. All the same it would have been bad judgment to +neglect such a signal, and what's more, I'd have staked my life on that +girl's honesty. If the handkerchief had been a cannon I'd have gone +back. So back I went, taking a couple of men with me. As I jumped off my +horse I saw her standing inside the front door, back in the shadow, and +I ran up the steps to her.</p> + +<p>"'Well?' said I.</p> + +<p>"She looked up at me and laughed, showing a row of white teeth. That was +the first time I ever saw her laugh. 'I knew you'd come back,' said she, +as mischievous as a child, and her eyes danced.</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean to be made a fool of, for I had my duty to think about, +so I spoke rather shortly. 'Well, and now I'm here—what?'</p> + +<p>"With that she drew an excited little gasp. 'I couldn't let you be +killed,' she brought out in a sort of breathless whisper, so low I had +to bend over close to hear her. 'You mustn't go on—in that +direction—you'll be taken. The Union army's been defeated—at +Chancellorsville. They're driven north of the Rappahannock—to Falmouth. +Our troops are in their old camps. There's an outpost across the +ford—just over the hill.'</p> + +<p>"It was the first I'd heard of the defeat at Chancellorsville, and it +stunned me for a second. 'Are you telling me the truth?' I asked her +pretty sharply.</p> + +<p>"'You know I am,' she said, as haughty as you please all of a sudden, +and drew herself up with her head in the air.</p> + +<p>"And I did know it. Something else struck me just about then. The old +lady and the servants were gone from the hall. There wasn't anybody in +it but herself and me; my men were out of sight on the driveway. I +forgot our army and the war and everything else, and I caught her bands +in between mine, and said I, 'Why couldn't you let me be killed?'"</p> + +<p>At his words I drew a quick breath, too. For a moment I was the +Southern girl with the red-gold hair. I could feel the clasp of the +young officer's hands; I could hear his voice asking the rough, tender +question, "Why couldn't you let me be killed?"</p> + +<p>"It was mighty still for a minute. Then she lifted up her eyes as I held +her fingers in a vise, and gave me a steady look. That was all—but it +was plenty.</p> + +<p>"I don't know how I got on my horse or what order I gave, but my head +was clear enough for business purposes, and I had to use it—quickly, +too. There were thick woods near by, and I hurried my party into them +and gave men and horses a short rest till I could decide what to do. The +Confederates were east of us, around Chancellorsville and in the +triangle between the Rapidan and the Rappahannock, so that It was unsafe +travelling in that direction. It's the business of an aide-de-camp +carrying despatches to steal as quietly as possible through an enemy's +country, and the one fatal thing is to be captured. So I concluded I +wouldn't get into the thick of it till I had to, but would turn west +and make a <i>détour</i>, crossing by Morton's Ford, farther up the Rapidan. +Germania Ford lies in a deep loop of the river, and that made our ride +longer, but we found a road and crossed all right as I planned it, and +then we doubled back, as we had to, eastward.</p> + +<p>"It was a pretty ride in the May weather, through that beautiful +Virginia country. We kept in the woods and the lonely roads as much as +we could and hardly saw a soul for hours, and though I knew we were +getting into dangerous parts again, I hoped we might work through all +right. Of course I thought first about my errand, and my mind was on +every turn of the road and every speck in the landscape, but all the +same there was one corner of it—or of something—that didn't forget +that red-headed girl—not an instant. I kept wondering if I'd ever see +her again, and I was mighty clear that I would, if there was enough left +of me by the time I could get off duty to go and look her up. The touch +of her hands stayed with me all day.</p> + +<p>"About two o'clock or so we passed a house, just a cabin, but a neat +sort of place, and I looked at it as I did at everything, and saw an old +negro with grizzled hair standing some distance in front of it. Now +everything reminded me of that girl because she was on my mind, and +instantly I was struck with the idea, that the old fellow looked like +the servant who had been locking the bag in the house by Germania Ford. +I wasn't sure it was the same darky, but I thought I'd see. There was a +patch of woods back of the house, and I ordered the party to wait there +till I joined them, and I threw my bridle to a soldier and turned in at +the gate. The man loped out for the house, but I halted him. Then I went +along past the negro to the cabin, and opened the door, which had been +shut tight.</p> + +<p>"There was a table littered with papers in the middle of the room, and +behind it, in a gray riding-habit, with a gray soldier-cap on her red +hair, writing for dear life, sat the girl. She lifted her head quick, as +the door swung open, and then made a jump to get between me and the +table. I took off my cap, and said I:</p> + +<p>"'I'm very glad to see you. I was just wondering if we'd ever meet +again.' She only stared at me. Then I said: 'I'm sorry, but I'll have to +ask you for those papers.' I knew by the look of them that they were +some sort of despatches.</p> + +<p>"At that she laughed in a kind of a friendly, cocksure way. She wasn't +afraid of anything, that girl. 'No,' she threw at me—just like +that—'No.'" The General tossed back his big head and did a poor +imitation of a girl's light tone—a poor imitation, but the way he did +it was winning. "'No,' said she, shaking her head sidewise. 'You can't +have those papers—not ever,' and with that she swept them together and +popped them into a drawer of the table and then hopped up on the table +and sat there laughing at me, with her little riding-hoots swinging. 'At +least, unless you knock me down, and I don't believe you'll do that,' +said she.</p> + +<p>"Well, I had to have those papers. I didn't know how important they +might be, but if this girl was sending information to the Southern +commanders I was inclined to think it would be accurate and worth while. +It wouldn't do not to capture it. At the same time I wouldn't have laid +a finger on her, to compel her, for a million dollars. I stood and +stared like a blockhead for a minute, at my wit's end, and she sat there +and smiled. All of a sudden I had an idea. I caught the end of the table +and tipped it up, and off slid the young lady, and I snatched at the +knob of the drawer, and had the papers in a second.</p> + +<p>"It was simple, but it worked. Then it was her turn to look foolish. Of +course she had a temper, with that colored hair, and she was raging. She +looked at me as if she'd like to tear me to pieces. There wasn't +anything she could say, however, and not lose her dignity, and I guess +she pretty nearly exploded for a minute, and then, in a flash, the joke +of it struck her. Her eyes began to dance, and she laughed because she +couldn't help it, and I with her. For a whole minute we forgot what a +big business we were both after, and acted like two children.</p> + +<p>"'That's right,' said I finally. 'I had to get them, but I did it in the +kindest spirit. I see you understand that.'</p> + +<p>"'Oh, I don't care,' she answered with her chin up—a little way she +had. 'They're not much, anyway. I hadn't got to the important part.'</p> + +<p>"'Won't you finish?' said I politely, and pretended to offer her the +papers—and then I got serious. 'What are you doing here?' I asked her. +'Where are you going?'</p> + +<p>"She looked up at me, and—I knew she liked me. She caught her breath +before she answered. 'What right have you got to ask me questions?' said +she, making a bluff at righteous indignation.</p> + +<p>"But I just gripped her fingers into mine—it was getting to be a habit, +holding her hand.</p> + +<p>"'And what are <i>you</i> doing here?' she went on saucily, but her voice was +a whisper, and she let her hand lie.</p> + +<p>"'I'll tell you what I'm doing,' said I. 'I'm obeying the Bible. My +Bible tells me to love my enemies, and I'm going to. I do,' said I. +'What does your Bible tell you?'</p> + +<p>"'My Bible tells me to resist the devil and he will flee from me,' she +answered back like a flash, standing up straight and looking at me +squarely, as solemn as a church.</p> + +<p>"'Well, I guess I'm not that kind of a devil,' said I. 'I don't want to +flee worth a cent.'</p> + +<p>"And at that she broke into a laugh and showed all her little teeth at +me. That was one of the prettiest things about her, the row of small +white teeth she showed every time she laughed.</p> + +<p>"'Just at that second the old negro stuck his head in at the door. +'We're busy, uncle,' said I. 'I'll give you five dollars for five +minutes.'</p> + +<p>"But the girl put her hand on my arm to stop me, 'What is it, Uncle +Ebenezer?' she asked him anxiously.</p> + +<p>"'It's young Marse, Miss Lindy,' the man said, 'Him'n Marse Philip +Breck'nridge 'n' Marse Tom's ridin' down de branch right now. Close to +hyer—dey'll be hyer in fo'-five minutes.'</p> + +<p>"She nodded at him coolly. 'All right. Shut the door, Uncle Ebenezer,' +said she, and he went out and shut it.</p> + +<p>"And before I could say Jack Robinson she was dragging me into the next +room, and pushing me out of a door at the back.</p> + +<p>"'Go—hurry up—oh, go!' she begged. 'I won't let them take you.'</p> + +<p>"Well, I didn't like to leave her suddenly like that, so I said, said I: +'What's the hurry? I want to tell you something.'</p> + +<p>"'<i>No</i>,' she shot at me. 'You can't. Go—won't you, please go?' Then I +picked up a little hand and hold it against my coat. I knew by now just +how she would catch her breath when I did it."</p> + +<p>At about this point the General forgot me. Such good comrades we were +that my presence did not trouble him, but as for telling the story to +me, that was past—he was living it over, to himself alone, with every +nerve in action.</p> + +<p>"'Look here,' said I, 'I don't believe a thing like this ever happened +on the globe before, but this has. It's so—I love you, and I believe +you love me, and I'm not going till you tell me so.'</p> + +<p>"By that time she was in a fit. 'They'll be here in two minutes; they're +Confederate officers. Oh, and you mustn't cross at Kelly's Ford—take +the ford above it'—and she thumped me excitedly with the hand I held. +I laughed, and she burst out again: 'They'll take you—oh, please go!'</p> + +<p>"'Tell me, then,' said I, and she stopped half a second, and gasped +again, and looked up in my eyes and said it. 'I love you,' said she. And +she meant it.</p> + +<p>"'Give me a kiss,' said I, and I leaned close to her, but she pulled +away.</p> + +<p>"'Oh, no—oh, please go now,' she begged.</p> + +<p>"'All right,' said I, 'but you don't know what you're missing,' and I +slid out of the back door at the second the Southerners came in at the +front.</p> + +<p>"There were bushes back there, and I crawled behind them and looked +through into the window, and what do you suppose I saw? I saw the +biggest and best-looking man of the three walk up to the girl who'd just +told me she loved me, and I saw her put up her face and give him the +kiss she wouldn't give me. Well, I went smashing down to the woods, +making such a rumpus that if those officers had been half awake they'd +have been after me twice over. I was so maddened at the sight of that +kiss that I didn't realize what I was doing or that I was endangering +the lives of my men. 'Of course,' said I to myself, 'it's her brother or +her cousin,' but I knew it was a hundred to one that it wasn't, and I +was in a mighty bad temper.</p> + +<p>"I got my men away from the neighborhood quietly, and we rode pretty +cautiously all that afternoon, I knew the road leading to Kelly's Ford, +and I bore to the north, away from there, for I trusted the girl and +believed I'd be safe if I followed her orders. She'd saved my life twice +that day, so I had reason to trust her. But all the time as I jogged +along I was wondering about that man, and wondering what the dickens she +was up to, anyway, and why she was travelling in the same direction that +I was, and where she was going—and over and over I wondered if I'd over +see her again. I felt sure I would, though—I couldn't imagine not +seeing her, after what she'd said. I didn't even know her name, except +that the old negro had called her 'Miss Lindy.' I said that a lot of +times to myself as I rode, with the men's bits jingling at my buck and +their horses' hoofs thud-thudding. 'Lindy—Miss Lindy—Linda—my +Linda—I said it half aloud. It kept first-rate time to the +hoof-beats—'Lindy—Miss Lindy.'</p> + +<p>"I wondered, too, why she wouldn't let me cross the Rappahannock by +Kelly's Ford, for I had reason to think there'd be a Union post on the +east side of the river there, but there was a sense of brains and +capability about the girl, as well as charm—in fact, that's likely to +be a large part of any real charm—and so I trusted to her.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="illustr-05.jpg" id="illustr-05.jpg"></a><img src="images/illustr-05.jpg" width="366" height="560" alt="I got behind a turn and fired as a man came on alone." /></p> + +<p class="caption">"I got behind a turn and fired as a man came on alone."</p> + +<p>"Well, late in the afternoon we were trotting along, feeling pretty +secure. I'd left the Kelly's Ford road at the last turn, and was +beginning to think that we ought to be within a few miles of the river, +when all of a sudden, coming out of some woods into a small clearing +with a farmhouse about the centre of it, we rode on a strong outpost of +the enemy, infantry and cavalry both. We were in the open before I saw +them, so there was nothing to do but make a dash for it and rush past +the cabin before they could reach their arms, and we drew our revolvers +and put the spurs in deep and flew past with a fire that settled some +of them. But a surprise of this sort doesn't last long, and it was only +a few minutes before they were after us—and with fresh mounts. Then it +was a horse-race for the river, and I wasn't certain of the roads. +However, I knew a trick or two about this business, and I was sure some +of the pursuers would forge ahead; so three times I got behind a turn +and fired as a man came on alone. I dismounted several that way. This +relieved the strain enough so that I got within sight of the river with +all my men. It was a quarter of a mile away when I saw it, and at that +point the road split, and which branch led to the ford for the life of +me I didn't know. There wasn't time for meditation, however, so I shot +down the turn to the left, on the gamble, and sure enough there was the +ford—only it wasn't any ford. The Rappahannock was full to the banks +and perhaps two hundred yards across. The Confederates were within +rifle-shot, so there were exactly two things to do—surrender or swim. I +gave my men the choice—to follow me or be captured—and I plunged in, +without any of them."</p> + +<p>"What!" I demanded here, puzzled. "Didn't the men know how to swim?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, they knew how," the General answered, and looked embarrassed.</p> + +<p>"Well, then, why didn't they?" It began to dawn on me, "Were they +afraid—was it dangerous—was the river swift?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," he acknowledged. "The river was swift—it was a foaming torrent."</p> + +<p>"They were afraid—all ten of them—and you weren't—you alone?" The +General looked annoyed. "I didn't want to be captured," he explained +crossly. "I had the despatches besides." He went on: "I slipped off my +horse, keeping hold of the bridle to guide him, and swam low beside him, +because they were firing from the bank. But all at once the shots +stopped, and I heard shouting, and shortly after I got a glimpse, over +my horse's back, of a rider in the water near me, and there was a flash +of a gray cap. One of the Southerners was swimming after me, and I was +due for a tussle when we landed. I made it first. I scrambled to shore +and snatched out my sword—the pistols were wet—and rushed for the +other man as he jumped to the bank, and just as I got to him—just in +time—I saw him. It wasn't him—it was her—the girl. Heavens!" gasped +the General; "she gave me a start that time. I dropped my sword on the +ground, I was so surprised, and stared at her with my mouth open.</p> + +<p>"'Oo-ee!' said that girl, shaking her skirt, as calm as a May morning. +'Oo-ee!' like a baby crowing. 'My, but that's a cold river!' And her +teeth chattered.</p> + +<p>"Well, that time I didn't ask permission. I took her in my arms and held +her—I had to, to keep her warm. Couldn't let her stand there and click +her teeth—could I? And she didn't fight me. 'What did you do such a +crazy thing for?' asked I.</p> + +<p>"'Well, you're mighty par-particular,' said she as saucy as you please, +but still shivering so she couldn't talk straight. 'They were popping +g-guns at you—that's what for. Roger's a right bad shot, but he might +have hit you.'</p> + +<p>"'And he might, have hit you,' said I. 'Did you happen to think of +that?'</p> + +<p>"She just laughed. 'Oh, no—they wouldn't risk hitting me. I'm too +valuable—that's why I jumped in—to protect you.'</p> + +<p>"'Oh!' said I. 'I'm a delicate flower, it seems. You've been protecting +me all day. Who's Roger?'</p> + +<p>"'My brother,' said she, smiling up at me.</p> + +<p>"'Was that the man you kissed in the cabin back yonder?'</p> + +<p>"'Shame!' said she. 'You peeped.'</p> + +<p>"'Was it?' I insisted, for I wanted to know. And she told me.</p> + +<p>"'Yes,' she told me, in that low voice of hers that was hard to hear, +only it paid to listen.</p> + +<p>"'Did you ever kiss any other man?' said I.</p> + +<p>"'It's none of your business,' said the girl. 'But I didn't—the way you +mean.'</p> + +<p>"'Well, it wouldn't make any difference, anyway—nothing would,' I said. +'Except this—are you ever going to?'</p> + +<p>"All this time that bright-colored head of hers was on my shoulder, +Confederate cap and all, and I was afraid of my life to stir, for fear +she'd take it away. But when I said that I put my face down against +hers and repeated the question, 'Are you ever going to?'</p> + +<p>"It seemed like ages before she answered and I was scared—yet she +didn't pull away,—and finally the words came—low, but I heard. 'One,' +said she. 'If he wants it.'</p> + +<p>"Then—" the General stopped suddenly, and the splendid claret and +honey color of his cheeks went a dark shade more to claret. He had come +to from his trance, and remembered me. "I don't know why I'm telling you +all these details," he declared abruptly. "I suppose you're tired to +death listening." His alert eyes questioned me.</p> + +<p>"General," I begged, "don't stop like that again. Don't leave out a +syllable. 'Then—'"</p> + +<p>But he threw back his head boyishly and laughed with a touch of +self-consciousness. "No, madam, I won't tell you about 'then.' I'll +leave so much to your imagination. I guess you're equal to it. It wasn't +a second anyway before she gave a jump that took her six feet from me, +and there she was tugging at the girth of her saddle.</p> + +<p>"'Quick—change the saddles!' she ordered me. 'I must be out of my mind +to throw away time when your life's in danger. They're coming around by +the bridge,' she explained, 'two miles down. And you have to have a +fresh mount. They'd catch you on that.' She threw a contemptuous glance +at my tired brute, and began unbuckling the wet straps with her little +wet fingers.</p> + +<p>"'Don't do that,' said I. 'Let me.' But she pushed me away. 'Mustn't +waste time.' She gave her orders as business-like as an officer. 'Do +your own saddle while I attend to this. Zero can run right away from +anything they're riding—from anything at all. Can't you, Zero?' and she +gave the horse a quick pat in between unbuckling. He was a powerful, +rangy bay, and not winded by his run and his swim. 'He's my father's,' +she went on. 'He'll carry you through to General Hooker's camp at +Falmouth—he knows that camp. It's twenty-five miles yet, and you've +ridden fifty to-day, poor boy.'</p> + +<p>"I wish I could tell you how pretty her voice was when she said things +like that, as if she cared that I'd had a strenuous day and was a little +tired.</p> + +<p>"'How do you know I'm going to Falmouth? How do you know how far I've +ridden?' I asked her, astonished again.</p> + +<p>"'I'm a witch,' she said. 'I find out everything about you-all by magic, +and then I tell our officers. They know it's so if I tell them. Ask +Stonewall Jackson how he discovered the road to take his cavalry around +for the attack on Howard. I reckon I helped a lot at Chancellorsville.'</p> + +<p>"'Do you reckon you're helping now?' I asked, throwing my saddle over +Zero's back. 'Strikes me you're giving aid and comfort to the enemy hand +over fist.'</p> + +<p>"That girl surprised me whatever she did, and the reason was—I figured +it out afterward—that she let herself be what few people let themselves +be—absolutely straightforward. She had the gentlest ways, but she +always hit straight from the shoulder, and that's likely to surprise +people. This time she took three steps to where I stood by Zero and +caught my finger in the middle of pulling up the cinch and held to it.</p> + +<p>"'I'm not a traitor,' she threw at me. 'I'm loyal to my people, and +you're my enemy—and I'm saving you from them. But it's you—it's you,' +she whispered, looking up at me. It was getting dark by now, but I could +see her eyes. 'When you put your hand over mine this morning it was like +somebody'd telegraphed that the one man was coming; and then I looked at +you, and I knew he'd got there. I've never bothered about men—mostly +they're not worth while, when there are horses—but ever since I've been +grown I've known that you'd come some time, and that I'd know you when +you came. Do you think I'm going to let you be taken—shot, maybe? Not +much—I'll guard your life with every breath of mine—and I'll keep it +safe, too.'</p> + +<p>"Now, wasn't that a strange way for a girl to talk? Did you ever hear of +another woman who could talk that way, and live up to it?" he demanded +of me unexpectedly.</p> + +<p>I was afraid to say the wrong thing and I spoke timidly. "What did you +do then?"</p> + +<p>He gave me a glance smouldering with mischief. "I didn't do it. I tried +to, but she wouldn't let me.</p> + +<p>"'Hurry, hurry,' said she, in a panic all of a sudden. 'They'll be +coming. Zero's fast, but you ought to get a good start.'</p> + +<p>"And she hustled me on the horse. And just as I was off, as I bent from +the saddle to catch her hand for the last time, she gave me two more +shocks together." Silent reminiscent laughter shook him.</p> + +<p>"'When am I going to see you again?' asked I hopelessly, for I felt as +if everything was mighty uncertain, and I couldn't bear to leave her.</p> + +<p>"'To-morrow,' said she, prompt as taxes. 'To-morrow. Good-by, Captain +Carruthers.'</p> + +<p>"And she gave the horse a slap that scared him into a leap, and off I +went galloping into darkness, with my brain in a whirl as to where I +could see her to-morrow, and how under creation she knew my name. The +cold bath had refreshed me—I hadn't had the like of it for nine +days—and I galloped on for a while feeling fine, and thinking mighty +hard about the girl I'd left behind me. Twenty-four hours before I'd +never seen her, yet I felt, as if I had known her all my life. I was +sure of this, that in all my days I'd never seen anybody like her, and +never would. And that's true to this minute. I'd had sweethearts +a-plenty—in a way—but the affair of that day was the only time I was +ever in love in my life."</p> + +<p>To tell the truth I had been a little scandalized all through this +story, for I knew well enough that there was a Mrs. Carruthers. I had +not met her—she had been South through the months which her husband had +spent in New York—but the General's strong language concerning the +red-haired girl made me sympathize with his wife, and this last +sentiment was staggering. Poor Mrs. Carruthers! thought I—poor, staid +lady, with this gay lad of a husband declaring his heart forever buried +with the adventure of a day of long ago. Yet, a soldier boy of +twenty-three—the romance of war-time—the glamour of lost love—there +were certainly alleviating circumstances. At all events, it was not my +affair—I could enjoy the story as it came with a clear conscience. So I +smiled at the wicked General—who looked as innocent as a baby—and he +went on.</p> + +<p>"I knew every road on that side the river, and I knew the Confederates +wouldn't dare chase me but a few miles, as it wasn't their country any +longer, so pretty soon I began to take things easy. I thought over +everything that had happened through the day, everything she'd said and +done, every look—I could remember it all. I can now. I wondered who +under heaven she was, and I kicked myself that I hadn't asked her name. +'Lindy'—that's all I knew, and I guess I said that over a hundred +times. I wondered why she'd told me not to go to Kelly's Ford, but I +worked that out the right way—as I found later—that her party expected +to cross there, and she didn't want me to encounter them; and then the +river was too full and they tried a higher ford. And I'd run into them. +Yet I couldn't understand why she planned to cross at Kelly's, anyway, +because there was pretty sure to be a Union outpost on the east bank +there, and she'd have landed right among them. That puzzled me. Who was +the girl, and why on earth was she travelling in that direction, and +where could she be going? I went over that problem again and again, and +couldn't find an answer.</p> + +<p>"Meanwhile it was getting late, and the bracing effect of the cold +water of the Rappahannock was wearing off, and I began to feel the +fatigue of an exciting day and a seventy-five-mile ride—on top of +nine other days with little to eat and not much rest. My wet clothes +chilled me, and the last few miles I have never been able to remember +distinctly—I think I was misty in my mind. At any rate, when I got to +headquarters camp I was just about clear enough to guide Zero through +the maze of tents, and not any more, and when the horse stopped with his +nose against the front pole of the general's fly I was unconscious."</p> + +<p>I exclaimed, horrified: "It was too much for human nature! You must have +been nearly dead. Did you fall off? Were you hurt?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no—I was all right," he said cheerfully. "I just sat there. But an +equestrian statue in front of the general's tent at 11 P.M. wasn't +usual, and there was a small sensation. It brought out the +adjutant-general and he recognized me, and they carried me into a tent, +and got a surgeon, and he had me stripped and rubbed and rolled in +blankets. They found the despatches in my boots, and those gave all the +information necessary. They found the letter, too, which Stoneman had +given me to hand back to General Ladd, and they didn't understand that, +as it was addressed simply to 'Miss Ladd, Ford Hall,' so they left it +till I waked up. That wasn't till noon the next day."</p> + +<p>The General began chuckling contagiously, and I was alive with curiosity +to know the coming joke.</p> + +<p>"I believe every officer in the camp, from the commanding general down, +had sent me clothes. When I unclosed my eyes that tent was alive with +them. It was a spring opening, I can tell you—all sorts. Well, when I +got the meaning of the array, I lay there and laughed out loud, and an +orderly appeared at that, and then the adjutant-general, and I reported +to him. Then I got into an assortment of the clothes, and did my duty by +a pile of food and drink, and I was ready to start back to join my +chief. Except for the letter of General Ladd—I had to deliver that in +person to give the explanation. General Ladd had been wounded, I found, +at Chancellorsville, but would see me. So off I went to his tent, and +the orderly showed me in at once. He was in bed with his arm and +shoulder bandaged, and by his side, looking as fresh as a rose and as +mischievous as a monkey, sat a girl with red hair—Linda Ladd—Miss +Ladd, of Ford Hall—the old house where I first saw her. Her father +presented me in due form and told me to give her the letter and—that's +all."</p> + +<p>The General stopped short and regarded me quietly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but—" I stammered. "But that isn't all—why, I don't +understand—it's criminal not to tell the rest—there's a lot."</p> + +<p>"What do you want to hear?" he demanded, "I don't know any more—that's +all that happened."</p> + +<p>"Don't be brutal," I pleaded. "I want to know, for one thing, how she +knew your name."</p> + +<p>"Oh—that." He laughed like an amused child. "That was rather odd. You +remember I told you that when they were chasing us I took shelter and +shot the horses from under some of the Southerners."</p> + +<p>"I remember."</p> + +<p>"Well, the first man dismounted was Tom Ladd, the girl's cousin, who'd +been my classmate at the Point, and he recognized me. He ran back and +told them to make every effort to capture the party, as its leader was +Captain Carruthers, of Stoneman's staff, and undoubtedly carried +despatches."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" I said. "I see. And where was Miss Ladd going, travelling your way +all day?"</p> + +<p>"To see her wounded father at Falmouth, don't you understand? She'd had +word from him the day before. She was escorted by a strong party of +Confederates, including her brother and cousin. She started out with +just the old negro, and it was arranged that she should meet the party +at the cabin where I found her writing. They were to go with her to +Kelly's Ford, where she was to pass over to the Union post on the other +bank—she had a safe-conduct."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" I assimilated this. "And she and her brother were Confederates, +and the father was a Northern general—how extraordinary!"</p> + +<p>"Not in the least," the General corrected me. "It happened so in a +number of cases. She was a power in that campaign. She did more work +than either father or brother. A Southern officer told me afterward that +the men half believed what she said—that she was a witch, and got news +of our movements by magic. Nothing escaped her—she had a wonderful +mind, and did not know what fear was. A wonderful woman!"</p> + +<p>He was smiling to himself again as he sat, with his great shoulders bent +forward and his scarred hand on his knee, looking into the fire.</p> + +<p>"General," I said tentatively, "aren't you going to tell me what she +said when she saw you come into her father's tent?"</p> + +<p>"Said?" asked the General, looking up and frowning. "What could she say? +Good-morning, I guess."</p> + +<p>I wasn't afraid of his frown or of his hammer-and-tongs manner. I'd got +behind both before now. I persisted.</p> + +<p>"But I mean—what did you say to each other, like the day before—how +did it all come out?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, we couldn't do any love-making, if that's what you mean," he +explained in a business-like way, "because the old man was on deck. And +I had to leave in about ten minutes to ride back to join my command. +That was all there was to it."</p> + +<p>I sighed with disappointment. Of course I knew it was just an idyll of +youth, a day long, and that the book was closed forty years before. But +I could not bear to have it closed with a bang. Somewhere in the +narrative had come to me the impression that the heroine of it had died +young in those exciting war-times of long ago. I had a picture in my +mind of the dancing eyes closed meekly in a last sleep; of the young +officer's hand laid sorrowing on the bright halo of hair.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever see the girl again?" I asked softly.</p> + +<p>The General turned on me a quick, queer look. Fun was in it, and memory +gave it gentleness; yet there was impatience, too, at my slowness, in +the boyish brown eyes.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Carruthers has red hair," he said briefly.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="THROUGH_THE_IVORY_GATE" id="THROUGH_THE_IVORY_GATE"></a>THROUGH THE IVORY GATE</h2> + + +<p>Breeze-filtered through shifting leafage, the June morning sunlight came +in at the open window by the boy's bed, under the green shades, across +the shadowy, white room, and danced a noiseless dance of youth and +freshness and springtime against the wall opposite. The boy's head +stirred on his pillow. He spoke a quick word from out of his dream. "The +key?" he said inquiringly, and the sound of his own voice awoke him. +Dark, drowsy eyes opened, and he stared half seeing, at the picture that +hung facing him. Was it the play of mischievous sunlight, was it the +dream that still held his brain? He knew the picture line by line, and +there was no such figure in it. It was a large photograph of Fairfield, +the Southern home of his mother's people, and the boy remembered it +always hanging there, opposite his bed, the first sight to meet his eyes +every morning since his babyhood. So he was certain there was no figure +in it, more than all one so remarkable as this strapping little chap in +his queer clothes; his dress of conspicuous plaid with large black +velvet squares sewed on it, who stood now in front of the old +manor-house. Could it be only a dream? Could it be that a little ghost, +wandering childlike in dim, heavenly fields, had joined the gay troop of +his boyish visions and shipped in with them through the ivory gate of +pleasant dreams? The boy put his fists to his eyes and rubbed them and +looked again. The little fellow was still there, standing with sturdy +legs wide apart as if owning the scene; he laughed as he held toward the +boy a key—a small key tied with a scarlet ribbon. There was no doubt in +the boy's mind that the key was for him, and out of the dim world of +sleep he stretched his young arm for it; to reach it he sat up in bed. +Then he was awake and knew himself alone in the peace of his own little +room, and laughed shamefacedly at the reality of the vision which had +followed him from dreamland into the very boundaries of consciousness, +which held him even now with gentle tenacity, which drew him back +through the day, from his studies, from his play, into the strong +current of its fascination.</p> + +<p>The first time Philip Beckwith had this dream he was only twelve years +old, and, withheld by the deep reserve of childhood, he told not even +his mother about it, though he lived in its atmosphere all day and +remembered it vividly days longer. A year after it came again; and again +it was a June morning, and as his eyes opened the little boy came once +more out of the picture toward him, laughing and holding out the key on +its scarlet string. The dream was a pleasant one, and Philip welcomed it +eagerly from his sleep as a friend. There seemed something sweet and +familiar in the child's presence beyond the one memory of him, as again +the boy, with eyes half open to every-day life, saw him standing, small +but masterful, in the garden of that old house where the Fairfields had +lived for more than a century. Half consciously he tried to prolong the +vision, tried not to wake entirely for fear of losing it; but the +picture faded surely from the curtain of his mind as the tangible world +painted there its heavier outlines. It was as if a happy little spirit +had tried to follow him, for love of him, from a country lying close, +yet separated; it was as if the common childhood of the two made it +almost possible for them to meet; as if a message that might not be +spoken, were yet almost delivered.</p> + +<p>The third time the dream came it was a December morning of the year when +Philip was fifteen, and falling snow made wavering light and shadow on +the wall where hung the picture. This time, with eyes wide open, yet +with the possession of the dream strongly on him, he lay sub-consciously +alert and gazed, as in the odd, unmistakable dress that Philip knew now +in detail, the bright-faced child swung toward him, always from the +garden of that old place, always trying with loving, merry efforts to +reach Philip from out of it—always holding to him the red-ribboned key. +Like a wary hunter the big boy lay—knowing it unreal, yet living it +keenly—and watched his chance. As the little figure glided close to him +he put out his hand suddenly, swiftly for the key—he was awake. As +always, the dream was gone; the little ghost was baffled again; the two +worlds might not meet.</p> + +<p>That day Mrs. Beckwith, putting in order an old mahogany secretary, +showed him a drawer full of photographs, daguerrotypes. The boy and his +gay young mother were the best of friends, for, only nineteen when he +was born, she had never let the distance widen between them; had held +the freshness of her youth sacred against the time when he should share +it. Year by year, living in his enthusiasms, drawing him to hers, she +had grown young in his childhood, which year by year came closer to her +maturity. Until now there was between the tall, athletic lad and the +still young and attractive woman, an equal friendship, a common youth, +which gave charm and elasticity to the natural tie between them. Yet +even to this comrade-mother the boy had not told his dream, for the +difficulty of putting into words the atmosphere, the compelling power of +it. So that when she opened one of the old-fashioned black cases which +held the early sun-pictures, and showed him the portrait within, he +startled her by a sudden exclamation. From the frame of red velvet and +tarnished gilt there laughed up at him the little boy of his dream. +There was no mistaking him, and if there were doubt about the face, +there was the peculiar dress—the black and white plaid with large +squares of black velvet sewed here and there as decoration. Philip +stared in astonishment at the sturdy figure, the childish face with its +wide forehead and level, strong brows; its dark eyes straight-gazing and +smiling.</p> + +<p>"Mother—who is he? Who is he?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"Why, my lamb, don't you know? It's your little uncle Philip—my +brother, for whom you were named—Philip Fairfield the sixth. There was +always a Philip Fairfield at Fairfield since 1790. This one was the +last, poor baby! and he died when he was five. Unless you go back there +some day—that's my hope, but it's not likely to come true. You are a +Yankee, except for the big half of you that's me. That's Southern, every +inch." She laughed and kissed his fresh cheek impulsively. "But what +made you so excited over this picture, Phil?"</p> + +<p>Philip gazed down, serious, a little embarrassed, at the open case in +his hand. "Mother," he said after a moment, "you'll laugh at me, but +I've seen this chap in a dream three times now."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" She did laugh at him. "Oh, Philip! What have you been eating for +dinner, I'd like to know? I can't have you seeing visions of your +ancestors at fifteen—it's unhealthy."</p> + +<p>The boy, reddening, insisted. "But, mother, really, don't you think it +was queer? I saw him as plainly as I do now—and I've never seen this +picture before."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, you have—you must have seen it," his mother threw back +lightly. "You've forgotten, but the image of it was tucked away in some +dark corner of your mind, and when you were asleep it stole out and +played tricks on you. That's the way forgotten ideas do: they get even +with you in dreams for having forgotten them."</p> + +<p>"Mother, only listen—" But Mrs. Beckwith, her eyes lighting with a +swift turn of thought, interrupted him—laid her finger on his lips.</p> + +<p>"No—you listen, boy dear—quick, before I forget it! I've never told +you about this, and it's very interesting."</p> + +<p>And the youngster, used to these wilful ways of his sister-mother, +laughed and put his fair head against her shoulder and listened.</p> + +<p>"It's quite a romance," she began, "only there isn't any end to it; it's +all unfinished and disappointing. It's about this little Philip here, +whose name you have—my brother. He died when he was five, as I said, +but even then he had a bit of dramatic history in his life. He was born +just before war-time in 1859, and he was a beautiful and wonderful baby; +I can remember all about it, for I was six years older. He was incarnate +sunshine, the happiest child that ever lived, but far too quick and +clever for his years. The servants used to ask him, 'Who is you, Marse +Philip, sah?' to hear him answer, before he could speak it plainly, 'I'm +Philip Fairfield of Fairfield'; he seemed to realize that, and his +responsibility to them and to the place, as soon as he could breathe. He +wouldn't have a darky scolded in his presence, and every morning my +father put him in front of him in the saddle, and they rode together +about the plantation. My father adored him, and little Philip's sunshiny +way of taking possession of the slaves and the property pleased him more +deeply, I think, than anything in his life. But the war came before this +time, when the child was about a year old, and my father went off, of +course, as every Southern man went who could walk, and for a year we did +not see him. Then he was badly wounded at the battle of Malvern Hill; +and came home to get well. However, it was more serious than he knew, +and he did not get well. Twice he went off again to join our army, and +each time he was sent back within a month, too ill to be of any use. He +chafed constantly, of course, because he must stay at home and farm, +when his whole soul ached to be fighting for his flag; but finally in +December, 1863, he thought he was well enough at last for service. He +was to join General John Morgan, who had just made his wonderful escape +from prison at Columbus, and it was planned that my mother should take +little Philip and me to England to live there till the war was over and +we could all be together at Fairfield again. With that in view my +father drew all of his ready money—it was ten thousand dollars in +gold—from the banks in Lexington, for my mother's use in the years they +might be separated. When suddenly, the day before he was to have gone, +the old wound broke out again, and he was helplessly ill in bed at the +hour when he should have been on his horse riding toward Tennessee. We +were fifteen miles out from Lexington, yet it might be rumored that +father had drawn a large sum of money, and, of course, he was well known +as a Southern officer. Because of the Northern soldiers, who held the +city, he feared very much to have the money in the house, yet he hoped +still to join Morgan a little later, and then it would be needed as he +had planned. Christmas morning my father was so much better that my +mother went to church, taking me, and leaving little Philip, then four +years old, to amuse him. What happened that morning was the point of all +this rambling; so now listen hard, my precious thing."</p> + +<p>The boy, sitting erect now, caught his mother's hand silently, and his +eyes stared into hers as he drunk in every word:</p> + +<p>"Mammy, who was, of course, little Philip's nurse, told my mother +afterward that she was sent away before my father and the boy went into +the garden, but she saw them go and saw that my father had a tin box—a +box about twelve inches long, which seemed very heavy—in his arms, and +on his finger swung a long red ribbon with a little key strung on it. +Mother knew it as the key of the box, and she had tied the ribbon on it +herself.</p> + +<p>"It was a bright, crisp Christmas day, pleasant in the garden—the box +hedges were green and fragrant, aromatic in the sunshine. You don't even +know the smell of box in sunshine, you poor child! But I remember that +day, for I was ten years old, a right big girl, and it was a beautiful +morning for an invalid to take the air. Mammy said she was proud to see +how her 'handsome boy' kept step with his father, and she watched the +two until they got away down by the rose-garden, and then she couldn't +see little Philip behind the three-foot hedge, so she turned away. But +somewhere in that big garden, or under the trees beside it, my father +buried the box that held the money—ten thousand dollars. It shows how +he trusted that baby, that he took him with him, and you'll see how his +trust was only too well justified. For that evening, Christmas night, +very suddenly my father died—before he had time to tell my mother where +he had hidden the box. He tried; when consciousness came a few minutes +before the end he gasped out, 'I buried the money'—and then he choked. +Once again he whispered just two words: 'Philip knows.' And my mother +said, 'Yes, dearest—Philip and I will find it—don't worry, dearest,' +and that quieted him. She told me about it so many times.</p> + +<p>"After the funeral she took little Philip and explained to him as well +as she could that he must tell mother where he and father had put the +box, and—this is the point of it all, Philip—he wouldn't tell. She +went over and over it all, again and again, but it was no use. He had +given his word to my father never to tell, and he was too much of a baby +to understand how death had dissolved that promise. My mother tried +every way, of course, explanations and reasoning first, then pleading, +and finally severity; she even punished the poor little martyr, for it +was awfully important to us all. But the four-year-old baby was +absolutely incorruptible, he cried bitterly and sobbed out:</p> + +<p>"'Farver said I mustn't never tell anybody—never! Farver said Philip +Fairfield of Fairfield mustn't <i>never</i> bweak his words,' and that was +all.</p> + +<p>"Nothing could induce him to give the least hint. Of course there was +great search for it, but it was well hidden and it was never found. +Finally, mother took her obdurate son and me and came to New York with +us, and we lived on the little income which she had of her own. Her hope +was that as soon as Philip was old enough she could make him understand, +and go back with him and get that large sum lying underground—lying +there yet, perhaps. But in less than a year the little boy was dead and +the secret was gone with him."</p> + +<p>Philip Beckwith's eyes were intense and wide. The Fairfield eyes, brown +and brilliant, their young fire was concentrated on his mother's face.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that money is buried down there, yet, mother?" he asked +solemnly.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Beckwith caught at the big fellow's sleeve with slim fingers. +"Don't go to-day, Phil—wait till after lunch, anyway!"</p> + +<p>"Please don't make fun, mother—I want to know about it. Think of it +lying there in the ground!"</p> + +<p>"Greedy boy! We don't need money now, Phil. And the old place will be +yours when I am dead—" The lad's arm went about his mother's shoulders. +"Oh, but I'm not going to die for ages! Not till I'm a toothless old +person with side curls, hobbling along on a stick. Like this!"—she +sprang to her feet and the boy laughed a great peal at the hag-like +effect as his young mother threw herself into the part. She dropped on +the divan again at his side.</p> + +<p>"What I meant to tell you was that your father thinks it very unlikely +that the money is there yet, and almost impossible that we could find it +in any case. But some day when the place is yours you can have it put +through a sieve if you choose. I wish I could think you would ever live +there, Phil; but I can't imagine any chance by which you should. I +should hate to have you sell it—it has belonged to a Philip Fairfield +so many years."</p> + +<p>A week later the boy left his childhood by the side of his mother's +grave. His history for the next seven years may go in a few lines. +School days, vacations, the four years at college, outwardly the +commonplace of an even and prosperous development, inwardly the infinite +variety of experience by which each soul is a person; the result of the +two so wholesome a product of young manhood that no one realized under +the frank and open manner a deep reticence, an intensity, a +sensitiveness to impressions, a tendency toward mysticism which made the +fibre of his being as delicate as it was strong.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, in a turn of the wheel, all the externals of his life changed. +His rich father died penniless and he found himself on his own hands, +and within a month the boy who had owned five polo ponies was a +hard-working reporter on a great daily. The same quick-wittedness and +energy which had made him a good polo player made him a good reporter. +Promotion came fast and, as those who are busiest have most time to +spare, he fell to writing stories. When the editor of a large magazine +took one, Philip first lost respect for that dignified person, then felt +ashamed to have imposed on him, then rejoiced utterly over the check. +After that editors fell into the habit; the people he ran against knew +about his books; the checks grew better reading all the time; a point +came where it was more profitable to stay at home and imagine events +than to go out and report them. He had been too busy as the days +marched, to generalize, but suddenly he knew that he was a successful +writer; that if he kept his head and worked, a future was before him. So +he soberly put his own English by the side of that of a master or two +from his book-shelves, to keep his perspective clear, and then he worked +harder. And it came to be five years after his father's death.</p> + +<p>At the end of those years three things happened at once. The young man +suddenly was very tired and knew that he needed the vacation he had gone +without; a check came in large enough to make a vacation easy—and he +had his old dream. His fagged brain had found it but another worry to +decide where he should go to rest, but the dream settled the vexed +question off-hand—he would go to Kentucky. The very thought of it +brought rest to him, for like a memory of childhood, like a bit of his +own soul, he knew the country—the "God's Country" of its people—which +he had never seen. He caught his breath as he thought of warm, sweet air +that held no hurry or nerve strain; of lingering sunny days whose hours +are longer than in other places; of the soft speech, the serene and +kindly ways of the people; of the royal welcome waiting for him as for +every one, heartfelt and heart-warming; he knew it all from a daughter +of Kentucky—his mother. It was May now, and he remembered she had told +him that the land was filled with roses at the end of May—he would go +then. He owned the old place, Fairfield, and he had never seen it. +Perhaps it had fallen to pieces; perhaps his mother had painted it in +colors too bright; but it was his, the bit of the earth that belonged to +him. The Anglo-Saxon joy of land-owning stirred for the first time +within him—he would go to his own place. Buoyant with the new thought +he sat down and wrote a letter. A cousin of the family, of a younger +branch, a certain John Fairfield, lived yet upon the land. Not in the +great house, for that had been closed many years, but in a small house +almost as old, called Westerly. Philip had corresponded with him once or +twice about affairs of the estate, and each letter of the older man's +had brought a simple and urgent invitation to come South and visit him. +So, pleased as a child with the plan, he wrote that he was coming on a +certain Thursday, late in May. The letter sent, he went about in a dream +of the South, and when its answer, delighted and hospitable, came +simultaneously with one of those bleak and windy turns of weather which +make New York, even in May, a marvellously fitting place to leave, he +could not wait. Almost a week ahead of his time he packed his bag and +took the Southwestern Limited, and on a bright Sunday morning he awoke +in the old Phoenix Hotel in Lexington. He had arrived too late the night +before to make the fifteen miles to Fairfield, but he had looked over +the horses in the livery-stable and chosen the one he wanted, for he +meant to go on horseback, as a Southern gentleman should, to his domain. +That he meant to go alone, that no one, not even John Fairfield, knew of +his coming, was not the least of his satisfactions, for the sight of the +place of his forefathers, so long neglected, was becoming suddenly a +sacred thing to him. The old house and its young owner should meet each +other like sweethearts, with no eyes to watch their greeting, their slow +and sweet acquainting; with no living voices to drown the sound of the +ghostly voices that must greet his home-coming from those walls—voices +of his people who had lived there, voices gone long since into eternal +silence.</p> + +<p>A little crowd of loungers stared with frank admiration at the young +fellow who came out smiling from the door of the Phoenix Hotel, big and +handsome in his riding clothes, his eyes taking in the details of +girths and bits and straps with the keenness of a horseman.</p> + +<p>Philip laughed as he swung into the saddle and looked down at the +friendly faces, most of them black faces, below, "Good-by," he said. +"Wish me good luck, won't you?" and a willing chorus of "Good luck, +boss," came flying after him as the horse's hoofs clattered down the +street.</p> + +<p>Through the bright drowsiness of the little city he rode in the early +Sunday morning, and his heart sang for joy to feel himself again across +a horse, and for the love of the place that warmed him already. The sun +shone hotly, but he liked it; he felt his whole being slipping into +place, fitting to its environment; surely, in spite of birth and +breeding, he was Southern born and bred, for this felt like home more +than any home he had known!</p> + +<p>As he drew away from the city, every little while, through stately +woodlands, a dignified sturdy mansion peeped down its long vista of +trees at the passing cavalier, and, enchanted with its beautiful +setting, with its air of proud unconsciousness, he hoped each time that +Fairfield would look like that. If he might live here—and go to New +York, to be sure, two or three times a year to keep the edge of his +brain sharpened—but if he might live his life as these people lived, in +this unhurried atmosphere, in this perfect climate, with the best things +in his reach for every-day use; with horses and dogs, with out-of-doors +and a great, lovely country to breathe in; with—he smiled vaguely—with +sometime perhaps a wife who loved it as he did—he would ask from earth +no better life than that. He could write, he felt certain, better and +larger things in such surroundings.</p> + +<p>But he pulled himself up sharply as he thought how idle a day-dream it +was. As a fact, he was a struggling young author, he had come South for +two weeks' vacation, and on the first morning he was planning to live +here—he must be light-headed. With a touch of his heel and a word and a +quick pull on the curb, his good horse broke into a canter, and then, +under the loosened rein, into a rousing gallop, and Philip went dashing +down the country road, past the soft, rolling landscape, and under cool +caves of foliage, vivid with emerald greens of May, thoughts and dreams +all dissolved in exhilaration of the glorious movement, the nearest +thing to flying that the wingless animal, man, may achieve.</p> + +<p>He opened his coat as the blood rushed faster through him, and a paper +fluttered from his pocket. He caught it, and as he pulled the horse to a +trot, he saw that it was his cousin's letter. So, walking now along the +brown shadows and golden sunlight of the long white pike, he fell to +wondering about the family he was going to visit. He opened the folded +letter and read:</p> + +<p>"My dear Cousin," it said—the kinship was the first thought in John +Fairfield's mind—"I received your welcome letter on the 14th. I am +delighted that you are coming at last to Kentucky, and I consider that +it is high time you paid Fairfield, which has been the cradle of your +stock for many generations, the compliment of looking at it. We closed +our house in Lexington three weeks ago, and are settled out here now for +the summer, and find it lovelier than ever. My family consists only of +myself and Shelby, my one child, who is now twenty-two years of age. We +are both ready to give you an old-time Kentucky welcome, and Westerly is +ready to receive you at any moment you wish to come."</p> + +<p>The rest was merely arrangement for meeting the traveller, all of which +was done away with by his earlier arrival.</p> + +<p>"A prim old party, with an exalted idea of the family," commented Philip +mentally. "Well-to-do, apparently, or he wouldn't be having a winter +house in the city. I wonder what the boy Shelby is like. At twenty-two +he should be doing something more profitable than spending an entire +summer out here, I should say."</p> + +<p>The questions faded into the general content of his mind at the glimpse +of another stately old pillared homestead, white and deep down its +avenue of locusts. At length he stopped his horse to wait for a ragged +negro trudging cheerfully down the road.</p> + +<p>"Do you know a place around here called Fairfield?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yessah. I does that, sah. It's that ar' place right hyeh, sah, by yo' +hoss. That ar's Fahfiel'. Shall I open the gate fo' you, boss?" and +Philip turned to see a hingeless ruin of boards held together by the +persuasion of rusty wire.</p> + +<p>"The home of my fathers looks down in the mouth," he reflected aloud.</p> + +<p>The old negro's eyes, gleaming from under shaggy sheds of eyebrows, +watched him, and he caught the words.</p> + +<p>"Is you a Fahfiel', boss?" he asked eagerly. "Is you my young Marse?" He +jumped at the conclusion promptly. "You favors de fam'ly mightily, sah. +I heard you was comin'"; the rag of a hat went off and he bowed low. +"Hit's cert'nly good news fo' Fahfiel', Marse Philip, hit's mighty good +news fo' us niggers, sah. I'se b'longed to the Fahfiel' fam'ly a hund'ed +years, Marse—me and my folks, and I wishes yo' a welcome home, +sah—welcome home, Marse Philip."</p> + +<p>Philip bent with a quick movement from his horse, and gripped the +twisted old black hand, speechless. This humble welcome on the highway +caught at his heart deep down, and the appeal of the colored people to +Southerners, who know them, the thrilling appeal of a gentle, loyal +race, doomed to live forever behind a veil and hopeless without +bitterness, stirred for the first time his manhood. It touched him to be +taken for granted as the child of his people; it pleased him that he +should be "Marse Philip" as a matter of course, because there had always +been a Marse Philip at the place. It was bred deeper in the bone of him +than he knew, to understand the soul of the black man; the stuff he was +made of had been Southern two hundred years.</p> + +<p>The old man went off down the white limestone road singing to himself, +and Philip rode slowly under the locusts and beeches up the long drive, +grass-grown and lost in places, that wound through the woodland +three-quarters of a mile to his house. And as he moved through the park, +through sunlight and shadow of these great trees that were his, he felt +like a knight of King Arthur, like some young knight long exiled, at +last coming to his own. He longed with an unreasonable seizure of +desire to come here to live, to take care of it, beautify it, fill it +with life and prosperity as it had once been filled, surround it with +cheerful faces of colored people whom he might make happy and +comfortable. If only he had money to pay off the mortgage, to put the +place once in order, it would be the ideal setting for the life that +seemed marked out for him—the life of a writer.</p> + +<p>The horse turned a corner and broke into a canter up the slope, and as +the shoulder of the hill fell away there stood before him the picture of +his childhood come to life, smiling drowsily in the morning sunlight +with shuttered windows that were its sleeping eyes—the great white +house of Fairfield. Its high pillars reached to the roof; its big wings +stretched away at either side; the flicker of the shadow of the leaves +played over it tenderly and hid broken bits of woodwork, patches of +paint cracked away, window-panes gone here and there. It stood as if too +proud to apologize or to look sad for such small matters, as serene, as +stately as in its prime. And its master, looking at it for the first +time, loved it.</p> + +<p>He rode around to the side and tied his mount to an old horse-rack, and +then walked up the wide front steps as if each lift were an event. He +turned the handle of the big door without much hope that it would yield, +but it opened willingly, and he stood inside. A broom lay in a corner, +windows were open—his cousin had been making ready for him. There was +the huge mahogany sofa, horse-hair-covered, in the window under the +stairs, where his mother had read "Ivanhoe" and "The Talisman." Philip +stepped softly across the wide hall and laid his head where must have +rested the brown hair of the little girl who had come to be, first all +of his life, and then its dearest memory. Half an hour he spent in the +old house, and its walls echoed to his footsteps as if in ready homage, +and each empty room whose door he opened met him with a sweet half +familiarity. The whole place was filled with the presence of the child +who had loved it and left it, and for whom this tall man, her child, +longed now as if for a little sister who should be here, and whom he +missed. With her memory came the thought of the five-year-old uncle who +had made history for the family so disastrously. He must see the garden +where that other Philip had gone with his father to hide the money on +the fated Christmas morning. He closed the house door behind him +carefully, as if he would not disturb a little girl reading in the +window, a little boy sleeping perhaps in the nursery above. Then he +walked down the broad sweep of the driveway, the gravel crunching under +the grass, and across what had been a bit of velvet lawn, and stood for +a moment with his hand on a broken vase, weed-filled, which capped the +stone post of a gateway.</p> + +<p>All the garden was misty with memories. Where a tall golden flower +nodded alone, from out of the tangled thicket of an old flower-bed, a +bright-haired child might have laughed with just that air of startled, +gay naughtiness, from the forbidden centre of the blossoms. In the +moulded tan-bark of the path was a vague print, like the ghost of a +footprint that had passed down the way a lifetime ago. The box, half +dead, half sprouted into high unkept growth, still stood stiffly against +the riotous overflow of weeds as if it yet held loyally to its business +of guarding the borders, Philip shifted his gaze slowly, lingering over +the dim contours, the shadowy shape of what the garden had been. +Suddenly his eyes opened wide. How was this? There was a hedge as neat, +as clipped, as any of Southampton in mid-season, and over it a glory of +roses, red and white and pink and yellow, waved gay banners to him in +trim luxuriance. He swung toward them, and the breeze brought him for +the first time in his life the fragrance of box in sunshine.</p> + +<p>Four feet tall, shaven and thick and shining, the old hedge stood, and +the garnered sweetness of a hundred years' slow growth breathed +delicately from it toward the great-great-grandson of the man who +planted it. A box hedge takes as long in the making as a gentleman, and +when they are done the two are much of a sort. No plant in all the +garden has so subtle an air of breeding, so gentle a reserve, yet so +gracious a message of sweetness for all of the world who will stop to +learn it. It keeps a firm dignity under the stress of tempest when +lighter growths are tossed and torn; it shines bright through the snow; +it has a well-bred willingness to be background, with the well-bred gift +of presence, whether as background or foreground. The soul of the +box-tree is an aristocrat, and the sap that runs through it is the blue +blood of vegetation.</p> + +<p>Saluting him bravely in the hot sunshine with its myriad shining +sword-points, the old hedge sent out to Philip on the May breeze its +ancient welcome of aromatic fragrance, and the tall roses crowded gayly +to look over its edge at the new master. Slowly, a little dazed at this +oasis of shining order in the neglected garden, he walked to the opening +and stepped inside the hedge. The rose garden! The famous rose garden of +Fairfield, and as his mother had described it, in full splendor of +cared-for, orderly bloom. Across the paths he stepped swiftly till he +stood amid the roses, giant bushes of Jacqueminot and Maréchal Niel; of +pink and white and red and yellow blooms in thick array. The glory of +them intoxicated him. That he should own all of this beauty seemed too +good to be true, and instantly he wanted to taste his ownership. The +thought came to him that he would enter into his heritage with strong +hands here in the rose garden; he caught a deep-red Jacqueminot almost +roughly by its gorgeous head and broke off the stem. He would gather a +bunch, a huge, unreasonable bunch of his own flowers. Hungrily he broke +one after another; his shoulders bent over them, he was deep in the +bushes.</p> + +<p>"I reckon I shall have to ask you not to pick any more of those roses," +a voice said.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="illustr-06.jpg" id="illustr-06.jpg"></a><img src="images/illustr-06.jpg" width="360" height="560" alt="I reckon I shall have to ask you not pick any more of +those roses, a voice said." /></p> + +<p class="caption">"I reckon I shall have to ask you not pick any more of those roses," a voice said.</p> + +<p>Philip threw up his head as if he had been shot; he turned sharply with +a great thrill, for he thought his mother spoke to him. Perhaps it was +only the Southern inflection so long unheard, perhaps the sunlight that +shone in his eyes dazzled him, but, as he stared, the white figure +before him seemed to him to look exactly as his mother had looked long +ago. Stumbling over his words, he caught at the first that came.</p> + +<p>"I—I think it's all right," he said.</p> + +<p>The girl smiled frankly, yet with a dignity in her puzzled air. "I'm +afraid I shall have to be right decided," she said. "These roses are +private property and I mustn't let you have them."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" Philip dropped the great bunch of gorgeous color guiltily by his +side, but still held tightly the prickly mass of stems, knowing his +right, yet half wondering if he could have made a mistake. He stammered:</p> + +<p>"I thought—to whom do they belong?"</p> + +<p>"They belong to my cousin, Mr. Philip Fairfield Beckwith"—the sound of +his own name was pleasant as the falling voice strayed through it. "He +is coming home in a few days, so I want them to look their prettiest for +him—for his first sight of them. I take care of this rose garden," she +said, and laid a motherly hand on the nearest flower. Then she smiled. +"It doesn't seem right hospitable to stop you, but if you will come over +to Westerly, to our house, father will be glad to see you, and I will +certainly give you all the flowers you want." The sweet and masterful +apparition looked with a gracious certainty of obedience straight into +Philip's bewildered eyes.</p> + + +<p>"The boy Shelby!" Many a time in the months after Philip Beckwith +smiled to himself reminiscently, tenderly, as he thought of "the boy +Shelby" whom he had read into John Fairfield's letter; "the boy Shelby" +who was twenty-two years old and the only child; "the boy Shelby" whom +he had blamed with such easy severity for idling at Fairfield; "the boy +Shelby" who was no boy at all, but this white flower of girlhood, +called—after the quaint and reasonable Southern way—as a boy is +called, by the surname of her mother's people.</p> + +<p>Toward Westerly, out of the garden of the old time, out of the dimness +of a forgotten past, the two took their radiant youth and the brightness +of to-day. But a breeze blew across the tangle of weeds and flowers as +they wandered away, and whispered a hope, perhaps a promise; for as it +touched them each tall stalk nodded gayly and the box hedges rustled +delicately an answering undertone. And just at the edge of the woodland, +before they were out of sight, the girl turned and threw a kiss back to +the roses and the box.</p> + +<p>"I always do that," she said. "I love them so!"</p> + +<p>Two weeks later a great train rolled into the Grand Central Station of +New York at half-past six at night, and from it stepped a monstrosity—a +young man without a heart. He had left all of it, more than he had +thought he owned, in Kentucky. But he had brought back with him memories +which gave him more joy than ever the heart had done, to his best +knowledge, in all the years. They were memories of long and sunshiny +days; of afternoons spent in the saddle, rushing through grassy lanes +where trumpet-flowers flamed over gray farm fences, or trotting slowly +down white roads; of whole mornings only an hour long, passed in the +enchanted stillness of an old garden; of gay, desultory searches through +its length and breadth, and in the park that held it, for buried +treasure: of moonlit nights; of roses and June and Kentucky—and always, +through all the memories, the presence that made them what they were, +that of a girl he loved.</p> + +<p>No word of love had been spoken, but the two weeks had made over his +life; and he went back to his work with a definite object, a hope +stronger than ambition, and, set to it as music to words, came +insistently another hope, a dream that he did not let himself dwell +on—a longing to make enough money to pay off the mortgage and put +Fairfield in order, and live and work there all his life—with Shelby. +That was where the thrill of the thought came in, but the place was very +dear to him in itself.</p> + +<p>The months went, and the point of living now were the mails from the +South, and the feast days were the days that brought letters from +Fairfield. He had promised to go back for a week at Christmas, and he +worked and hoarded all the months between with a thought which he did +not formulate, but which ruled his down-sitting and his up-rising, the +thought that if he did well and his bank account grew enough to justify +it he might, when he saw her at Christmas, tell her what he hoped; ask +her—he finished the thought with a jump of his heart. He never worked +harder or better, and each check that came in meant a step toward the +promised land; and each seemed for the joy that was in it to quicken his +pace, to lengthen his stride, to strengthen his touch. Early in November +he found one night when he came to his rooms two letters waiting for +him with the welcome Kentucky postmark. They were in John Fairfield's +handwriting and in his daughter's, and "<i>place aux dames</i>" ruled rather +than respect to age, for he opened Shelby's first. His eyes smiling, he +read it.</p> + +<p>"I am knitting you a diamond necklace for Christmas," she wrote. "Will +you like that? Or be sure to write me if you'd rather have me hunt in +the garden and dig you up a box of money. I'll tell you—there ought to +be luck in the day, for it was hidden on Christmas and it should be +found on Christmas; so on Christmas morning we'll have another look, and +if you find it I'll catch you 'Christmas gif'' as the darkies do, and +you'll have to give it to me, and if I find it I'll give it to you; so +that's fair, isn't it? Anyway—" and Philip's eyes jumped from line to +line, devouring the clear, running writing. "So bring a little present +with you, please—just a tiny something for me," she ended, "for I'm +certainly going to catch you 'Christmas gif'.'"</p> + +<p>Philip folded the letter back into its envelope and put it in his +pocket, and his heart felt warmer for the scrap of paper over it. Then +he cut John Fairfield's open dreamily, his mind still on the words he +had read, on the threat—"I'm going to catch you 'Christmas gif'.'" What +was there good enough to give her? Himself, he thought humbly, very far +from it. With a sigh that was not sad he dismissed the question and +began to read the other letter. He stood reading it by the fading light +from the window, his hat thrown by him on a chair, his overcoat still +on, and, as he read, the smile died from his face. With drawn brows he +read on to the end, and then the letter dropped from his fingers to the +floor and he did not notice; his eyes stared widely at the high building +across the street, the endless rows of windows, the lights flashing into +them here and there. But he saw none of it. He saw a stretch of quiet +woodland, an old house with great white pillars, a silent, neglected +garden, with box hedges sweet and ragged, all waiting for him to come +and take care of them—the home of his fathers, the home he had meant, +had expected—he knew it now—would be some day his own, the home he +had lost! John Fairfield's letter was to tell him that the mortgage on +the place, running now so many years, was suddenly to be foreclosed; +that, property not being worth much in the neighborhood, no one would +take it up; that on January 2nd, Fairfield, the house and land, were to +be sold at auction. It was a hard blow to Philip Beckwith. With his +hands in his overcoat pockets he began to walk up and down the room, +trying to plan, to see if by any chance he might save this place he +loved. It would mean eight thousand dollars to pay the mortgage. One or +two thousand more would put the estate in order, but that might wait if +he could only tide over this danger, save the house and land. An hour he +walked so, forgetting dinner, forgetting the heavy coat which he still +wore, and then he gave it up. With all he had saved—and it was a fair +and promising beginning—he could not much more than half pay the +mortgage, and there was no way, which he would consider, by which he +could get the money. Fairfield would have to go, and he set his teeth +and clinched his fists as he thought how he wanted to keep it. A year +ago it had meant nothing to him, a year from now if things went his way +he could have paid the mortgage. That it should happen just this +year—just now! He could not go down at Christmas; it would break his +heart to see the place again as his own when it was just slipping from +his grasp. He would wait until it was all over, and go, perhaps, in the +spring. The great hope of his life was still his own, but Fairfield had +been the setting of that hope; he must readjust his world before he saw +Shelby again. So he wrote them that he would not come at present, and +then tried to dull the ache of his loss with hard work.</p> + +<p>But three days before Christmas, out of the unknown forces beyond his +reasoning swept a wave of desire to go South, which took him off his +feet. Trained to trust his brain and deny his impulse as he was, yet +there was a vein of sentiment, almost of superstition, in him which the +thought of the old place pricked sharply to life. This longing was +something beyond him—he must go—and he had thrown his decisions to the +winds and was feverish until he could get away.</p> + +<p>As before, he rode out from the Phoenix Hotel, and at ten o'clock in +the morning he turned into Fairfield. It was a still, bright Christmas +morning, crisp and cool, and the air like wine. The house stood bravely +in the sunlight, but the branches above it were bare and no softening +leafage hid the marks of time; it looked old and sad and deserted +to-day, and its master gazed at it with a pang in his heart. It was his, +and he could not save it. He turned away and walked slowly to the +garden, and stood a moment as he had stood last May, with his hand on +the stone gateway. It was very silent and lonely here, in the hush of +winter; nothing stirred; even the shadows of the interlaced branches +above lay almost motionless across the walks.</p> + +<p>Something moved to his left, down the pathway—he turned to look. Had +his heart stopped, that he felt this strange, cold feeling in his +breast? Were his eyes—could he be seeing? Was this insanity? Fifty feet +down the path, half in the weaving shadows, half in clear sunlight, +stood the little boy of his life-long vision, in the dress with the +black velvet squares, his little uncle, dead forty years ago. As he +gazed, his breath stopping, the child smiled and held up to him, as of +old, a key on a scarlet string, and turned and flitted as if a flower +had taken wing, away between the box hedges. Philip, his feet moving as +if without his will, followed him. Again the baby face turned its +smiling dark eyes toward him, and Philip knew that the child was calling +him, though there was no sound; and again without volition of his own +his feet took him where it led. He felt his breath coming difficultly, +and suddenly a gasp shook him—there was no footprint on the unfrozen +earth where the vision had passed. Yet there before him, moving through +the deep sunlit silence of the garden, was the familiar, sturdy little +form in its old-world dress. Philip's eyes were open; he was awake, +walking; he saw it. Across the neglected tangle it glided, and into the +trim order of Shelby's rose garden; in the opening between the box walls +it wheeled again, and the sun shone clear on the bronze hair and fresh +face, and the scarlet string flashed and the key glinted at the end of +it. Philip's fascinated eyes saw all of that. Then the apparition +slipped into the shadow of the beech trees and Philip quickened his step +breathlessly, for it seemed that life and death hung on the sight. In +and out through the trees it moved; once more the face turned toward +him; he caught the quick brightness of a smile. The little chap had +disappeared behind the broad tree-trunk, and Philip, catching his +breath, hurried to see him appear again. He was gone. The little spirit +that had strayed from over the border of a world—who can say how far, +how near?—unafraid in this earth-corner once its home, had slipped away +into eternity through the white gate of ghosts and dreams.</p> + +<p>Philip's heart was pumping painfully as he came, dazed and staring, to +the place where the apparition had vanished. It was a giant beech tree, +all of two hundred and fifty years old, and around its base ran a broken +wooden bench, where pretty girls of Fairfield had listened to their +sweethearts, where children destined to be generals and judges had +played with their black mammies, where gray-haired judges and generals +had come back to think over the fights that were fought out. There were +letters carved into the strong bark, the branches swung down +whisperingly, the green tent of the forest seemed filled with the memory +of those who had camped there and gone on. Philip's feet stumbled over +the roots as he circled the veteran; he peered this way and that, but +the woodland was hushed and empty; the birds whistled above, the grasses +rustled below, unconscious, casual, as if they knew nothing of a +child-soul that had wandered back on Christmas day with a Christmas +message, perhaps, of good-will to its own.</p> + +<p>As he stood on the farther side of the tree where the little ghost had +faded from him, at his feet lay, open and conspicuous, a fresh, deep +hole. He looked down absent-mindedly. Some animal—a dog, a rabbit—had +scratched far into the earth. A bar of sunlight struck a golden arm +through the branches above, and as he gazed at the upturned, brown dirt +the rays that were its fingers reached into the hollow and touched a +square corner, a rusty edge of tin. In a second the young fellow was +down on his knees digging as if for his life, and in less than five +minutes he had loosened the earth which had guarded it so many years, +and staggering with it to his feet had lifted to the bench a heavy tin +box. In its lock was the key, and dangling from it a long bit of +no-colored silk, that yet, as he untwisted it, showed a scarlet thread +in the crease. He opened the box with the little key; it turned +scrapingly, and the ribbon crumbled in his fingers, its long duty done. +Then, as he tilted the heavy weight, the double eagles, packed closely, +slipped against each other with a soft clink of sliding metal. The young +man stared at the mass of gold pieces as if he could not trust his +eyesight; he half thought even then that he dreamed it. With a quick +memory of the mortgage he began to count. It was all there—ten thousand +dollars in gold! He lifted his head and gazed at the quiet woodland, the +open shadow-work of the bare branches, the fields beyond lying in the +calm sunlit rest of a Southern winter. Then he put his hand deep into +the gold pieces, and drew a long breath. It was impossible to believe, +but it was true. The lost treasure was found. It meant to him Shelby +and home; as he realized what it meant his heart felt as if it would +break with the joy of it. He would give her this for his Christmas gift, +this legacy of his people and hers, and then he would give her himself. +It was all easy now—life seemed not to hold a difficulty. And the two +would keep tenderly, always, the thought of a child who had loved his +home and his people and who had tried so hard, so long, to bring them +together. He knew the dream-child would not visit him again—the little +ghost was laid that had followed him all his life. From over the border +whence it had come with so many loving efforts it would never come +again. Slowly, with the heavy weight in his arms, he walked back to the +garden sleeping in the sunshine, and the box hedges met him with a wave +of fragrance, the sweetness of a century ago; and as he passed through +their shining door, looking beyond, he saw Shelby. The girl's figure +stood by the stone column of the garden entrance, the light shone on her +bare head, and she had stopped, surprised, as she saw him. Philip's pace +quickened with his heart-throb as he looked at her and thought of the +little ghostly hands that had brought theirs together; and as he looked +the smile that meant his welcome and his happiness broke over her face, +and with the sound of her voice all the shades of this world and the +next dissolved in light.</p> + +<p>"'Christmas gif',' Marse Philip!" called Shelby.</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="THE_WIFE_OF_THE_GOVERNOR" id="THE_WIFE_OF_THE_GOVERNOR"></a>THE WIFE OF THE GOVERNOR</h2> + + +<p>The Governor sat at the head of the big black-oak table in his big +stately library. The large lamps on either end of the table stood in old +cloisonné vases of dull rich reds and bronzes, and their shades were of +thick yellow silk. The light they cast on the six anxious faces grouped +about them was like the light in Rembrandt's picture of The Clinic.</p> + +<p>It was a very important meeting indeed. A city official, who had for +months been rather too playfully skating on the thin ice of bare respect +for the law, had just now, in the opinion of many, broken through. He +had followed a general order of the Governor's by a special order of his +own, contradicting the first in words not at all, but in spirit from +beginning to end. And the Governor wished to make an example of +him—now, instantly, so promptly and so thoroughly that those who ran +might read, in large type, that the attempt was not a success. He was +young for a Governor—thirty-six years old—and it may be that care for +the dignity of his office was not his only feeling on the subject.</p> + +<p>"I won't be badgered, you know," he said to the senior Senator of the +State. "If the man wishes to see what I do when I'm ugly, I propose to +show him. Show me reason, if you can, why this chap shouldn't be +indicted."</p> + +<p>To which they answered various things; for while they sympathized, and +agreed in the main, yet several were for temporizing, and most of them +for going a bit slowly. But the Governor was impetuous and indignant. +And here the case stood when there came a knock at the library door.</p> + +<p>The Governor looked up in surprise, for it was against all orders that +he should be disturbed at a meeting. But he spoke a "Come in," and +Jackson, the stately colored butler, appeared, looking distressed and +alarmed.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lord! Gov'ner, suh!" was all he got out for a moment, fear at his +own rashness seizing him in its grip at the sight of the six +distinguished faces turned toward him.</p> + +<p>"Jackson! What do you want?" asked the Governor, not so very gently.</p> + +<p>Jackson advanced, with conspicuous lack of his usual style and +sang-froid, a tray in his hand, and a quite second-class-looking +envelope upon it. "Beg pardon, suh. Shouldn't 'a' interrupted, Gov'nor; +please scuse me, suh; but they boys was so pussistent, and it comed fum +the deepo, and I was mos' feared the railways was done gone on a strike, +and I thought maybe you'd oughter know, suh—Gov'ner."</p> + +<p>And in the meantime, while the scared Jackson rambled on thus in an +undertone, the Governor had the cheap, bluish-white envelope in his +hand, and with a muttered "Excuse me" to his guests, had cut it across +and was reading, with a face of astonishment, the paper that was +enclosed. He crumpled it in his hand and threw it on the table.</p> + +<p>"Absurd!" he said, half aloud; and then, "No answer, Jackson," and the +man retired.</p> + +<p>"Now, then, gentlemen, as we were saying before this interruption"—and +in clear, eager sentences he returned to the charge. But a change had +come over him. The Attorney-General, elucidating a point of importance, +caught his chief's eye wandering, and followed it, surprised, to that +ball of paper on the table. The Secretary of State could not understand +why the Governor agreed in so half-hearted a way when he urged with +eloquence the victim's speedy sacrifice. Finally, the august master of +the house growing more and more distrait, he suddenly rose, and picking +up the crumpled paper—</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen, will you have the goodness to excuse me for five minutes?" +he said. "It is most annoying, but I cannot give my mind to business +until I attend to the matter on which Jackson interrupted us. I beg a +thousand pardons—I shall only keep you a moment."</p> + +<p>The dignitaries left cooling their heels looked at each other blankly, +but the Lieutenant-Governor smiled cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"One of the reasons he is Governor at thirty-six is that he always does +attend to the matters that interrupt him."</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the Governor, rushing out with his usual impulsive energy, had +sent two or three servants flying over the house. "Where's Mrs. Mooney? +Send Mrs. Mooney to me here instantly—and be quick;" and he waited, +impatient, although it was for only three minutes, in a little room +across the hall, where appeared to him in that time a square-shaped, +gray-haired woman with a fresh face and blue eyes full of intelligence +and kindliness.</p> + +<p>"Mary, look here;" and the big Governor put his hand on the stout little +woman's arm and drew her to the light. Mary and his Excellency were +friends of very old standing indeed, their intimacy having begun +thirty-five years before, when the future great man was a rampant baby, +and Mary his nurse and his adorer, which last she was still. "I want to +read you this, and then I want you to telephone to Bristol at once." He +smoothed out the wrinkled single sheet of paper.</p> + +<p>"My dear Governor Rudd," he read,—"My friends the McNaughtons of +Bristol are friends of yours too, I think, and that is my reason for +troubling you with this note. I am on my way to visit them now, and +expected to take the train for Bristol at twenty minutes after eight +to-night, but when I reached here at eight o'clock I found the +time-table had been changed, and the train had gone out twenty minutes +before. And there is no other till to-morrow. I don't know what to do or +where to go, and you are the only person in the city whose name I know. +Would it trouble you to advise me where to go for the night—what hotel, +if it is right for me to go to a hotel? With regret that I should have +to ask this of you when you must be busy with great affairs all the +time, I am,</p> + +<p class='center'>"Very sincerely,</p> +<p class='right'>"LINDSAY LEE."</p> + +<p>Mary listened, attentive but dazed, and was about to burst out at once +with voluble exclamations and questions when the Governor stopped her.</p> + +<p>"Now, Mary, don't do a lot of talking. Just listen to me. I thought at +first this note was from a man, because it is signed by a man's name. +But it looks and sounds like a woman, and I think it should be attended +to. I want you to telephone to Mr. George McNaughton, at Bristol, and +ask if Mr. or Miss Lindsay Lee is a friend of theirs, and say that, if +so, he—or she—is all right, and is spending the night here. Then, in +that case, send Harper to the station with the brougham, and say that I +beg to have the honor of looking after Mrs. McNaughton's friend for the +night. And you'll see that whoever it is is made very comfortable."</p> + +<p>"Indeed I will, the poor young thing," said Mary, jumping at a +picturesque view of the case. "But, Mr. Jack, do you want me to +telephone to Mr. McNaughton's and ask if a friend of theirs—"</p> + +<p>The Governor cut her short. "Exactly. You know just what I said, Mary +Mooney; you only want to talk it over. I'm much too busy. Tell Jackson +not to come to the library again unless the State freezes over. +Good-night.—I don't think the McNaughtons can complain that I haven't +done their friend brown," said the Governor to himself as he went back +across the hall.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Down at the station, beneath the spirited illumination of one whistling +gas-jet, the station-master and Lindsay Lee waited wearily for an answer +from the Governor. It was long in coming, for the station-master's boys, +the Messrs. O'Milligan, seizing the occasion for foreign travel offered +by a sight of the Executive grounds, had made a détour by the Executive +stables, and held deep converse with the grooms. Just as the thought of +duty undone began to prick the leathery conscience of the older one, the +order came for Harper and the brougham. Half an hour later, at the +station, Harper drew up with a sonorous clatter of hoofs. The +station-master hurried forward to interview the coachman. In a moment he +turned with a beaming face.</p> + +<p>"It's good news for ye, miss. The Governor's sent his own kerridge for +ye, then. Blessed Mary, but it's him that's condescendin'. Get right +in, miss."</p> + +<p>Such a sudden safe harbor seemed almost too good to be true. Lindsay was +nearly asleep as the rubber-tired wheels rolled softly along through the +city. The carriage turned at length from the lights and swung up a long +avenue between trees, and then stopped. The door flew open, and Lindsay +looked up steps and into a wide, lighted doorway, where stood a stout +woman, who hastened to seize her bag and umbrella and take voluble +possession of her. The sleepy, dazed girl was vaguely conscious of large +halls and a wide stair and a kind voice by her side that flowed ever on +in a gentle river of words. Then she found herself in a big, pleasant +bed-room, and beyond was the open door of a tiled bath-room.</p> + +<p>"Oh—oh!" she said, and dropped down sideways on the whiteness of the +brass bed, and put her arms around the pillow and her head, hat and all, +on it.</p> + +<p>"Poor child!" said pink-checked, motherly Mrs. Mooney. "You're more than +tired, that I can see without trying, and no wonder, too! I shan't say +another word to you, but just leave you to get to bed and to sleep, and +I'm sure it's the best medicine ever made, is a good comfortable bed and +a night's rest. So I shan't stop to speak another word. But is there +anything at all you'd like, Miss Lee? And there, now, what am I thinking +about? I haven't asked if you wouldn't have a bit of supper! I'll bring +it up myself—just a bit of cold bird and a glass of wine? It will do +you good. But it will," as Lindsay shook her head, smiling. "There's +nothing so bad as going to sleep on an empty stomach when you're tired."</p> + +<p>"But I had dinner on the train, and I'm not hungry; sure enough, I'm +not; thank you a thousand times."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Mooney reluctantly took two steps toward the door, the room shaking +under her soft-footed, heavy tread.</p> + +<p>"You're sure you wouldn't like—" She stopped, embarrassed, and the blue +eyes shone like kindly sapphires above the always-blushing cheeks. "I'm +mortified to ask you for fear you'd laugh at me, but you seem like such +a child, and—would you let me bring you—just a slice of bread and +butter with some brown sugar on it?"</p> + +<p>Lindsay had a gracious way of knowing when people really wished to do +something for her. She flapped her hands, like the child she looked. +"Oh, how did you think of it? I used to have that for a treat at home. +Yes, I'd <i>love</i> it!" And Mrs. Mooney beamed.</p> + +<p>"There! I thought you would! You see, Miss Lee, that's what I used +sometimes to give my boy—that's the Governor—when he was little and +got hungry at bedtime."</p> + +<p>Lindsay, left alone, took off her hat, and with a pull and screw at her +necktie and collar-button, dropped into a chair that seemed to hold its +fat arms up for her. She smiled sleepily and comfortably. "I'm having a +right good time," she said to herself, "but it's funny. I feel as if I +lived here, and I love that old housekeeper-nurse of the Governor's. I +wonder what the Governor is like? I wonder—" And at this point she +became aware, with only slight surprise, of a little boy with a crown +on his head who offered her a slice of bread and butter and sugar a yard +square, and told her he had kept it for her twenty-five years. She was +about to reason with him that it could not possibly be good to eat in +that case, when something jarred the brain that was slipping so easily +down into oblivion, and as her eyes opened again she saw Mrs. Mooney's +solid shape bending over the tub in the bath-room, and a noise of +running water sounded pleasant and refreshing.</p> + +<p>"Oh, did I go to sleep?" she asked, sitting up straight and blinking +wide-open eyes.</p> + +<p>"There! I knew it would wake you, and I couldn't a-bear to do it, my +dear, but it would never do for you to sleep like that in your clothes, +and I drew your bath warm, thinking it would rest you better, but I can +just change it hot or cold as it suits you. And here's the little lunch +for you, and I feel as if it was my own little boy I was taking care of +again; the year he was ten it was he ate so much at night. I saw him +just now, and he's that tired from his meeting—it's a shame how hard he +has to work for this State, time and time again. He said 'Good-night, +Mary,' he said, just the way he did years ago—such a little gentleman +he always was. The dearest and the handsomest thing he was; they used to +call him 'the young prince,' he was that handsome and full of spirit. He +told me to say he hoped for the pleasure of seeing Miss Lee at breakfast +to-morrow at nine; but if you should be tired, Miss Lee, or prefer your +breakfast up here, which you can have it just as well as not, you know. +And here I'm talking you to death again, and you ought to stop me, for +when I begin about the Governor I never know when to stop myself. Just +put up your foot, please, and I'll take your shoes off," And while she +unlaced Lindsay's small boots with capable fingers she apologized +profusely for talking—talking as much again.</p> + +<p>"There's nothing to excuse. It's mighty interesting to hear about him," +said Lindsay. "I shall enjoy meeting him that much more. Is there a +picture of him anywhere around?" looking about the room.</p> + +<p>That was a lucky stroke. Mary Mooney parted the black ribbon that was +tied beneath her neat white collar and turned her face up, all pleased +smiles, to the girl, who leaned down to examine an ivory miniature set +as a brooch. It was a sunny-faced little boy, with thick straight golden +hair and fearless brown eyes—a sweet childish face very easy to admire, +and Lindsay admired it enough to satisfy even Mrs. Mooney.</p> + +<p>"I had it for a Christmas gift the year he was nine," she said. Mary's +calendar ran from The Year of the Governor, 1. "He had whooping-cough +just after that, and was ill seven weeks. Dear me, what teeny little +feet you have!" as she put on them the dressing-slippers from the bag, +and struggled up to her own, heavily but cheerfully.</p> + +<p>Lindsay looked at her thoughtfully. "You haven't mentioned the +Governor's wife," she said. "Isn't she at home?" and she leaned over to +pull up the furry heel of the little slipper. So that she missed seeing +Mary Mooney's face. Expression chased expression over that smiling +landscape—astonishment, perplexity, anxiety, the gleam of a new-born +idea, hesitation, and at last a glow of unselfish kindliness which often +before had transfigured it.</p> + +<p>"No, Miss Lee," said Mary. "She's away from home just now." And then, +unblushingly, "But she's a lovely lady, and she'll be very disappointed +not to see you."</p> + +<p>Almost the next thing Lindsay knew she was watching dreamily spots of +sunlight that danced on a pale pink wall. Then a bird began to sing at +the edge of the window; there was a delicate rustle of skirts, and she +turned her head and saw a maid—not Mary Mooney this time—moving softly +about, opening part way the outside shutters, drawing lip the shades a +bit, letting the light and shadow from tossing trees outside and the air +and the morning in with gentle slowness. She dressed with deliberation, +and, lo! it was a quarter after nine o'clock.</p> + +<p>So that the Governor waited for his breakfast. For ten minutes, while +the paper lasted, waiting was unimportant; and then, being impatient by +nature, and not used to it, he suddenly was cross.</p> + +<p>"Confound the girl!" soliloquized the Governor. "I'll have her indicted +too! First she breaks up a meeting, then she gets the horses out at all +hours, and now, to cap it, she makes me wait for breakfast. Why should I +wait for my breakfast? Why the devil can't she—Now, Mary, what is it? I +warn you I'm cross, and I shan't listen well till I've had breakfast. +I'm waiting for that young lady you're coddling. Where's that young +lady? Why doesn't she—What?"</p> + +<p>For the flood-gates were open, and the soft verbal oceans of Mary were +upon him. He listened two minutes, mute with astonishment, and then he +rose up in his wrath and was verbal also.</p> + +<p>"What! You told her I was <i>married</i>? What the dev—And you're +actually asking <i>me</i> to tell her so <i>too</i>? Mary, are you insane? +Embarrassed? What if she is embarrassed? And what do I care if—What? +Sweet and pretty? Mary, don't be an idiot. Am I to improvise a wife, in +my own house, because a stray girl may object to visiting a bachelor? +Not if I know it. Not much." The Governor bristled with indignation. +"Confound the girl, I'll—" At this point Mary, though portly, vanished +like a vision of the night, and there stood in the doorway a smiling +embodiment of the morning, crisp in a clean shirt-waist, and free from +consciousness of crime.</p> + +<p>"Is it Governor Rudd?" asked Lindsay; and the Governor was, somehow, +shaking hands like a kind and cordial host, and the bitterness was gone +from his soul. "I certainly don't know how to thank you," she said. +"You-all have been very good to me, and I've been awfully comfortable. I +was so lost and unhappy last night; I felt like a wandering Jewess. I +hope I haven't kept you waiting for breakfast?"</p> + +<p>"Not a moment," said the Governor, heartily, placing her chair, and it +was five minutes before he suddenly remembered that he was cross. Then +he made an effort to live up to his convictions. "This is a mistake," he +said to himself. "I had no intention of being particularly friendly with +this young person. Rudd, I can't allow you to be impulsive in this way. +You're irritated by the delay and by last night: you're bored to be +obliged to entertain a girl when you wish to read the paper; you're +anxious to get down to the Capitol to see those men; all you feel is a +perfunctory politeness for the McNaughtons' friend. Kindly remember +these facts, Rudd, and don't make a fool of yourself gambolling on the +green, instead of sustaining the high dignity of your office." So +reasoned the Governor secretly, and made futile attempts at high +dignity, while his heart became as wax, and he questioned of his soul at +intervals to see if it knew what was going on.</p> + +<p>So the Governor sat before Lindsay Lee at his own table, momentarily +more surprised and helpless. And Lindsay, eating her grape-fruit with +satisfaction, thought him delightful, and wondered what his wife was +like, and how many children he had, and where they all were. It was at +least safe to speak of the wife, for the old house-keeper-nurse had +given her an unqualified recommendation. So she spoke.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry to hear that Mrs. Rudd is not at home," she began. "It must +be rather lonely in this big house without her."</p> + +<p>The Governor looked at her and laughed. "Not that I've noticed," he +said, and was suddenly seized with a sickness of pity that was the +inevitable effect of Lindsay Lee. She needed no pity, being healthy, +happy, and well-to-do, but she had, for the punishment of men's sins, +sad gray eyes and a mouth whose full lips curved sorrowfully down. Her +complexion was the colorless, magnolia-leaf sort that is typically +Southern; her dark hair lay in thick locks on her forehead as if always +damp with emotion; her swaying, slender figure seemed to appeal to +masculine strength; and the voice that drawled a syllable to twice its +length here, to slide over mouthfuls of words there, had an upward +inflection at the end of sentences that brought tears to one's eyes. +There was no pose about her, but the whole effect of her was +pathetic—illogically, for she caught the glint of humor from every side +light of life, which means pleasure that other people miss. The old +warning against vice says that we "first endure, then pity, then +embrace"; but Lindsay differed from vice so far that people never had to +endure her, but began with pity, finding it often a very short step to +the wish, at least, to embrace her. The Governor after fifteen minutes' +acquaintance had arrived at pitying her, intensely and with his whole +soul, as he did most things. He held another interview with himself. +"Lord! what an innocent face it is!" he said. "Mary said she would be +embarrassed—the brute that would embarrass her! Hanged if I'll do it! +If she would rather have me married, married I'll be." He raised candid +eyes to Lindsay's face.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I've shocked you. You mustn't think I shall not be glad +when—Mrs. Rudd—is here. But, you see, I've been very busy lately. I've +hardly had time to breathe—haven't had time to miss—her—at all, +really. All the same—" Now what was the queer feeling in his throat and +lungs—yes, it must be the lungs—as the Governor framed this sentence? +He went on: "All the same, I shall be a happy man when—my wife—comes +home."</p> + +<p>Lindsay's face cleared. This was satisfactory and proper; there was no +more to be said about it. She looked up with a smile to where the old +butler beamed upon her for her youth and beauty and her accent and her +name.</p> + +<p>A handful of busy men left the Capitol in some annoyance that morning +because the Governor had telephoned that he could not be there before +half past eleven. They would have been more annoyed, perhaps, if they +had seen him dashing about the station light-heartedly just before the +eleven-o'clock train for Bristol left. They said to each other: "It must +be a matter of importance that keeps him. Governor Rudd almost never +throws over an appointment. He has been working like the devil over that +street-railway franchise case; probably it's that."</p> + +<p>And the Governor stood by a chair in a parlor-car, his world cleared of +street railways and indictments and their class as if they had never +been, and in his hand was a small white oblong box tied with a tinsel +cord.</p> + +<p>"Good-by," he said, "but remember I'm to be asked down for the garden +party next week, and I'm coming."</p> + +<p>"I certainly won't forget. And I reckon I'd better not try to thank you +for—Oh, thank you! I thought that looked like candy. And bring Mrs. +Rudd with you next week. I want to see her. And—Oh, get off, please; +it's moving. Good-by, good-by."</p> + +<p>And to the mighty music of a slow-clanging bell and the treble of +escaping steam and the deep-rolling accompaniment of powerful wheels the +Governor escaped to the platform, and the capital city of that sovereign +State was empty—practically empty. He noticed it the moment he turned +his eyes from the disappearing train and moved toward Harper and the +brougham. He also noticed that he had never noticed it before.</p> + +<p>A solid citizen, catching a glimpse of the well-known, thoughtful face +through the window of the Executive carriage as it bowled across toward +the Capitol, shook his head. "He works too hard," he said to himself. "A +fine fellow, and young and strong, but the pace is telling. He looks +anxious to-day. I wonder what scheme is revolving in his brain at this +moment."</p> + +<p>And at that moment the Governor growled softly to himself. "I've +overdone it," he said. "She's sure to be offended. No one likes to be +taken in. I ought not to have showed her Mrs. Rudd's conservatory; that +was a mistake. She won't let them ask me down; I shan't see her. Hanged +if I won't telephone Mrs. McNaughton to keep the secret till I've been +down." And he did, before Lindsay could get there, amid much laughter at +both ends of the wire, and no small embarrassment at his own.</p> + +<p>And he was asked down, and having enjoyed himself, was asked again. And +again. So that during the three weeks of Lindsay's visit Bristol saw +more of the Chief Executive officer of the State than Bristol had seen +before, and everybody but Lindsay had an inkling of the reason. But the +time never came to tell her of the shadowy personality of Mrs. Rudd, and +between the McNaughton girls and the Governor, whom they forced into +unexpected statements, to their great though secret glee, Lindsay was +informed of many details in regard to the missing first lady of the +commonwealth. Such a dialogue as the following would occur at the lunch +table:</p> + +<p><i>Alice McNaughton</i> (speaking with ceremonious politeness from one end of +the table to the Governor at the other end). "When is Mrs. Rudd coming, +Governor?"</p> + +<p><i>The Governor</i> (with a certain restraint). "Before very long, I hope, +Miss Alice. Mrs. McNaughton, may I have more lobster? I've never in my +life had as much lobster as I wanted."</p> + +<p><i>Alice</i> (refusing to be side-tracked). "And when did you last hear from +her, Governor?"</p> + +<p><i>Chuck McNaughton</i> (ornament of the Sophomore class at Harvard. In love +with Lindsay, but more so with the joke. Gifted with a sledgehammer +style of wit). "I've been hoping for a letter from her myself, Governor, +but it doesn't come."</p> + +<p><i>The Governor</i> (with slight hauteur). "Ah, indeed!"</p> + +<p><i>Lindsay</i> (at whose first small peep the Governor's eyes turn to hers +and rest there shamelessly). "Why haven't you any pictures of Mrs. Rudd +in the house, Mrs. McNaughton? The Governor's is everywhere and you all +tell me how fascinating she is, and yet don't have her about. It looks +like you don't love her as much as the Governor." (At the mention of +being loved, in that voice, cold shivers seize the Executive nerves.)</p> + +<p><i>Mrs. McNaughton</i> (entranced with the airy persiflage, but knowing her +own to be no light hand at repartee). "Ask the others, my dear."</p> + +<p><i>Alice</i> (jumping at the chance). "Oh, the reason of that is very +interesting! Mrs. Rudd has never given even the Governor her picture. +She—she has principles against it. She belongs, you see, to an ancient +Hebrew family—in fact, she is a Jewess" ("A wandering Jewess," the +Governor interjected, <i>sotto voce</i>, his glance veering again to +Lindsay's face), "and you know that Jewish families have religious +scruples about portraits of any sort" (pauses, exhausted).</p> + +<p><i>Chuck</i> (with heavy artillery). "Alice, <i>taisez-vous</i>. You're doing +poorly. You can't converse. Your best parlor trick is your red hair. +Miss Lee, I'll show you a picture of Mrs. Rudd some day, and I'll tell +you now what she looks like. She has exquisite melancholy gray eyes, a +mouth like a ripe tomato" (shouts from the table <i>en masse</i>, but Chuck +ploughs along cheerily), "hair like the braided midnight" (cries of +"What's that?" and "Hear! Hear!"), "a figure slim and willowy as a +vaulting-pole" (a protest of "No track athletics at meals; that's +forbidden!"), "and a voice—well, if you ever tasted New Orleans +molasses on maple sugar, with 'that tired feeling' thrown in, perhaps +you'll have a glimpse, a mile off, of what that voice is like." (Eager +exclamations of "That's near enough," "Don't do it any more, Chuck," and +"For Heaven's sake, Charlie, stop." Lindsay looks hard with the gray +eyes at the Governor.)</p> + +<p><i>Lindsay</i>, "Why don't you pull your bowie-knife out of your boot, +Governor? It looks like he's making fun of your wife, to me. Isn't +anybody going to fight anybody?"</p> + +<p>And then Mr. McNaughton would reprove her as a bloodthirsty Kentuckian, +and the whole laughing tableful would empty out on the broad porch. At +such a time the Governor, laughing too, amused, yet uncomfortable, and +feeling himself in a false and undignified position, would vow solemnly +that a stop must be put to all this. It would get about, into the papers +even, by horrid possibility; even now a few intimates of the McNaughton +family had been warned "not to kill the Governor's wife." He would +surely tell the girl the next time he could find her alone, and then the +absurdity would collapse. But the words would not come, or if he +carefully framed them beforehand, this bold, aggressive leader of men, +whose nickname was "Jack the Giant-killer," made a giant of Lindsay's +displeasure, and was afraid of it. He had never been afraid of anything +before. He would screw his courage up to the notch, and then, one look +at the childlike face, and down it would go, and he would ask her to go +rowing with him. They were such good friends; it was so dangerous to +change at a blow existing relations, to tell her that he had been +deceiving her all these weeks. These exquisite June weeks that had flown +past to music such us no June had made before; days snowed under with +roses, nights that seemed, as he remembered them, moonlit for a solid +month. The Governor sighed a lingering sigh, and quoted,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>"Oh what a tangled web we weave</div> +<div>When first we practise to deceive!"</div> +</div></div> + +<p>Yes, he must really wait—say two days longer. Then he might be sure +enough of her—regard—to tell her the truth. And then, a little later, +if he could control himself so long, another truth. Beyond that he did +not allow himself to think.</p> + +<p>"Governor Rudd," asked Lindsay suddenly as they walked their horses the +last mile home from a ride on which they had gotten separated—the +Governor knew how—from the rest of the party, "why do they bother you +so about your wife, and why do you let them?"</p> + +<p>"Can't help it, Miss Lindsay. They have no respect for me. I'm that sort +of man. Hard luck, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>Lindsay turned her sad, infantile gray eyes on him searchingly. "I +reckon you're not," she said. "I reckon you're the sort of man people +don't say things to unless they're right sure you will stand it. They +don't trifle with you." She nodded her head with conviction. "Oh, I've +heard them talk about you! I like that; that's like our men down South. +You're right Southern, anyhow, in some ways. You see, I can pay you +compliments because you're a safe old married man," and her eyes smiled +up at him: she rarely laughed or smiled except with those lovely eyes. +"There's some joke about your wife," she went on, "that you-all won't +tell me. There certainly is. I <i>know</i> it, sure enough I do, Governor +Rudd."</p> + +<p>There is a common belief that the Southern accent can be faithfully +rendered in writing if only one spells badly enough. No amount of bad +spelling could tell how softly Lindsay Lee said those last two words.</p> + +<p>"I love to hear you say that—'Guv'na Rudd.' I do, 'sho 'nuff,'" mused +the Governor out loud and irrelevantly. "Would you say it again?"</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't," said Lindsay, with asperity. "Ridiculous! If you are a +Governor! But I was talking about your wife. Isn't she coming home +before I go? Sometimes I don't believe you have a wife."</p> + +<p>That was his chance, and he saw it. He must tell her now or never, and +he drew a long breath. "Suppose I told you that I had not," he said, +"that she was a myth, what would you say?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'd just never speak to you again," said Lindsay, carelessly. "I +wouldn't like to be fooled like that. Look, there are the others!" and +off she flew at a canter.</p> + +<p>It is easy to see that the Governor was not hurried headlong into +confession by that speech. But the crash came. It was the night before +Lindsay was to go back home to far-off Kentucky, and with infinite +expenditure of highly trained intellect, for which the State was paying +a generous salary, the Governor had managed to find himself floating on +a moonlit flood through the Forest of Arden with the Blessed Damozel. +That, at least, is the rendering of a walk in the McNaughtons' wood with +Lindsay Lee as it appeared that night to the intellect mentioned. But +the language of such thoughts is idiomatic and incapable of exact +translation. A flame of eagerness to speak, quenched every moment by a +shower-bath of fear, burned in his soul, when suddenly Lindsay tripped +on a root and fell, with an exclamation. Then fear dried beneath the +flames. It is unnecessary to tell what the Governor did, or what he +said. The language, as language, was unoriginal and of striking +monotony, and as to what happened, most people have had experience which +will obviate the necessity of going into brutal facts. But when, +trembling and shaken, he realized a material world again, Lindsay was +fighting him, pushing him away, her eyes blazing fiercely.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean? What <i>do</i> you mean?" she was saying.</p> + +<p>"Mean—mean? That I love you—that I want you to love me, to be my +wife!" She stood up like a white ghost in the silver light and shadow of +the wood.</p> + +<p>"Governor Rudd, are you crazy?" she cried. "You have a wife already."</p> + +<p>The tall Governor threw back his head and laughed a laugh like a child. +The people away off on the porch heard him and smiled. "They are having +a good time, those two," Mrs. McNaughton said.</p> + +<p>"Lindsay—Lindsay," and he bent over and caught her hands and kissed +them. "There isn't any wife—there never will be any but you. It was all +a joke. It happened because—Oh, never mind! I can't tell you now; it's +a long story. But you must forgive that; that's all in the past now. The +question is, will you love me—will you love me, Lindsay? Tell me, +Lindsay!" He could not say her name often enough. But there came no +answering light in Lindsay's face. She looked at him as if he were a +striped convict.</p> + +<p>"I'll never forgive you," she said, slowly. "You've treated me like a +child; you've made a fool of me, all of you. It was insulting. All a +joke, you call it? And I was the joke; you've been laughing at me all +these weeks. Why was it funny, I'd like to know?"</p> + +<p>"Great heavens, Lindsay—you're not going to take it that way? I insult +you—laugh at you! I'd give my life; I'd shoot down any one—Lindsay!" +he broke out appealingly, and made a step toward her.</p> + +<p>"Don't touch me!" she cried. "Don't touch me! I hate you!" And as he +still came closer she turned and ran up the path, into the moonlight of +the driveway, and so, a dim white blotch on the fragrant night, +disappeared.</p> + +<p>When the Governor, walking with dignity, came up the steps of the porch, +three minutes later, he was greeted with questions.</p> + +<p>"What have you done to Lindsay Lee, I'd like to know?" asked Alice +McNaughton. "She said she had fallen and hurt her foot, but she wouldn't +let me go up with her, and she was dignified, which is awfully trying. +Why did you quarrel with her, this last night?"</p> + +<p>"Governor," said Chuck, with more discernment than delicacy, "if you +will accept the sympathies of one not unacquainted with grief—" But at +this point his voice faded away as he looked at the Governor.</p> + +<p>The Governor never remembered just how he got away from the friendly +hatefulness of that porchful. An early train the next morning was +inevitable, for there was a meeting of real importance this time, and at +all events everything looked about the same shade of gray to him; it +mattered very little what he did. Only he must be doing something every +moment. He devoured work as if it were bread and meat and he were +famished. People said all that autumn and winter that anything like the +Governor's energy had never been seen. He evidently wanted a second +term, and really he ought to have it. He was working hard enough to get +it. About New-Year's he went down to Bristol for the first time since +June, for a dinner at the McNaughtons'. Alice McNaughton's friendly +face, under its red-gold hair, beamed at him from far away down the +table, but after dinner, when the men came in from the dining-room, she +took possession of him boldly.</p> + +<p>"Governor, I want to tell you about Lindsay Lee. I know you'll be +interested, though you did have some mysterious fight before she left. +She's been awfully ill with pleurisy, a painful attack, and she's +getting well very slowly. They have just taken her to Paul Smith's. I'm +writing her to-morrow, and I want you to send a good message; it would +please her."</p> + +<p>It was hard to stand with eighteen people grouped about him, all more or +less with an eye on his motions, and be the Governor, calm and +dignified, while hot irons were being applied to his heart by this +smiling girl.</p> + +<p>"But, Miss Alice," he said, slowly, "I'm afraid you are wrong. I was +unfortunate enough to make Miss Lee very angry. I am afraid she would +think a message from me only an impertinence."</p> + +<p>"Sir," said Alice, with decision, "I'm right sometimes, if I'm not +Governor; and it's better to be right than to be Governor, I've +heard—or something. You trust me. Just try the effect of a message, and +see if it isn't a success. What shall I say?"</p> + +<p>The Governor was impetuous, and in spite of all the work he had done so +fiercely, the longing the work had been meant to quiet surged up as +strong as ever. "Miss Alice," he said, eagerly, "if you are right, +would it do—do you think I might deliver the message myself?"</p> + +<p>"Do I think? Well, if <i>I</i> were a man! Faint heart, you know!"</p> + +<p>And the Governor, at that choppy eloquence, openly seized the friendly +young hand and wrung it till Alice begged, laughing but bruised, for +mercy. When he came up, later, to bid her good-night, his face was +bright, and,</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Angel of Peace," he said.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Mary Mooney, who through the dark days had watched with anxious though +uncomprehending eyes her boy's dejection and hard effort to live it +down, and had applied partridges and sweetbreads and other forms of +devotion steadily but unsuccessfully, saw at once and with, rapture the +change when the Governor greeted her the next morning. Light-heartedly +she packed his traps two days later—she had done it jealously for +thirty-five years, though almost over the dead body of the Governor's +man sometimes in these later days. And when he told her good-by she had +her reward. The man's boyish heart went out in a burst of gratitude to +the tireless love that had sought only his happiness all his life. He +put his arm around the stout little woman's neck.</p> + +<p>"Mary," he said, "I'm going to see Miss Lee."</p> + +<p>Mary's pink cheeks were scarlet as she patted with a work-worn palm the +strong hand on her shoulder. "Then I know what will happen," she said, +"and I'm glad. And if you don't bring her back with you, Mr. Jack, I +won't let you in."</p> + +<p>So the stately Governor went off like a schoolboy with his nurse's +blessing. And later like an arrow from a bow he swung around the corner +of the snowy piazza at Paul Smith's, where Mrs. Lee had told him he +would find her daughter. There was a bundle of fur in a big chair in the +sunlight, dark against the white hills beyond, with their black lines of +pine-trees. As the impetuous steps came nearer, it turned, and—the +Governor's methods were again such that words do them no justice. But +this time with happier result. Half an hour later, when some coherency +was established, he said:</p> + +<p>"You waited for me! You've been <i>waiting</i> for me!" as if it were the +most astonishing fact in history. "And since when have you been waiting +for me, you—"</p> + +<p>Lindsay laughed, not only with her eyes, but with her soft voice. "Ever +since the morning after, your Excellency. Alice told me all about it +before I left, and made me see reason. And I—and I was right sorry I'd +been so cross. I thought you'd come some time—but you came right slow," +she said, and her eyes travelled over his face as if she were making +sure he was really there.</p> + +<p>"And I never dared to think you would see me!" he said. "But now!"</p> + +<p>And again there were circumstances that are best described by a hiatus.</p> + +<p>The day after, when Mary Mooney, discreetly letting her soul's idol get +into his library before greeting him, trotted into that stately chamber +with soft, heavy footsteps, she was met with a kiss and a bear's hug +that, as she told Mrs. Rudd later, "was like the year he was nine."</p> + +<p>"I didn't bring her, Mary," the Governor said, "but you'd better let me +stay, for she's coming."</p> + + + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="THE_LITTLE_REVENGE" id="THE_LITTLE_REVENGE"></a>THE LITTLE REVENGE</h2> + + +<p>Suddenly a gust of fresh wind caught Sally's hat, and off it flew, a +wide-winged pink bird, over the old, old sea-wall of Clovelly, down +among the rocks of the rough beach, tumbling and jumping from one gray +stone to another, and getting so far away that, in the soft violet +twilight, it seemed as lost as any ship of the Spanish Armada wrecked +long ago on this wild Devonshire coast.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" cried Sally distractedly, and clapped her hands to her head with +the human instinct to shut the stable door after the horse is gone. +"Oh!" she cried again; "my pretty hat! And <i>oh</i>! it's in the water!"</p> + +<p>But suddenly, out of somewhere in the twilight, there was a man chasing +it. Sally leaned over the rugged, yellowish, grayish stone wall and +excitedly called to him.</p> + +<p>"Oh, thank you!" she cried, and "That's so good of you!"</p> + +<p>The hat had tacked and was sailing inshore now, one stiff pink taffeta +sail set to the breeze. And in a minute, with a reckless splash into the +dashing waves, the man had it, and an easy, athletic figure swung up the +causeway, holding it away from him, as if it might nip at him. He wore a +dark blue jersey, and loose, flapping trousers of a seaman.</p> + +<p>"He's only a sailor," Sally said under her breath; "I'd better tip him." +Her hand slipped into her pocket and I heard the click of her purse.</p> + +<p>He looked from one to the other of us in the dim light inquiringly, as +he came up, and then off went his cap, and his face broke into the +gentlest, most charming smile as he delivered the hat into Sally's +outstretched hands.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid it's a bit damp," he said.</p> + +<p>All dark-eyed, stalwart young fellows are attractive to me for the sake +of one like that who died forty years ago, but this sailor had a charm +of manner that is a gift of the gods, let it fall to prince or peasant; +the pretty deference of his few words, and the quick, radiant smile, +were enough to win friendliness from me. More than that, something in +the set of his head, in the straight gaze of his eyes, held a likeness +that made my memory ache. I smiled back at him instantly. But Sally's +heart was on her hat; hats from good shops did not grow on trees for +Sally Meade.</p> + +<p>"I hope it isn't hurt," she said, anxiously, and shook it carefully, and +hardly glanced at the rescuer, who was watching with something that +looked like amusement in his face. Then her good manners came back.</p> + +<p>"Thank you a thousand times," she said, and turned to him brightly. "You +were so quick—but, oh! I'm afraid you're wet." She looked at him, and I +saw a little shock of surprise in her face. Beauty so striking will be +admired, even in a common sailor.</p> + +<p>"It's nothing," he said, looking down at his sopping, wide trousers; +"I'm used to it," and as Sally's hand went forward I caught the flash of +silver, and at the same moment another flash, from the man's eyes.</p> + +<p>It was enough to startle me for the fraction of a second, but, as I +looked again, his expression held only a serious respect, and I was sure +I had been mistaken. He took the money and touched his cap and said, +"Thank you, miss," with perfect dignity. Yet my imagination must have +been lively, for as he slipped it in his pocket, his look turned toward +me, and for another breath of time a gleam of mischief—certainly +mischief—flashed from his dark eyes to mine.</p> + +<p>Then Sally, quite unconscious of this, perhaps imaginary, by-play, had +an idea. "Are you a sailor?" she asked.</p> + +<p>The man looked at her. "Yes—miss," he answered, a little slowly.</p> + +<p>"We want to engage a boat and a man to take us out. Do you know of one? +Have you a boat?"</p> + +<p>The young fellow glanced down across the wall where a hull and mast +gleamed indistinctly through the falling night, swinging at the side of +the quay. "That's mine, yonder," he said, nodding toward it. And then, +with the graceful, engaging frankness that I already knew as his, "I +shall be very glad to take you out"—including us both in his glance.</p> + +<p>"Sally," I said, five minutes later, as we trudged up the one steep, +rocky street of Clovelly,—the picturesque old street that once led +English smugglers to their caves, and that is more of a staircase than a +street, with rows of stone steps across its narrow width—"Sally, you +are a very unexpected girl. You took my breath away, engaging that man +so suddenly to take us sailing to-morrow. How do you know he is +reliable? It would have been safer to try one of the men they +recommended from the Inn. And certainly it would have been more +dignified to let me make the arrangements. You seem to forget that I am +older than you."</p> + +<p>"You aren't," said Sully, giving a squeeze to my arm that she held in +the angle of hers, pushing me with her young strength up the hill. +"You're not as old, cousin Mary. I'm twenty-two, and you're only +eighteen, and I believe you will never be any older."</p> + +<p>I think perhaps I like flattery. I am a foolish old woman, and I have +noticed that it is not the young girls who treat me with great deference +and rise as soon as I come who seem to me the most charming, but the +ones who, with proper manners, of course, yet have a touch of +comradeship, as if they recognized in me something more than a fossil +exhibit. I like to have them go on talking about their beaux and their +work and play, and let me talk about it, too. Sally Meade makes me feel +always that there is in me an undying young girl who has outlived all of +my years and is her friend and equal.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry if I was forward, cousin Mary, but the sailing is to be my +party, you know, and then I thought you liked him. He had a pretty +manner for a common sailor, didn't he? And his voice—these low-class +English people have wonderfully well-bred, soft voices. I suppose it's +particularly so here in the South. Cousin Mary, did you see the look he +gave you with those delicious dark eyes? It's always the way—gentleman +or hod-carrier—no one has a chance with men when you are about."</p> + +<p>It is pleasant to me, old woman as I am, to be told that people like +me—more pleasant, I think, every year. I never take it for truth, of +course, but I believe it means good feeling, and it makes an atmosphere +easy to breathe. I purred like a contented cat under Sally's talking, +yet, to save my dignity, kept up a protest.</p> + +<p>"Sally, my dear! Delicious dark eyes! I'm ashamed of you—a common +sailor!"</p> + +<p>"I didn't smile at him," said Sally, reflectively.</p> + +<p>So, struggling up the steep street of Clovelly, we went home to the "New +Inn," to cold broiled lobster, to strawberries and clotted Devonshire +cream, and dreamless sleep in the white beds of the quiet rooms whose +windows looked toward the woods and cliffs of Hobby Drive on one side, +and on the other toward the dark, sparkling jewel of the moon-lighted +ocean, and the shadowy line of Lundy Island far in the distance.</p> + +<p>That I, an inland woman, an old maid of sixty, should tell a story of +sailing and of love seems a little ridiculous. My nephews at college +beguile me to talk about boats, and then laugh to hear me, for I think +I get the names of things twisted. And as for what I know of the +other—the only love-making to which I ever listened was ended forty +years ago by one of the northern balls that fell in fiery rain on +Pickett's charge at Gettysburg. Yet, if I but tell the tale as it came +to me, others may feel as I did the thrill of the rushing of the keel +through dashing salt water, the swing of the great white sail above, the +flapping of the fresh wind in the slack of it, the exhilaration of +moving with power like the angels, with the great forces of nature for +muscles, the joy of it all expanding, pulsing through you, till it seems +as if the sky might crack if once you let your delight go free. And some +may catch, too, that other thrill, of the hidden feeling that glorified +those days. Few lives are so poor that the like of it has not brightened +them, and no one quite forgets.</p> + +<p>It is partly Sally Meade's Southern accent that has made me love her +above nearer cousins, from her babyhood. The modulations of her voice +seem always to bring me close to the sound of the voice that went into +silence when Geoffrey Meade, her father's young kinsman, was killed +long ago.</p> + +<p>The Meades, old-time planters in Virginia, have been very poor since the +distant war of the sixties, and it has been one of my luxuries to give +Sally a lift over hard places. Always with instant reward, for the +smallest bit of sunlight, going into her prismatic spirit, comes out a +magnificent rainbow of happiness. So when the idea came that they might +let me have the girl to take abroad that summer, her friend, the girl +spirit in me, jumped for joy. There was no difficulty made; it was one +of the rare good things too good to be true, that yet are true. She did +more for me than I for her, for I simply spent some superfluous idle +money, while she filled every day with a new enjoyment, the reflection +of her own fresh pleasure in every day as it came.</p> + +<p>So here we were prowling about the south of England with "Westward Ho!" +for a guide-book; coaching through deep, tawny Devonshire lanes from +Bideford to Clovelly; searching for the old tombstone of Will Cary's +grave in the churchyard on top of the hill; gathering tales of +Salvation Yeo and of Amyas Leigh; listening to echoes of the +three-hundred-year-old time when the great sea-battle was fought in the +channel and many ships of the Armada wrecked along this Devonshire +coast. And always coming back to sleep in the fascinating little "New +Inn," as old as the hills, built on both sides of the one rocky ladder +street of Clovelly, the street so steep that no horses can go in it, and +at the bottom of whose breezy tunnel one sees the rolling floor of the +sea. In so careless a way does the Inn ramble about the cliff that when +I first went to my room, two flights up from the front, I caught my +breath at a blaze of scarlet and yellow nasturtiums that faced me +through a white-painted doorway opening on the hillside and on a tiny +garden at the back.</p> + +<p>The irresponsible pleasure of our first sail the next afternoon was +never quite repeated. The boat shot from the landing like a high-strung +horse given his head, out across the unbordered road of silver water, +and in a moment, as we raced toward the low white clouds, we turned and +saw the cliffs of the coast and the tiny village, a gay little pile of +white, green-latticed houses steeped in foliage lying up a crack in the +precipice. Above was the long stretch of the woods of Hobby Drive. +Clovelly is so old that its name is in Domesday Book; so old, some say, +that it was a Roman station, and its name was Clausa Vaillis. But it is +a nearer ancientness that haunts it now. Every wave that dashes on the +rocky shore carries a legend of the ships of the Invincible Armada. As +we asked question after question of our sailor, handsomer than ever +to-day with a red silk handkerchief knotted sailor-fashion about his +strong neck, story after story flashed out, clear and dramatic, from his +answers. The bunch of houses there on the shore? Yes, that had a +history. The people living there were a dark-featured, reticent lot, +different from other people hereabouts. It was said that one of the +Spanish galleons went ashore there, and the men had been saved and had +settled on the spot and married Devonshire women, but their descendants +had never lost the tradition of their blood. Certainly their speech and +their customs were peculiar, unlike those of the villages near. He had +been there and had seen them, had heard them talk. Yes, they were +distinct. He laughed a little to acknowledge it, with an Englishman's +distrust of anything theatrical. A steep cliff started out into the +waves, towering three hundred feet in almost perpendicular lines. Had +that a name? Yes, that was called "Gallantry Bower." No; it was not a +sentimental story—it was the old sea-fight again. It was said that an +English sailor threw a rope from the height and saved life after life of +the crew of a Spaniard wrecked under the point.</p> + +<p>"You know the history of your place very well," said Sally. The young +man kept his eyes on his steering apparatus and a slow half-smile +troubled his face and was gone.</p> + +<p>"I've had a bit of an education for a seaman—Miss," he said. And then, +after apparently reflecting a moment, "My people live near the Leighs of +Burrough Court, and I was playmate to the young gentlemen and was given +a chance to learn with them, with their tutors, more than a common man +is likely to get always."</p> + +<p>At that Sally's enthusiasm broke through her reserve, and I was only a +little less eager.</p> + +<p>"The Leighs! The real, old Leighs of Burrough? Amyas Leigh's +descendants? Was that story true? Oh!—" And here manners and +curiosity met and the first had the second by the throat. She stopped. +But our sailor looked up with a boyish laugh that illumined his dark +face.</p> + +<p>"Is it so picturesque? I have been brought up so close that it seems +commonplace to me. Every one must be descended from somebody, you know."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but Amyas Leigh!" went on Sally, flushed and excited, forgetting +the man in his story. "Why, he's my hero of all fiction! Think of it, +Cousin Mary—there are men near here who are his great—half-a-dozen +greats—grandchildren! Cousin Mary," she stopped and looked at me +impressively, oblivious of the man so near her, "if I could lay my hands +on one of those young Leighs of Burrough I'd marry him in spite of his +struggles, just to be called by that name. I believe I would."</p> + +<p>"Sally!" I exclaimed, and glanced at the man; Sally's cheeks colored as +she followed my look. His mouth was twitching, and his eyes smouldered +with fun. But he behaved well. On some excuse of steering he turned his +back instantly and squarely toward us. But Sally's interest was +irrepressible.</p> + +<p>"Would you mind telling me their names, Cary?" she asked. He had told us +to call him Cary. "The names of the Mr. Leighs of Burrough."</p> + +<p>"No, Cary," I said. "I think Miss Meade doesn't notice that she is +asking you personal questions about your friends."</p> + +<p>Cary turned on me a look full of gentleness and chivalry. "Miss Meade +doesn't ask anything that I cannot answer perfectly well," he said. +"There are two sons of the Leighs, Richard Grenville, the older, and +Amyas Francis, the younger. They keep the old names you see. +Richard—Sir Richard, I should say—is the head of the family, his +father being dead."</p> + +<p>"Sir Richard Grenville Leigh!" said Sally, quite carried away by that +historic combination. "That's better than Amyas," she went on, +reflectively. "Is he decent? But never mind. I'll marry <i>him</i>, Cousin +Mary."</p> + +<p>At that our sailor-man shook with laughter, and as I met his eyes +appealing for permission, I laughed as hard as he. Only Sally was +apparently quite serious.</p> + +<p>"He would he very lucky—Miss," he said, restraining his mirth with a +respect that I thought remarkable, and turned again to his rudder.</p> + +<p>Sally, for the first time having felt the fascination of breathing +historic air, was no longer to be held. The sweeping, free motion, the +rush of water under the bow as we cut across the waves, the wide sky and +the air that has made sailors and soldiers and heroes of Devonshire men +for centuries on end, the exhilaration of it all had gone to the girl's +head. She was as unconscious of Cary as if he had been part of his boat. +I had seen her act so when she was six, and wild with the joy of an +autumn morning, intoxicated with oxygen. We had been put for safety into +the hollow part of the boat where the seats are—I forget what they call +it—the scupper, I think. But I am apt to be wrong on the nomenclature. +At all events, there we were, standing up half the time to look at the +water, the shore, the distant sails, and because life was too intense to +sit down. But when Sally, for all her gentle ways, took the bit in her +teeth, it was too restricted for her there.</p> + +<p>"Is there any law against my going up and holding on to the mast?" she +asked Cary.</p> + +<p>"Not if you won't fall overboard, Miss," he answered.</p> + +<p>The girl, with a strong, self-reliant jump, a jump that had an echo of +tennis and golf and horseback, scrambled up and forward, Cary taking his +alert eyes a moment from his sailing, to watch her to safety, I thought +her pretty as a picture as she stood swaying with one arm around the +mast, in her white shirt-waist and dark dress, her head bare, and brown, +untidy hair blowing across the fresh color of her face, and into her +clear hazel eyes.</p> + +<p>"What is the name of this boat?" she demanded, and Cary's deep, gentle +voice lifted the two words of his answer across the twenty feet between +them.</p> + +<p>"The Revenge" he said.</p> + +<p>Then there was indeed joy. "The Revenge! The Revenge! I am sailing on +the Revenge, with a man who knows Sir Richard Grenville and Amyas Leigh! +Cousin Mary, listen to that—this is the Revenge we're on—this!" She +hugged the mast, "And there are Spanish galleons, great three-deckers, +with yawning tiers of guns, all around us! You may not see them, but +they are here! They are ghosts, but they are here! There is the great +San Philip, hanging over us like a cloud, and we are—we are—Oh, I +don't know who we are, but we're in the fight, the most beautiful fight +in history!" She began to quote:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>And half of their fleet to the right, and half to the left were seen,</div> +<div>And the little Revenge ran on through the long sea-lane between.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>And then:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>Thousands of their sailors looked down from the decks and laughed;</div> +<div>Thousands of their soldiers made mock at the mad little craft</div> +<div>Running on and on till delayed</div> +<div>By the mountain-like San Philip that, of fifteen hundred tons,</div> +<div>And towering high above us with her yawning tiers of guns,</div> +<div>Took the breath from our sails, and we stayed.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>The soft, lingering voice threw the words at us with a thrill and a leap +forward, just us the Revenge was carrying us with long bounds, over the +shining sea. We were spinning easily now, under a steady light wind, and +Cary, his hand on the rudder, was opposite me. He turned with a start as +the girl began Tennyson's lines, and his shining dark eyes stared up at +her.</p> + +<p>"Do you know that?" he said, forgetting the civil "Miss" in his +earnestness.</p> + +<p>"Do I know it? Indeed I do!" cried Sally from her swinging rostrum. "Do +you know it, too? I love it—I love every word of it—listen," And I, +who knew her good memory, and the spell that the music of a noble poem +cast over her, settled myself with resignation. I was quite sure that, +short of throwing her overboard, she would recite that poem from +beginning to end. And she did. Her skirts and her hair blowing, her eyes +full of the glory of that old "forlorn hope," gazing out past us to the +seas that had borne the hero, she said it.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>At Flores in the Azores, Sir Richard Grenville lay,</div> +<div>And a pinnace, like a frightened bird, came flying from far away;</div> +<div>Spanish ships of war at sea, we have sighted fifty-three!</div> +<div>Then up spake Sir Thomas Howard</div> +<div>"'Fore God, I am no coward"—</div> +</div></div> + +<p>She went on and on with the brave, beautiful story. How Sir Thomas would +not throw away his six ships of the line in a hopeless fight against +fifty-three; how yet Sir Richard, in the Revenge, would not leave behind +his "ninety men and more, who were lying sick ashore"; how at last Sir +Thomas</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div class="i8">sailed away</div> +<div>With five ships of war that day</div> +<div>Till they melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven,</div> +<div>But Sir Richard bore in hand</div> +<div>All his sick men from the land,</div> +<div>Very carefully and slow,</div> +<div>Men of Bideford in Devon—</div> +<div>And he laid them on the ballast down below;</div> +<div>And they blessed him in their pain</div> +<div>That they were not left to Spain,</div> +<div>To the thumbscrew and the stake, for the glory of the Lord.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>The boat sailed softly, steadily now, as if it would not jar the rhythm +of the voice telling, with soft inflections, with long, rushing meter, +the story of that other Revenge, of the men who had gone from these +shores, under the great Sir Richard, to that glorious death.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div>And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer sea,</div> +<div>And not one moment ceased the fight of the one and the fifty-three.</div> +<div>Ship after ship, the whole night long, their high-built galleons came;</div> +<div>Ship after ship, the whole night long, with their battle thunder and flame;</div> +<div>Ship after ship, the whole night long, drew back with her dead and her shame;</div> +<div>For some they sunk, and many they shattered so they could fight no more.</div> +<div>God of battles! Was ever a battle like this in the world before?</div> +</div></div> + +<p>As I listened, though I knew the words almost, by heart too, my eyes +filled with tears and my soul with the desire to have been there, to +have fought as they did, on the little Revenge one after another of the +great Spanish ships, till at last the Revenge was riddled and helpless, +and Sir Richard called to the master-gunner to sink the ship for him, +but the men rebelled, and the Spaniards took what was left of ship and +fighters. And Sir Richard, mortally wounded, was carried on board the +flagship of his enemies, and died there, in his glory, while the +captains</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<div class="i2">—praised him to his face.</div> +<div>With their courtly Spanish grace.</div> +</div></div> + +<p>So died, never man more greatly, Sir Richard Grenville, of Stow in +Devon.</p> + +<p>The crimson and gold of sunset were streaming across the water as she +ended, and we sat silent. The sailor's face was grim, as men's faces are +when they are deeply stirred, but in his dark eyes burned an intensity +that reserve could not bold back, and as he still stared at the girl a +look shot from them that startled me like speech. She did not notice. +She was shaken with the passion of the words she had repeated, and +suddenly, through the sunlit, rippling silence, she spoke again.</p> + +<p>"It's a great thing to be a Devonshire sailor," she said, solemnly. "A +wonderful inheritance—it ought never to be forgotten. And as for that +man—that Sir Richard Grenville Leigh—he ought to carry his name so +high that nothing low or small could ever touch it. He ought never to +think a thought that is not brave and fine and generous."</p> + +<p>There was a moment's stillness and then I said, "Sally, my child, it +seems to me you are laying down the law a little freely for Devonshire. +You have only been here four days." And in a second she was on her usual +gay terms with the world again.</p> + +<p>"A great preacher was wasted in me," she said. "How I could have +thundered at everybody else about their sins! Cousin Mary, I'm coming +down—I'm all battered, knocking against the must, and the little +trimmings hurt my hands."</p> + +<p>Cary did not smile. His face was repressed and expressionless and in it +was a look that I did not understand. He turned soberly to his rudder +and across the broken gold and silver of the water the boat drew in to +shadowy Clovelly.</p> + +<p>It was a shock, after we had landed and I had walked down the quay a few +yards to inspect the old Red Lion Inn, the house of Salvation Yeo, to +come back and find Sally dickering with Cary. I had agreed that this +sail should be her "party," because it pleased the girl's proud spirit +to open her small purse sometimes for my amusement. But I did not mean +to let her pay for all our sailing, and I was horrified to find her +trying to get Cary cheaper by the quantity. When I arrived, Sally, a +little flustered and very dignified and quite evidently at the end of a +discussion as to terms, was concluding an engagement, and there was a +gleam in the man's wonderful eyes, which did much of his talking for +him.</p> + +<p>"You see the boat is very new and clean, Miss," he was saying, "and I +hope you were satisfied with me?"</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="illustr-07.jpg" id="illustr-07.jpg"></a><img src="images/illustr-07.jpg" width="360" height="560" alt="You see, the boat is very new and clean, Miss, he was +saying." /></p> + +<p class="caption">"You see, the boat is very new and clean, Miss," he was +saying.</p> + + +<p>I upset Sally's business affairs at once, engaged Cary, and told him he +must take out no one else without knowing our plans. My handkerchief +fell as I talked to him and he picked it up and presented it with as +much ease and grace as if he had done such things all his life. It was a +remarkable sailor we had happened on. A smile came like sunshine over +his face—the smile that made him look as Geoffrey Meade looked, half a +century ago.</p> + +<p>"I'll promise not to take any one else, ma'am," he said. And then, with +the pretty, engaging frankness that won my heart over again each time, +"And I hope you'll want to go often—not so much for the money, but +because it is a pleasure to me to take you—both."</p> + +<p>There was mail for us waiting at the Inn. "Listen, Sally," I said, as I +read mine in my room after dinner. "This is from Anne Ford. She wants to +join us here the 6th of next month, to fill in a week between visits at +country-houses."</p> + +<p>Sally, sitting on the floor before the fire, her dark hair loose and her +letters lying about her, looked up attentively, and discreetly answered +nothing. Anne Ford was my cousin, but not hers, and I knew without +discussing it, that Sally cared for her no more than I. She was made of +showy fibre, woven in a brilliant pattern, but the fibre was a little +coarse, and the pattern had no shading. She was rich and a beauty and so +used to being the centre of things, and largely the circumference too, +that I, who am a spoiled old woman, and like a little place and a little +consideration, find it difficult to be comfortable as spoke upon her +wheel.</p> + +<p>"It's too bad," I went on regretfully. "Anne will not appreciate +Clovelly, and she will spoil it for us. She is not a girl I care for. I +don't see why I should he made a convenience for Anne Ford," I argued in +my selfish way. "I think I shall write her not to come."</p> + +<p>Sally laughed cheerfully. "She won't bother us, Cousin Mary. It would be +too bad to refuse her, wouldn't it? She can't spoil Clovelly—it's been +here too long. Anne is rather overpowering," Sally went on, a bit +wistfully. "She's such a beauty, and she has such stunning clothes."</p> + +<p>The firelight played on the girl's flushed, always-changing face, full +of warm light and shadow; it touched daintily the white muslin and pink +ribbons of the pretty negligee she wore, Sally was one of the poor girls +whose simple things are always fresh and right. I leaned over and patted +her rough hair affectionately.</p> + +<p>"Your clothes are just as pretty," I said, "and Anne doesn't compare +with you in my eyes." I lifted the unfinished letter and glanced over +it. "All about her visit to Lady Fisher," I said aloud, giving a résumé +as I read. "What gowns she wore to what functions; what men were devoted +to her—their names—titles—incomes too." I smiled. "And—what is +this?" I stopped talking, for a name had caught my eye. I glanced over +the page. "Isn't this curious! Listen, my dear," I said. "This will +interest you!" I read aloud from Anne's letter.</p> + +<p>"'But the man who can have me if he wants me is Sir Richard Leigh. He is +the very best that ever happened, and moreover, quite the catch of the +season. His title is old, and he has a yacht and an ancestral place or +two, and is very rich, they say—but that isn't it. My heart is his +without his decorations—well, perhaps not quite that, but it's +certainly his with the decorations. He is such a beauty, Cousin Mary! +Even you would admire him. It gives you quite a shock when he comes into +a room, yet he is so unconscious and modest, and has the most graceful, +fascinatingly quiet manners and wonderful brown eyes that seem to talk +for him. He does everything well, and everything hard, is a dare-devil +on horseback, a reckless sailor, and a lot besides. If you could see the +way those eyes look at me, and the smile that breaks over his face as if +the sun had come out suddenly! But alas! the sun has gone under now, for +he went this morning, and it's not clear if he's coming back or not. +They say his yacht is near Bideford, where his home is, and Clovelly is +not far from that, is it?'"</p> + +<p>I stopped and looked at Sally, listening, on the floor. She was staring +into the fire.</p> + +<p>"What do you think of that?" I asked. Sally was slow at answering; she +stared on at the burning logs that seemed whispering answers to the +blaze.</p> + +<p>"Some girls have everything," she said at length. "Look at Anne. She's +beautiful and rich and everybody admires her, and she goes about to big +country-houses and meets famous and interesting people. And now this Sir +Richard Leigh comes like the prince into the story, and I dare say he +will fall in love with her and if she finds no one that suits her better +she will marry him and have that grand old historic name."</p> + +<p>"Sally, dear," I said, "you're not envying Anne, are you?"</p> + +<p>A quick blush rushed to her face. "Cousin Mary! What foolishness I've +been talking! How could I! What must you think of me! I didn't mean +it—please believe I didn't. I'm the luckiest girl on earth, and I'm +having the most perfect time, and you are a fairy godmother to me, +except that you're more like a younger sister. I was thinking aloud. +Anne is such a brilliant being compared to me, that the thought of her +discourages me sometimes. It was just Cinderella admiring the princess, +you know."</p> + +<p>"Cinderella got the prince," I said, smiling.</p> + +<p>"I don't want the prince," said Sally, "even if I could get him. I +wouldn't marry an Englishman. I don't care about a title. To be a +Virginian is enough title for me. It was just his name, magnificent Sir +Richard Grenville's name and the Revenge-Armada atmosphere that took my +fancy. I don't know if Anne would care for that part," she added, +doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure Anne would know nothing about it," I answered decidedly, and +Sally went on cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"She's very welcome to the modern Sir Richard, yacht and title and all. +I don't believe he's as attractive as your sailor, Cousin Mary. +Something the same style, I should say from the description. If you +hadn't owned him from the start, I'd rather like that man to be my +sailor, Cousin Mary—he's so everything that a gentleman is supposed to +be. How did he learn that manner—why, it would flatter you if he let +the boom whack you on the head. Too bad he's only a common sailor—such +a prince gone wrong!"</p> + +<p>I looked at her talking along softly, leaning back on one hand and +gazing at the fire, a small white Turkish slipper—Southern girls always +have little feet—stuck out to the blaze, and something in the leisurely +attitude and low, unhurried voice, something, too, in the reminiscent +crackle of the burning wood, invited me to confidence. I went to my +dressing-table, and when I came back, dropped, as if I were another +girl, on the rug beside her. "I want to show you this," I said, and +opened a case that travels always with me. From the narrow gold rim of +frame inside, my lover smiled gayly up at her brown hair and my gray, +bending over it together.</p> + +<p>None of the triumphs of modern photographers seem to my eyes so +delicately charming as the daguerrotypes of the sixties. As we tipped +the old picture this way and that, to catch the right light on the image +under the glass, the very uncertainty of effect seemed to give it an +elusive fascination. To my mind the birds in the bush have always +brighter plumage than any in the hand, and one of these early +photographs leaves ever, no matter from what angle you look upon it, +much to the imagination. So Geoff in his gray Southern uniform, young +and soldierly, laughed up at Sally and me from the shadowy lines beneath +the glass, more like a vision of youth than like actual flesh and blood +that had once been close and real. His brown hair, parted far to one +side, swept across his forehead in a smooth wave, as was the +old-fashioned way; his collar was of a big, queer sort unknown to-day; +the cut of his soldier's coat was antique; but the beauty of the boyish +face, the straight glance of his eyes, and ease of the broad shoulders +that military drill could not stiffen, these were untouched, were +idealized even by the old-time atmosphere that floated up from the +picture like fragrance of rose-leaves. As I gazed down at the boy, it +came to me with a pang that he was very young and I growing very old, +and I wondered would he care for me still. Then I remembered that where +he lived it was the unworn soul and not the worn-out body that counted, +and I knew that the spirit within me would meet his when the day came, +with as fresh a joy as forty years ago. And as I still looked, happy in +the thought, I felt all at once as if I had seen his face, heard his +voice, felt the touch of his young hand that day—could almost feel it +yet. Perhaps my eyes were a little dim, perhaps the uncertainty of the +old daguerrotype helped the illusion, but the smile of the master of the +Revenge seemed to shine up at me from my Geoff's likeness, and then +Sally's slow voice broke the pause.</p> + +<p>"It's Cousin Geoffrey, isn't it?" she asked. Her father was Geoffrey +Meade's cousin—a little boy when Geoff died, "Was he as beautiful as +that?" she said, gently, putting her hand over mine that held the velvet +case. And then, after another pause, she went on, hesitatingly; "Cousin +Mary, I wonder if you would mind if I told you whom he looks like to +me?"</p> + +<p>"No, my dear," I answered easily, and like an echo to my thought her +words came.</p> + +<p>"It is your sailor. Do you see it? He is only a common seaman, of +course, but I think he must have a wonderful face, for with all his +dare-devil ways I always think of 'Blessed are the pure in spirit' when +I see him. And the eyes in the picture have the same expression—do you +mind my saying it, Cousin Mary?"</p> + +<p>"I saw it myself the first time I looked at him," I said. And then, as +people do when they are on the verge of crying, I laughed. "Anne Ford +would think me ridiculous, wouldn't she?" and I held Geoff's picture in +both my hands. "He is much better suited to her or to you. A splendid +young fellow of twenty-four to belong to an old woman like me—it is +absurd, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"He is suited to no one but you, dear, and you are just his age and +always will be," and as Sally's arms caught me tight I felt tears that +were not my own on my cheek.</p> + +<p>It was ten days yet before Anne was due to arrive, and almost every day +of the ten we sailed. The picturesque coast of North Devon, its deep +bays, its stretches of high, tree-topped cliffs, grew to be home-like to +us. We said nothing of Cary and his boat at the Inn, for we soon saw +that both were far-and-away better than common, and we were selfish. +Nor did the man himself seem to care for more patronage. He was always +ready when we wished to go, and jumped from his spick-and-span deck to +meet us with a smile that started us off in sunshine, no matter what the +weather. And with my affection for the lovely, uneven coast and the seas +that held it in their flashing fingers, grew my interest in the winning +personality that seemed to combine something of the strength of the +hills and the charm of the seas of Devonshire.</p> + +<p>One day after another he loosed the ropes with practised touch, and the +wind taught the sail with a gay rattle and the little Revenge flung off +the steep street and the old sea-wall and the green cliffs of Clovelly, +and first yards and then miles of rippling ocean lay between us and +land, and we sailed away, we did not need to know or care where, with +our fate for the afternoon in his reliable hands. Little by little we +forgot artificial distinctions in the out-of-doors, natural atmosphere, +or that the man was anything but himself—a self always simple, always +right. Looking back, I see how deeply I was to blame, to have been so +blind, at my age, but the figure by the rudder, swinging to the boat's +motion, grew to be so familiar and pleasant a sight, that I did not +think of being on guard against him. Little as he talked, his moods were +varied, grave or gay or with a gleam of daring in his eyes that made +him, I think, a little more attractive than any other way. Yet when a +wind of seriousness lifted the still or impetuous surface, I caught a +glimpse, sometimes, of a character of self-reliance, of decision as +solid as the depths under the shifting water of his ocean. There was +never a false note in his gentle manner, and I grew to trust serenely to +his tact and self-respect, and talked to him freely as I chose. Which of +course I should not have done. But there was a temptation to which I +yielded in watching for the likeness in his face, and in listening for a +tone or two of his voice that caught my heart with the echo of a voice +long silent.</p> + +<p>One morning to our astonishment Cary sent up to break our engagement for +the afternoon. Something had happened so that he could not possibly get +away. But it was moonlight and warm—would we not go out in the evening? +The idea seemed to me a little improper, yet very attractive, and +Sally's eyes danced.</p> + +<p>"Let's be bold and bad and go, Cousin Mary," she pleaded, and we went.</p> + +<p>A shower of moonlight fell across the sea and on the dark masses of the +shore; it lay in sharp patches against the black shadows of the sail; it +turned Sally's bare, dark head golden, and tipped each splashing wave +with a quick-vanishing electric light. It was not earth or ocean, but +fairyland. We were sailing over the forgotten, sea-buried land of +Lyonesse; forests where Tristram and Iseult had ridden, lay under our +rushing keel; castles and towers and churches were there—hark! could I +not hear the faint bells in the steeples ringing up through the waves? +The old legend, half true, half fable, was all real to me as I sat in +the shadow of the sail and stared, only half seeing them, at Sally +standing with her hands on the rudder and Cary leaning over her, +teaching her to sail the Revenge. Their voices came to me clear and +musical, yet carrying no impression of what they were saying. Then I saw +Sally's little fingers slip suddenly, and Cary's firm hand close over +them, pushing the rudder strongly to one side. His face was toward me, +and I saw the look that went over it as his hand held hers. It startled +me to life again, and I sat up straight, but he spoke at once with quiet +self-possession.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, Miss Meade. She was heading off a bit dangerously."</p> + +<p>And he went on with directions, laughing at her a little, scolding her a +little, yet all with a manner that could not be criticised. I still +wonder how he could have poised so delicately and so long on that +slender line of possible behavior.</p> + +<p>As the boat slipped over the shimmering ocean, back into the harbor +again, most of the houses up the sharp ascent of Clovelly street were +dark, but out on the water lay a mass of brilliant lights, rocking +slowly on the tide. Sally was first to notice it.</p> + +<p>"There is a ship lying out there. Is it a ship or is it an enchantment? +She is lighted all over. What is it—do you know?"</p> + +<p>Cary was working at the sail and he did not look at us or at it as he +answered.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Miss—I know her. She is Sir Richard Leigh's yacht the Rose. She +was there as we went out, but she was dark and you did not notice her."</p> + +<p>I exclaimed, full of interest, at this, but Sally, standing ghost-like +in her white dress against the sinking sail, said nothing, but stared at +the lights that outlined the yacht against the deep distance of the sky, +and that seemed, as the shadowy hull swung dark on the water, to start +out from nowhere in pin-pricks of diamonds set in opal moonlight.</p> + +<p>Lundy Island lies away from Clovelly to the northwest seventeen miles +off on the edge of the world. Each morning as I opened my window at the +Inn, and looked out for the new day's version of the ocean, it lifted a +vague line of invitation and of challenge. Since we had been in +Devonshire the atmosphere of adventure that hung over Lundy had haunted +me with the wish to go there. It was the "Shutter," the tall pinnacle of +rock at its southern end, that Amyas Leigh saw for his last sight of +earth, when the lightning blinded him, in the historic storm that +strewed ships of the Armada along the shore. I am not a rash person, yet +I was so saturated with the story of "Westward Ho!" that I could not go +away satisfied unless I had set foot on Lundy. But it had the worst of +reputations, and landing was said to be hazardous.</p> + +<p>"It isn't that I can't get you there," said Cary when I talked to him, +"but I might not be able to get you away."</p> + +<p>Then he explained in a wise way that I did not entirely follow, how the +passage through the rocks was intricate, and could only be done with a +right wind, and how, if the wind changed suddenly, it was impossible to +work out until the right wind came again. And that might not be for +days, if one was unlucky. It had been known to happen so. Yet I lingered +over the thought, and the more I realized that it was unreasonable, the +more I wanted to go. The spirit of the Devonshire seas seemed, to my +fancy, to live on the guarded, dangerous rocks, and I must pay tribute +before I left his kingdom. Cary laughed a little at my one bit of +adventurous spirit so out of keeping with my gray hairs, but it was easy +to see that he too wanted to go, and that only fear for our safety and +comfort made him hesitate. The day before Anne Ford was due we went. It +was the day, too, after our sail in the moonlight that I half believed, +remembering its lovely unreality, had been a dream. But as we sailed +out, there lay Sir Richard Leigh's yacht to prove it, smart and +impressive, shining and solid in the sunlight as it had been ethereal +the night before. I gazed at her with some curiosity.</p> + +<p>"Have you been on board?" I asked our sailor. "Is Sir Richard there?"</p> + +<p>Cary glanced at Sally, who had turned a cold shoulder to the yacht and +was looking back at Clovelly village, crawling up its deep crack in the +cliff. "Yes," he said; "I've been on her twice. Sir Richard is living on +her."</p> + +<p>"I suppose he's some queer little rat of a man," Sally brought out in +her soft voice, to nobody in particular.</p> + +<p>I was surprised at the girl's incivility, but Cary answered promptly, +"Yes, Miss!" with such cheerful alacrity that I turned to look at him, +more astonished. I met eyes gleaming with a hardly suppressed amusement +which, if I had stopped to reason about it, was much out of place. But +yet, as I looked at him with calm dignity and seriousness, I felt myself +sorely tempted to laugh back. I am a bad old woman sometimes.</p> + +<p>The Revenge careered along over the water as if mad to get to Lundy, +under a strong west wind. In about two hours the pile of fantastic rocks +lay stretched in plain view before us. We were a mile or more away—I am +a very uncertain judge of distance—but we could see distinctly the +clouds of birds, glittering white sea-gulls, blowing hither and thither +above the wild little continent where were their nests. There are +thousands and thousands of gulls on Lundy. We had sailed out from +Clovelly at two in bright afternoon sunshine, but now, at nearly four, +the blue was covering with gray, and I saw Cary look earnestly at the +quick-moving sky.</p> + +<p>"Is it going to rain?" I asked.</p> + +<p>He stood at the rudder, feet apart and shoulders full of muscle and full +of grace, the handkerchief around his neck a line of flame between blue +clothes and olive face. A lock of bronze hair blew boyishly across his +forehead.</p> + +<p>"Worse than that," he said, and his eyes were keen as he stared at the +uneven water in front of us. A basin of smoother water and the yellow +tongue of a sand-beach lay beyond it at the foot of a line of high +rocks. "The passage is there"—he nodded. "If I can make it before the +squall catches us"—he glanced up again and then turned to Sally. "Could +you sail her a moment while I see to the sheet? Keep her just so." His +hand placed Sally's with a sort of roughness on the rudder. "Are you +afraid?" He paused a second to ask it.</p> + +<p>"Not a bit," said the girl, smiling up at him cheerfully, and then he +was working away, and the little Revenge was flying, ripping the waves, +every breath nearer by yards to that tumbling patch of wolf-gray water.</p> + +<p>As I said, I know less about a boat than a boy of five. I can never +remember what the parts of it are called and it is a wonder to me how +they can make it go more than one way. So I cannot tell in any +intelligent manner what happened. But, as it seemed, suddenly, while I +watched Sally standing steadily with both her little hands holding the +rudder, there was a crack as if the earth had split, then, with a +confused rushing and tearing, a mass of something fell with a long-drawn +crash, and as I stared, paralyzed, I saw the mast strike against the +girl as she stood, her hands still firmly on the rudder, and saw her go +down without a sound. There were two or three minutes of which I +remember nothing but the roaring of water. I think I must have been +caught under the sail, for the next I knew I was struggling from beneath +its stiff whiteness, and as I looked about, dazed, behold! we had passed +the reefs and lay rocking quietly. I saw that first, and then I saw +Cary's head as it bent over something he held in his arms—and it was +Sally! I tried to call, I tried to reach them, but the breath must have +been battered out of me, for I could not, and Cary did not notice me. I +think he forgot I was on earth. As I gazed at them speechless, +breathless, Sally's eyes opened and smiled up at him, and she turned her +face against his shoulder like a child. Cary's dark cheek went down +against hers, and through the sudden quiet I heard him whisper.</p> + +<p>"Sweetheart! sweetheart!" he said.</p> + +<p>Both heads, close against each other, were still for a long moment, and +then my gasping, rasping voice came back to me.</p> + +<p>"Cary!" I cried, "for mercy's sake, come and take me out of this jib!"</p> + +<p>I have the most confused recollection of the rest of that afternoon. +Cary hammered and sawed and worked like a beaver with the help of two +men who lived on Lundy, fishermen by the curious name of Heaven. Sally +and I helped, too, whenever we could, but all in a heavy silence. Sally +was wrapped in dignity as in a mantle, and her words were few and +practical. Cary, quite as practical, had no thought apparently for +anything but his boat. As for me, I was like a naughty old cat. I fussed +and complained till I must have been unendurable, for the emotions +within me were all at cross-purposes. I was frightened to death when I +thought of General Meade; I was horrified at the picture stamped on my +memory of his daughter, trusted to my care, smiling up with that +unmistakable expression into the eyes of a common sailor. Horrified! My +blood froze at the thought. Yet—it was unpardonable of me—yet I felt a +thrill as I saw again those two young heads together, and heard the +whispered words that were not meant for me to hear.</p> + +<p>Somehow or other, after much difficulty, and under much mental strain, +we got home. Sally hardly spoke as we toiled up the stony hill in the +dark beneath a pouring rain, and I, too, felt my tongue tied in an +embarrassed silence. At some time, soon, we must talk, but we both felt +strongly that it was well to wait till we could change our clothes.</p> + +<p>At last we reached the friendly brightness of the New Inn windows; we +trudged past them to the steps, we mounted them, and as the front door +opened, the radiant vision burst upon us of Anne Ford, come a day before +her time, fresh and charming and voluble—voluble! It seemed the last +straw to our tired and over-taxed nerves, yet no one could have been +more concerned and sympathetic, and that we were inclined not to be +explicit as to details suited her exactly. All the sooner could she get +to her own affairs. Sir Richard Leigh's yacht was the burden of her lay, +and that it was here and we had seen it added lustre to our adventures. +That we had not been on board and did not know him, was satisfactory +too, and neither of us had the heart to speak of Cary. We listened +wearily, feeling colorless and invertebrate beside this brilliant +creature, while Anne planned to send her card to him to-morrow, and +conjectured gayeties for all of us, beyond. Sir Richard Leigh and his +yacht did not fill a very large arc on our horizon to-night. Sally came +into my room to tell me good-night, when we went up-stairs, and she +looked so wistful and tired that I gave her two kisses instead of one.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," she said, smiling mistily. "We won't talk to-night, will +we, Cousin Mary?" So without words, we separated.</p> + +<p>Next morning as I opened my tired eyes on a world well started for the +day, there came a tap at the door and in floated Anne Ford, a fine bird +in fine feathers, wide-awake and brisk.</p> + +<p>"Never saw such lazy people!" she exclaimed. "I've just been in to see +Sally and she refuses to notice me. I suppose it's exhaustion from +shipwreck. But I wasn't shipwrecked, and I've had my breakfast, and it's +too glorious a morning to stay indoors, so I'm going to walk down to the +water and look at Sir Richard's boat, and send off my card to him by a +sailor or something. Then, if he's a good boy, he will turn up to-day, +and then—!" The end of Anne's sentence was wordless ecstasy.</p> + +<p>But the mention of the sailor had opened the flood-gates for me, and in +rushed all my responsibilities. What should I do with this situation +into which I had so easily slipped, and let Sally slip? Should I +instantly drag her off to France like a proper chaperone? Then how could +I explain to Anne—Anne would be heavy dragging with that lodestone of a +yacht in the harbor. Or could we stay here as we had planned and not see +Cary again? The unformed shapes of different questions and answers came +dancing at me like a legion of imps as I lay with my head on the pillow +and looked at Anne's confident, handsome face, and admired the freshness +and cut of her pale blue linen gown.</p> + +<p>"Well, Cousin Mary," she said at last, "you and Sally seem both to be +struck dumb from your troubles. I'm going off to leave you till you can +be a little nicer to me. I may come back with Sir Richard—who knows! +Wish me good luck, please!" and she swept off on a wave of good-humor +and good looks.</p> + +<p>I lay and thought. Then, with a pleasant leisure that soothed my nerves +a little, I dressed, and went down to breakfast in the quaint +dining-room hung from floor to ceiling with china brought years ago from +the far East by a Clovelly sailor. As I sat over my egg and toast Sally +came in, pale, but sweet and crisp in the white that Southern girls wear +most. There was a constraint over us for the reckoning that we knew was +coming. Each felt guilty toward the other and the result was a formal +politeness. So it was a relief when, just at the last bit of toast, Anne +burst in, all staccato notes of suppressed excitement.</p> + +<p>"Cousin Mary! Sally! Sir Richard Leigh is here! He's there!" nodding +over her shoulder. "He walked up with me—he wants to see you both. +But"—her voice dropped to an intense whisper—"he has asked to see Miss +Walton first—wants to speak to her alone! What does he mean?" Anne was +in a tremendous flutter, and it was plain that wild ideas were coursing +through her. "You are my chaperone, of course, but what can he want to +see you for alone—Cousin Mary?"</p> + +<p>I could not imagine, either, yet it seemed quite possible that this +beautiful creature had taken a susceptible man by storm, even so +suddenly. I laid my napkin on the table and stood up.</p> + +<p>"The chaperone is ready to meet the fairy prince," I said, and we went +across together to the little drawing-room.</p> + +<p>It was a bit dark as Anne opened the door and I saw first only a man's +figure against the window opposite, but as he turned quickly and came +toward us, I caught my breath, and stared, and gasped and stared again. +Then the words came tumbling over each other before Anne could speak.</p> + +<p>"Cary!" I cried. "What are you doing here—in those clothes?"</p> + +<p>Poor Anne! She thought I had made some horrid mistake, and had disgraced +her. But I forgot Anne entirely for the familiar brown eyes that were +smiling, pleading into mine, and in a second he had taken my hand and +bending over, with a pretty touch of stateliness, had kissed it, and the +charm that no one could resist had me fast in its net.</p> + +<p>"Miss Walton! You will forgive me? You were always good to me—you won't +lay it up against me that I'm Richard Leigh and not a picturesque +Devonshire sailor! You won't be angry because I deceived you! The devil +tempted me suddenly and I yielded, and I'm glad. Dear devil! I never +should have known either of you if I had not."</p> + +<p>There were more of the impetuous sentences that I cannot remember, and +somewhere among them Anne gathered that she was not the point of them, +and left the room like a slighted but still reigning princess. It was +too bad that any one should feel slighted, but if it had to be, it was +best that it should be Anne.</p> + +<p>Then my sailor told me his side of the story; how Sally's tip for the +rescue of her hat had showed him what we took him to be; how her +question about a boat had suggested playing the part; how he had begun +it half for the fun of it and half, even then, for the interest the girl +had roused in him—and he put in a pretty speech for the chaperone just +there, the clever young man! He told me how his yacht had come sooner +than he had expected, and that he had to give up one afternoon with her +was so severe a trial that he knew then how much Sally meant to him.</p> + +<p>"That moonlight sail was very close sailing indeed," he said, his face +full of a feeling that he did not try to hide. "There was nearly a +shipwreck, when—when she steered wrong." And I remembered.</p> + +<p>Then, with no great confidence in her mood, I went in search of my girl. +She is always unexpected, and a dead silence, when I had anxiously told +my tale, was what I had not planned for. After a minute,</p> + +<p>"Well?" I asked.</p> + +<p>And "Well?" answered Sally, with scarlet cheeks, but calmly.</p> + +<p>"He is waiting for you down-stairs," I said.</p> + +<p>Then she acted in the foolish way that seemed natural. She dropped on +her knees and put her face against my shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Cousin Mary! I can't! It's a strange man—it isn't our sailor any more. +I hate it. I don't like Englishmen."</p> + +<p>"He's very much the same as yesterday," I said. "You needn't like him if +you don't want to, but you must go and tell him so yourself." I think +that was rather clever of me.</p> + +<p>So, holding my hand and trembling, she went down. When I saw Richard +Leigh's look as he stood waiting, I tried to loosen that clutching hand +and leave them, but Sally, always different from any one else, held me +tight.</p> + +<p>"Cousin Mary, I won't stay unless you stay," she said, firmly.</p> + +<p>I looked at the young man and he laughed.</p> + +<p>"I don't care. I don't care if all the world hears me," he said, and he +took a step forward and caught her hands.</p> + +<p>Sally looked up at him. "You're a horrid lord or something," she said.</p> + +<p>He laughed softly. "Do you mind? I can't help it. It's hard, but I want +you to help me try to forget it. I'd gladly he a sailor again if you'd +like me better."</p> + +<p>"I did like you—before you deceived me. You pretended you were that."</p> + +<p>"But I have grievances too—you said I was a queer little rat of a man."</p> + +<p>Sally's laugh was gay but trembling. "I did say that, didn't I?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and you tried to underpay me, too."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I didn't! You charged a lot more than the others."</p> + +<p>Sir Richard shook his head firmly. "Not nearly as much as the Revenge +was worth. I kept gangs of men scrubbing that boat till I nearly went +into bankruptcy. And, what's more, you ought to keep your word, you +know. You said you were going to marry Richard Leigh—Richard Grenville +Cary Leigh is his whole name, you know. Will you keep your word?"</p> + +<p>"But I—but you—but I didn't know," stammered Sally, feebly.</p> + +<p>He went on eagerly. "You told me how he should wear his name—high +and—and all that." He had no time for abstractions. "He can never do it +alone—will you come and help him?"</p> + +<p>Sally was palpably starching about for weapons to aid her losing fight. +"Why do you like me? I'm not beautiful like Anne Ford." He laughed. "I'm +not rich, you know, like lots of American girls. We're very poor"—she +looked at him earnestly.</p> + +<p>"I don't care if you're rich or poor," he said. "I don't know if +you're beautiful—I only know you're you. It's all I want."</p> + +<p>She shook a little at his vehemence, but she was a long fighter. "You +don't know me very much," she went on, her soft voice breaking. "Maybe +it's only a fancy—the moonlight and the sailing and all—maybe you only +imagine you like me."</p> + +<p>"Imagine I like you!"</p> + +<p>And then, at the sight of his quick movement and of Sally's face I +managed to get behind a curtain and put my fingers in my ears. No woman +has a right to more than one woman's love-making. And as I stood there, +a few minutes later, I felt myself pulled by two pairs of hands, and +Sally and her lover were laughing at me.</p> + +<p class="center"><a name="illustr-08.jpg" id="illustr-08.jpg"></a><img src="images/illustr-08.jpg" width="365" height="560" alt="I felt myself pulled by two pairs of hands." /></p> + +<p class="caption">I felt myself pulled by two pairs of hands.</p> + + +<p>"May I have her? I want her very much," he said, and I wondered if ever +any one could say no to anything he asked. So, with a word about Sally's +far-away mother and father, I told him, as an old woman might, that I +had loved him from the first, and then I said a little of what Sally was +to me.</p> + +<p>"I like her very much," I said, in a shaky voice that tried to be +casual. "Are you sure that you like her enough?" For all of his answer, +he turned, not even touching her hands, and looked at her.</p> + +<p>It was as if I caught again the fragrance of the box hedges in the +southern sunshine of a garden where I had walked on a spring morning +long ago. Love is as old-fashioned as the ocean, and us little changed +in all the centuries. Its always yielding, never retreating arms lie +about the lands that are built and carved and covered with men's +progress; it keeps the air sweet and fresh above them, and from +generation to generation its look and its depths are the same. That it +is stronger than death does not say it all. I know that it is stronger +than life. Death, with its crystal touch, may make a weak love strong; +life, with its every-day wear and tear, must make any but a strong love +weak.</p> + +<p>I like to think that the look I saw in Richard Leigh's eyes as he turned +toward my girl was the same look I shall see, not so very many years +from now, when I close mine on this dear old world, and open them, by +the shore of the ocean of eternity, on the face of Geoffrey Meade.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<div class='solid'> +<h1>BOB AND THE GUIDES</h1> + +<h3><i>By</i></h3> + +<h2>MARY RAYMOND SHIPMAN ANDREWS</h2> + +<h3>Illustrated by F.C. YOHN</h3> + +<hr /> + +<h3>12mo. $1.50</h3> + +<p>"The sketches are breezy, with a freshness nothing short of alluring. +They would make a sportsman of a monk. The characters of Walter, Bob, +the Bishop, the Judge and his Guide are drawn in a fashion that attracts +both sympathy and emulation, while the rollicking but delicate humor has +rarely been excelled in fiction."—Louisville <i>Courier-Journal</i>.</p> + + +<p>"A keen sense of humor runs through them all. Exceedingly interesting +and entertaining."—Baltimore <i>News</i>.</p> + + +<p>"A book of hunting stories which can be read aloud and out of doors, two +severe tests for a book."—<i>Independent</i>.</p> + + +<p>"It is difficult to recall any book that contains in it more of the +out-door spirit mingled with a really charming story-telling +capacity."—<i>Recreation</i>.</p> + +</div> + +<p> </p> + +<div class="solid"> +<h2>Books by Mary R.S. Andrews</h2> + +<h1>VIVE L'EMPEREUR</h1> + +<h3>Illustrated by F.C. YOHN</h3> + +<h3>12mo. $1.00</h3> + + +<p>"A very well-written story and one that the reader will be bound to +like."—New York <i>Sun</i>.</p> + + +<p>"The humor is good, the love motive sweet, and the background +picturesque. As history, 'Vive L'Empereur' is unique; as romance, it is +charming."—<i>The Reader</i>.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>The Great Lincoln Story</h3> + +<h1>THE PERFECT TRIBUTE</h1> + +<h3>50 cents net; postpaid, 53 cents</h3> + + +<p>"One of the best of recent short stories,"—Philadelphia <i>Inquirer</i>.</p> + + +<p>"An exquisitely tender, pathetic, and patriotic story."—Chicago <i>Daily +News</i>.</p> + + +<p>"It is the best sort of history for it reproduces the spirit of the time +and of the man."—New York <i>Christian Advocate</i>.</p> + + +<p>"Dramatically conceived and strongly written."—Los Angeles <i>Times</i>.</p> + +<hr /> + +<h3>CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, NEW YORK</h3> + +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Militants, by Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MILITANTS *** + +***** This file should be named 15496-h.htm or 15496-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/4/9/15496/ + +Produced by Kentuckiana Digital Library, David Garcia, Martin Pettit +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Militants + Stories of Some Parsons, Soldiers, and Other Fighters in the World + +Author: Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews + +Release Date: March 29, 2005 [EBook #15496] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MILITANTS *** + + + + +Produced by Kentuckiana Digital Library, David Garcia, Martin Pettit +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + +THE MILITANTS + +_"The sword of the Lord and of Gideon."_ + + + + +BOOKS BY MARY R.S. ANDREWS + +PUBLISHED BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS + + + +The Militants. Illustrated $1.50 + +Bob and the Guides. Illustrated $1.50 + +The Perfect Tribute. With Frontispiece $0.50 + +Vive L'Empereur. Illustrated $1.00 + + + +[Illustration: "I took her in my arms and held her."] + + + + +THE MILITANTS + + +STORIES OF SOME PARSONS, SOLDIERS + +AND OTHER FIGHTERS IN THE WORLD + + +BY + +MARY RAYMOND SHIPMAN ANDREWS + + +ILLUSTRATED + + +NEW YORK + +CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS + +1907 + +Published, May, 1907 + + + + + THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF A MAN WHO WAS WITH HIS + WHOLE HEART A PRIEST AND WITH HIS WHOLE STRENGTH A SOLDIER OF THE + CHURCH MILITANT. + + JACOB SHAW SHIPMAN + + + + +CONTENTS + + + _I. The Bishop's Silence_ + + _II. The Witnesses_ + + _III. The Diamond Brooches_ + + _IV. Crowned with Glory and Honor_ + + _V. A Messenger_ + + _VI. The Aide-de-Camp_ + + _VII. Through the Ivory Gate_ + +_VIII. The Wife of the Governor_ + + _IX. The Little Revenge_ + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + +_"I took her in my arms and held her"_ + +_"Many waters shall not wash out love", said Eleanor_ + +_He stared into the smoldering fire_ + +_"Look!" he said, and Miles swung about toward the ridge behind_ + +_"I got behind a turn and fired as a man came on alone"_ + +_"I reckon I shall have to ask you to not pick any more of those +roses," a voice said_ + +_"You see, the boat is very new and clean, Miss," he was saying_ + +_I felt myself pulled by two pairs of hands_ + + + + +THE BISHOP'S SILENCE + + +The Bishop was walking across the fields to afternoon service. It was a +hot July day, and he walked slowly--for there was plenty of time--with +his eyes fixed on the far-off, shimmering sea. That minstrel of heat, +the locust, hidden somewhere in the shade of burning herbage, pulled a +long, clear, vibrating bow across his violin, and the sound fell lazily +on the still air--the only sound on earth except a soft crackle under +the Bishop's feet. Suddenly the erect, iron-gray head plunged madly +forward, and then, with a frantic effort and a parabola or two, +recovered itself, while from the tall grass by the side of the path +gurgled up a high, soft, ecstatic squeal. The Bishop, his face flushed +with the stumble and the heat and a touch of indignation besides, +straightened himself with dignity and felt for his hat, while his eyes +followed a wriggling cord that lay on the ground, up to a small brown +fist. A burnished head, gleaming in the sunshine like the gilded ball +on a church steeple, rose suddenly out of the waves of dry grass, and a +pink-ginghamed figure, radiant with joy and good-will, confronted him. +The Bishop's temper, roughly waked up by the unwilling and unepiscopal +war-dance just executed, fell back into its chains. + +"Did you tie that string across the path?" + +"Yes," The shining head nodded. "Too bad you didn't fell 'way down. I'm +sorry. But you kicked awf'ly." + +"Oh! I did, did I?" asked the Bishop. "You're an unrepentant young +sinner. Suppose I'd broken my leg?" + +The head nodded again. "Oh, we'd have patzed you up," she said +cheerfully. "Don't worry. Trust in God." + +The Bishop jumped. "My child," he said, "who says that to you?" + +"Aunt Basha." The innocent eyes faced him without a sign of +embarrassment. "Aunt Basha's my old black mammy. Do you know her? All +her name's longer'n that. I can say it." Then with careful, slow +enunciation, "Bathsheba Salina Mosina Angelica Preston." + +"Is that your little bit of name too?" the Bishop asked, "Are you a +Preston?" + +"Why, of course." The child opened her gray eyes wide. "Don't you know +my name? I'm Eleanor. Eleanor Gray Preston." + +For a moment again the locust had it all to himself. High and insistent, +his steady note sounded across the hot, still world. The Bishop looked +down at the gray eyes gazing upward wonderingly, and through a mist of +years other eyes smiled at him. Eleanor Gray--the world is small, the +life of it persistent; generations repeat themselves, and each is young +but once. He put his hand under the child's chin and turned up the baby +face. + +"Ah!" said he--if that may stand for the sound that stood for the +Bishop's reverie. "Ah! Whom were you named for, Eleanor Gray?" + +"For my own muvver." Eleanor wriggled her chin from the big hand and +looked at him with dignity. She did not like to be touched by +strangers. Again the voices stopped and the locust sang two notes and +stopped also, as if suddenly awed. + +"Your mother," repeated the Bishop, "your mother! I hope you are worthy +of the name." + +"Yes, I am," said Eleanor heartily. "Bug's on your shoulder, Bishop! For +de Lawd's sake!" she squealed excitedly, in delicious high notes that a +prima donna might envy; then caught the fat grasshopper from the black +clerical coat, and stood holding it, lips compressed and the joy of +adventure dancing in her eyes. The Bishop took out his watch and looked +at it, as Eleanor, her soul on the grasshopper, opened her fist and +flung its squirming contents, with delicious horror, yards away. Half an +hour yet to service and only five minutes' walk to the little church of +Saint Peter's-by-the-Sea. + +"Will you sit down and talk to me, Eleanor Gray?" he asked, gravely. + +"Oh, yes, if there's time," assented Eleanor, "but you mustn't be late +to church, Bishop. That's naughty." + +"I think there's time. How do you know who I am, Eleanor?" + +"Dick told me." + +The Bishop had walked away from the throbbing sunshine into the +green-black shadows of a tree, and seated himself with a boyish +lightness in piquant contrast with his gray-haired dignity--a lightness +that meant athletic years. Eleanor bent down the branch of a great bush +that faced him and sat on it as if a bird had poised there. She smiled +as their eyes met, and began to hum an air softly. The startled Bishop +slowly made out a likeness to the words of the old hymn that begins + + Am I a soldier of the Cross, + A follower of the Lamb? + +Sweetly and reverently she sang it, over and over, with a difference. + + Am I shoulder of a hoss, + A quarter of a lamb? + +sang Eleanor. + +The Bishop exploded into a great laugh that drowned the music. + +"Aunt Basha taught you that, too, didn't she?" he asked, and off he +went into another deep-toned peal. + +"I thought you'd like that, 'cause it's a hymn and you're a Bishop," +said Eleanor, approvingly. Her effort was evidently meeting with +appreciation. "You can talk to me now, I'm here." She settled herself +like a Brownie, elbows on knees, her chin in the hollows of small, lean +hands, and gazed at him unflinchingly. + +"Thank you," said the Bishop, sobering at once, but laughter still in +his eyes. "Will you be kind enough to tell me then, Eleanor, who is +Dick?" + +Eleanor looked astonished, "You don't know anybody much, do you?" and +there was gentle pity in her voice. "Why, Dick, he's--why, he's--why, +you see, he's my friend. I don't know his uvver names, but Mr. Fielding, +he's Dick's favver." + +"Oh!" said the Bishop with comprehension. "Dick Fielding. Then Dick is +my friend, too. And people that are friends to the same people should +be friends to each other--that's geometry, Eleanor, though it's +possibly not life." + +"Huh?" Eleanor stared, puzzled. + +"Will you be friends with me, Eleanor Gray? I knew your mother a long +time ago, when she was Eleanor Gray." Eleanor yawned frankly. That might +be true, but it did not appear to her remarkable or interesting. The +deep voice went on, with a moment's interval. "Where is your mother? Is +she here?" + +Eleanor laughed. "Oh, no," she said. "Don't you know? What a funny man +you are--you know such a few things. My muvver's up in heaven. She went +when I was a baby, long, _long_ ago. I reckon she must have flewed," she +added, reflectively, raising clear eyes to the pale, heat-worn sky that +gleamed through the branches. + +The Bishop's big hands went up to his face suddenly, and the strong +fingers clasped tensely above his forehead. Between his wrists one could +see that his mouth was set in a hard line. "Dead!" he said. "And I never +knew it." + +Eleanor dug a small russet heel unconcernedly into the ground. +"Naughty, naughty, naughty little grasshopper," she began to chant, +addressing an unconscious insect near the heel. "Don't you go and crawl +up on the Bishop. No, just don't you. 'Cause if you do, oh, naughty +grasshopper, I'll scrunch you!" with a vicious snap on the "scrunch." + +The Bishop lowered his hands and looked at her. "I'm not being very +interesting, Eleanor, am I?" + +"Not very," Eleanor admitted. "Couldn't you be some more int'rstin'?" + +"I'll try," said the Bishop. "But be careful not to hurt the poor +grasshopper. Because, you know, some people say that if he is a good +grasshopper for a long time, then when he dies his little soul will go +into a better body--perhaps a butterfly's body next time." + +Eleanor caught the thought instantly. "And if he's a good butterfly, +then what'll he be? A hummin'-bird? Let's kill him quick, and see him +turn into a butterfly." + +"Oh, no, Eleanor, you can't force the situation. He has to live out his +little grasshopper life the best that he can, before he's good enough to +be a butterfly. If you kill him now you might send him backward. He +might turn into what he was before--a poor little blind worm perhaps." + +"Oh, my Lawd!" said Eleanor. + +The Bishop was still a moment, and then repeated, quietly: + + Slay not the meanest creature, lest thou slay + Some humble soul upon its upward way. + +"Oughtn't to talk to yourself," Eleanor shook her head disapprovingly. +"'Tisn't so very polite. Is that true about the grasshopper, Bishop, or +is it a whopper?" + +The Bishop thought for a moment. "I don't know, Eleanor," he answered, +gently. + +"You don't know so very much, do you?" inquired Eleanor, not as +despising but as wondering, sympathizing with ignorance. + +"Very little," the Bishop agreed. "And I've tried to learn, all my +life"--his gaze wandered off reflectively. + +"Too bad," said Eleanor. "Maybe you'll learn some time." + +"Maybe," said the Bishop and smiled, and suddenly she sprang to her +feet, and shook her finger at him. + +"I'm afraid," she said, "I'm very much afraid you're a naughty boy." + +The Bishop looked up at the small, motherly face, bewildered. "Wh--why?" +he stammered. + +"Do you know what you're bein'? You're bein' late to church!" + +The Bishop sprang up too, at that, and looked at his watch quickly. "Not +late yet, but I'll walk along. Where are you going, waif? Aren't you in +charge of anybody?" + +"Huh?" inquired Eleanor, her head cocked sideways. + +"Whom did you come out with?" + +"Madge and Dick, but they're off there," nodding toward the wood behind +them. "Madge is cryin'. She wouldn't let me pound Dick for makin' her, +so I went away." + +"Who is Madge?" + +Eleanor, drifting beside him through the sunshine like a rose-leaf on +the wind, stopped short. "Why, Bishop, don't you know even Madge? Funny +Bishop! Madge is my sister--she's grown up. Dick made her cry, but I +think he wasn't much naughty, 'cause she would _not_ let me pound him. +She put her arms right around him." + +"Oh!" said the Bishop, and there was silence for a moment. "You mustn't +tell me any more about Madge and Dick, I think, Eleanor." + +"All right, my lamb!" Eleanor assented, cheerfully, and conversation +flagged. + +"How old are you, Eleanor Gray?" + +"Six, praise de Lawd!" + +The Bishop considered deeply for a moment, then his face cleared. + +"'Their angels do always behold the face of my Father,'" and he smiled. +"I say it too, praise the Lord that she is six." + +"Madge is lots more'n that," the soft little voice, with its gay, +courageous inflection, went on. "She's twenty. Isn't that old? You +aren't much different of that, are you?" and the heavy, cropped, +straight gold mass of her hair swung sideways as she turned her face up +to scrutinize the tall Bishop. + +He smiled down at her. "Only thirty years different. I'm fifty, +Eleanor." + +"Oh!" said Eleanor, trying to grasp the problem. Then with a sigh she +gave it up, and threw herself on the strength of maturity. "Is fifty +older'n twenty?" she asked. + +More than once as they went side by side on the narrow foot-path across +the field the Bishop put out his hand to hold the little brown one near +it, but each time the child floated from his touch, and he smiled at the +unconscious dignity, the womanly reserve of the frank and friendly +little lady. "Thus far and no farther," he thought, with the quick +perception of character that was part of his power. But the Bishop was +as unconscious as the child of his own charm, of the magnetism in him +that drew hearts his way. Only once had it ever failed, and that was the +only time he had cared. But this time it was working fast as they walked +and talked together quietly, and when they reached the open door that +led from the fields into the little robing-room of Saint Peter's, +Eleanor had met her Waterloo. Being six, it was easy to say so, and she +did it with directness, yet without at all losing the dignity that was +breeding, that had come to her from generations, and that she knew of as +little as she knew the names of her bones. Three steps led to the +robing-room, and Eleanor flew to the top and turned, the childish figure +in its worn pink cotton dress facing the tall powerful one in sober +black broadcloth. + +"I love you," she said. "I'll kiss you," and the long, strong little +arms were around his neck, and it seemed to the Bishop as if a kiss that +had never been given came to him now from the lips of the child of the +woman he had loved. As he put her down gently, from the belfry above +tolled suddenly a sweet, rolling note for service. + +When the Bishop came out from church the "peace that passeth +understanding" was over him. The beautiful old words that to churchmen +are dear as their mothers' faces, haunting as the voices that make home, +held him yet in the last echo of their music. Peace seemed, too, to lie +across the world, worn with the day's heat, where the shadows were +stretching in lengthening, cooling lines. And there at the vestry step, +where Eleanor had stood an hour before, was Dick Fielding, waiting for +him, with as unhappy a face as an eldest scion, the heir to millions, +well loved, and well brought up, and wonderfully unspoiled, ever carried +about a country-side. The Bishop was staying at the Fieldings'. He +nodded and swung past Dick, with a look from the tail of his eye that +said: "Come along." Dick came, and silently the two turned into the path +of the fields. The scowl on Dick's dark face deepened as they walked, +and that was all there was by way of conversation for some time. +Finally: + +"You don't know about it, do you, Bishop?" he asked. + +"A very little, my boy," the Bishop answered. + +Dick was on the defensive in a moment. "My father told you--you agree +with him?" + +"Your father has told me nothing. I only came last night, remember. I +know that you made Madge cry, and that Eleanor wasn't allowed to punish +you." + +The boyish face cleared a little, and he laughed. "That little rat! Has +she been talking? It's all right if it's only to you, but Madge will +have to cork her up." Then anxiety and unhappiness seized Dick's buoyant +soul again. "Bishop, let me talk to you, will you please? I'm knocked up +about this, for there's never been trouble between my father and me +before, and I can't give in. I know I'm right--I'd be a cad to give in, +and I wouldn't if I could. If you would only see your way to talking to +the governor, Bishop! He'll listen to you when he'd throw any other chap +out of the house." + +"Tell me the whole story if you can, Dick, I don't understand, you see." + +"I suppose it will sound rather commonplace to you," said Dick, humbly, +"but it means everything to me. I--I'm engaged to Madge Preston. I've +known her for a year, and been engaged half of it, and I ought to know +my own mind by now. But father has simply set his forefeet and won't +hear of it. Won't even let me talk to him about it." + +Dick's hands went into his pockets and his head drooped, and his big +figure lagged pathetically. The Bishop put his hand on the young man's +shoulder, and left it there as they walked slowly on, but he said +nothing. + +"It's her father, you know," Dick went on. "Such rot, to hold a girl +responsible for her ancestors! Isn't it rot, now? Father says they're a +bad stock, dissipated and arrogant and spendthrift and shiftless and +weak--oh, and a lot more! He's not stingy with his adjectives, bless +you! Picture to yourself Madge being dissipated and arrogant and--have +you seen Madge?" he interrupted himself. + +The Bishop shook his head. "Eleanor made an attempt on my life with a +string across the path, to-day. We were friends over that." + +"She's a winning little rat," said Dick, smiling absent-mindedly, "but +nothing to Madge. You'll understand when you see Madge how I couldn't +give her up. And it isn't so much that--my feeling for her--though +that's enough in all conscience, but picture to yourself, if you please, +a man going to a girl and saying: 'I'm obliged to give you up, because +my father threatens to disinherit me and kick me out of the business. He +objects because your father's a poor lot.' That's a nice line of conduct +to map out for your only son. Yet that's practically what my father +wishes me to do. But he's brought me up a gentleman, by George," said +Dick straightening himself, "and it's too late to ask me to be a beastly +cad. Besides that," and voice and figure drooped to despondency again, +"I just can't give her up." + +The Bishop's keen eyes were on the troubled face, and in their depths +lurked a kindly shade of amusement. He could see stubborn old Dick +Fielding in stubborn young Dick Fielding so plainly. Dick the elder had +been his friend for forty years. But he said nothing. It was better to +let the boy talk himself out a bit. In a moment Dick began again. + +"Can't see why the governor's so keen against Colonel Preston, anyway. +He's lost his money and made a mess of his life, and I rather fancy he +drinks too much. But he's the sort of man you can't help being proud +of--bad clothes and vices and all--handsome and charming and +thorough-bred--and father must know it. His children love him--he can't +be such a brute as the governor says. Anyway, I don't want to marry the +Colonel--what's the use of rowing about the Colonel?" inquired Dick, +desperately. + +The Bishop asked a question now: "How many children are there?" + +"Only Madge and Eleanor. They're here with their cousins, the Vails, +summers. Two or three died between those two, I believe. Lucky, perhaps, +for the family has been awfully hard up. Lived on in their big old +place, in Maryland, with no money at all. I've an idea Madge's mother +wasn't so sorry to die--had a hard life of it with the fascinating +Colonel." The Bishop's hand dropped from the boy's shoulder, and shut +tightly. "But that has nothing to do with my marrying Madge," Dick went +on. + +"No," said the Bishop, shortly. + +"And you see," said Dick, slipping to another tangent, "it's not the +money I'm keenest about, though of course I want that too, but it's +father. You believe I think more of my father than of his money, don't +you? We've been good friends all my life, and he's such a crackerjack +old fellow. I'd hate to get along without him." Dick sighed, from his +boots up--almost six feet. "Couldn't you give him a dressing down, +Bishop? Make him see reason?" He looked anxiously up the three inches +that the Bishop towered above him. + +At ten o'clock the next morning Richard Fielding, owner of the great +Fielding Foundries, strolled out on his wide piazza, which, luxurious in +deep wicker chairs and Japanese rugs and light, cool furniture, looked +under scarlet and white awnings, across long boxes of geraniums and +vines, out to the sparkling Atlantic. The Bishop, a friendly light +coming into his thoughtful eyes, took his cigar from his lips and +glanced up at his friend. Mr. Fielding kicked a hassock aside, moved a +table between them, and settled himself in another chair, and with the +scratch of a match, but without a word spoken, they entered into the +companionship which had been a life-long joy to both. + +"Father and the Bishop are having a song and dance without words," Dick +was pleased sometimes to say, and felt that he hit it off. The breeze +carried the scent of the tobacco in intermittent waves of fragrance, and +on the air floated delicately that subtle message of peace, prosperity, +and leisure which is part of the mission of a good cigar. The +pleasantness of the wide, cool piazza, with its flowers and vines and +gay awnings; the charm of the summer morning, not yet dulled by wear and +tear of the day; the steady, deliberate dash of the waves on the beach +below; the play and shimmer of the big, quiet water, stretching out to +the edge of the world; all this filled their minds, rested their souls. +There was no need for words. The Bishop sighed comfortably as he pushed +his great shoulders back against the cool wicker of the chair and swung +one long leg across the other. Fielding, chin up and lips rounded to let +out a cloud of smoke, rested his hand, cigar between the fingers, on the +table, and gazed at him satisfied. This was the man, after Dick, dearest +to him in the world. Into which peaceful Eden stole at this point the +serpent, and, as is usual, in the shape of woman. Little Eleanor, +long-legged, slim, fresh as a flower in her crisp, faded pink dress, +came around the corner. In one hot hand she carried, by their heads, a +bunch of lilac and pink and white sweet peas. It cost her no trouble at +all, and about half a minute of time, to charge the atmosphere, so full +of sweet peace and rest, with a saturated solution of bitterness and +disquiet. Her presence alone was a bombshell, and with a sentence or two +in her clear, innocent voice, the fell deed was done. Fielding stopped +smoking, his cigar in mid-air, and stared with a scowl at the child; but +Eleanor, delighted to have found the Bishop, saw only him. A shower of +crushed blossoms fell over his knees. + +"I ran away from Aunt Basha. I brought you a posy for 'Good-mornin','" +she said. The Bishop, collecting the plunder, expressed gratitude. "Dick +picked a whole lot for Madge, and then they went walkin' and forgot 'em. +Isn't Dick funny?" she went on. + +Mr. Fielding looked as if Dick's drollness did not appeal to him, but +the Bishop laughed, and put his arm around her. + +"Will you give me a kiss, too, for 'Good-morning,'" he said; and then, +"That's better than the flowers. You had better run back to Aunt Basha +now, Eleanor--she'll be frightened." + +Eleanor looked disappointed, "I wanted to ask you 'bout what dead +chickens gets to be, if they're good. Pups? Do you reckon it's pups?" + +The theory of transmigration of souls had taken strong hold. Mr. +Fielding lost his scowl in a look of bewilderment, and the Bishop +frankly shouted out a big laugh. + +"Listen, Eleanor. This afternoon I'll come for you to walk, and we'll +talk that all over. Go home now, my lamb." And Eleanor, like a pale-pink +over-sized butterfly, went. + +"Do you know that child, Jim?" Mr. Fielding asked, grimly. + +"Yes," answered the Bishop, with a serene pull at his cigar. + +"Do you know she's the child of that good-for-nothing Fairfax Preston, +who married Eleanor Gray against her people's will and took her South +to--to--starve, practically?" + +The Bishop drew a long breath, and then he turned and looked at his old +friend with a clear, wide gaze. "She's Eleanor Gray's child, too, Dick," +he said. + +Mr. Fielding was silent a moment. "Has the boy talked to you?" he asked. +The Bishop nodded. "It's the worst trouble I've ever had. It would kill +me to see him marry that man's daughter. I can't and won't resign myself +to it. Why should I? Why should Dick choose, out of all the world, the +one girl in it who would be insufferable to me. I can't give in about +this. Much as Dick is to me I'll let him go sooner. I hope you'll see +I'm right, Jim, but right or wrong, I've made up my mind." + +The Bishop stretched a large, bony hand across the little table that +stood between them. Fielding's fell on it. Both men smoked silently for +a minute. + +"Have you anything against the girl, Dick?" asked the Bishop, presently. + +"That she's her father's daughter--it's enough. The bad blood of +generations is in her. I don't like the South--I don't like +Southerners. And I detest beyond words Fairfax Preston. But the girl is +certainly beautiful, and they say she is a good girl, too," he +acknowledged, gloomily. + +"Then I think you're wrong," said the Bishop. + +"You don't understand, Jim," Fielding took it up passionately. "That man +has been the _bete noir_ of my life. He has gotten in my way +half-a-dozen times deliberately, in business affairs, little as he +amounts to himself. Only two years ago--but that isn't the point after +all." He stopped gloomily. "You'll wonder at me, but it's an older feud +than that. I've never told anyone, but I want you to understand, Jim, +how impossible this affair is." He bit off the end of a fresh cigar, +lighted it and then threw it across the geraniums into the grass. "I +wanted to marry her mother," he said, brusquely. "That man got her. Of +course, I could have forgiven that, but it was the way he did it. He +lied to her--he threw it in my teeth that I had failed. Can't you see +how I shall never forgive him--never, while I live!" The intensity of a +life-long, silent hatred trembled in his voice. + +"It's the very thing it's your business to do, Dick," said the Bishop, +quietly. "'Love your enemies, bless them that curse you'--what do you +think that means? It's your very case. It may be the hardest thing in +the world, but it's the simplest, most obvious." He drew a long puff at +his cigar, and looked over the flowers to the ocean. + +"Simple! Obvious!" Fielding's voice was full of bitterness. "That's the +way with you churchmen! You live outside passions and temptations, and +then preach against them, with no faintest notion of their force. It +sounds easy, doesn't it? Simple and obvious, as you say. You never loved +Eleanor Gray, Jim; you never had to give her up to a man you knew +beneath her; you never had to shut murder out of your heart when you +heard that he'd given her a hard life and a glad death. Eleanor Gray! Do +you remember how lovely she was, how high-spirited and full of the joy +of life?" The Bishop's great figure was still as if the breath in it had +stopped, but Fielding, carried on the flood of his own rushing feeling, +did not notice. "Do you remember, Jim?" he repeated. + +"I remember," the Bishop said, and his voice sounded very quiet. + +"Jove! How calm you are!" exploded the other. + +"You're a churchman; you live behind a wall, you hear voices through it, +but you can't be in the fight--it's easy for you." + +"Life isn't easy for anyone, Dick," said the Bishop, slowly. "You know +that. I'm fighting the current as well as you. You are a churchman as +well as I. If it's my _metier_ to preach against human passion, it's +yours to resist it. You're letting this man you hate mould your +character; you're letting him burn the kindness out of your soul. He's +making you bitter and hard and unjust--and you're letting him. I thought +you had more will--more poise. It isn't your affair what he is, even +what he does, Dick--it's your affair to keep your own judgment unwarped, +your own heart gentle, your own soul untainted by the poison of hatred. +We are both churchmen, as you put it--loyalty is for us both. You live +your sermon--I say mine. I have said it. Now live yours. Put this +wormwood away from you. Forgive Preston, as you need forgiveness at +higher hands. Don't break the girl's heart, and spoil your boy's +life--it may spoil it--the leaven of bitterness works long. You're at a +parting of the ways--take the right turn. Do good and not evil with your +strength; all the rest is nothing. After all the years there is just one +thing that counts, and that our mothers told us when we were little +chaps together--be good, Dick." + +The magnetic voice, that had swayed thousands, the indescribable trick +of inflection that caught the heart-strings, the pure, high personality +that shone through look and tone, had never, in all his brilliant +career, been more full of power than for this audience of one. Fielding +got up, trembling, and stood before him. + +"Jim," he said, "whatever else is so, you are that--you are a good man. +The trouble is you want me to be as good as you are; and I can't. If you +had had temptations like mine, trials like mine, I might try to follow +you--I would try. But you haven't--you're an impossible model for me. +You want me to be an angel of light, and I'm only--a man." He turned +and went into the house. + +The oldest inhabitant had not seen a devotion like the Bishop's and +Eleanor's. There was in it no condescension on one side, no strain on +the other. The soul that through fulness of life and sorrow and +happiness and effort had reached at last a child's peace met as its like +the little child's soul, that had known neither life nor sorrow nor +conscious happiness, and was without effort as a lily of the field. It +may be that the wisdom of babyhood and the wisdom of age will look very +alike to us when we have the wisdom of eternity. And as all the colors +of the spectrum make sunlight, so all his splendid powers that patient +years had made perfect shone through the Bishop's character in the white +light of simplicity. No one knew what they talked about, the child and +the man, on the long walks that they took together almost every day, +except from Eleanor's conversation after. Transmigration, done into the +vernacular, and applied with startling directness, was evidently a +fascinating subject from the first. She brought back as well a vivid +and epigrammatic version of the nebular hypothesis. + +"Did you hear 'bout what the world did?" she demanded, casually, at the +lunch-table. "We were all hot, nasty steam, just like a tea-kettle, and +we cooled off into water, sailin' around so much, and then we got crusts +on us, bless de Lawd, and then, sir, we kept on gettin' solid, and +circus animals grewed all over us, and then they died, and thank God for +that, and Adam and Evenin' camed, and Madge _can't_ I have some more +gingerbread? I'd just as soon be a little sick if you'll let me have +it." + +The "fairyland of science and the long results of time," passing from +the Bishop's hands into the child's, were turned into such graphic +tales, for Eleanor, with all her airy charm, struck straight from the +shoulder. Never was there a sense of superiority on the Bishop's side, +or of being lectured on Eleanor's. + +"Why do you like to walk with the Bishop?" Mrs. Vail asked, curiously. + +"Because he hasn't any morals," said the little girl, fresh from a +Sunday-school lesson. + +Saturday night Mr. Fielding stayed late in the city, and Dick was with +his lady-love at the Vails; so the Bishop, after dining alone, went down +on the wide beach below the house and walked, as he smoked his cigar. +Through the week he had been restless under the constant prick of a duty +undone, which he could not make up his mind to do. Over and over he +heard his friend's agitated voice. "If you had had temptations like +mine, trials like mine, I would try to follow you," it said. He knew +that the man would be good as his word. He could perhaps win Dick's +happiness for him if he would pick up the gauntlet of that speech. If he +could bring himself to tell Fielding the whole story that he had shut so +long ago into silence--that he, too, had cared for Eleanor Gray, and had +given her up in a harder way than the other, for the Bishop had made it +possible that the Southerner should marry her. But it was like tearing +his soul to do it. No one but his mother, who was dead, had known this +one secret of a life like crystal. The Bishop's reticence was the +intense sort, that often goes with a frank exterior, and he had never +cared for another woman. Some men's hearts are open pleasure-grounds, +where all the world may come and go, and the earth is dusty with many +feet; and some are like theatres, shut perhaps to the world in general, +but which a passport of beauty or charm may always open; and with many, +of finer clay, there are but two or three ways into a guarded temple, +and only the touchstone of quality may let pass the lightest foot upon +the carefully tended sod. But now and then a heart is Holy of Holies. +Long ago the Bishop, lifting a young face from the books that absorbed +him, had seen a girl's figure filling the narrow doorway, and dazzled by +the radiance of it, had placed that image on the lonely altar, where the +flame waited, before unconsecrated. Then the girl had gone, and he had +quietly shut the door and lived his life outside. But the sealed place +was there, and the fire burned before the old picture. Why should he, +for Dick Fielding, for any one, let the light of day upon that +stillness? The one thing in life that was his own, and all these years +he had kept it sacred--why should he? Fiercely, with the old animal +jealousy of ownership, he guarded for himself that memory--what was +there on earth that could make him share it? And in answer there rose +before him the vision of Madge Preston, with a haunting air of her +mother about her; of young Dick Fielding, almost his own child from +babyhood, his honest soul torn between two duties; of old Dick Fielding, +loyal and kind and obstinate, his stubborn feet, the feet that had +walked near his for forty years, needing only a touch to turn them into +the right path. + +Back and forth the thoughts buffeted each other, and the Bishop sighed, +and threw away his cigar, and then stopped and stared out at the +darkening, great ocean. The steady rush and pause and low wash of +retreat did not calm him to-night. + +"I'd like to turn it off for five minutes. It's so eternally right," he +said aloud and began to walk restlessly again. + +Behind him came light steps, but he did not hear them on the soft sand, +in the noise of a breaking wave. A small, firm hand slipped into his was +the first that he knew of another presence, and he did not need to look +down at the bright head to know it was Eleanor, and the touch thrilled +him in his loneliness. Neither spoke, but swung on across the sand, side +by side, the child springing easily to keep pace with his great step. +Beside the gift of English, Eleanor had its comrade gift of excellent +silence. Those who are born to know rightly the charm and the power and +the value of words, know as well the value of the rests in the music. +Little Eleanor, her nervous fingers clutched around the Bishop's big +thumb, was pouring strength and comfort into him, and such an instinct +kept her quiet. + +So they walked for a long half-hour, the Bishop fighting out his battle, +sometimes stopping, sometimes talking aloud to himself, but Eleanor, +through it all, not speaking. Once or twice he felt her face laid +against his hand, and her hair that brushed his wrist, and the savage +selfishness of reserve slowly dissolved in the warmth of that light +touch and the steady current of gentleness it diffused through him. +Clearly and more clearly he saw his way and, as always happens, as he +came near to the mountain, the mountain grew lower. "Over the Alps lies +Italy." Why should he count the height when the Italy of Dick's +happiness and Fielding's duty done lay beyond? The clean-handed, +light-hearted disregard of self that had been his habit of mind always +came flooding back like sunshine as he felt his decision made. After +all, doing a duty lies almost entirely in deciding to do it. He stooped +and picked Eleanor up in his arms. + +"Isn't the baby sleepy? We've settled it together--it's all right now, +Eleanor. I'll carry you back to Aunt Basha." + +"Is it all right now?" asked Eleanor, drowsily. "No, I'll walk," kicking +herself downward. "But you come wiv me." And the Bishop escorted his +lady-love to her castle, where the warden, Aunt Basha, was for this half +hour making night vocal with lamentations for the runaway. + +"Po' lil lamb!" said Aunt Basha, with an undisguised scowl at the +Bishop. "Seems like some folks dunno nuff to know a baby's bedtime. +Seems like de Lawd's anointed wuz in po' business, ti'in' out chillens!" + +"I'm sorry, Aunt Basha," said the Bishop, humbly. "I'll bring her back +earlier again. I forgot all about the time." + +"Huh!" was all the response that Aunt Basha vouchsafed, and the Bishop, +feeling himself hopelessly in the wrong, withdrew in discreet silence. + +Luncheon was over the next day and the two men were quietly smoking +together in the hot, drowsy quiet of the July mid-afternoon before the +Bishop found a chance to speak to Fielding alone. There was an hour and +a half before service, and this was the time to say his say, and he +gathered himself for it, when suddenly the tongue of the ready speaker, +the _savoir faire_ of the finished man of the world, the mastery of +situations which had always come as easily as his breath, all failed him +at once. + +"Dick," he stammered, "there is something I want to tell you," and he +turned on his friend a face which astounded him. + +"What on earth is it? You look as if you'd been caught stealing a hat," +he responded, encouragingly. + +The Bishop felt his heart thumping as that healthy organ had not +thumped for years. "I feel a bit that way," he gasped. "You remember +what we were talking of the other day?" + +"The other day--talking--" Fielding looked bewildered. Then his face +darkened. "You mean Dick--the affair with that girl." His voice was at +once hard and unresponsive. "What about it?" + +"Not at all," said the Bishop, complainingly. "Don't misunderstand like +that, Dick--it's so much harder." + +"Oh!" and Fielding's look cleared. "Well, what is it then, old man? Out +with it--want a check for a mission? Surely you don't hesitate to tell +me that! Whatever I have is yours, too--you know it." + +The Bishop looked deeply disgusted. "Muddlehead!" was his unexpected +answer, and Fielding, serene in the consciousness of generosity and good +feeling, looked as if a hose had been turned on him. + +"What the devil!" he said. "Excuse me, Jim, but just tell me what you're +after. I can't make you out." + +"It's most difficult." The Bishop seemed to articulate with trouble. +"It was so long ago, and I've never spoken of it." Fielding, mouth and +eyes wide, watched him as he stumbled on. "There were three of us, you +see--though, of course, you didn't know. Nobody knew. She told my +mother, that was all.--Oh, I'd no idea how difficult this would be," and +the Bishop pushed back his damp hair and gasped again. Suddenly a wave +of color rushed over his face. + +"No one could help it, Dick," he said. "She was so lovely, so exquisite, +so--" + +Fielding rose quickly and put his hand on his friend's forehead, "Jim, +my dear boy," he said gravely, "this heat has been too much for you. Sit +there quietly, while I get some ice. Here, let me loosen your collar," +and he put his fingers on the white clerical tie. + +Then the Bishop rose up in his wrath and shook him off, and his deep +blue eyes flashed fire. + +"Let me alone," he said. "It is inexplicable to me how a man can be so +dense. Haven't I explained to you in the plainest way what I have never +told another soul? Is this the reward I am to have for making the +greatest effort I have made for years?" And after a moment's steady, +indignant glare at the speechless Fielding he turned and strode in angry +majesty through the wide hall doorway. + +When he walked out of the same doorway an hour later, on his way to +service, Fielding sat back in a shadowy corner and let him pass without +a word. He watched critically the broad shoulders and athletic figure as +his friend moved down the narrow walk--a body carefully trained to hold +well and easily the trained mind within. But the careless energy that +was used to radiate from the great elastic muscles seemed lacking +to-day, and the erect head drooped. Fielding shook his own head as the +Bishop turned the corner and went out of his view. + +"'_Mens sana in corpore sano_,'" he said aloud, and sighed. "He has +worked too hard this summer. I never saw him like that. If he should--" +and he stopped; then he rose, and looked at his watch and slowly +followed the Bishop's steps. + +The little church of Saint Peter's-by-the-Sea was filled even on this +hot July afternoon, to hear the famous Bishop, and in the half-light +that fell through painted windows and lay like a dim violet veil against +the gray walls, the congregation with summer gowns and flowery hats, had +a billowy effect as of a wave tipped everywhere with foam. Fielding, +sitting far back, saw only the white-robed Bishop, and hardly heard the +words he said, through listening for the modulations of his voice. He +was anxious for the man who was dear to him, and the service and its +minister were secondary to-day. But gradually the calm, reverent, +well-known tones reassured him, and he yielded to the pleasure of +letting his thoughts be led, by the voice that stood to him for +goodness, into the spirit of the words that are filled with the beauty +of holiness. At last it was time for the sermon, and the Bishop towered +in the low stone pulpit and turned half away from them all as he raised +one arm high with a quick, sweeping gesture. + +"In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, Amen!" +he said, and was still. + +A shaft of yellow light fell through a memorial window and struck a +golden bar against the white lawn of his surplice, and Fielding, staring +at him with eyes of almost passionate devotion, thought suddenly of Sir +Galahad, and of that "long beam" down which had "slid the Holy Grail." +Surely the flame of that old vigorous Christianity had never burned +higher or steadier. A marvellous life for this day, kept, like the +flower of Knighthood, strong and beautiful and "unspotted from the +world." Fielding sighed as he thought of his own life, full of good +impulses, but crowded with mistakes, with worldliness, with lowered +ideals, with yieldings to temptation. Then, with a pang, he thought +about Dick, about the crisis for him that the next week must bring, and +he heard again the Bishop's steady, uncompromising words as they talked +on the piazza. And on a wave of selfish feeling rushed back the old +excuses. "It is different. It is easy for him to be good. Dick is not +his son. He has never been tempted like other men. He never hated +Fairfax Preston--he never loved Eleanor Gray." And back somewhere in the +dark places of his consciousness began to work a dim thought of his +friend's puzzling words of that day: "No one could help loving her--she +was so lovely--so exquisite!" + +The congregation rustled softly everywhere as the people settled +themselves to listen--they listened always to him. And across the hush +that followed came the Bishop's voice again, tranquilly breaking, not +jarring, the silence. "Not disobedient to the heavenly vision," were the +words he was saying, and Fielding dropped at once the thread of his own +thought to listen. + +He spoke quickly, clearly, in short Anglo-Saxon words--the words that +carry their message straightest to hearts red with Saxon blood--of the +complex nature of every man--how the angel and the demon live in each +and vary through all the shades of good and bad. How yet in each there +is always the possibility of a highest and best that can be true for +that personality only--a dream to be realized of the lovely life, +blooming into its own flower of beauty, that God means each life to be. +In his own rushing words he clothed the simple thought of the charge +that each one has to keep his angel strong, the white wings free for +higher flights that come with growth. + +"The vision," he said, "is born with each of us, and though we lose it +again and again, yet again and again it comes back and beckons, calls, +and the voice thrills us always. And we must follow, or lose the way. +Through ice and flame we must follow. And no one may look across where +another soul moves on a quick, straight path and think that the way is +easier for the other. No one can see if the rocks are not cutting his +friend's feet; no one can know what burning lands he has crossed to +follow, to be so close to his angel, his messenger. Believe always that +every other life has been more tempted, more tried than your own; +believe that the lives higher and better than your own are so not +through more ease, but more effort; that the lives lower than yours are +so through less opportunity, more trial. Believe that your friend with +peace in his heart has won it, not happened on it--that he has fought +your very fight. So the mist will melt from your eyes and you will see +clearer the vision of your life and the way it leads you; selfishness +will fall from your shoulders and you will follow lightly. And at the +end, and along the way you will have the glory of effort, the joy of +fighting and winning, the beauty of the heights where only an ideal can +take you." + +What more he said Fielding did not hear--for him one sentence had been +the final word. The unlaid ghost of the Bishop's puzzling talk an hour +before rose up and from its lips came, as if in full explanation, "He +has fought your very fight." He sat in his shadowy, dark corner of the +cool, little stone church, and while the congregation rose and knelt and +sang and prayed, he was still. Piece by piece he fitted the mosaic of +past and present, and each bit slipped faultlessly into place. There was +no question in his mind now as to the fact, and his manliness and honor +rushed to meet the situation. He had said that where his friend had gone +he would go. If it was down the road of renunciation of a life-long +enmity, he would not break his word. Complex problems resolve themselves +at the point of action into such simple axioms. Dick should have a +blessing and his sweetheart; he would do his best for Fairfax Preston; +with his might he would keep his word. A great sigh and a wrench at his +heart as if a physical growth of years were tearing away, and the +decision was made. Then, in a mist of pain and effort, and a surprised +new freedom from the accustomed pang of hatred, he heard the rustle and +movement of a kneeling congregation, and, as he looked, the Bishop +raised his arms. Fielding bent his gray head quickly in his hands, and +over it, laden with "peace" and "the blessing of God Almighty," as if a +general commended his soldier on the field of battle, swept the solemn +words of the benediction. + +Peace touched the earth on the blue and white September day when Madge +and Dick were married. Pearly piled-up clouds, white "herded elephants," +lay still against a sparkling sky, and the air was alive like cool wine, +and breathing warm breaths of sunlight. No wedding was ever gayer or +prettier, from the moment when the smiling holiday crowd in little Saint +Peter's caught their breath at the first notes of "Lohengrin" and +turned to see Eleanor, white-clad and solemn, and impressed with +responsibility, lead the procession slowly up the aisle, her eyes raised +to the Bishop's calm face in the chancel, to the moment when, in showers +of rice and laughter and slippers, the Fielding carriage dashed down the +driveway, and Dick, leaning out, caught for a last picture of his +wedding-day, standing apart from the bright colors grouped on the lawn, +the black and white of the Bishop and Eleanor, gazing after them, hand +in hand. + +Bit by bit the brilliant kaleidoscopic effect fell apart and resolved +itself into light groups against the dark foliage or flashing masses of +carriages and people and horses, and then even the blurs on the distance +were gone, and the place was still and the wedding was over. The long +afternoon was before them, with its restless emptiness, as if the bride +and groom had taken all the reason for life with them. + +There were bridesmaids and ushers staying at the Fieldings'. The +graceful girl who poured out the Bishop's tea on the piazza, some hours +later, and brought it to him with her own hands, stared a little at his +face for a moment. + +"You look tired, Bishop. Is it hard work marrying people? But you must +be used to it after all these years," and her blue eyes fell gently on +his gray hair. "So many love-stories you have finished--so many, many!" +she went on, and then quite softly, "and yet never to have a love-story +of your own!" + +At this instant Eleanor, lolling on the arm of his chair, slipped over +on his knee and burrowed against his coat a big pink bow that tied her +hair. The Bishop's arm tightened around the warm, alive lump of white +muslin, and he lifted his face, where lines showed plainly to-day, with +a smile like sunshine. + +"You are wrong, my daughter. They never finish--they only begin here. +And my love-story"--he hesitated and his big fingers spread over the +child's head, "It is all written in Eleanor's eyes." + +"I hope when mine comes I shall have the luck to hear anything half as +pretty as that. I envy Eleanor," said the graceful bridesmaid as she +took the tea-cup again, but the Bishop did not hear her. + +[Illustration: "Many waters shall not wash out this love," said Eleanor] + +He had turned toward the sea and his eyes wandered out across the +geraniums where the shadow of a sun-filled cloud lay over uncounted +acres of unhurried waves. His face was against the little girl's bright +head, and he said something softly to himself, and the child turned her +face quickly and smiled at him and repeated the words: + +"Many waters shall not wash out love," said Eleanor. + + + + +THE WITNESSES + + +The old clergyman sighed and closed the volume of "Browne on The +Thirty-nine Articles," and pushed it from him on the table. He could not +tell what the words meant; he could not keep his mind tense enough to +follow an argument of three sentences. It must be that he was very +tired. He looked into the fire, which was burning badly, and about the +bare, little, dusty study, and realized suddenly that he was tired all +the way through, body and soul. And swiftly, by way of the leak which +that admission made in the sea-wall of his courage, rushed in an ocean +of depression. It had been a hard, bad day. Two people had given up +their pews in the little church which needed so urgently every ounce of +support that held it. And the junior warden, the one rich man of the +parish, had come in before service in the afternoon to complain of the +music. If that knife-edged soprano did not go, he said, he was afraid he +should have to go himself; it was impossible to have his nerves scraped +to the raw every Sunday. + +The old clergyman knew very little about music, but he remembered that +his ear had been uncomfortably jarred by sounds from the choir, and that +he had turned once and looked at them, and wondered if some one had made +a mistake, and who it was. It must be, then, that dear Miss Barlow, who +had sung so faithfully in St. John's for twenty-five years, was perhaps +growing old. But how could he tell her so; how could he deal such a blow +to her kind heart, her simple pride and interest in her work? He was +growing old, too. + +His sensitive mouth carved downward as he stared into the smoldering +fire, and let himself, for this one time out of many times he had +resisted, face the facts. It was not Miss Barlow and the poor music; it +was not that the church was badly heated, as one of the ex-pewholders +had said, nor that it was badly situated, as another had claimed; it was +something of deeper, wider significance, a broken foundation, that made +the ugly, widening crack all through the height of the tower. It was +his own inefficiency. The church was going steadily down, and he was +powerless to lift it. His old enthusiasm, devotion, confidence--what had +become of them? They seemed to have slipped by slow degrees, through the +unsuccessful years, out of his soul, and in their place was a dull +distrust of himself; almost--God forgive him--distrust in God's +kindness. He had worked with his might all the years of his life, and +what he had to show for it was a poor, lukewarm parish, a diminished +congregation, debt--to put it in one dreadful word, failure! + +[Illustration: He stared into the smoldering fire.] + +By the pitiless searchlight of hopelessness, he saw himself for the +first time as he was--surely devoted and sincere, but narrow, limited, a +man lacking outward expression of inward and spiritual grace. He had +never had the gift to win hearts. That had not troubled him much, +earlier, but lately he had longed for a little appreciation, a little +human love, some sign that he had not worked always in vain. He +remembered the few times that people had stopped after service to praise +his sermons, and to-night he remembered not so much the glow at his +heart that the kind words had brought, as the fact that those times had +been very few. He did not preach good sermons; he faced that now, +unflinchingly. He was not broad minded; new thoughts were unattractive, +hard for him to assimilate; he had championed always theories that were +going out of fashion, and the half-consciousness of it put him ever on +the defensive; when most he wished to be gentle, there was something in +his manner which antagonized. As he looked back over his colorless, +conscientious past, it seemed to him that his life was a failure. The +souls he had reached, the work he had done with such infinite effort--it +might all have been done better and easily by another man. He would not +begrudge his strength and his years burned freely in the sacred fire, if +he might know that the flame had shone even faintly in dark places, that +the heat had warmed but a little the hearts of men. But--he smiled +grimly at the logs in front of him, in the small, cheap, black marble +fireplace--his influence was much like that, he thought, cold, dull, +ugly with uncertain smoke. He, who was not worthy, had dared to +consecrate himself to a high service, and it was his reasonable +punishment that his life had been useless. + +Like a stab came back the thought of the junior warden, of the two more +empty pews, and then the thought, in irresistible self-pity, of how hard +he had tried, how well he had meant, how much he had given up, and he +felt his eyes filling with a man's painful, bitter tears. There had been +so little beauty, reward, in his whole past. Once, thirty years before, +he had gone abroad for six weeks, and he remembered the trip with a +thrill of wonder that anything so lovely could have come into his sombre +life--the voyage, the bit of travel, the new countries, the old cities, +the expansion, broadening of mind he had felt for a time as its result. +More than all, the delight of the people whom he had met, the unused +experience of being understood at once, of light touch and easy +flexibility, possible, as he had not known before, with good and serious +qualities. One man, above all, he had never forgotten. It had been a +pleasant memory always to have known him, to have been friends with him +even, for he had felt to his own surprise and joy that something in him +attracted this man of men. He had followed the other's career, a career +full of success unabused, of power grandly used, of responsibility +lifted with a will. He stood over thousands and ruled rightly--a true +prince among men. Somewhat too broad, too free in his thinking--the old +clergyman deplored that fault--yet a man might not be perfect. It was +pleasant to know that this strong and good soul was in the world and was +happy; he had seen him once with his son, and the boy's fine, sensitive +face, his honest eyes, and pretty deference of manner, his pride, too, +in his distinguished father, were surely a guaranty of happiness. The +old man felt a sudden generous gladness that if some lives must be +wasted, yet some might be, like this man's whom he had once known, full +of beauty and service. It would be good if he might add a drop to the +cup of happiness which meant happiness to so many--and then he smiled at +his foolish thought. That he should think of helping that other--a man +of so little importance to help a man of so much! And suddenly again he +felt tears that welled up hotly. + +He put his gray head, with its scanty, carefully brushed hair, back +against the support of the worn armchair, and shut his eyes to keep them +back. He would try not to be cowardly. Then, with the closing of the +soul-windows, mental and physical fatigue brought their own gentle +healing, and in the cold, little study, bare, even, of many books, with +the fire smoldering cheerlessly before him, he fell asleep. + + * * * * * + +A few miles away, in a suburb of the same great city, in a large library +peopled with books, luxurious with pictures and soft-toned rugs and +carved dark furniture, a man sat staring into the fire. The six-foot +logs crackled and roared up the chimney, and the blaze lighted the wide, +dignified room. From the high chimney-piece, that had been the feature +of a great hall in Florence two centuries before, grotesque heads of +black oak looked down with a gaze which seemed weighted with age-old +wisdom and cynicism, at the man's sad face. The glow of the lamp, +shining like a huge gray-green jewel, lighted unobtrusively the generous +sweep of table at his right hand, and on it were books whose presence +meant the thought of a scholar and the broad interests of a man of +affairs. Each detail of the great room, if there had been an observer of +its quiet perfection, had an importance of its own, yet each exquisite +belonging fell swiftly into the dimness of the background of a picture +when one saw the man who was the master. Among a thousand picked men, +his face and figure would have been distinguished. People did not call +him old, for the alertness and force of youth radiated from him, and his +gray eyes were clear and his color fresh, yet the face was lined +heavily, and the thick thatch of hair shone in the firelight silvery +white. Face and figure were full of character and breeding, of life +lived to its utmost, of will, responsibility, success. Yet to-night the +spring of the mechanism seemed broken, and the noble head lay back +against the brown leather of his deep chair as listlessly as a tired +girl's. He watched the dry wood of the fire as it blazed and fell apart +and blazed up brightly again, yet his eyes did not seem to see +it--their absorbed gaze was inward. + +The distant door of the room swung open, but the man did not hear, and, +his head and face clear cut like a cameo against the dark leather, hands +stretched nervelessly along the arms of the chair, eyes gazing gloomily +into the heart of the flame, he was still. A young man, brilliant with +strength, yet with a worn air about him, and deep circles under his +eyes, stood inside the room and looked at him a long minute--those two +in the silence. The fire crackled cheerfully and the old man sighed. + +"Father!" said the young man by the door. + +In a second the whole pose changed, and he sat intense, staring, while +the son came toward him and stood across the rug, against the dark wood +of the Florentine fireplace, a picture of young manhood which any father +would he proud to own. + +"Of course, I don't know if you want me, father," he said, "but I've +come to tell you that I'll be a good boy, if you do." + +The gentle, half-joking manner was very winning, and the play of his +words was trembling with earnest. The older man's face shone as if lamps +were lighted behind his eyes. + +"If I want you, Ted!" he said, and held out his hand. + +With a quick step forward the lad caught it, and then, with quick +impulsiveness, as if his childhood came back to him on the flood of +feeling unashamed, bent down and kissed him. As he stood erect again he +laughed a little, but the muscles of his face were working, and there +were tears in his eyes. With a swift movement he had drawn a chair, and +the two sat quiet a moment, looking at each other in deep and silent +content to be there so, together. + +"Yesterday I thought I'd never see you again this way," said the boy; +and his father only smiled at him, satisfied as yet without words. The +son went on, his eager, stirred feelings crowding to his lips. "There +isn't any question great enough, there isn't any quarrel big enough, to +keep us apart, I think, father. I found that out this afternoon. When a +chap has a father like you, who has given him a childhood and a youth +like mine--" The young voice stopped, trembling. In a moment he had +mastered himself. "I'll probably never be able to talk to you like this +again, so I want to say it all now. I want to say that I know, beyond +doubt, that you would never decide anything, as I would, on impulse, or +prejudice, or from any motives but the highest. I know how well-balanced +you are, and how firmly your reason holds your feelings. So it's a +question between your judgment and mine--and I'm going to trust yours. +You may know me better than I know myself, and anyway you're more to me +than any career, though I did think--but we won't discuss it again. It +would have been a tremendous risk, of course, and it shall be as you +say. I found out this afternoon how much of my life you were," he +repeated. + +The older man kept his eyes fixed on the dark, sensitive, glowing young +face, as if they were thirsty for the sight. "What do you mean by +finding it out this afternoon, Ted? Did anything happen to you?" + +The young fellow turned his eyes, that were still a bit wet with the +tears, to his father's face, and they shone like brown stars. "It was a +queer thing," he said, earnestly, "It was the sort of thing you read in +stories--almost like," he hesitated, "like Providence, you know. I'll +tell you about it; see if you don't think so. Two days ago, when I--when +I left you, father--I caught a train to the city and went straight to +the club, from habit, I suppose, and because I was too dazed and +wretched to think. Of course, I found a grist of men there, and they +wouldn't let me go. I told them I was ill, but they laughed at me. I +don't remember just what I did, for I was in a bad dream, but I was +about with them, and more men I knew kept turning up--I couldn't seem to +escape my friends. Even if I stayed in my room, they hunted me up. So +this morning I shifted to the Oriental, and shut myself up in my room +there, and tried to think and plan. But I felt pretty rotten, and I +couldn't see daylight, so I went down to lunch, and who should be at the +next table but the Dangerfields, the whole outfit, just back from +England and bursting with cheerfulness! They made me lunch with them, +and it was ghastly to rattle along feeling as I did, but I got away as +soon us I decently could--rather sooner, I think--and went for a walk, +hoping the air would clear my head. I tramped miles--oh, a long time, +but it seemed not to do any good; I felt deadlier and more hopeless than +ever--I haven't been very comfortable fighting you," he stopped a +minute, and his tired face turned to his father's with a smile of very +winning gentleness. + +The father tried to speak, but, his voice caught harshly. Then, "We'll +make it up, Ted," he said, and laid his hand on the boy's shoulder. + +The young fellow, as if that touch had silenced him, gazed into the fire +thoughtfully, and the big room was very still for a long minute. Then he +looked up brightly. + +"I want to tell you the rest. I came back from my tramp by the river +drive, and suddenly I saw Griswold on his horse trotting up the +bridle-path toward me. I drew the line at seeing any more men, and +Griswold is the worst of the lot for wanting to do things, so I turned +into a side-street and ran. I had an idea he had seen me, so when I +came to a little church with the doors open, in the first half-block, I +shot in. Being Lent, you know, there was service going on, and I dropped +quietly into a seat at the back, and it came to me in a minute, that I +was in fit shape to say my prayers, so--I said 'em. It quieted me a bit, +the old words of the service. They're fine English, of course, and I +think words get a hold on you when they're associated with every turn of +your life. So I felt a little less like a wild beast, by the time the +clergyman began his sermon. He was a pathetic old fellow, thin and +ascetic and sad, with a narrow forehead and a little white hair, and an +underfed look about him. The whole place seemed poor and badly kept. As +he walked across the chancel, he stumbled on a hole in the carpet. I +stared at him, and suddenly it struck me that he must be about your age, +and it was like a knife in me, father, to see him trip. No two men were +ever more of a contrast, but through that very fact he seemed to be +standing there as a living message from you. So when he opened his mouth +to give out his text I fell back as if he had struck me, for the words +he said were, 'I will arise and go to my father.'" + +The boy's tones, in the press and rush of his little story, were +dramatic, swift, and when he brought out its climax, the older man, +though his tense muscles were still, drew a sudden breath, as if he, +too, had felt a blow. But he said nothing, and the eager young voice +went on. + +"The skies might have opened and the Lord's finger pointed at me, and I +couldn't have felt more shocked. The sermon was mostly tommy-rot, you +know--platitudes. You could see that the man wasn't clever--had no +grasp--old-fashioned ideas--didn't seem to have read at all. There was +really nothing in it, and after a few sentences I didn't listen +particularly. But there were two things about it I shall never forget, +never, if I live to a hundred. First, all through, at every tone of his +voice, there was the thought that the brokenhearted look in the eyes of +this man, such a contrast to you in every way possible, might be the +very look in your eyes after a while, if I left you. I think I'm not +vain to know I make a lot of difference to you, father--considering we +two are all alone." There was a questioning inflection, but he smiled, +as if he knew. + +"You make all the difference. You are the foundation of my life. All the +rest counts for nothing beside you." The father's voice was slow and +very quiet. + +"That thought haunted me," went on the young man, a bit unsteadily, "and +the contrast of the old clergyman and you made it seem as if you were +there beside me. It sounds unreasonable, but it was so. I looked at him, +old, poor, unsuccessful, narrow-minded, with hardly even the dignity of +age, and I couldn't help seeing a vision of you, every year of your life +a glory to you, with your splendid mind, and splendid body, and all the +power and honor and luxury that seem a natural background to you. Proud +as I am of you, it seemed cruel, and then it came to my mind like a stab +that perhaps without me, your only son, all of that would--well, what +you said just now. Would count for nothing--that you would be +practically, some day, just a lonely and pathetic old man like that +other." + +The hand on the boy's shoulder stirred a little. "You thought right, +Ted." + +"That was one impression the clergyman's sermon made, and the other was +simply his beautiful goodness. It shone from him at every syllable, +uninspired and uninteresting as they were. You couldn't help knowing +that his soul was white as an angel's. Such sincerity, devotion, purity +as his couldn't be mistaken. As I realized it, it transfigured the whole +place. It made me feel that if that quality--just goodness--could so +glorify all the defects of his look and mind and manner, it must be +worth while, and I would like to have it. So I knew what was right in my +heart--I think you can always know what's right if you want to know--and +I just chucked my pride and my stubbornness into the street, and--and I +caught the 7:35 train." + +The light of renunciation, the exhaustion of wrenching effort, the +trembling triumph of hard-won victory, were in the boy's face, and the +thought, as he looked at it, dear and familiar in every shadow, that he +had never seen spirit shine through clay more transparently. Never in +their lives had the two been as close, never had the son so unveiled his +soul before. And, as he had said, in all probability never would it be +again. To the depth where they stood words could not reach, and again +for minutes, only the friendly undertone of the crackling fire stirred +the silence of the great room. The sound brought steadiness to the two +who sat there, the old hand on the young shoulder yet. After a time, the +older man's low and strong tones, a little uneven, a little hard with +the effort to be commonplace, which is the first readjustment from deep +feeling, seemed to catch the music of the homely accompaniment of the +fire. + +"It is a queer thing, Ted," he said, "but once, when I was not much +older than you, just such an unexpected chance influence made a crisis +in my life. I was crossing to England with the deliberate intention of +doing something which I knew was wrong. I thought it meant happiness, +but I know now it would have meant misery. On the boat was a young +clergyman of about my own age making his first, very likely his only, +trip abroad. I was thrown with him--we sat next each other at table, and +our cabins faced--and something in the man attracted me, a quality such +as you speak of in this other, of pure and uncommon goodness. He was +much the same sort as your old man, I fancy, not particularly winning, +rather narrow, rather limited in brains and in advantages, with a +natural distrust of progress and breadth. We talked together often, and +one day, I saw, by accident, into the depths of his soul, and knew what +he had sacrificed to become a clergyman--it was what meant to him +happiness and advancement in life. It had been a desperate effort, that +was plain, but it was plain, too, that from the moment he saw what he +thought was the right, there had been no hesitation in his mind. And I, +with all my wider mental training, my greater breadth--as I looked at +it--was going, with my eyes open, to do a wrong because I wished to do +it. You and I must be built something alike, Ted, for a touch in the +right spot seems to penetrate to the core of us--the one and the other. +This man's simple and intense flame of right living, right doing, all +unconsciously to himself, burned into me, and all that I had planned to +do seemed scorched in that fire--turned to ashes and bitterness. Of +course it was not so simple as it sounds. I went through a great deal. +But the steady influence for good was beside me through that long +passage--we were two weeks--the stronger because it was unconscious, the +stronger, I think, too, that it rested on no intellectual basis, but was +wholly and purely spiritual--as the confidence of a child might hold a +man to his duty where the arguments of a sophist would have no effect. +As I say, I went through a great deal. My mind was a battle-field for +the powers of good and evil during those two weeks, but the man who was +leading the forces of the right never knew it. The outcome was that as +soon as I landed I took my passage back on the next boat, which sailed +at once. Within a year, within a month almost, I knew that the decision +I made then was a turning-point, that to have done otherwise would have +meant ruin in more than one way. I tremble now to think how close I was +to shipwreck. All that I am, all that I have, I owe more or less +directly to that man's unknown influence. The measure of a life is its +service. Much opportunity for that, much power has been in my hands, and +I have tried to hold it humbly and reverently, remembering that time. I +have thought of myself many times us merely the instrument, fitted to +its special use, of that consecrated soul." + +The voice stopped, and the boy, his wide, shining eyes fixed on his +father's face, drew a long breath. In a moment he spoke, and the father +knew, as well as if he had said it, how little of his feeling he could +put into words. + +"It makes you shiver, doesn't it," he said, "to think what effect you +may be having on people, and never know it? Both you and I, father--our +lives changed, saved--by the influence of two strangers, who hadn't +the least idea what they were doing. It frightens you." + +"I think it makes you know," said the older man, slowly, "that not your +least thought is unimportant; that the radiance of your character shines +for good or evil where you go. Our thoughts, our influences, are like +birds that fly from us as we walk along the road; one by one, we open +our hands and loose them, and they are gone and forgotten, but surely +there will be a day when they will come back on white wings or dark like +a cloud of witnesses--" + +The man stopped, his voice died away softly, and he stared into the +blaze with solemn eyes, as if he saw a vision. The boy, suddenly aware +again of the strong hand on his shoulder, leaned against it lovingly, +and the fire, talking unconcernedly on, was for a long time the only +sound in the warmth and stillness and luxury of the great room which +held two souls at peace. + + * * * * * + +At that hour, with the volume of Browne under his outstretched hand, his +thin gray hair resting against the worn cloth of the chair, in the bare +little study, the old clergyman slept. And as he slept, a wonderful +dream came to him. He thought that he had gone from this familiar, hard +world, and stood, in his old clothes, with his old discouraged soul, in +the light of the infinitely glorious Presence, where he must surely +stand at last. And the question was asked him, wordlessly, solemnly: + +"Child of mine, what have you made of the life given you?" And he looked +down humbly at his shabby self, and answered: + +"Lord, nothing. My life is a failure. I worked all day in God's garden, +and my plants were twisted and my roses never bloomed. For all my +fighting, the weeds grew thicker. I could not learn to make the good +things grow, I tried to work rightly, Lord, my Master, but I must have +done it all wrong." + +And as he stood sorrowful, with no harvest sheaves to offer as witnesses +for his toiling, suddenly back of him he heard a marvellous, many-toned, +soft whirring, as of innumerable light wings, and over his head flew a +countless crowd of silver-white birds, and floated in the air beyond. +And as he gazed, surprised, at their loveliness, without speech again it +was said to him: + +"My child, these are your witnesses. These are the thoughts and the +influences which have gone from your mind to other minds through the +years of your life." And they were all pure white. + +And it was borne in upon him, as if a bandage had been lifted from his +eyes, that character was what mattered in the great end; that success, +riches, environment, intellect, even, were but the tools the master gave +into his servants' hands, and that the honesty of the work was all they +must answer for. And again he lifted his eyes to the hovering white +birds, and with a great thrill of joy it came to him that he had his +offering, too, he had this lovely multitude for a gift to the Master; +and, as if the thought had clothed him with glory, he saw his poor black +clothes suddenly transfigured to shining garments, and, with a shock, he +felt the rush of a long-forgotten feeling, the feeling of youth and +strength, beating in a warm glow through his veins. With a sigh of deep +happiness, the old man awoke. + +A log had fallen, and turning as it fell, the new surface had caught +life from the half-dead ashes, and had blazed up brightly, and the +warmth was penetrating gratefully through him. The old clergyman +smiled, and held his thin hands to the flame as he gazed into the fire, +but the wonder and awe of his dream were in his eyes. + +"My beautiful white birds!" he said, aloud, but softly. "Mine! They were +out of sight, but they were there all the time. Surely the dream was +sent from Heaven--surely the Lord means me to believe that my life has +been of service after all." And as he still gazed, with rapt face, into +his study fire, he whispered: "Angels came and ministered unto him." + + + + +THE DIAMOND BROOCHES + + +The room was filled with signs of breeding and cultivation; it was +bare of the things which mean money. Books were everywhere; family +portraits, gone brown with time, hung on the walls; a tall silver +candlestick gleamed from a corner; there was the tarnished gold of +carved Florentine frames, such as people bring still from Italy. But +the furniture-covering was faded, the carpet had been turned, the +place itself was the small parlor of a cheap apartment, and the +wall-paper was atrocious. The least thoughtful, listening for a moment +to that language which a room speaks of those who live in it, would +have known this at once as the home of well-bred people who were very +poor. + +So quiet it was that it seemed empty. If an observer had stood in the +doorway, it might have been a minute before he saw that a man sat in +front of the fireless hearth with his arms stretched before him on the +table and his head fallen into them. For many minutes there was no +sound, no stir of the man's nerveless pose; it might have been that he +was asleep. Suddenly the characterless silence of the place was flooded +with tragedy, for the man groaned, and a child would have known that the +sound came from a torn soul. He lifted his face--a handsome, high-bred +face, clever, a bit weak,--and tears were wet on his cheeks. He glanced +about as if fearing to be seen as he wiped them away, and at the moment +there was a light bustle, low voices down the hall. The young man sprang +to his feet and stood alert as a step came toward him. He caught a sharp +breath as another man, iron-gray, professional, stood in the doorway. + +"Doctor! You have made the examination--you think--" he flung at the +newcomer, and the other answered with the cool incisive manner of one +whose words weigh. + +"Mr. Newbold," he said, "when you came to my office this morning I told +you my conjectures and my fear. I need not, therefore, go into details +again. I am very sorry to have to say to you--" he stopped, and looked +at the younger man kindly. "I wish I might make it easier, but it is +better that I should tell you that your mother's condition is as I +expected." + +Newbold gave way a step as if under a blow, and his color went gray. The +doctor had seen souls laid bare before, yet he turned his eyes to the +floor as the muscles pulled and strained in this young face. It seemed +minutes that the two faced each other in the loaded silence, the doctor +gazing gravely at the worn carpet, the other struggling for +self-control. At last Newbold spoke, in the harsh tone which often comes +first after great emotion. + +"You mean that there is--no hope?" + +And the doctor, relieved at the loosening of the tension, answered +readily, glad to merge his humanity in his professional capacity: "No, +Mr. Newbold; I do not mean just that. It is this bleak climate, the raw +winds from the lake, which make it impossible for your mother to take +the first step which might lead to recovery. There is, in fact--" he +hesitated. "I may say that there is no hope for her cure while here. But +if she is taken to a warm climate at once--at once--within two +weeks--and kept there until summer, then, although I have not the gift +of prophecy, yet I believe she would be in time a well woman. No +medicine, can do it, but out-of-doors and warmth would do it--probably." + +He put out his hand with a smile. "I am indeed glad that I may temper +judgment with mercy," he said. "Try the south, Mr. Newbold,--try +Bermuda, for instance. The sea air and the warmth there might set your +mother up marvellously." And as the young man stared at him +unresponsively he gave a grasp to the hand he held, and turning, found +his way out alone. He stumbled down the dark steps of the third-rate +apartment-house and into his brougham, and as the rubber tires bowled +him over the asphalt he communed with himself: + +"Queer about those Newbolds. Badly off, of course, to live in that +place, yet they know what it means to call me in. There must be some +money. I wonder if they have enough for a trip, poor souls. Bah! they +must have--everybody has when it comes to life and death. They'll get it +somehow--rich relations and all that. Burr Claflin is their cousin, I +know. David Newbold himself was rich enough five years ago, when he made +that unlucky gamble in stocks--which killed him, they say. Well--life is +certainly hard." And the doctor turned his mind to a new pair of horses +he had been looking at in the afternoon, with a comfortable sense of a +wind-guard or so, at the least, between himself and the gales of +adversity. + +In the little drawing-room, with its cheap paper and its old portraits, +Randolph Newbold faced his sister with the news. He knew her courage, +yet, even in the stress of his feeling, he wondered at it now; he felt +almost a pang of jealousy when he saw her take the blow as he had not +been able to take it. + +"It is a death-sentence," he said, brokenly. "We have not the money to +send her south, and we cannot get it." + +Katherine Newbold's hands clenched. "We will get it," she said. "I don't +know how just now, but we'll get it, Randolph. Mother's life shall not +go for lack of a few hundred dollars. Oh, think--just think--six years +ago it would have meant nothing. We went south every winter, and we +were all well. It is too cruel! But we'll get the money--you'll see." + +"How?" the young man asked, bitterly. "The last jewel went so that we +could have Dr. Renfrew. There's nothing here to sell--nobody would buy +our ancestors," and he looked up mournfully at the painted figures on +the wall. The very thought seemed an indignity to those stately +personalities--the English judge in his wig, the colonial general in his +buff-faced uniform, harbored for a century proudly among their own, now +speculated upon as possible revenue. The girl put up a hand toward them +as if deprecating her brother's words, and his voice went on: "You know +the doctor practically told me this morning. I have had no hope all day, +and all day I have lived in hell. I don't know how I did my work. +To-night, coming home, I walked past Litterny's. The windows were +lighted and filled with a gorgeous lot of stones--there were a dozen big +diamond brooches. I stopped and looked at them, and thought how she used +to wear such things, and how now her life was going for the value of +one of them, and--you may be horrified, Katherine, but this is true: If +I could have broken into that window and snatched some of that stuff, +I'd have done it. Honesty and all I've been brought up to would have +meant nothing--nothing. I'd do it now, in a second, if I could, to get +the money to save my mother. God! The town is swimming in money, and I +can't get a little to keep her alive!" + +The young man's eyes were wild with a passion of helplessness, but his +sister gazed at him calmly, as if considering a question. From a room +beyond came a painful cough, and the girl was on her feet. + +"She is awake; I must go to her. But I shall think--don't be hopeless, +boy--I shall think of a way." And she was gone. + +Worn out with emotion, Randolph Newbold was sleeping a deep sleep that +night. With a start he awoke, staring at a white figure with long, fair +braids. + +"Randolph, it's I--Katherine. Don't be startled." + +"What's the matter? Is she worse?" He lifted himself anxiously, +blinking sleep from his eyes. + +"No--oh no! She's sleeping well. It's just that I have to talk to you, +Randolph. Now. I can't wait till morning--you'll understand when I tell +you. I haven't been asleep at all; I've been thinking. I know now how we +can get the money." + +"Katherine, are you raving?" the brother demanded; but the girl was not +to be turned aside. + +"Listen to me," she said, and in her tone was the authority of the +stronger personality, and the young man listened. She sat on the edge of +his bed and held his hand as she talked, and through their lives neither +might ever forget that midnight council. + + * * * * * + +The room had an air of having come in perfect and luxurious condition, +fur-lined and jewel-clasped, as it were, from the hands of a good +decorator, and of having stopped at that. The great triple lamp glowed +green as if set with gigantic emeralds; and its soft light shone on a +scheme of color full of charm for the eye. The stuffs, the woodwork, +were of a delightful harmony, but it seemed that the books and the +pictures were chosen to match them. The man talking, in the great carved +armchair by the fire, fitted the place. His vigorous, pleasant face +looked prosperous, and so kindly was his air that one might not cavil at +a lack of subtler qualities. He drew a long breath as he brought out the +last words of the story he was telling. + +"And that, Mr. North," he concluded, "is the way the firm of Litterny +Brothers, the leading jewellers of this city, were done yesterday by a +person or persons unknown, to the tune of five thousand dollars." His +eyes turned from the blazing logs to his guest. + +The young man in his clerical dress stood as he listened, with eyes wide +like a child's, fixed on the speaker. He stooped and picked up a poker +and pushed the logs together as he answered. The deliberateness of the +action would not have prepared one for the intensity of his words. "I +never wanted to be a detective before," he said, "but I'd give a good +deal to catch the man who did that. It was such planned rascality, such +keen-witted scoundrelism, that it gives me a fierce desire to show him +up. I'd like to teach the beggar that honesty can be as intelligent as +knavery; that in spite of his strength of cunning, law and right are +stronger. I wish I could catch him," and the brass poker gleamed in a +savage flourish. "I'd have no mercy. The hungry wretch who steals meat, +the ignorant sinner taught to sin from babyhood--I have infinite +patience for such. But this thief spoke like a gentleman, and the maid +said he was 'a pretty young man'--there's no excuse for him. He simply +wanted money that wasn't his,--there's no excuse. It makes my blood boil +to think of a clever rascal like that succeeding in his rascality." With +that the intense manner had dropped from him as a garment, and he was +smiling the gentlest, most whimsical smile at the older man. "You'll +think, Mr. Litterny, that it's the loss of my new parish-house that's +making me so ferocious, but, honestly, I'd forgotten all about it." And +no one who heard him could doubt his sincerity. "I was thinking of the +case from your point of view. As to the parish-house, it's a +disappointment, but of course I know that a large loss like this must +make a difference in a man's expenditures. You have been very good to +St. John's already,--a great many times you have been good to us." + +"It's a disappointment to me as well," Litterny said. "Old St. John's of +Newburyport has been dear to me many years. I was confirmed and married +there--but _you_ know. Everything I could do for it has been a +satisfaction. And I looked forward to giving this parish-house. In +ordinary years a theft of five thousand dollars would not have prevented +me, but there have been complications and large expenses of late, to +which this loss is the last straw. I shall have to postpone the +parish-house,--but it shall be only postponed, Mr. North, only +postponed." + +The young rector answered quietly: "As I said before, Mr. Litterny, you +have been most generous. We are grateful more than I know how to say." +His manner was very winning, and the older man's kind face brightened. + +"The greatest luxury which money brings is to give it away. St. John's +owes its thanks not to me, but to you, Mr. North. I have meant for some +time to put into words my appreciation of your work there. In two years +you have infused more life and earnestness into that sleepy parish than +I thought possible. You've waked them up, put energy into them, and got +it out of them. You've done wonders. It's right you should know that +people think this of you, and that your work is valued." + +"I am glad," Norman North said, and the restraint of the words carried +more than a speech. + +Mr. Litterny went on: "But there's such a thing as overdoing, young man, +and you're shaving the edge of it. You're looking ill--poor color--thin +as a rail. You need a rest." + +"I think I'll go to Bermuda. My senior warden was there last year, and +he says it's a wonderful little place--full of flowers and tennis and +sailing, and blue sea and nice people." He stood up suddenly and +broadened his broad shoulders. "I love the south," he said. "And I love +out-of-doors and using my muscles. It's good to think of whole days +with no responsibility, and with exercise till my arms and legs ache. I +get little exercise, and I miss it. I was on the track team at Yale, you +see, and rather strong at tennis." + +Mr. Litterny smiled, and his smile was full of sympathy. "We try to make +a stained-glass saint out of you," he said, "and all the time you're a +human youngster with a human desire for a good time. A mere lad," he +added, reflectively, and went on: "Go down to Bermuda with a light +heart, my boy, and enjoy yourself,--it will do your church as much good +as you. Play tennis and sail--fall in love if you find the right +girl,--nothing makes a man over like that." North was putting out his +hand. "And remember," Litterny added, "to keep an eye out for my thief. +You're retained as assistant detective in the case." + + * * * * * + +On a bright, windy morning a steamship wound its careful way through the +twisted water-road of Hamilton Harbor, Bermuda. Up from cabins mid +corners poured figures unknown to the decks during the passage, and +haggard faces brightened under the balmy breeze, and tired eyes smiled +at the dark hills and snowy sands of the sliding shore. In a sheltered +corner of the deck a woman lay back in a chair and drew in breaths of +soft air, and a tall girl watched her. + +"You feel better already, don't you?" she demanded, and Mrs. Newbold put +her hand into her daughter's. + +"It is Paradise," she said. "I am going to get well." + +In an hour the landing had been made, the custom-house passed; the gay, +exhilarating little drive had been taken to the hotel, through white +streets, past white-roofed houses buried in trees and flowers and vines; +the sick woman lay quiet and happy on her bed, drawn to the open window, +where the healing of the breeze touched her gently, and where her eyes +dreamed over a fairy stretch of sea and islands. Katherine, moving about +the room, unpacking, came to sit in a chair by her mother and talk to +her for a moment. + +"To-morrow, if you're a good child, you shall go for a drive. Think--a +drive in an enchanted island. It's Shakespeare's _Tempest_ island,--did +I tell you I heard that on the boat? We might run across Caliban any +minute, and I think at least we'll find 'M' and 'F', for Miranda and +Ferdinand, cut into the bark of a tree somewhere. We'll go for a drive +every day, every single day, till we find it. You'll see." + +Mrs. Newbold's eyes moved from the sea and rested, perplexed, on her +daughter. "Katherine, how can we afford to drive every day? How can we +be here at all? I don't understand it. I'm sure there was nothing left +to sell except the land out west, and Mr. Seaton told us last spring +that it was worthless. How did you and Randolph conjure up the money for +this beautiful journey that is going to save my life?" + +The girl bent impulsively and kissed her with tender roughness. "It is +going to do that--it is!" she cried, and her voice broke. Then: "Never +mind how the money came, dear,--invalids mustn't be curious. It strains +their nerves. Wait till you're well and perhaps you'll hear a tale about +that land out west." + +Day after day slipped past in the lotus-eating land whose unreality +makes it almost a change of planets from every-day America. Each day +brought health with great rapidity, and soon each day brought new +friends. Mrs. Newbold was full of charm, and the devotion between the +ill mother and the blooming daughter was an attractive sight. Yet the +girl was not light-hearted. Often the mother, waking in the night, heard +a shivering sigh through the open door between their rooms; often she +surprised a harassed look in the young eyes which, with all that the +family had gone through, was new to them. But Katherine laughed at +questions, and threw herself so gayly into the pleasures which came to +her that Mrs. Newbold, too happy to be analytical, let the straws pass +and the wind blow where it would. + +There came a balmy morning when the two were to take, with half a dozen +others, the long drive to St. George's. The three carriage-loads set off +in a pleasant hubbub from the white-paved courtyard of the hotel, and as +Katherine settled her mother with much care and many rugs, her camera +dropped under the wheels. Everybody was busy, nobody was looking, and +she stooped and reached for it in vain. Then out of a blue sky a voice +said: + +"I'll get it for you," She was pushed firmly aside and a figure in a +blue coat was grovelling adventurously beneath the trap. It came out, +straightened; she had her camera; she was staring up into a face which +contemplated her, which startled her, so radiant, so everything +desirable it seemed to her to be. The man's eyes considered her a moment +as she thanked him, and then he had lifted his hat and was gone, +running, like a boy in a hurry for a holiday, toward the white stone +landing. An empty sail flopped big at the landing, and the girl stood +and looked as he sprang in under it and took the rudder. Joe, the head +porter, the familiar friend of every one, was stowing in a rug. + +"That gen'l'man's the Reverend Norman North,--he come by the _Trinidad_ +last Wednesday; he's sailin' to St. George's," Joe volunteered. "Don't +look much like a reverend, do he?" And with that the carriage had +started. + +Seeing the sights at St. George's, they came to the small old church, +on its western side a huge flight of steps, capped with a meek doorway; +on its eastern end a stone tower guarding statelily a flowery graveyard. +The moment the girl stepped inside, the spell of the bright peace which +filled the place caught her. The Sunday decorations were still there, +and hundreds of lilies bloomed from the pillars; sunshine slanted +through the simple stained glass and lay in colored patches on the +floor; there were square pews of a bygone day; there was a pulpit with a +winding stair; there were tablets on the walls to shipwrecked sailors, +to governors and officers dead here in harness. The clumsy woodwork, the +cheap carpets, the modest brasses, were in perfect order; there were +marks everywhere of reverent care. + +"Let me stay," the girl begged. "I don't want to drive about. I want to +stay in this place. I'll meet you at the hotel for lunch, if you'll +leave me." And they left her. + +The verger had gone, and she was quite alone. Deep in the shadow of a +gallery she slid to her knees and hid her face. "O God!" she +whispered,--"O God, forgive me!" And again the words seemed torn from +her--"O God, forgive me!" + +There were voices in the vestibule, but the girl in the stress of her +prayer did not hear. + +"Deal not with us according to our sins, neither reward us according to +our iniquities," she prayed, the accustomed words rushing to her want, +and she was suddenly aware that two people stood in the church. One of +them spoke. + +"Don't bother to stay with me," he said, and in the voice, it seemed, +were the qualities that a man's speech should have--strength, certainty, +the unteachable tone of gentle blood, and beyond these the note of +personality, always indescribable, in this case carrying an appeal and +an authority oddly combined. "Don't stay with me. I like to be alone +here. I'm a clergyman, and I enjoy an old church like this. I'd like to +be alone in it," and a bit of silver flashed. + +If the tip did it or the compelling voice, the verger murmured a word +about luncheon, was gone, and the girl in her dim corner saw, as the +other turned, that he was the rescuer of her camera, whose name was, +Joe had said and she remembered, Norman North. She was about to move, to +let herself be seen, when the young man knelt suddenly in the +old-fashioned front pew, as a good child might kneel who had been taught +the ways of his mother church, and bent his dark head. She waited +quietly while this servant spoke to his Master. There was no sound in +the silent, sun-lanced church, but outside one heard as from far away +the noises of the village. Katherine's eyes rested on the bowed head, +and she wondered uncertainly if she should let him know of her presence, +or if it might not be better to slip out unnoticed, when in a moment he +had risen and was swinging with a vigorous step up the little corkscrew +stairway of the pulpit. There he stood, facing the silence, facing the +flower-starred shadows, the empty spaces; facing her, but not seeing +her. And the girl forgot herself and the question of her going as she +saw the look in his face, the light which comes at times to those who +give their lives to holiness, since the day when the people, gazing at +Stephen, the martyr, "saw his face as it had been the face of an +angel." When his voice floated out on the dim, sunny atmosphere it +rested as lightly on the silence as if the notes of an organ rolled +through its own place. He spoke a prayer of a service which, to those +whose babyhood has been consecrated by it, whose childhood and youth +have listened to its simple and stately words, whose manhood and +womanhood have been carried over many a hard place by the lift of its +familiar sentences,--he spoke a prayer of that service which is less +dear only, to those bred in it, than the voices of their dearest. As a +priest begins to speak to his congregation he began, and the hearer in +the shadow of the gallery listened, awed: + +"The Lord is in His holy temple: let all the earth keep silence before +Him." + +And in the little church was silence as if all the earth obeyed. The +collect for the day came next, and a bit of jubilant Easter service, and +then his mind seemed to drift back to the sentences with which the +prayer-book opens. + +"This is the day which the Lord hath made," the ringing voice announced. +"Let us rejoice and be glad in it." And then, stabbing into the girl's +fevered conscience, "I acknowledge my transgressions, and my sin is ever +before me." It was as if an inflexible judge spoke the words for her. +"When the wicked man turneth away from his wickedness, and doeth that +which is lawful and right, he shall save his soul alive," the pure, +stern tones went on. + +She was not turning away from wickedness; she did not mean to turn away; +she would not do that which was lawful. The girl shivered. She could not +hear this dreadful accusal from the very pulpit. She must leave this +place. And with that the man, as if in a sudden passion of feeling, had +tossed his right hand high above him; his head was thrown back; his eyes +shone up into the shadows of the roof as if they would pierce material +things and see Him who reigned; he was pleading as if for his life, +pleading for his brothers, for human beings who sin and suffer. + +"O Lord," he prayed, "spare all those who confess their sins unto Thee, +that they whose consciences by sin are accused, by Thy merciful pardon +may be absolved; through Christ our Lord." And suddenly he was using the +very words which had come to her of themselves a few minutes before. +"Deal not with us according to our sins--deal not with us," he repeated, +as if wresting forgiveness for his fellows from the Almighty. "Deal not +with us according to our sins, neither reward us according to our +iniquities." And while the echo of the words yet held the girl +motionless he was gone. + + * * * * * + +Down by the road which runs past the hotel, sunken ten feet below its +level, are the tennis-courts, and soldiers in scarlet and khaki, and +blue-jackets with floating ribbons, and negro bell-boys returning from +errands, and white-gowned American women with flowery hats, and men in +summer flannels stop as they pass, and sit on the low wall and watch the +games. There is always a gallery for the tennis-players. But on a +Tuesday morning about eleven o'clock the audience began to melt away in +disgust. Without doubt they were having plenty of amusement among +themselves, these tennis-players grouped at one side of the court and +filling the air with explosions of laughter. But the amusement of the +public was being neglected. Why in the world, being rubber-shod as to +the foot and racqueted as to the hand, did they not play tennis? A girl +in a short white dress, wearing white tennis-shoes and carrying a +racquet, came tripping down the flight of stone steps, and stopped as +she stood on the last landing and seemed to ask the same question. She +came slowly across the empty court, looking with curiosity at the bunch +of absorbed people, and presently she caught her breath. The man who was +the centre of the group, who was making, apparently, the amusement, was +the young clergyman, Norman North. + +There was an outburst, a chorus of: "You can't have that one, Mr. +North!" "That's been used!" "That's Mr. Dennison's!" + +A tall English officer--a fine, manly mixture of big muscles and fresh +color and khaki--looked up, saw the girl, and swung toward her. "Good +morning, Miss Newbold. Come and join the fun. Devil of a fellow, that +North,--they say he's a parson." + +"What is it? What are they laughing at?" Katherine demanded. + +"They're doing a Limerick tournament, which is what North calls the +game. Mr. Gale is timekeeper. They're to see which recites most rhymes +inside five minutes. The winner picks his court and plays with Miss +Lee." + +Captain Comerford imparted this in jerky whispers, listening with one +ear all the time to a sound which stirred Katherine, the voice which she +had heard yesterday in the church at St. George's. The Englishman's +spasmodic growl stopped, and she drifted a step nearer, listening. As +she caught the words, her brows drew together with displeasure, with +shocked surprise. The inspired saint of yesterday was reciting with +earnestness, with every delicate inflection of his beautiful voice, +these words: + + "There was a young curate of Kidderminster, + Who kindly, but firmly, chid a spinster, + Because on the ice + She said something not nice + When he quite inadvertently slid ag'inst her." + +As the roar which followed this subsided, Katherine's face cleared. +What right had she to make a pattern of solemn righteousness for this +stranger and be insulted if he did not fit? Certainly he was +saintly--she had seen his soul bared to her vision; but certainly he was +human also, as this moment was demonstrating. It flashed over her +vaguely to wonder which was the dominant quality--which would rule in a +stress of temptation--the saintly side or the human? But at least he was +human with a winning humanity. His mirth and his enjoyment of it were as +spontaneous as a mischievous, bright child's, and it was easy to see +that the charm of his remarkable voice attracted others as it had +attracted her. + + "There was a young fellow from Clyde, + Who was often at funerals espied--" + +he had begun, and with that, between her first shock and her swift +recovery, with the contrast between the man of yesterday and the man of +to-day, Katherine suddenly laughed aloud. North stopped short, and +turned and looked at her, and for a second and their eyes met, and each +read recognition and friendliness. The Limerick went on: + + "When asked who was dead, + He nodded and said, + '_I_ don't know--_I_ just came for the ride.'" + +"Eleven for Mr. North--one-half minute more," called Mr. Gale, and +instantly North was in the breach: + + "A sore-hipped hippopotamus quite flustered + Objected to a poultice made of custard; + 'Can't you doctor up my hip + With anything but flip?' + So they put upon the hip a pot o' mustard.'" + +And the half-minute was done and North had won, and there was clapping +of hands for the victor, and at once, before the little uproar was over, +Katherine saw him speak a word to Mr. Gale, and saw the latter, turning, +stare about as if searching for some one, and, meeting her glance, +smile. + +"I want to present Mr. North, Miss Newbold," Gale said. + +"Why did you laugh in the middle of my Limerick? Had you heard it?" +North demanded, as if they had known each other a year instead of a +minute. + +"No, I had not heard it." Katherine shook her head. + +"Then why did you laugh?" + +She looked at him reflectively. "I don't know you well enough to tell +you that." + +"How soon will you know me well enough--if I do my best?" + +She considered. "About three weeks from yesterday." + + * * * * * + +Many things grow fast in southern climates--fruits, flowers, even +friendship and love. Three weeks later, on a hot, bright morning of +April, North and Katherine Newbold were walking down a road of Bermuda +to the sea, and between them was what had ripened in the twenty-one days +from a germ to a full-grown bud, ready to open at the lightest touch +into flower. As they walked down such a road of a dream, the man talked +to the girl as he had never talked to any one before. He spoke of his +work and its hopes and disappointments, of the pathos, the tragedy, the +comedy often of a way of life which leads by a deeper cut through men's +hearts than any other, and he told her also, modestly indeed, and +because he loved to tell her what meant much to him, of the joy of +knowing himself successful in his parish. He went into details, +absorbingly interesting to him, and this new luxury of speaking freely +carried him away. + +"I hope I'm not boring you." His frank gaze turned on her anxiously. "I +don't know what right I have to assume that the increase in the +Sunday-school, or even the new brass pulpit, is a fascinating subject to +you. I never did this before," he said, and there was something in his +voice which hindered the girl from answering his glance. But there was +no air of being bored about her, and he went on. "However, life isn't +all good luck. I had a serious blow just before I came down here--a +queer thing happened. I told you just now that all the large gifts to +St. John's had come from one man--a former parishioner. The man was +James Litterny, of the great firm of--Why, what's the matter--what is +it?" For Katherine had stopped short, in her fast, swinging walk, and +without a sound had swayed and caught at the wall as if to keep herself +from falling. Before he could reach her she had straightened herself and +was smiling. + +"I felt ill for a second--it's nothing,--let's go along." + +North made eager suggestions for her comfort, but the girl was firm in +her assertion, that she was now quite well, so that, having no sisters +and being ignorant that a healthy young woman does not, any more than a +healthy young man, go white and stagger without reason, he yielded, and +they walked briskly on. + +"You were telling me something that happened to you--something connected +with Mr.--with the rich parishioner." Her tone was steady and casual, +but looking at her, he saw that she was still pale. + +"Do you really want to hear my yarns? You're sure it isn't that which +made you feel faint--because I talked so much?" + +"It's always an effort not to talk myself," she laughed up at him, yet +with a strange look in her eyes. "All the same, talk a little more. +Tell me what you began to tell about Mr. Litterny." The name came out +full and strong. + +"Oh, that! Well, it's a story extraordinary enough for a book. I think +it will interest you." + +"I think it will," Katherine agreed. + +"You see," he went on, "Mr. Litterny promised us a new parish-house, the +best and largest practicable. It was to cost, with the lot, ten thousand +dollars. It was to be begun this spring. Not long before I came to +Bermuda, I had a note one morning from him, asking me to come to his +house the next evening. I went, and he told me that the parish-house +would have to be given up for the present, because the firm of Litterny +Brothers had just met with a loss, through a most skilful and original +robbery, of five thousand dollars." + +"A robbery?" the girl repeated. "Burglars, you mean?" + +"Something much more artistic than burglars. I told you this story was +good enough for a book. It's been kept quiet because the detectives +thought the chance better that way of hunting the thief to earth." (Why +should she catch her breath?) "But I'm under no promise--I'm sure I may +tell you. You're not likely to have any connection with the rascal." + +Katherine's step hung a little as if she shrank from the words, but she +caught at a part of the sentence and repeated it, "'Hunting the thief to +earth'--you say that as if you'd like to see it done." + +"I would like to see it done," said North, with slow emphasis. "Nothing +has ever more roused my resentment. I suppose it's partly the loss of +the parish-house, but, aside from that, it makes me rage to think of +splendid old James Litterny, the biggest-hearted man I know, being done +in that way. Why, he'd have helped the scoundrel in a minute if he'd +gone to him instead of stealing from him. Usually my sympathies are with +the sinner, but I believe if I caught this one I'd be merciless." + +"Would you mind sitting down here?" Katherine asked, in a voice which +sounded hard. "I'm not ill, but I feel--tired. I want to sit here and +listen to the story of that unprincipled thief and his wicked robbery." + +North was all solicitude in a moment, but the girl put him aside +impatiently. + +"I'm quite right. Don't bother. I just want to be still while you talk. +See what a good seat this is." + +Over the russet sand of the dunes the sea flashed a burning blue; +storm-twisted cedars led a rutted road down to it; in the salt air the +piny odor was sharp with sunlight. Katherine had dropped beneath one of +the dwarfed trees, and leaning back, smiled dimly up at him with a +stricken face which North did not understand. + +"You are ill," he said, anxiously. "You look ill. Please let me take +care of you. There is a house back there--let me--" but she interrupted: + +"I'm not ill, and I won't be fussed over. I'm not exactly right, but I +will be in a few minutes. The best thing for me is just to rest here and +have you talk to me. Tell me that story you are so slow about." + +He took her at her word. Lying at full length at her feet--his head +propped on a hillock so that he might look into her face, one of his +hands against the hem of her white dress,--the shadows of the cedars +swept back and forth across him, the south sea glittered beyond the +sand-dunes, and he told the story. + +"Mr. Litterny was in his office in the early afternoon of February 18," +he began, "when a man called him up on the telephone. Mr. Litterny did +not recognize the voice, but the man stated at once that he was Burr +Claflin, whose name you may know. He is a rich broker, and a personal +friend of both the Litternys. Voice is so uncertain a quantity over a +telephone that it did not occur to Mr. Litterny to be suspicious on that +point, and the conversation was absolutely in character otherwise. The +talker used expressions and a manner of saying things which the jeweller +knew to be characteristic of Claflin. + +"He told Mr. Litterny that he had just made a lucky hit in stocks, and +'turned over a bunch of money,' as he put it, and that he wanted to make +his wife a present. 'Now--this afternoon--this minute,' he said, which +was just like Burr Claflin, who is an impetuous old chap. 'I want to +give her a diamond brooch, and I want her to wear it out to dinner +to-night,' he said. 'Can't you send two or three corkers up to the house +for me?' That surprised Mr. Litterny and he hesitated, but finally said +that he would do it. It was against the rules of the house, but as it +was for Mr. Claflin he would do it. They had a little talk about the +details, and Claflin arranged to call up his wife and tell her that the +jewels would be there at four-thirty, so that she could look out for +them personally. All that was the Litterny end of the affair. Simple +enough, wasn't it?" + +Katherine's eyes were so intent, so brilliant, that Norman North went on +with a pleased sense that he told the tale well: + +"Now begins the Claflin experience. At half past four a clerk from +Litterny's left a package at the Claflin house in Cleveland Avenue, +which was at once taken, as the man desired, to Mrs. Claflin. She opened +it and found three very handsome diamond brooches, which astonished her +extremely, as she knew nothing about them. However, it was not unusual +for Claflin to give her jewelry, and he is, as I said, an impulsive man, +so that unexpected presents had come once or twice before; and +altogether, being much taken with the stones, she concluded simply that +she would understand when her husband came home to dinner. + +"However, her hopes were dashed, for twenty minutes later, barely long +enough for the clerk to have got back to the shop, she was called to the +telephone by a message, said to be from Litterny's, and a most polite +and apologetic person explained over the line that a mistake had been +made; that the diamonds had been addressed and sent to her by an error +of the shipping-clerk; that they were not intended for Mrs. Burr +Claflin, but for Mrs. Bird Catlin, and that the change in name had been +discovered on the messenger's return. Would Mrs. Claflin pardon the +trouble caused, and would she be good enough to see that the package was +given to their man, who would call for it in fifteen minutes? Now the +Catlins, as you must know, are richer people even than the Claflins, so +that the thing was absolutely plausible. Mrs. Claflin tied up the jewels +herself, and entrusted them to her own maid, who has been with her for +years, and this woman answered the door and gave the parcel into the +hands of a man who said that he was sent from Litterny's for it. All +that the maid could say of him was that he was 'a pretty young man, with +a speech like a gentleman.' And that was the last that has been seen of +the diamond brooches. Wasn't it simple? Didn't I tell you that this +affair was an artistic one?" North demanded. + +Katherine Newbold drew a deep breath, and the story-teller, watching her +face, saw that she was stirred with an emotion which he put down, with a +slight surprise, to interest in his narrative. + +"Is there no clew to the--thief? Have they no idea at all? Haven't those +wonderful detectives yet got on--his track?" + +North shook his head. "I had a letter by yesterday's boat from Mr. +Litterny about another matter, and he spoke of this. He said the police +were baffled--that he believed now that it could never be traced." + +"Thank God!" Katherine said, slowly and distinctly, and North stared in +astonishment. + +"What?" His tone was incredulous. + +"Oh; don't take me so seriously," said the girl, impatiently. "It's only +that I can't sympathize with your multimillionaire, who loses a little +of his heaps of money, against some poor soul to whom that little may +mean life or death--life or death, maybe, for his nearest and dearest. +Mr. Litterny has had a small loss, which he won't feel in a year from +now. The thief, the rascal, the scoundrel, as you call him so fluently, +has escaped for now, perhaps, with his ill-gotten gains, but he is a +hunted thing, living with a black terror of being found out--a terror +which clutches him when he prays and when he dances. It's the thief I'm +sorry for--I'm sorry for him--I'm sorry for him." Her voice was agitated +and uneven beyond what seemed reasonable. + +"'The way of the transgressor is hard,'" Norman North said, slowly, and +looked across the shifting sand-stretch to the inevitable sea, and +spoke the words pitilessly, as if an inevitable law spoke through him. + +They cut into the girl's soul. A quick gasp of pain broke from her, and +the man turned and saw her face and sprang to his feet. + +"Come," he said,--"come home," and held out his hands. + +She let him take hers, and he lifted her lightly, and did not let her +hands go. For a second they stood, and into the silence a deep boom of +the water against the beach thundered and died away. He drew the hands +slowly toward him till he held them against him. There seemed not to be +any need for words. + +Half an hour later, as they walked back through the sweet loneliness of +Springfield Avenue, North said: "You've forgotten something. You've +forgotten that this is the day you were to tell me why you had the bad +manners to laugh at me before you knew me. Now that we are engaged it's +your duty to tell me if I'm ridiculous." + +There was none of the responsive, soft laughter he expected. "We're not +engaged--we can't be engaged," she threw back, impetuously, and as he +looked at her there was suffering in her face. + +"What do you mean? You told me you loved me." His voice was full of its +curious mixture of gentleness and sternness, and she shrank visibly from +the sternness. + +"Don't be hard on me," she begged, like a frightened child, and he +caught her hand with a quick exclamation. "I'll tell you--everything. +Not only that little thing about my laughing, but--but more--everything. +Why I cannot be engaged to you. I must tell you--I know it--but, oh! not +to-day--not for a little while! Let me have this little time to be +happy. You sail a week from to-day. I'll write it all for you, and you +can read it on the way to New York. That will do--won't that do?" she +pleaded. + +North took both her hands in a hard grasp and searched her face and her +eyes--eyes clear and sweet, though filled with misery. "Yes, that will +do," he said. "It's all nonsense that you can't be engaged to me. You +are engaged to me, and you are going to marry me. If you love me--and +you say you do,--there's nothing I'll let interfere. Nothing--absolutely +nothing." There was little of the saint in his look now; it was filled +with human love and masterful determination, and in his eyes smouldered +a recklessness, a will to have his way, that was no angel, but all man. + +A week later Norman North sailed to New York, and in his pocket was a +letter which was not to be read till Bermuda was out of sight. When the +coral reef was passed, when the fairy blue of the island waters had +changed to the dark swell of the Atlantic, he slipped the bolt in the +door of his cabin and took out the letter. + +"I laughed because you were so wonderfully two men in one," it began, "I +was in the church at St. George's the day when you sent the verger away +and went into the pulpit and said parts of the service. I could not tell +you this before because it came so close to the other thing which I must +tell you now; because I sat trembling before you that day, hidden in the +shadow of a gallery, knowing myself a criminal, while you stood above me +like a pitiless judge and rolled out sentences that were bolts of fire +emptied on my soul. The next morning I heard you reciting Limericks. Are +you surprised that I laughed when the contrast struck me? Even then I +wondered which was the real of you, the saint or the man,--which would +win if it came to a desperate fight. The fight is coming, Norman. + +"That's all a preamble. Here is what you must know: I am the thief who +stole Mr. Litterny's diamonds." + +The letter fell, and the man caught at it as it fell. His hand shook, +but he laughed aloud. + +"It is a joke," he said, in a queer, dry voice. "A wretched joke. How +can she?" And he read on: + +"You won't believe this at first; you will think I am making a poor +joke; but you will have to believe it in the end. I will try to put the +case before you as an outside person would put it, without softening or +condoning. My mother was very ill; the specialist, to pay whom we had +sold her last jewel, said that she would die if she were not taken +south; we had no money to take her south. That night my brother lost +his self-control and raved about breaking into a shop and stealing +diamonds, to get money to save her life. That put the thought into my +mind, and I made a plan. Randolph, my brother, is a clever amateur +actor, and the rich Burr Claflin is our distant cousin. We both know him +fairly well, and it was easy enough for Randolph to copy his mannerisms. +We knew also, of course, more or less, his way of living, and that it +would not be out of drawing that he should send up diamonds to his wife +unexpectedly. I planned it all, and I made Randolph do it. I have always +been able to influence him to what I pleased. The sin is all mine, not +his. We had been selling my mother's jewels little by little for several +years, so we had no difficulty in getting rid of the stones, which +Randolph took from their settings and sold to different dealers. My +mother knows nothing of where the money came from. We are living in +Bermuda now, in comfort and luxury, I as well as she, on the profits of +my thievery. I am not sorry. It has wrecked life, perhaps eternity, for +me, but I would do it again to save my mother. + +"I put this confession into your hands to do with, as far as I am +concerned, what you like. If the saint in you believes that I ought to +be sent to jail, take this to Mr. Litterny and have him send me to +jail. But you shan't touch Randolph--you are not free there. It was I +who did it--he was my tool,--any one will tell you I have the stronger +will. You shall not hurt Randolph--that is barred. + +"You see now why I couldn't be engaged to you--you wouldn't want to +marry a thief, would you, Norman? I can never make restitution, you +know, for the money will be mostly gone before we get home, and there is +no more to come. You could not, either, for you said that you had little +beyond your salary. We could never make it good to Mr. Litterny, even if +you wanted to marry me after this. Mr. Litterny is your best friend; you +are bound to him by a thousand ties of gratitude and affection. You +can't marry a thief who has robbed him of five thousand dollars, and +never tell him, and go on taking his gifts. That is the way the saint +will look at it--the saint who thundered awful warnings at me in the +little church at St. George's. But even that day there was something +gentler than the dreadful holiness of you. Do you remember how you +pleaded, begged as if of your father, for your brothers and sisters? +'Deal not with us according to our sins, neither reward us according to +our iniquities,' you said. Do you remember? As you said that to God, I +say it to you, I love you. I leave my fate at your mercy. But don't +forget that you yourself begged that, with your hands stretched out to +heaven, as I stretch my hands to you, Norman, Norman--'Deal not with me +according to my sins, neither reward me according to my iniquities.'" + +The noises of a ship moving across a quiet ocean went on steadily. Many +feet tramped back and forth on the deck, and cheerful voices and +laughter floated through the skylight, and down below a man knelt in a +narrow cabin with his head buried in his arms, motionless. + + + + +CROWNED WITH GLORY AND HONOR + + +Mists blew about the mountains across the river, and over West Point +hung a raw fog. Some of the officers who stood with bared heads by the +heap of earth and the hole in the ground shivered a little. The young +Chaplain read, solemnly, the solemn and grand words of the service, and +the evenness of his voice was unnatural enough to show deep feeling. He +remembered how, a year before, he had seen the hero of this scene +playing football on just such a day, tumbling about and shouting, his +hair wild and matted and his face filled with fresh color. Such a mere +boy he was, concerned over the question as to where he could hide his +contraband dress boots, excited by an invitation to dine out Saturday +night. The dear young chap! There were tears in the Chaplain's eyes as +he thought of little courtesies to himself, of little generosities to +other cadets, of a manly and honest heart shown everywhere that +character may show in the guarded life of the nation's schoolboys. + +The sympathetic, ringing voice stopped, and he watched the quick, +dreadful, necessary work of the men at the grave, and then his sad eyes +wandered pitifully over the rows of boyish faces where the cadets stood. +Just such a child as those, thought the Chaplain--himself but a few +years older--no history; no life, as we know life; no love, and what was +life without--you may see that the Chaplain was young; the poor boy was +taken from these quiet ways and sent direct on the fire-lit stage of +history, and in the turn, behold! he was a hero. The white-robed +Chaplain thrilled and his dark eyes flashed. He seemed to see that day; +he would give half his life to have seen it--this boy had given all of +his. The boy was wounded early, and as the bullets poured death down the +hill he crept up it, on hands and knees, leading his men. The strong +life in him lasted till he reached the top, and then the last of it +pulled him to his feet and he stood and waved and cheered--and fell. But +he went up San Juan Hill. After all, he lived. He missed fifty years, +perhaps, but he had Santiago. The flag wrapped him, he was the honored +dead of the nation. God keep him! The Chaplain turned with a swing and +raised his prayer-book to read the committal. The long black box--the +boy was very tall--was being lowered gently, tenderly. Suddenly the +heroic vision of Santiago vanished and he seemed to see again the +rumpled head and the alert, eager, rosy face of the boy playing +football--the head that lay there! An iron grip caught his throat, and +if a sound had come it would have been a sob. Poor little boy! Poor +little hero! To exchange all life's sweetness for that fiery glory! Not +to have known the meaning of living--of loving--of being loved! + +The beautiful, tender voice rang out again so that each one heard it to +the farthest limit of the great crowd--"We therefore commit his body to +the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; looking for +the general resurrection in the last day, and the life of the world to +come." + + * * * * * + +An hour later the boy's mother sat in her room at the hotel and opened +a tin box of letters, found with his traps, and given her with the rest. +She had planned it for this time and had left the box unopened. +To-morrow she must take up life and try to carry it, with the boy gone, +but to-day she must and would be what is called morbid. She looked over +the bend in the river to the white-dotted cemetery--she could tell where +lay the new mound, flower-covered, above his yellow head. She looked +away quickly and bent over the box in her lap and turned the key. Her +own handwriting met her eyes first; all her letters for six months back +were there, scattered loosely about the box. She gathered them up, +slipping them through her fingers to be sure of the writing. Letter +after letter, all hers. + +"They were his love-letters," she said to herself. "He never had any +others, dear little boy--my dear little boy!" + +Underneath were more letters, a package first; quite a lot of them, +thirty, fifty--it was hard to guess--held together by a rubber strap. +The strap broke as she drew out the first envelope and they fell all +about her, some on the floor, but she did not notice it, for the address +was in a feminine writing that had a vague familiarity. She stopped a +moment, with the envelope in one hand and the fingers of the other hand +on the folded paper inside. It felt like a dishonorable thing to +do--like prying into the boy's secrets, forcing his confidence; and she +had never done that. Yet some one must know whether these papers of his +should be burned or kept, and who was there but herself? She drew out +the letter. It began "My dearest." The boy's mother stopped short and +drew a trembling breath, with a sharp, jealous pain. She had not known. +Then she lifted her head and saw the dots of white on the green earth +across the bay and her heart grew soft for that other woman to whom he +had been "dearest" too, who must suffer this sorrow of losing him too. +But she could not read her letters, she must send them, take them to +her, and tell her that his mother had held them sacred. She turned to +the signature. + +"And so you must believe, darling, that I am and always will +be--always, always, with love and kisses, your own dear, little 'Good +Queen Bess.'" + +It was not the sort of an ending to a letter she would have expected +from the girl he loved, for the boy, though most undemonstrative, had +been intense and taken his affections seriously always. But one can +never tell, and the girl was probably quite young. But who was she? The +signature gave no clew; the date was two years before, and from New +York--sufficiently vague! She would have to read until she found the +thread, and as she read the wonder grew that so flimsy a personality +could have held her boy. One letter, two, three, six, and yet no sign to +identify the writer. She wrote first from New York on the point of +starting for a long stay abroad, and the other letters were all from +different places on the other side. Once in awhile a familiar name +cropped up, but never to give any clew. There were plenty of people whom +she called by their Christian names, but that helped nothing. And often +she referred to their engagement--to their marriage to come. It was hard +for the boy's mother, who believed she had had his confidence. But +there was one letter from Vienna that made her lighter-hearted as to +that. + +"My dear sweet darling," it began, "I haven't written you very often +from here, but then I don't believe you know the difference, for you +never scold at all, even if I'm ever so long in writing. And as for you, +you rascal, you write less and less, and shorter and shorter. If I +didn't know for certain--but then, of course, you love me? Don't you, +you dearest boy? Of course you do, and who wouldn't? Now don't think I'm +really so conceited as that, for I only mean it in joke, but in earnest, +I might think it if I let myself, for they make such a fuss over me +here--you never saw anything like it! The Prince von H---- told Mamma +yesterday I was the prettiest girl who had been here in ten years--what +do you think of that, sir? The officers are as thick as bees wherever I +go, and I ride with them and dance with them and am having just the +loveliest time! You don't mind that, do you, darling, even if we are +engaged? Oh, about telling your mother--no, sir, you just cannot! You've +begged me all along to do that, but you might as well stop, for I +won't. You write more about that than anything else, it seems to me, and +I'll believe soon you are more in love with your mother than with me. So +take care! Remember, you promised that night at the hop at West +Point--what centuries ago it seems, and it was a year and a half!--that +you would not tell a living soul, not even your mother, until I said so. +You see, it might get out and--oh, what's the use of fussing? It might +spoil all my good time, and though I'm just as devoted as ever, and as +much in love, you big, handsome thing--yes, just exactly!--still, I want +to have a good time. Why shouldn't I? As the Prince would say, I'm +pretty enough--but that's nonsense, of course." + +The letter was signed like all the others "Good Queen Bess," a foolish +enough name for a girl to call herself, the boy's mother thought, a +touch contemptuously. She sat several minutes with that letter in her +hand. + +"I'll believe soon that you are more in love with your mother than you +are with me"--that soothed the sore spot in her heart wonderfully. +Wasn't it so, perhaps. It seemed to her that the boy had fallen into +this affair suddenly, impulsively, without realizing its meaning, and +that his loyalty had held him fast, after the glamour was gone. And +perhaps the girl, too. For the boy had much besides himself, and there +were girls who might think of that. + +The next letter went far to confirm this theory. + +"Of course I don't want to break our engagement," the girl wrote. "What +makes you ask such a question? I fully expect to marry you some day, of +course, when I have had my little 'fling,' and I should just go crazy if +I thought you didn't love me as much as always. You would if you saw me, +for they all say I'm prettier than ever. You don't want to break the +engagement, do you? Please, please, don't say so, for I couldn't bear +it." + +And in the next few lines she mentioned herself by name. It was a +well-known name to the boy's mother, that of the daughter of a cousin +with whom she had never been over-intimate. She had had notes from the +girl a few times, once or twice from abroad, which accounted for the +familiarity of the writing. So she gathered the letters together, the +last one dated only a month before, and put them one side to send back. + +"She will soon get over it," she said, and sighed as she turned to the +papers still left in the bottom of the box. There were only a few, a +thin packet of six or eight, and one lying separate. She slipped the +rubber band from the packet and looked hard at the irregular, strong +writing, woman's or man's, it was hard to say which. Then she spread out +the envelopes and took them in order by the postmarks. The first was a +little note, thanking him for a book, a few lines of clever nothing +signed by a woman's name which she had never heard. + + * * * * * + +"My dear Mr. ----," it ran. "Indeed you did get ahead of 'all the others' +in sending me 'The Gentleman from Indiana,' So far ahead that the next +man in the procession is not even in sight yet. I hate to tell you that, +but honesty demands it. I have taken just one sidewise peep at 'The +Gentleman'--and like his looks immensely--but to-morrow night I am +going to pretend I have a headache and stay home from the concert where +the family are going, and turn cannibal and devour him. I hope nothing +will interrupt me. Unless--I wonder if you are conceited enough to +imagine what is one of the very few things I would like to have +interrupt me? After that bit of boldness I think I must stop writing to +you. I mean it just the same. And thanking you a thousand times again, I +am, + + "Sincerely yours." + +There were four or five more of this sort, sometimes only a day or two, +sometimes a month apart; always with some definite reason for the +writing, flowers or books to thank him for, a walk to arrange, an +invitation to dinner. Charming, bright, friendly notes, with the happy +atmosphere of a perfect understanding between them, of mutual interests +and common enthusiasms. + +"She was very different from the other," the boy's mother sighed, as she +took up an unread letter--there were but two more. There was no harm in +reading such letters as these, she thought with relief, and noticed as +she drew the paper from the envelope that the postmark was two months +later. + +"You want me to write once that I love you"--that is the way it began. + +The woman who read dropped it suddenly as if it had burned her. Was it +possible? Her light-hearted boy, whose short life she had been so sure +had held nothing but a boy's, almost a child's, joys and sorrows! The +other affair was surprise enough, and a sad surprise, yet after all it +had not touched him deeply, she felt certain of that; but this was +another question. She knew instinctively that if love had grown from +such a solid foundation as this sweet and happy and reasonable +friendship with this girl, whose warm heart and deep soul shone through +her clear and simple words, it would be a different love from anything +that other poor, flimsy child could inspire. "L'amitie, c'est l'amour +sans ailes." But sometimes when men and women have let the quiet, safe +god Friendship fold his arms gently around them, he spreads suddenly a +pair of sinning wings and carries them off--to heaven--wherever he +wills it, and only then they see that he is not Friendship, but Love. + +She picked up the letter again and read on: + +"You want me to write once that I love you, so that you may read it with +your eyes, if you may not hear it with your ears. Is that it--is that +what you want, dear? Which question is a foolish sort of way for me to +waste several drops of ink, considering that your letter is open before +me. And your picture just back of it, your brown eyes looking over the +edge so eagerly, so actually alive that it seems very foolish to be +making signs to you on paper at all. How much simpler just to say half a +word and then--then! Only we two can fill up that dash, but we can fill +it full, can't we? However, I'm not doing what you want, and--will you +not tell yourself, if I tell you something? To do what you want is just +the one thing on earth I like most to do. I think you have magnetized me +into a jelly-fish, for at times I seem to have no will at all. I believe +if you asked me to do the Chinese kotow, and bend to the earth before +you, I'd secretly be dying to do it. But I wouldn't, you know, I +promise you that. I give you credit for liking a live woman, with a will +of her own, better than a jelly-fish. And anyway I wouldn't--if you +liked me for it or not--so you see it's no use urging me. And still I +haven't done what you want--what was it now? Oh, to tell you that--but +the words frighten me, they are so big. That I--I--I--love you. Is it +that? I haven't said it yet, remember. I'm only asking a question. Do +you know I have an objection to sitting here in cold blood and writing +that down in cold ink? If it were only a little dark now, and your +shoulder--and I could hide my head--you can't get off for a minute? Ah, +I am scribbling along light-heartedly, when all the time the sword of +Damocles is hanging over us both, when my next letter may have to be +good-by for always. If that fate comes you will find me steady to stand +by you, to help you. I will say those three little words, so little and +so big, to you once again, and then I will live them by giving up what +is dearest to me--that's you, dear--that your 'conduct' may not be +'unbecoming an officer and a gentleman.' You must keep your word. If +the worst comes, will you always remember that as an American woman's +patriotism. There could be none truer. I could send you marching off to +Cuba--and how about that, is it war surely?--with a light heart, knowing +that you were giving yourself for a holy cause and going to honor and +fame, though perhaps, dear, to a soldier's death. And I would pray for +you and remember your splendid strength, and think always of seeing you +march home again, and then only your mother could be more proud than I. +That would be easy, in comparison. Write me about the war--but, of +course, you would not be sent. + +"Now here is the very end of my letter, and I haven't yet said it--what +you wanted. But here it Is, bend your head, from away up there, and +listen. Now--do you hear--I love you. Good-by, good-by, I love you." + +The papers rustled softly in the silent room, and the boy's mother, as +she put the letter back, kissed it, and it was as if ghostly lips +touched hers, for the boy had kissed those words, she knew. + +The next was only a note, written just before his sailing to Cuba. + +"A fair voyage and a short one, a good fight and a quick one," the note +said. "It is my country as well as yours you are going to fight for, and +I give you with all my heart. All of it will be with you and all my +thoughts, too, every minute of every day, so you need never wonder if +I'm thinking of you. And soon the Spaniards will be beaten and you'll be +coming home again 'crowned with glory and honor,' and the bands will +play fighting music, and the flag will be flying over you, for you, and +in all proud America there will be no prouder soul than I--unless it is +your mother. Good-by, good-by--God be with you, my very dearest." + +He had come home "crowned with glory and honor." And the bands had +played martial music for him. But his horse stood riderless by his +grave, and the empty cavalry boots hung, top down, from the saddle. + +Loose in the bottom of the box lay a folded sheet of paper, and, hidden +under it, an envelope, the face side down. When the boy's mother opened +the paper, it was his own crabbed, uneven writing that met her eye. + +"They say there will be a fight to-morrow," he wrote, "and we're likely +to be in it. If I come out right, you will not see this, and I hope I +shall, for the world is sweet with you in it. But if I'm hit, then this +will go to you. I'm leaving a line for my mother and will enclose this +and ask her to send it to you. You must find her and be good to her, if +that happens. I want you to know that if I die, my last thought will +have been of you, and if I have the chance to do anything worth while, +it will be for your sake. I could die happy if I might do even a small +thing that would make you proud of me." + +The sorrowful woman drew a long, shivering breath as she thought of the +magnificent courage of that painful passing up San Juan Hill, wounded, +crawling on, with a pluck that the shades of death could not dim. Would +she be proud of him? + +The line for herself he had never written. There was only the empty +envelope lying alone in the box. She turned it in her hand and saw it +was addressed to the girl to whom he had been engaged. Slowly it dawned +on her that to every appearance this envelope belonged to the letter she +had just read, his letter of the night before the battle. She recoiled +at the thought--those last sacred words of his, to go to that +empty-souled girl! All that she would find in them would be a little +fuel for her vanity, while the other--she put her fingers on the +irregular, back writing, and felt as if a strong young hand held hers +again. She would understand, that other; she had thought of his mother +in the stress of her own strongest feeling; she had loved him for +himself, not for vanity. This letter was hers, the mother knew it. And +yet the envelope, with the other address, had lain just under it, and +she had been his promised wife. She could not face her boy in heaven if +this last earthly wish of his should go wrong through her. How could she +read the boy's mind now? What was right to do? + +The twilight fell over Crow Nest, and over the river and the heaped-up +mountains that lie about West Point, and in the quiet room the boy's +mother sat perplexed, uncertain, his letter in her hands; yet with a +vague sense of coming comfort in her heart as she thought of the girl +who would surely "find her and be good to her," But across the water, on +the hillside, the boy lay quiet. + + + + +A MESSENGER + + + How oft do they their silver bowers leave, + To come to succour us that succour want! + How oft do they with golden pineons cleave + The flitting skyes, like flying Pursuivant, + Against fowle feendes to ayd us militant! + They for us fight, they watch and dewly ward, + And their bright Squadrons round about us plant; + And all for love, and nothing for reward. + O! Why should heavenly God to men have such + regard? + + --_Spenser's "Faerie Queene."_ + + +That the other world of our hope rests on no distant, shining star, but +lies about us as an atmosphere, unseen yet near, is the belief of many. +The veil of material life shades earthly eyes, they say, from the +glories in which we ever are. But sometimes when the veil wears thin in +mortal stress, or is caught away by a rushing, mighty wind of +inspiration, the trembling human soul, so bared, so purified, may look +down unimagined heavenly vistas, and messengers may steal across the +shifting boundary, breathing hope and the air of a brighter world. And +of him who speaks his vision, men say "He is mad," or "He has dreamed." + + * * * * * + +The group of officers in the tent was silent for a long half minute +after Colonel Wilson's voice had stopped. Then the General spoke. + +"There is but one thing to do," he said. "We must get word to Captain +Thornton at once." + +The Colonel thought deeply a moment, and glanced at the orderly outside +the tent. "Flannigan!" The man, wheeling swiftly, saluted. "Present my +compliments to Lieutenant Morgan and say that I should like to see him +here at once," and the soldier went off, with the quick military +precision in which there is no haste and no delay. + +"You have some fine, powerful young officers, Colonel," said the General +casually. "I suppose we shall see in Lieutenant Morgan one of the best. +It will take strength and brains both, perhaps, for this message." + +A shadow of a smile touched the Colonel's lips. "I think I have chosen +a capable man, General," was all he said. + +Against the doorway of the tent the breeze blew the flap lazily back and +forth. A light rain fell with muffled gentle insistence on the canvas +over their heads, and out through the opening the landscape was +blurred--the wide stretch of monotonous, billowy prairie, the sluggish, +shining river, bending in the distance about the base of Black Wind +Mountain--Black Wind Mountain, whose high top lifted, though it was +almost June, a white point of snow above dark pine ridges of the hills +below. The five officers talked a little as they waited, but +spasmodically, absent-mindedly. A shadow blocked the light of the +entrance, and in the doorway stood a young man, undersized, slight, +blond. He looked inquiringly at the Colonel. + +"You sent for me, sir?" and the General and his aide, and the grizzled +old Captain, and the big, fresh-faced young one, all watched him. + +In direct, quiet words--words whose bareness made them dramatic for the +weight of possibility they carried--the Colonel explained. Black Wolf +and his band were out on the war-path. A soldier coming in wounded, +escaped from the massacre of the post at Devil's Hoof Gap, had reported +it. With the large command known to be here camped on Sweetstream Fork, +they would not come this way; they would swerve up the Gunpowder River +twenty miles away, destroying the settlement and Little Fort Slade, and +would sweep on, probably for a general massacre, up the Great Horn as +far as Fort Doncaster. He himself, with the regiment, would try to save +Fort Slade, but in the meantime, Captain Thornton's troop, coming to +join him, ignorant that Black Wolf had taken the war-path, would be +directly in their track. Some one must be sent to warn them, and of +course the fewer the quicker. Lieutenant Morgan would take a sergeant, +the Colonel ordered quietly, and start at once. + +In the misty light inside the tent, the young officer looked hardly more +than seventeen years old as he stood listening. His small figure was +light, fragile; his hair was blond to an extreme, a thick thatch of +pale gold; and there was about him, among these tanned, stalwart men in +uniform, a presence, an effect of something unusual, a simplicity out of +place yet harmonious, which might have come with a little child into a +scene like this. His large blue eyes were fixed on the Colonel as he +talked, and in them was just such a look of innocent, pleased wonder, as +might be in a child's eyes, who had been told to leave studying and go +pick violets. But as the Colonel ended he spoke, and the few words he +said, the few questions he asked, were full of poise, of crisp +directness. As the General volunteered a word or two, he turned to him +and answered with a very charming deference, a respect that was yet full +of gracious ease, the unconscious air of a man to whom generals are +first as men, and then as generals. The slight figure in its dark +uniform was already beyond the tent doorway when the Colonel spoke +again, with a shade of hesitation in his manner. + +"Mr. Morgan!" and the young officer turned quickly. "I think it may be +right to warn you that there is likely to be more than usual danger in +your ride." + +"Yes, sir." The fresh, young voice had a note of inquiry. + +"You will--you will"--what was it the Colonel wanted to say? He finished +abruptly. "Choose the man carefully who goes with you." + +"Thank you, Colonel," Morgan responded heartily, but with a hint of +bewilderment. "I shall take Sergeant O'Hara," and he was gone. + +There was a touch of color in the Colonel's face, and he sighed as if +glad to have it over. The General watched him, and slowly, after a +pause, he demanded: + +"May I ask, Colonel, why you chose that blond baby to send on a mission +of uncommon danger and importance?" + +The Colonel answered quietly: "There were several reasons, General--good +ones. The blond baby"--that ghost of a smile touched the Colonel's lips +again--"the blond baby has some remarkable qualities. He never loses his +head; he has uncommon invention and facility of getting out of bad +holes; he rides light and so can make a horse last longer than most, +and"--the Colonel considered a moment--"I may say he has no fear of +death. Even among my officers he is known for the quality of his +courage. There is one more reason: he is the most popular man I have, +both with officers and men; if anything happened to Morgan the whole +command would race into hell after the devils that did it, before they +would miss their revenge." + +The General reflected, pulling at his mustache. "It seems a bit like +taking advantage of his popularity," he said. + +"It is," the Colonel threw back quickly. "It's just that. But that's +what one must do--a commanding officer--isn't it so, General? In this +war music we play on human instruments, and if a big chord comes out +stronger for the silence of a note, the note must be silenced--that's +all. It's cruel, but it's fighting; it's the game." + +The General, as if impressed with the tense words, did not respond, and +the other officers stared at the Colonel's face, as carved, as stern as +if done in marble--a face from which the warm, strong heart seldom +shone, held back always by the stronger will. + +The big, fresh-colored young Captain broke the silence. "Has the General +ever heard of the trick Morgan played on Sun Boy, sir?" he asked. + +"Tell the General, Captain Booth," the Colonel said briefly, and the +Captain turned toward the higher officer. + +"It was apropos of what the Colonel said of his inventive faculties, +General," he began. "A year ago the youngster with a squad of ten men +walked into Sun Boy's camp of seventy-five warriors. Morgan had made +quite a pet of a young Sioux, who was our prisoner for five months, and +the boy had taught him a lot of the language, and assured him that he +would have the friendship of the band in return for his kindness to Blue +Arrow--that was the chap's name. So he thought he was safe; but it +turned out that Blue Arrow's father, a chief, had got into a row with +Sun Boy, and the latter would not think of ratifying the boy's promise. +So there was Morgan with his dozen men, in a nasty enough fix. He knew +plenty of Indian talk to understand that they were discussing what they +would do with him, and it wasn't pleasant. + +"All of a sudden he had an inspiration. He tells the story himself, sir, +and I assure you he'd make you laugh--Morgan is a wonderful mimic. Well, +he remembered suddenly, as I said, that he was a mighty good +ventriloquist, and he saw his chance. He gave a great jump like a +startled fawn, and threw up his arms and stared like one demented into +the tree over their heads. There was a mangy-looking crow sitting up +there on a branch, and Morgan pointed at him as if at something +marvellous, supernatural, and all those fool Indians stopped pow-wowing +and stared up after him, as curious as monkeys. Then to all appearances, +the crow began to talk. Morgan said they must have thought that spirits +didn't speak very choice Sioux, but he did his best. The bird cawed out: + +"'Oh, Sun Boy, great chief, beware what you do!' + +"And then the real bird flapped its wings and Morgan thought it was +going to fly, and he was lost. But it settled back again on the branch, +and Morgan proceeded to caw on: + +"'Hurt not the white man, or the curses of the gods will come upon Sun +Boy and his people.' + +"And he proceeded to give a list of what would happen if the Indians +touched a hair of their heads. By this time the red devils were all down +on their stomachs, moaning softly whenever Morgan stopped cawing. He +said he quite got into the spirit of it and would have liked to go on +some time, but he was beginning to get hoarse, and besides he was in +deadly terror for fear the crow would fly before he got to the point. So +he had the spirit order them to give the white men their horses and turn +them loose instanter; and just as he got all through, off went the thing +with a big flap and a parting caw on its own account. I wish I could +tell it as Morgan does--you'd think he was a bird and an Indian rolled +together. He's a great actor spoiled, that lad." + +"You leave out a fine point, to my mind, Captain Booth," the Colonel +said quickly. "About his going back." + +"Oh! certainly that ought to be told," said the Captain, and the +General's eyes turned to him again. "Morgan forgot to see young Blue +Arrow, his friend, before he got away, and nothing would do but that he +should go back and speak to him. He said the boy would be disappointed. +The men were visibly uneasy at his going, but that didn't affect him. He +ordered them to wait, and back he went, pell-mell, all alone into that +horde of fiends. They hadn't got over their funk, luckily, and he saw +Blue Arrow and made his party call and got out again all right. He +didn't tell that himself, but Sergeant O'Hara made the camp ring with +it. He adores Morgan, and claims that he doesn't know what fear is. I +believe it's about so. I've seen him in a fight three times now. His cap +always goes off--he loses a cap every blessed scrimmage--and with that +yellow mop of hair, and a sort of rapt expression he gets, he looks like +a child saying its prayers all the time he is slashing and shooting like +a berserker." Captain Booth faced abruptly toward the Colonel. "I beg +your pardon for talking so long, sir," he said. "You know we're all +rather keen about little Miles Morgan." + +The General lifted his head suddenly. "Miles Morgan?" he demanded. "Is +his name Miles Morgan." + +The Colonel nodded. "Yes. The grandson of the old Bishop--named for +him." + +"Lord!" ejaculated the General. "Miles Morgan was my earliest friend, my +friend until he died! This must be Jim's son--Miles's only child. And +Jim is dead these ten years," he went on rapidly. "I've lost track of +him since the Bishop died, but I knew Jim left children. Why, he +married"--he searched rapidly in his memory--"he married a daughter of +General Fitzbrian's. This boy's got the church and the army both in him. +I knew his mother," he went on, talking to the Colonel, garrulous with +interest. "Irish and fascinating she was--believed in fairies and ghosts +and all that, as her father did before her. A clever woman, but with the +superstitious, wild Irish blood strong in her. Good Lord! I wish I'd +known that was Miles Morgan's grandson." + +The Colonel's voice sounded quiet and rather cold after the General's +impulsive enthusiasm. "You have summed him up by his antecedents, +General," he said. "The church and the army--both strains are strong. He +is deeply religious." + +The General looked thoughtful. "Religious, eh? And popular? They don't +always go together." + +Captain Booth spoke quickly. "It's not that kind, General," he said. +"There's no cant in the boy. He's more popular for it--that's often so +with the genuine thing, isn't it? I sometimes think"--the young +Captain hesitated and smiled a trifle deprecatingly--"that Morgan is +much of the same stuff as Gordon--Chinese Gordon; the martyr stuff, you +know. But it seems a bit rash to compare an every-day American youngster +to an inspired hero." + +"There's nothing in Americanism to prevent either inspiration or heroism +that I know of," the General affirmed stoutly, his fine old head up, his +eyes gleaming with pride of his profession. + +Out through the open doorway, beyond the slapping tent-flap, the keen, +gray eyes of the Colonel were fixed musingly on two black points which +crawled along the edge of the dulled silver of the distant river--Miles +Morgan and Sergeant O'Hara had started. + + * * * * * + +"Sergeant!" They were eight miles out now, and the camp had disappeared +behind the elbow of Black Wind Mountain. "There's something wrong with +your horse. Listen! He's not loping evenly." The soft cadence of eight +hoofs on earth had somewhere a lighter and then a heavier note; the ear +of a good horseman tells in a minute, as a musician's ear at a false +note, when an animal saves one foot ever so slightly, to come down +harder on another. + +"Yessirr. The Lieutenant'll remimber 'tis the horrse that had a bit of a +spavin, Sure I thot 'twas cured, and 'tis the kindest baste in the +rigiment f'r a pleasure ride, sorr--that willin' 'tis. So I tuk it. I +think 'tis only the stiffness at furrst aff. 'Twill wurruk aff later. +Plaze God, I'll wallop him." And the Sergeant walloped with a will. + +But the kindest beast in the regiment failed to respond except with a +plunge and increased lameness. Soon there was no more question of his +incapacity. + +Lieutenant Morgan halted his mount, and, looking at the woe-begone +O'Hara, laughed. "A nice trick this is, Sergeant," he said, "to start +out on a trip to dodge Indians with a spavined horse. Why didn't you get +a broomstick? Now go back to camp as fast as you can go; and that horse +ought to be blistered when you get there. See if you can't really cure +him. He's too good to be shot." He patted the gray's nervous head, and +the beast rubbed it gently against his sleeve, quiet under his hand. + +"Yessirr. The Lieutenant'll ride slow, sorr, f'r me to catch up on ye, +sorr?" + +Miles Morgan smiled and shook his head. "Sorry, Sergeant, but there'll +be no slow riding in this. I'll have to press right on without you; I +must be at Massacre Mountain to-night to catch Captain Thornton +to-morrow." + +Sergeant O'Hara's chin dropped. "Sure the Lieutenant'll niver be +thinkin' to g'wan alone--widout _me_?" and with all the sergeant's +respect of his superiors, it took the Lieutenant ten valuable minutes to +get the man started back, shaking his head and muttering forebodings, to +the camp. + +It was quiet riding on alone. There were a few miles to go before there +was any chance of Indians, and no particular lookout to be kept, so he +put the horse ahead rapidly while he might, and suddenly he found +himself singing softly as he galloped. How the words had come to him he +did not know, for no conscious train of thought had brought them; but +they surely fitted to the situation, and a pleasant sense of +companionship, of safety, warmed him as the swing of an old hymn carried +his voice along with it. + + God shall charge His angel legions + Watch and ward o'er thee to keep; + Though thou walk through hostile regions, + Though in desert wilds thou sleep. + +Surely a man riding toward--perhaps through--skulking Indian hordes, as +he must, could have no better message reach him than that. The bent of +his mind was toward mysticism, and while he did not think the train of +reasoning out, could not have said that he believed it so, yet the +familiar lines flashing suddenly, clearly, on the curtain of his mind, +seemed to him, very simply, to be sent from a larger thought than his +own. As a child might take a strong hand held out as it walked over +rough country, so he accepted this quite readily and happily, as from +that Power who was never far from him, and in whose service, beyond most +people, he lived and moved. Low but clear and deep his voice went on, +following one stanza with its mate: + + Since with pure and firm affection + Thou on God hast set thy love, + With the wings of His protection + He will shield thee from above. + +The simplicity of his being sheltered itself in the broad promise of the +words. + +Light-heartedly he rode on and on, though now more carefully; lying flat +and peering over the crests of hills a long time before he crossed +their tops; going miles perhaps through ravines; taking advantage of +every bit of cover where a man and a horse might be hidden; travelling +as he had learned to travel in three years of experience in this +dangerous Indian country, where a shrub taken for granted might mean a +warrior, and that warrior a hundred others within signal. It was his +plan to ride until about twelve--to reach Massacre Mountain, and there +rest his horse and himself till gray daylight. There was grass there and +a spring--two good and innocent things that had been the cause of the +bad, dark thing which had given the place its name. A troop under +Captain James camping at this point, because of the water and grass, had +been surprised and wiped out by five hundred Indian braves of the wicked +and famous Red Crow. There were ghastly signs about the place yet; +Morgan had seen them, but soldiers may not have nerves, and it was good +camping ground. + +On through the valleys and half-way up the slopes, which rolled here far +away into a still wilder world, the young man rode. Behind the distant +hills in the east a glow like fire flushed the horizon. A rim of pale +gold lifted sharply over the ridge; a huge round ball of light pushed +faster, higher, and lay, a bright world on the edge of the world, great +against the sky--the moon had risen. The twilight trembled as the yellow +rays struck into its depths, and deepened, dying into purple shadows. +Across the plain zigzagged pools of a level stream, as if a giant had +spilled handfuls of quicksilver here and there. + +Miles Morgan, riding, drank in all the mysterious, wild beauty, as a man +at ease; as open to each fair impression as if he were not riding each +moment into deeper danger, as if his every sense were not on guard. On +through the shining moonlight and in the shadow of the hills he rode, +and, where he might, through the trees, and stopped to listen often, to +stare at the hill-tops, to question a heap of stones or a bush. + +At last, when his leg-weary horse was beginning to stumble a bit, he +saw, as he came around a turn, Massacre Mountain's dark head rising in +front of him, only half a mile away. The spring trickled its low song, +as musical, as limpidly pure as if it had never run scarlet. The +picketed horse fell to browsing and Miles sighed restfully as he laid +his head on his saddle and fell instantly to sleep with the light of the +moon on his damp, fair hair. But he did not sleep long. Suddenly with a +start he awoke, and sat up sharply, and listened. He heard the horse +still munching grass near him, and made out the shadow of its bulk +against the sky; he heard the stream, softly falling and calling to the +waters where it was going. That was all. Strain his hearing as he might +he could hear nothing else in the still night. Yet there was something. +It might not be sound or sight, but there was a presence, a +something--he could not explain. He was alert in every nerve. Suddenly +the words of the hymn he had been singing in the afternoon flashed again +into his mind, and, with his cocked revolver in his hand, alone, on +guard, in the midnight of the savage wilderness, the words came that +were not even a whisper: + + God shall charge His angel legions + Watch and ward o'er thee to keep; + Though thou walk through hostile regions, + Though in desert wilds thou sleep. + +He gave a contented sigh and lay down. What was there to worry about? It +was just his case for which the hymn was written. "Desert wilds"--that +surely meant Massacre Mountain, and why should he not sleep here +quietly, and let the angels keep their watch and ward? He closed his +eyes with a smile. But sleep did not come, and soon his eyes were open +again, staring into blackness, thinking, thinking. + +It was Sunday when he started out on this mission, and he fell to +remembering the Sunday nights at home--long, long ago they seemed now. +The family sang hymns after supper always; his mother played, and the +children stood around her--five of them, Miles and his brothers and +sisters. There was a little sister with brown hair about her shoulders, +who always stood by Miles, leaned against him, held his hand, looked up +at him with adoring eyes--he could see those uplifted eyes now, shining +through the darkness of this lonely place. He remembered the big, +home-like room; the crackling fire; the peaceful atmosphere of books and +pictures; the dumb things about its walls that were yet eloquent to him +of home and family; the sword that his great-grandfather had worn under +Washington; the old ivories that another great-grandfather, the Admiral, +had brought from China; the portraits of Morgans of half a dozen +generations which hung there; the magazine table, the books and books +and books. A pang of desperate homesickness suddenly shook him. He +wanted them--his own. Why should he, their best-beloved, throw away his +life--a life filled to the brim with hope and energy and high ideals--on +this futile quest? He knew quite as well as the General or the Colonel +that his ride was but a forlorn hope. As he lay there, longing so, in +the dangerous dark, he went about the library at home in his thought and +placed each familiar belonging where he had known it all his life. And +as he finished, his mother's head shone darkly golden by the piano; her +fingers swept over the keys; he heard all their voices, the dear +never-forgotten voices. Hark! They were singing his hymn--little Alice's +reedy note lifted above the others--"God shall charge His angel +legions--" + +Now! He was on his feet with a spring, and his revolver pointed +steadily. This time there was no mistaking--something had rustled in the +bushes. There was but one thing for it to be--Indians. Without realizing +what he did, he spoke sharply. + +"Who goes there?" he demanded, and out of the darkness a voice answered +quietly: + +"A friend." + +"A friend?" With a shock of relief the pistol dropped by his side, and +he stood tense, waiting. How might a friend be here, at midnight in this +desert? As the thought framed itself swiftly the leaves parted, and his +straining eyes saw the figure of a young man standing before him. + +"How came you here?" demanded Miles sternly. "Who are you?" + +Even in the dimness he could see the radiant smile that answered him. +The calm voice spoke again: "You will understand that later. I am here +to help you." + +As if a door had suddenly opened into that lighted room of which he +dreamed, Miles felt a sense of tranquillity, of happiness stirring +through him. Never in his life had he known such a sudden utter +confidence in anyone, such a glow of eager friendliness as this +half-seen, mysterious stranger inspired. "It is because I was lonelier +than I knew," he said mentally. "It is because human companionship gives +courage to the most self-reliant of us"; and somewhere in the words he +was aware of a false note, but he did not stop to place it. + +The low, even voice of the stranger spoke again. "There are Indians on +your trail," he said. "A small band of Black Wolf's scouts. But don't be +troubled. They will not hurt you." + +"You escaped from them?" demanded Miles eagerly, and again the light of +a swift smile shone into the night. "You came to save me--how was it? +Tell me, so that we can plan. It is very dark yet, but hadn't we better +ride? Where is your horse?" + +He threw the earnest questions rapidly across the black night, and the +unhurried voice answered him. "No," it said, and the verdict was not to +be disputed. "You must stay here." + +Who this man might be or how he came Miles could not tell, but this much +he knew, without reason for knowing it; it was someone stronger than he, +in whom he could trust. As the newcomer had said, it would be time +enough later to understand the rest. Wondering a little at his own swift +acceptance of an unknown authority, wondering more at the peace which +wrapped him as an atmosphere at the sound of the stranger's voice, Miles +made a place for him by his side, and the two talked softly to the +plashing undertone of the stream. + +Easily, naturally, Miles found himself telling how he had been homesick, +longing for his people. He told him of the big familiar room, and of the +old things that were in it, that he loved; of his mother; of little +Alice, and her baby adoration for the big brother; of how they had +always sung hymns together Sunday night; he never for a moment doubted +the stranger's interest and sympathy--he knew that he cared to hear. + +"There is a hymn," Miles said, "that we used to sing a lot--it was my +favorite; 'Miles's hymn,' the family called it. Before you came +to-night, while I lay there getting lonelier every minute, I almost +thought I heard them singing it. You may not have heard it, but it has a +grand swing. I always think"--he hesitated--"it always seems to me as if +the God of battles and the beauty of holiness must both have filled the +man's mind who wrote it." He stopped, surprised at his own lack of +reserve, at the freedom with which, to this friend of an hour, he spoke +his inmost heart. + +"I know," the stranger said gently. There was silence for a moment, and +then the wonderful low tones, beautiful, clear, beyond any voice Miles +had ever heard, began again, and it was as if the great sweet notes of +an organ whispered the words: + + God shall charge His angel legions + Watch and ward o'er thee to keep; + Though thou walk through hostile regions, + Though in desert wilds thou sleep. + +"Great Heavens!" gasped Miles. "How could you know I meant that? Why, +this is marvellous--why, this"--he stared, speechless, at the dim +outlines of the face which he had never seen before to-night, but which +seemed to him already familiar and dear beyond all reason. As he gazed +the tall figure rose, lightly towering above him. "Look!" he said, and +Miles was on his feet. In the east, beyond the long sweep of the +prairie, was a faint blush against the blackness; already threads of +broken light, of pale darkness, stirred through the pall of the air; the +dawn was at hand. + +"We must saddle," Miles said, "and be off. Where is your horse +picketed?" he demanded again. + +But the strange young man stood still; and now his arm was stretched +pointing. "Look," he said again, and Miles followed the direction with +his eyes. + +From the way he had come, in that fast-growing glow at the edge of the +sky, sharp against the mist of the little river, crept slowly half a +dozen pin points, and Miles, watching their tiny movement, knew that +they were ponies bearing Indian braves. He turned hotly to his +companion. + +"It's your fault," he said. "If I'd had my way we'd have ridden from +here an hour ago. Now here we are caught like rats in a trap; and who's +to do my work and save Thornton's troop--who's to save them--God!" The +name was a prayer, not an oath. + +"Yes," said the quiet voice at his side, "God,"--and for a second there +was a silence that was like an Amen. + +Quickly, without a word, Miles turned and began to saddle. Then suddenly +as he pulled at the girth, he stopped. "It's no use," he said. "We can't +get away except over the rise, and they'll see us there"; he nodded at +the hill which rose beyond the camping ground three hundred yards away, +and stretched in a long, level sweep into other hills and the west. "Our +chance is that they're not on my trail after all--it's quite possible." +There was a tranquil unconcern about the figure near him; his own bright +courage caught the meaning of its relaxed lines with a hound of +pleasure. "As you say, it's best to stay here," he said, and as if +thinking aloud--"I believe you must always be right." Then he added, as +if his very soul would speak itself to this wonderful new friend: "We +can't be killed, unless the Lord wills it, and if he does it's right. +Death is only the step into life; I suppose when we know that life, we +will wonder how we could have cared for this one." + +Through the gray light the stranger turned his face swiftly, bent toward +Miles, and smiled once again, and the boy thought suddenly of the +martyrdom of St. Stephen, and how those who were looking "saw his face +as it had been the face of an angel." + +Across the plain, out of the mist-wreaths, came rushing, scurrying, the +handful of Indian braves. Pale light streamed now from the east, +filtering over a hushed world. Miles faced across the plain, stood close +to the tall stranger whose shape, as the dawn touched it, seemed to rise +beyond the boy's slight figure wonderfully large and high. There was a +sense of unending power, of alertness, of great, easy movement about +him; one might have looked at him, and looking away again, have said +that wings were folded about him. But Miles did not see him. His eyes +were on the fast-nearing, galloping ponies, each with its load of +filthy, cruel savagery. This was his death coming; there was disgust, +but not dread in the thought for the boy. In a few minutes he should be +fighting hopelessly, fiercely against this froth of a lower world; in a +few minutes after that he should be lying here still--for he meant to be +killed; he had that planned. They should not take him--a wave of sick +repulsion at that thought shook him. Nearer, nearer, right on his track +came the riders pell-mell. He could hear their weird, horrible cries; +now he could see gleaming through the dimness the huge headdress of the +foremost, the white coronet of feathers, almost the stripes of paint on +the fierce face. + +Suddenly a feeling that he knew well caught him, and he laughed. It was +the possession that had held in him in every action which he had so far +been in. It lifted his high-strung spirit into an atmosphere where there +was no dread and no disgust, only a keen rapture in throwing every atom +of soul and body into physical intensity; it was as if he himself were +a bright blade, dashing, cutting, killing, a living sword rejoicing to +destroy. With the coolness that may go with such a frenzy he felt that +his pistols were loose; saw with satisfaction that he and his new ally +were placed on the slope to the best advantage, then turned swiftly, +eager now for the fight to come, toward the Indian band. As he looked, +suddenly in mid-career, pulling in their plunging ponies with a jerk +that threw them, snorting, on their haunches, the warriors halted. Miles +watched in amazement. The bunch of Indians, not more than a hundred +yards away, were staring, arrested, startled, back of him to his right, +where the lower ridge of Massacre Mountain stretched far and level over +the valley that wound westward beneath it on the road to Fort +Rain-and-Thunder. As he gazed, the ponies had swept about and were +galloping back as they had come, across the plain. + +Before he knew if it might be true, if he were not dreaming this curious +thing, the clear voice of his companion spoke in one word again, like +the single note of a deep bell. "Look!" he said, and Miles swung about +toward the ridge behind, following the pointing finger. + +In the gray dawn the hill-top was clad with the still strength of an +army. Regiment after regiment, silent, motionless, it stretched back +into silver mist, and the mist rolled beyond, above, about it; and +through it he saw, as through rifts in broken gauze, lines interminable +of soldiers, glitter of steel. Miles, looking, knew. + +He never remembered how long he stood gazing, earth and time and self +forgotten, at a sight not meant for mortal eyes; but suddenly, with a +stab it came to him, that if the hosts of heaven fought his battle it +was that he might do his duty, might save Captain Thornton and his men; +he turned to speak to the young man who had been with him. There was no +one there. Over the bushes the mountain breeze blew damp and cold; they +rustled softly under its touch; his horse stared at him mildly; away off +at the foot-hills he could see the diminishing dots of the fleeing +Indian ponies; as he wheeled again and looked, the hills that had been +covered with the glory of heavenly armies, lay hushed and empty. And +his friend was gone. + +[Illustration: "Look!" he said, and Miles swung about toward the ridge +behind.] + +Clatter of steel, jingle of harness, an order ringing out far but +clear--Miles threw up his head sharply and listened. In a second he was +pulling at his horse's girth, slipping the bit swiftly into its +mouth--in a moment more he was off and away to meet them, as a body of +cavalry swung out of the valley where the ridge had hidden them. + +"Captain Thornton's troop?" the officer repeated carelessly. "Why, yes; +they are here with us. We picked them up yesterday, headed straight for +Black Wolf's war-path. Mighty lucky we found them. How about you--seen +any Indians, have you?" + +Miles answered slowly: "A party of eight were on my trail; they were +riding for Massacre Mountain, where I camped, about an hour--about half +an hour--awhile ago." He spoke vaguely, rather oddly, the officer +thought, "Something--stopped them about a hundred yards from the +mountain. They turned, and rode away." + +"Ah," said the officer. "They saw us down the valley." + +"I couldn't see you," said Miles. + +The officer smiled. "You're not an Indian, Lieutenant. Besides, they +were out on the plain and had a farther view behind the ridge." And +Miles answered not a word. + +General Miles Morgan, full of years and of honors, has never but twice +told the story of that night of forty years ago. But he believes that +when his time comes, and he goes to join the majority, he will know +again the presence which guarded him through the blackness of it, and +among the angel legions he looks to find an angel, a messenger, who was +his friend. + + + + +THE AIDE-DE-CAMP + + +Age has a point or two in common with greatness; few willingly achieve +it, indeed, but most have it thrust upon them, and some are born old. +But there are people who, beginning young, are young forever. One might +fancy that the careless fates who shape souls--from cotton-batting, from +stone, from wood and dynamite and cheese--once in an aeon catch, by +chance, a drop of the fountain of youth, and use it in their business, +and the soul so made goes on bubbling and sparkling eternally, and gray +dust of years cannot dim it. It might be imagined, in another flight of +fancy, that a spark of divine fire from the brazier of the immortals +snaps loose once in a century and lodges in somebody, and is a +heart--with such a clean and happy flame burns sometimes a heart one +knows. + +On a January evening, in a room where were books and a blazing hearth, +a man with a famous name and a long record told me a story, and through +his blunt speech flashed in and out all the time the sparkle of the fire +and the ripple of the fountain. Unsuspecting, he betrayed every minute +the queer thing that had happened to him--how he had never grown up and +his blood had never grown cold. So that the story, as it fell in easy +sequence, had a charm which was his and is hard to trap, yet it is too +good a story to leave unwritten. A picture goes with it, what I looked +at as I listened: a massive head on tremendous shoulders; bright white +hair and a black bar of eyebrows, striking and dramatic; underneath, +eyes dark and alive, a face deep red-and-brown with out of doors. His +voice had a rough command in it, because, I suppose, he had given many +orders to men. I tell the tale with this memory for a setting; the +firelight, the soldierly presence, the gayety of youth echoing through +it. + +The fire had been forgotten as we talked, and I turned to see it dull +and lifeless. "It hasn't gone out, however," I said, and coughed as I +swallowed smoke. "There's no smoke without some fire," I poked the logs +together. "That's an old saw; but it's true all the same." + +"Old saws always are true," said the General. "If there isn't something +in them that people know is so they don't get old--they die young. I +believe in the ridden-to-death proverbs--little pitchers with big +ears--cats with nine lives--still waters running deep--love at first +sight, and the rest. They're true, too." His straight look challenged me +to dispute him. + +The pine knots caught and blazed up, and I went back comfortably into my +chair and laughed at him. + +"O General! Come! You don't believe in love at first sight." + +I liked to make him talk sentiment. He was no more afraid of it than of +anything else, and the warmest sort came out of his handling natural and +unashamed. + +"I don't? Yes, I do, too," he fired at me. "I know it happens, +sometimes." + +With that the lines of his face broke into the sunshiniest smile. He +threw back his head with sudden boyishness, and chuckled, "I ought to +know; I've had experience," he said. His look settled again +thoughtfully. "Did I ever tell you that story--the story about the day I +rode seventy-five miles? Well, I did that several times--I rode it once +to see my wife. But this was the first time, and a good deal happened. +It was a history-making day for me all right. That was when I was +aide-de-camp to General Stoneman. Have I told you that?" + +"No," I said; and "oh, do tell me." I knew already that a fire and a +deep chair and one of the General's stories made a good combination. + +His manner had a quality uncommon to storytellers; he spoke as if what +he told had occurred not in times gone by, but perhaps last week; it was +more gossip than history. Probably the sharp, full years had been so +short to him that the interval between twenty and seventy was no great +matter; things looked as clear and his interest was as lively as a +half-century ago. This trick of mind made a narrative of his vivid. With +eyes on the fire, with his dominant voice absorbing the crisp sound of +the crackling wood, he began to talk. + +"It was down in Virginia in--let me see--why, certainly, it was in +'63--right away after the battle of Chancellorsville, you know." I kept +still and hoped the General thought I knew the date of the battle of +Chancellorsville. "I was part of a cavalry command that was sent from +the Army of the Potomac under General Stoneman--I was his aide. Well, +we did a lot of things--knocked out bridges and railroads, and all that; +our object was, you see, to destroy communication between Lee's army and +Richmond. We even got into Richmond--we thought every Confederate +soldier was with Lee at the front, and we had a scheme to free the +prisoners in Libby, and perhaps capture Jefferson Davis--but we counted +wrong. The defence was too strong, and our force too small; we had to +skedaddle, or we'd have seen Libby in a way we didn't like. We found a +negro who could pilot us, and we slipped out through fields and swamps +beyond the reach of the enemy. Then the return march began. Let me put +that log on." + +"No. Talk," I protested; but the General had the wood in his vigorous +left hand--where a big scar cut across the back. + +"You needn't be so independent," he threw at me. "Now you've got a +splinter in your finger--serves you right." I laughed at the savage +tone, and his eyes flashed fiercely--and he laughed back. + +"What was I talking about--you interrupted. Oh, that march. Well, we'd +had a pretty rough time when the march back began. For nine days we +hadn't had a real meal--just eaten standing up, whatever we could get +cooked--or uncooked. We hadn't changed our clothes, and we'd slept on +the ground every night." + +"Goodness!" I interjected with amateur vagueness. "What about the +horses?" + +"Oh, they got it, too," the General said carelessly. "We seldom +unsaddled them at all, and when we did it was just to give them a +rub-down and saddle again. We'd made one march toward home and halted, +late at night, when General Stoneman called for his aide-de-camp. I went +to him, rather sleepy, and he told me he'd decided to communicate with +his chief and report his success, and that I was to start at daylight +and find the Army of the Potomac. I had my pick of ten of the best men +and horses from the brigade, and I got off at gray dawn with them, and +with the written report in my boot to the commanding general, and verbal +orders to find him wherever he might be. Nothing else, except the +tools--swords and pistols, and that sort of thing. Oh, yes, there was +one thing more. General Ladd, who was a Virginian, had given my chief a +letter for his people, thinking we'd get into their country. His family +were all on the Confederate side of the fence, while he was a Union +officer. That was not uncommon in our civil war. But we didn't get near +the Ladd estate, and so Stoneman commissioned me to return the letter to +the general with the explanation. Does this bore you?" he stopped +suddenly to ask, and his alert eye shot the glance at me like a bullet. + +"Stop once more and I'll be likely to cry," I predicted. + +"For Heaven's sake don't do that." He reached across and took the +poker. "Here's the Rapidan River," he sketched down the rug. "Runs east +and west. And this blue diagonal north of it is the Rappahannock. I +started south of the Rapidan, to cross it and go north, hoping to find +our army victorious and south of the Rappahannock. Which I didn't--but +that's farther along. Well, we were off at daylight, ten men and the +officer--me. It was a fine spring morning, and the bunch of horsemen +made a pretty sight as the sun came up, moving through the +greenness--the foliage is well out down there in May. The bits jingled +and the saddles creaked under our legs--I remember how it sounded as we +started off. We'd had a strenuous week, but we were a strong lot and +ready for anything. We were going to get it, too." The General chuckled +suddenly, as if something had hit his funny-bone. "I skirted along the +south bank of the Rapidan, keeping off the roads most of the time, and +out of sight, which was better for our health--we were in Confederate +country--and we got to Germania Ford without seeing anybody, or being +seen. Said I, 'Here's the place we'll cross.' We'd had breakfast before +starting, but we'd been in the saddle three hours since that, and I was +thirsty. I could see a house back in the trees as we came to the ford--a +beautiful old house--the kind you see a lot of in the South--high white +pillars--dignified and aristocratic. It seemed to be quiet and safe, so +we trotted up the drive, the eleven of us. The front door was open, and +I jumped off my horse and ran up the steps and stood in the doorway. +There were four or five people in the hall, and they'd seen us coming +and were scared. A nice old lady was lying back in a chair, as pale as +ashes, with her hand to her heart, gasping ninety to the second, and two +or three negroes stood around her with their eyes rolling. And right in +the middle of the place a red-headed girl in a white dress was bending +over a grizzled old negro man who was locking a large travelling-bag. As +cool as a cucumber that girl was." + +The General stopped and considered. + +"I wish I could describe the scene the way I saw it--I remember exactly. +It was a big, square hall running through from front to back, and the +back door was open, and you saw a garden with box hedges, and woods +behind it. Stairs went up each side the hall and a balcony ran around +the second story, with bedrooms opening off it. There was a high, oval +window at the back over the balcony, and the sun poured through. + +"The girl finished locking her bag as if she hadn't noticed scum of the +earth like us, and then she deliberately picked up a bunch of long white +flowers that lay by the bag--lilies, I think you call them--and stood +up, and looked right past me, as if she was struck with the landscape, +and didn't see me. She was a tall girl, and when she stood straight the +light from the back window just hit her hair and shone through the loose +part of it--there was a lot, and it was curly. I give you my word that, +as she stood there and looked calmly beyond me, in her white dress, with +the stalk of flowers over her shoulder, and the sun turning that +wonderful red-gold hair into a halo--I give you my word she was a +perfect picture of a saint out of a stained-glass window in a church. +But she didn't act like one." + +The General was seized with sudden, irresistible laughter. He sobered +quickly. + +"I took one look at the vision, and I knew it was all up with me. Talk +about love at first sight--before she ever spoke a word I--well." He +pulled up the sentence as if it were a horse. "I snatched off my cap and +I said, said I, 'I'm very sorry to disturb you,' just as politely as I +knew how, but all the answer she gave me was to glance across at the old +lady. Then she went find put her arm around her as she lay back gasping +in a great curved chair. + +"'Don't be afraid, Aunt Virginia,' she said. 'Nothing shall hurt you. I +can manage this man.' + +"The way she said 'this man' was about as contemptuous as they make 'em. +I guess she was right, too--I guess she could. She turned her head +toward me, but did not look at me. + +"'Do you want anything here?'" she asked. + +"Her voice was the prettiest, softest sound you ever heard--she was mad +as a hornet, too." The General's swift chuckle caught him. "'Hyer,' she +said it," he repeated. "'Hyer.'" He liked to say it, evidently. "I +stood holding my cap in my hand, so tame by this time you could have put +me on a perch in a cage, for the pluck of the girl was as fascinating as +her looks. I spoke up like a man all the same. + +"'I wanted to ask,' said I, 'if I might send my men around to your well +for a drink of water. They're thirsty.' + +"The way she answered, looking all around me and never once at me, made +me uncomfortable. 'I suppose you can if you wish,' she said. 'You're +stronger than we are. You can take what you choose. But I won't give you +anything--not if you were dying--not a glass of water.' + +"Well, in spite of her having played football with my heart, that made +me angry. + +"'I didn't know before that to be Southern made a woman unwomanly,' I +said. 'Where I came from I don't believe there's a girl would say a +cruel thing like that or refuse a drink of cold water to soldiers doing +their duty, friends or enemies. We've slept on the ground nine nights +and ridden nine days, and had very little to eat--my men are tired and +thirsty. I shan't make them go without any refreshment they can get, +even if it is grudged.' + +"I gave an order over my shoulder, and my party went off to the back of +the house. Then I made a low bow to the old lady and to Miss +High-and-Mighty, and I swung about and walked down the steps and mounted +my horse. I was parched for water, but I wouldn't have had it if I'd +choked, after that. Between taking an almighty shine to the girl and +getting stirred up that way, and then being all frozen over with icicles +by her cool insultingness, I was pretty savage, and I stared away from +the place and thought the men would never come. All of a sudden I felt +something touch my arm, and I looked around quick, and there was the +girl. She stood by the horse, her red hair close to my elbow as I sat in +the saddle, and she held up a glass of water. I never was so astonished +in my life. + +"'You're thirsty and tired, too,' she said, speaking as low as if she +was afraid the horse might hear. 'For my self-respect--for Southern +women'--she brought it out in that soft, sliding way, but the words +were all mixed up with embarrassment--and red--my, but she blushed! Then +she went on. 'You were right,' said she. 'I was cruel; you're my enemy +and I hate you, but I ought not to grudge you water. Take it.' + +"I put my hand right on top of hers as she held the glass, and bent down +and drank so, making her hold it to my lips, and my hand over +hers--bless her heart!" + +The General came to a full stop. He was smiling into the fire, and his +face was as if a flame burned back of it. I waited very quietly, fearing +to change the current by a word, and in a moment the strong voice, with +its vibrating note, not to be described, began again. + +"I drained every drop," he said, "I'd have drunk a hogshead. When I +finished I raised my head and looked down at her without a word +said--but I didn't let go of the glass with her hand holding it inside +mine--and she lifted her eyes very slowly, and for the first time looked +at me. Well--" he shut his lips a moment--"these things don't tell well, +but something happened. I held her eyes into mine, us if I gripped them +with my muscles, and there came over her face an extraordinary +expression--first as if she was surprised that it was me, then as if she +was glad, and then--well, you may believe it or not, but I knew that +second that the girl--loved me. She hated me all right five minutes +before--I was her people's enemy--the chances were she'd never see me +again--all that's true, but it simply didn't count. She cared for me, +and I for her, and we both knew it--that's all there was about it. +People live faster in war-time, I think--anyhow, that's the way it was. + +"The men and horses came pouring around the house, and I let her hand +loose--it was hard to do it, too--and then she was gone, and we rode on +to the ford. We stopped when we got to the stream to let the horses have +their turn at drinking, and as I sat loafing in the saddle, with my mind +pretty full of what had just passed, my eyes were all over. Every +cavalry officer, and especially an aide-de-camp, gets to be a sort of +hawk in active service--nothing can move within range that he doesn't +see. So as I looked about me I took in among other things the house +we'd just left, and suddenly I spied a handkerchief waving from behind +one of the big white pillars. Of course you've got to be wary in an +enemy's country, and these people were rabid Confederates, as I'd +occasion to know. All the same it would have been bad judgment to +neglect such a signal, and what's more, I'd have staked my life on that +girl's honesty. If the handkerchief had been a cannon I'd have gone +back. So back I went, taking a couple of men with me. As I jumped off my +horse I saw her standing inside the front door, back in the shadow, and +I ran up the steps to her. + +"'Well?' said I. + +"She looked up at me and laughed, showing a row of white teeth. That was +the first time I ever saw her laugh. 'I knew you'd come back,' said she, +as mischievous as a child, and her eyes danced. + +"I didn't mean to be made a fool of, for I had my duty to think about, +so I spoke rather shortly. 'Well, and now I'm here--what?' + +"With that she drew an excited little gasp. 'I couldn't let you be +killed,' she brought out in a sort of breathless whisper, so low I had +to bend over close to hear her. 'You mustn't go on--in that +direction--you'll be taken. The Union army's been defeated--at +Chancellorsville. They're driven north of the Rappahannock--to Falmouth. +Our troops are in their old camps. There's an outpost across the +ford--just over the hill.' + +"It was the first I'd heard of the defeat at Chancellorsville, and it +stunned me for a second. 'Are you telling me the truth?' I asked her +pretty sharply. + +"'You know I am,' she said, as haughty as you please all of a sudden, +and drew herself up with her head in the air. + +"And I did know it. Something else struck me just about then. The old +lady and the servants were gone from the hall. There wasn't anybody in +it but herself and me; my men were out of sight on the driveway. I +forgot our army and the war and everything else, and I caught her bands +in between mine, and said I, 'Why couldn't you let me be killed?'" + +At his words I drew a quick breath, too. For a moment I was the +Southern girl with the red-gold hair. I could feel the clasp of the +young officer's hands; I could hear his voice asking the rough, tender +question, "Why couldn't you let me be killed?" + +"It was mighty still for a minute. Then she lifted up her eyes as I held +her fingers in a vise, and gave me a steady look. That was all--but it +was plenty. + +"I don't know how I got on my horse or what order I gave, but my head +was clear enough for business purposes, and I had to use it--quickly, +too. There were thick woods near by, and I hurried my party into them +and gave men and horses a short rest till I could decide what to do. The +Confederates were east of us, around Chancellorsville and in the +triangle between the Rapidan and the Rappahannock, so that It was unsafe +travelling in that direction. It's the business of an aide-de-camp +carrying despatches to steal as quietly as possible through an enemy's +country, and the one fatal thing is to be captured. So I concluded I +wouldn't get into the thick of it till I had to, but would turn west +and make a _detour_, crossing by Morton's Ford, farther up the Rapidan. +Germania Ford lies in a deep loop of the river, and that made our ride +longer, but we found a road and crossed all right as I planned it, and +then we doubled back, as we had to, eastward. + +"It was a pretty ride in the May weather, through that beautiful +Virginia country. We kept in the woods and the lonely roads as much as +we could and hardly saw a soul for hours, and though I knew we were +getting into dangerous parts again, I hoped we might work through all +right. Of course I thought first about my errand, and my mind was on +every turn of the road and every speck in the landscape, but all the +same there was one corner of it--or of something--that didn't forget +that red-headed girl--not an instant. I kept wondering if I'd ever see +her again, and I was mighty clear that I would, if there was enough left +of me by the time I could get off duty to go and look her up. The touch +of her hands stayed with me all day. + +"About two o'clock or so we passed a house, just a cabin, but a neat +sort of place, and I looked at it as I did at everything, and saw an old +negro with grizzled hair standing some distance in front of it. Now +everything reminded me of that girl because she was on my mind, and +instantly I was struck with the idea, that the old fellow looked like +the servant who had been locking the bag in the house by Germania Ford. +I wasn't sure it was the same darky, but I thought I'd see. There was a +patch of woods back of the house, and I ordered the party to wait there +till I joined them, and I threw my bridle to a soldier and turned in at +the gate. The man loped out for the house, but I halted him. Then I went +along past the negro to the cabin, and opened the door, which had been +shut tight. + +"There was a table littered with papers in the middle of the room, and +behind it, in a gray riding-habit, with a gray soldier-cap on her red +hair, writing for dear life, sat the girl. She lifted her head quick, as +the door swung open, and then made a jump to get between me and the +table. I took off my cap, and said I: + +"'I'm very glad to see you. I was just wondering if we'd ever meet +again.' She only stared at me. Then I said: 'I'm sorry, but I'll have to +ask you for those papers.' I knew by the look of them that they were +some sort of despatches. + +"At that she laughed in a kind of a friendly, cocksure way. She wasn't +afraid of anything, that girl. 'No,' she threw at me--just like +that--'No.'" The General tossed back his big head and did a poor +imitation of a girl's light tone--a poor imitation, but the way he did +it was winning. "'No,' said she, shaking her head sidewise. 'You can't +have those papers--not ever,' and with that she swept them together and +popped them into a drawer of the table and then hopped up on the table +and sat there laughing at me, with her little riding-hoots swinging. 'At +least, unless you knock me down, and I don't believe you'll do that,' +said she. + +"Well, I had to have those papers. I didn't know how important they +might be, but if this girl was sending information to the Southern +commanders I was inclined to think it would be accurate and worth while. +It wouldn't do not to capture it. At the same time I wouldn't have laid +a finger on her, to compel her, for a million dollars. I stood and +stared like a blockhead for a minute, at my wit's end, and she sat there +and smiled. All of a sudden I had an idea. I caught the end of the table +and tipped it up, and off slid the young lady, and I snatched at the +knob of the drawer, and had the papers in a second. + +"It was simple, but it worked. Then it was her turn to look foolish. Of +course she had a temper, with that colored hair, and she was raging. She +looked at me as if she'd like to tear me to pieces. There wasn't +anything she could say, however, and not lose her dignity, and I guess +she pretty nearly exploded for a minute, and then, in a flash, the joke +of it struck her. Her eyes began to dance, and she laughed because she +couldn't help it, and I with her. For a whole minute we forgot what a +big business we were both after, and acted like two children. + +"'That's right,' said I finally. 'I had to get them, but I did it in the +kindest spirit. I see you understand that.' + +"'Oh, I don't care,' she answered with her chin up--a little way she +had. 'They're not much, anyway. I hadn't got to the important part.' + +"'Won't you finish?' said I politely, and pretended to offer her the +papers--and then I got serious. 'What are you doing here?' I asked her. +'Where are you going?' + +"She looked up at me, and--I knew she liked me. She caught her breath +before she answered. 'What right have you got to ask me questions?' said +she, making a bluff at righteous indignation. + +"But I just gripped her fingers into mine--it was getting to be a habit, +holding her hand. + +"'And what are _you_ doing here?' she went on saucily, but her voice was +a whisper, and she let her hand lie. + +"'I'll tell you what I'm doing,' said I. 'I'm obeying the Bible. My +Bible tells me to love my enemies, and I'm going to. I do,' said I. +'What does your Bible tell you?' + +"'My Bible tells me to resist the devil and he will flee from me,' she +answered back like a flash, standing up straight and looking at me +squarely, as solemn as a church. + +"'Well, I guess I'm not that kind of a devil,' said I. 'I don't want to +flee worth a cent.' + +"And at that she broke into a laugh and showed all her little teeth at +me. That was one of the prettiest things about her, the row of small +white teeth she showed every time she laughed. + +"'Just at that second the old negro stuck his head in at the door. +'We're busy, uncle,' said I. 'I'll give you five dollars for five +minutes.' + +"But the girl put her hand on my arm to stop me, 'What is it, Uncle +Ebenezer?' she asked him anxiously. + +"'It's young Marse, Miss Lindy,' the man said, 'Him'n Marse Philip +Breck'nridge 'n' Marse Tom's ridin' down de branch right now. Close to +hyer--dey'll be hyer in fo'-five minutes.' + +"She nodded at him coolly. 'All right. Shut the door, Uncle Ebenezer,' +said she, and he went out and shut it. + +"And before I could say Jack Robinson she was dragging me into the next +room, and pushing me out of a door at the back. + +"'Go--hurry up--oh, go!' she begged. 'I won't let them take you.' + +"Well, I didn't like to leave her suddenly like that, so I said, said I: +'What's the hurry? I want to tell you something.' + +"'_No_,' she shot at me. 'You can't. Go--won't you, please go?' Then I +picked up a little hand and hold it against my coat. I knew by now just +how she would catch her breath when I did it." + +At about this point the General forgot me. Such good comrades we were +that my presence did not trouble him, but as for telling the story to +me, that was past--he was living it over, to himself alone, with every +nerve in action. + +"'Look here,' said I, 'I don't believe a thing like this ever happened +on the globe before, but this has. It's so--I love you, and I believe +you love me, and I'm not going till you tell me so.' + +"By that time she was in a fit. 'They'll be here in two minutes; they're +Confederate officers. Oh, and you mustn't cross at Kelly's Ford--take +the ford above it'--and she thumped me excitedly with the hand I held. +I laughed, and she burst out again: 'They'll take you--oh, please go!' + +"'Tell me, then,' said I, and she stopped half a second, and gasped +again, and looked up in my eyes and said it. 'I love you,' said she. And +she meant it. + +"'Give me a kiss,' said I, and I leaned close to her, but she pulled +away. + +"'Oh, no--oh, please go now,' she begged. + +"'All right,' said I, 'but you don't know what you're missing,' and I +slid out of the back door at the second the Southerners came in at the +front. + +"There were bushes back there, and I crawled behind them and looked +through into the window, and what do you suppose I saw? I saw the +biggest and best-looking man of the three walk up to the girl who'd just +told me she loved me, and I saw her put up her face and give him the +kiss she wouldn't give me. Well, I went smashing down to the woods, +making such a rumpus that if those officers had been half awake they'd +have been after me twice over. I was so maddened at the sight of that +kiss that I didn't realize what I was doing or that I was endangering +the lives of my men. 'Of course,' said I to myself, 'it's her brother or +her cousin,' but I knew it was a hundred to one that it wasn't, and I +was in a mighty bad temper. + +"I got my men away from the neighborhood quietly, and we rode pretty +cautiously all that afternoon, I knew the road leading to Kelly's Ford, +and I bore to the north, away from there, for I trusted the girl and +believed I'd be safe if I followed her orders. She'd saved my life twice +that day, so I had reason to trust her. But all the time as I jogged +along I was wondering about that man, and wondering what the dickens she +was up to, anyway, and why she was travelling in the same direction that +I was, and where she was going--and over and over I wondered if I'd over +see her again. I felt sure I would, though--I couldn't imagine not +seeing her, after what she'd said. I didn't even know her name, except +that the old negro had called her 'Miss Lindy.' I said that a lot of +times to myself as I rode, with the men's bits jingling at my buck and +their horses' hoofs thud-thudding. 'Lindy--Miss Lindy--Linda--my +Linda--I said it half aloud. It kept first-rate time to the +hoof-beats--'Lindy--Miss Lindy.' + +"I wondered, too, why she wouldn't let me cross the Rappahannock by +Kelly's Ford, for I had reason to think there'd be a Union post on the +east side of the river there, but there was a sense of brains and +capability about the girl, as well as charm--in fact, that's likely to +be a large part of any real charm--and so I trusted to her. + +[Illustration: "I got behind a turn and fired as a man came on alone."] + +"Well, late in the afternoon we were trotting along, feeling pretty +secure. I'd left the Kelly's Ford road at the last turn, and was +beginning to think that we ought to be within a few miles of the river, +when all of a sudden, coming out of some woods into a small clearing +with a farmhouse about the centre of it, we rode on a strong outpost of +the enemy, infantry and cavalry both. We were in the open before I saw +them, so there was nothing to do but make a dash for it and rush past +the cabin before they could reach their arms, and we drew our revolvers +and put the spurs in deep and flew past with a fire that settled some +of them. But a surprise of this sort doesn't last long, and it was only +a few minutes before they were after us--and with fresh mounts. Then it +was a horse-race for the river, and I wasn't certain of the roads. +However, I knew a trick or two about this business, and I was sure some +of the pursuers would forge ahead; so three times I got behind a turn +and fired as a man came on alone. I dismounted several that way. This +relieved the strain enough so that I got within sight of the river with +all my men. It was a quarter of a mile away when I saw it, and at that +point the road split, and which branch led to the ford for the life of +me I didn't know. There wasn't time for meditation, however, so I shot +down the turn to the left, on the gamble, and sure enough there was the +ford--only it wasn't any ford. The Rappahannock was full to the banks +and perhaps two hundred yards across. The Confederates were within +rifle-shot, so there were exactly two things to do--surrender or swim. I +gave my men the choice--to follow me or be captured--and I plunged in, +without any of them." + +"What!" I demanded here, puzzled. "Didn't the men know how to swim?" + +"Oh, yes, they knew how," the General answered, and looked embarrassed. + +"Well, then, why didn't they?" It began to dawn on me, "Were they +afraid--was it dangerous--was the river swift?" + +"Yes," he acknowledged. "The river was swift--it was a foaming torrent." + +"They were afraid--all ten of them--and you weren't--you alone?" The +General looked annoyed. "I didn't want to be captured," he explained +crossly. "I had the despatches besides." He went on: "I slipped off my +horse, keeping hold of the bridle to guide him, and swam low beside him, +because they were firing from the bank. But all at once the shots +stopped, and I heard shouting, and shortly after I got a glimpse, over +my horse's back, of a rider in the water near me, and there was a flash +of a gray cap. One of the Southerners was swimming after me, and I was +due for a tussle when we landed. I made it first. I scrambled to shore +and snatched out my sword--the pistols were wet--and rushed for the +other man as he jumped to the bank, and just as I got to him--just in +time--I saw him. It wasn't him--it was her--the girl. Heavens!" gasped +the General; "she gave me a start that time. I dropped my sword on the +ground, I was so surprised, and stared at her with my mouth open. + +"'Oo-ee!' said that girl, shaking her skirt, as calm as a May morning. +'Oo-ee!' like a baby crowing. 'My, but that's a cold river!' And her +teeth chattered. + +"Well, that time I didn't ask permission. I took her in my arms and held +her--I had to, to keep her warm. Couldn't let her stand there and click +her teeth--could I? And she didn't fight me. 'What did you do such a +crazy thing for?' asked I. + +"'Well, you're mighty par-particular,' said she as saucy as you please, +but still shivering so she couldn't talk straight. 'They were popping +g-guns at you--that's what for. Roger's a right bad shot, but he might +have hit you.' + +"'And he might, have hit you,' said I. 'Did you happen to think of +that?' + +"She just laughed. 'Oh, no--they wouldn't risk hitting me. I'm too +valuable--that's why I jumped in--to protect you.' + +"'Oh!' said I. 'I'm a delicate flower, it seems. You've been protecting +me all day. Who's Roger?' + +"'My brother,' said she, smiling up at me. + +"'Was that the man you kissed in the cabin back yonder?' + +"'Shame!' said she. 'You peeped.' + +"'Was it?' I insisted, for I wanted to know. And she told me. + +"'Yes,' she told me, in that low voice of hers that was hard to hear, +only it paid to listen. + +"'Did you ever kiss any other man?' said I. + +"'It's none of your business,' said the girl. 'But I didn't--the way you +mean.' + +"'Well, it wouldn't make any difference, anyway--nothing would,' I said. +'Except this--are you ever going to?' + +"All this time that bright-colored head of hers was on my shoulder, +Confederate cap and all, and I was afraid of my life to stir, for fear +she'd take it away. But when I said that I put my face down against +hers and repeated the question, 'Are you ever going to?' + +"It seemed like ages before she answered and I was scared--yet she +didn't pull away,--and finally the words came--low, but I heard. 'One,' +said she. 'If he wants it.' + +"Then--" the General stopped suddenly, and the splendid claret and +honey color of his cheeks went a dark shade more to claret. He had come +to from his trance, and remembered me. "I don't know why I'm telling you +all these details," he declared abruptly. "I suppose you're tired to +death listening." His alert eyes questioned me. + +"General," I begged, "don't stop like that again. Don't leave out a +syllable. 'Then--'" + +But he threw back his head boyishly and laughed with a touch of +self-consciousness. "No, madam, I won't tell you about 'then.' I'll +leave so much to your imagination. I guess you're equal to it. It wasn't +a second anyway before she gave a jump that took her six feet from me, +and there she was tugging at the girth of her saddle. + +"'Quick--change the saddles!' she ordered me. 'I must be out of my mind +to throw away time when your life's in danger. They're coming around by +the bridge,' she explained, 'two miles down. And you have to have a +fresh mount. They'd catch you on that.' She threw a contemptuous glance +at my tired brute, and began unbuckling the wet straps with her little +wet fingers. + +"'Don't do that,' said I. 'Let me.' But she pushed me away. 'Mustn't +waste time.' She gave her orders as business-like as an officer. 'Do +your own saddle while I attend to this. Zero can run right away from +anything they're riding--from anything at all. Can't you, Zero?' and she +gave the horse a quick pat in between unbuckling. He was a powerful, +rangy bay, and not winded by his run and his swim. 'He's my father's,' +she went on. 'He'll carry you through to General Hooker's camp at +Falmouth--he knows that camp. It's twenty-five miles yet, and you've +ridden fifty to-day, poor boy.' + +"I wish I could tell you how pretty her voice was when she said things +like that, as if she cared that I'd had a strenuous day and was a little +tired. + +"'How do you know I'm going to Falmouth? How do you know how far I've +ridden?' I asked her, astonished again. + +"'I'm a witch,' she said. 'I find out everything about you-all by magic, +and then I tell our officers. They know it's so if I tell them. Ask +Stonewall Jackson how he discovered the road to take his cavalry around +for the attack on Howard. I reckon I helped a lot at Chancellorsville.' + +"'Do you reckon you're helping now?' I asked, throwing my saddle over +Zero's back. 'Strikes me you're giving aid and comfort to the enemy hand +over fist.' + +"That girl surprised me whatever she did, and the reason was--I figured +it out afterward--that she let herself be what few people let themselves +be--absolutely straightforward. She had the gentlest ways, but she +always hit straight from the shoulder, and that's likely to surprise +people. This time she took three steps to where I stood by Zero and +caught my finger in the middle of pulling up the cinch and held to it. + +"'I'm not a traitor,' she threw at me. 'I'm loyal to my people, and +you're my enemy--and I'm saving you from them. But it's you--it's you,' +she whispered, looking up at me. It was getting dark by now, but I could +see her eyes. 'When you put your hand over mine this morning it was like +somebody'd telegraphed that the one man was coming; and then I looked at +you, and I knew he'd got there. I've never bothered about men--mostly +they're not worth while, when there are horses--but ever since I've been +grown I've known that you'd come some time, and that I'd know you when +you came. Do you think I'm going to let you be taken--shot, maybe? Not +much--I'll guard your life with every breath of mine--and I'll keep it +safe, too.' + +"Now, wasn't that a strange way for a girl to talk? Did you ever hear of +another woman who could talk that way, and live up to it?" he demanded +of me unexpectedly. + +I was afraid to say the wrong thing and I spoke timidly. "What did you +do then?" + +He gave me a glance smouldering with mischief. "I didn't do it. I tried +to, but she wouldn't let me. + +"'Hurry, hurry,' said she, in a panic all of a sudden. 'They'll be +coming. Zero's fast, but you ought to get a good start.' + +"And she hustled me on the horse. And just as I was off, as I bent from +the saddle to catch her hand for the last time, she gave me two more +shocks together." Silent reminiscent laughter shook him. + +"'When am I going to see you again?' asked I hopelessly, for I felt as +if everything was mighty uncertain, and I couldn't bear to leave her. + +"'To-morrow,' said she, prompt as taxes. 'To-morrow. Good-by, Captain +Carruthers.' + +"And she gave the horse a slap that scared him into a leap, and off I +went galloping into darkness, with my brain in a whirl as to where I +could see her to-morrow, and how under creation she knew my name. The +cold bath had refreshed me--I hadn't had the like of it for nine +days--and I galloped on for a while feeling fine, and thinking mighty +hard about the girl I'd left behind me. Twenty-four hours before I'd +never seen her, yet I felt, as if I had known her all my life. I was +sure of this, that in all my days I'd never seen anybody like her, and +never would. And that's true to this minute. I'd had sweethearts +a-plenty--in a way--but the affair of that day was the only time I was +ever in love in my life." + +To tell the truth I had been a little scandalized all through this +story, for I knew well enough that there was a Mrs. Carruthers. I had +not met her--she had been South through the months which her husband had +spent in New York--but the General's strong language concerning the +red-haired girl made me sympathize with his wife, and this last +sentiment was staggering. Poor Mrs. Carruthers! thought I--poor, staid +lady, with this gay lad of a husband declaring his heart forever buried +with the adventure of a day of long ago. Yet, a soldier boy of +twenty-three--the romance of war-time--the glamour of lost love--there +were certainly alleviating circumstances. At all events, it was not my +affair--I could enjoy the story as it came with a clear conscience. So I +smiled at the wicked General--who looked as innocent as a baby--and he +went on. + +"I knew every road on that side the river, and I knew the Confederates +wouldn't dare chase me but a few miles, as it wasn't their country any +longer, so pretty soon I began to take things easy. I thought over +everything that had happened through the day, everything she'd said and +done, every look--I could remember it all. I can now. I wondered who +under heaven she was, and I kicked myself that I hadn't asked her name. +'Lindy'--that's all I knew, and I guess I said that over a hundred +times. I wondered why she'd told me not to go to Kelly's Ford, but I +worked that out the right way--as I found later--that her party expected +to cross there, and she didn't want me to encounter them; and then the +river was too full and they tried a higher ford. And I'd run into them. +Yet I couldn't understand why she planned to cross at Kelly's, anyway, +because there was pretty sure to be a Union outpost on the east bank +there, and she'd have landed right among them. That puzzled me. Who was +the girl, and why on earth was she travelling in that direction, and +where could she be going? I went over that problem again and again, and +couldn't find an answer. + +"Meanwhile it was getting late, and the bracing effect of the cold +water of the Rappahannock was wearing off, and I began to feel the +fatigue of an exciting day and a seventy-five-mile ride--on top of +nine other days with little to eat and not much rest. My wet clothes +chilled me, and the last few miles I have never been able to remember +distinctly--I think I was misty in my mind. At any rate, when I got to +headquarters camp I was just about clear enough to guide Zero through +the maze of tents, and not any more, and when the horse stopped with his +nose against the front pole of the general's fly I was unconscious." + +I exclaimed, horrified: "It was too much for human nature! You must have +been nearly dead. Did you fall off? Were you hurt?" + +"Oh, no--I was all right," he said cheerfully. "I just sat there. But an +equestrian statue in front of the general's tent at 11 P.M. wasn't +usual, and there was a small sensation. It brought out the +adjutant-general and he recognized me, and they carried me into a tent, +and got a surgeon, and he had me stripped and rubbed and rolled in +blankets. They found the despatches in my boots, and those gave all the +information necessary. They found the letter, too, which Stoneman had +given me to hand back to General Ladd, and they didn't understand that, +as it was addressed simply to 'Miss Ladd, Ford Hall,' so they left it +till I waked up. That wasn't till noon the next day." + +The General began chuckling contagiously, and I was alive with curiosity +to know the coming joke. + +"I believe every officer in the camp, from the commanding general down, +had sent me clothes. When I unclosed my eyes that tent was alive with +them. It was a spring opening, I can tell you--all sorts. Well, when I +got the meaning of the array, I lay there and laughed out loud, and an +orderly appeared at that, and then the adjutant-general, and I reported +to him. Then I got into an assortment of the clothes, and did my duty by +a pile of food and drink, and I was ready to start back to join my +chief. Except for the letter of General Ladd--I had to deliver that in +person to give the explanation. General Ladd had been wounded, I found, +at Chancellorsville, but would see me. So off I went to his tent, and +the orderly showed me in at once. He was in bed with his arm and +shoulder bandaged, and by his side, looking as fresh as a rose and as +mischievous as a monkey, sat a girl with red hair--Linda Ladd--Miss +Ladd, of Ford Hall--the old house where I first saw her. Her father +presented me in due form and told me to give her the letter and--that's +all." + +The General stopped short and regarded me quietly. + +"Oh, but--" I stammered. "But that isn't all--why, I don't +understand--it's criminal not to tell the rest--there's a lot." + +"What do you want to hear?" he demanded, "I don't know any more--that's +all that happened." + +"Don't be brutal," I pleaded. "I want to know, for one thing, how she +knew your name." + +"Oh--that." He laughed like an amused child. "That was rather odd. You +remember I told you that when they were chasing us I took shelter and +shot the horses from under some of the Southerners." + +"I remember." + +"Well, the first man dismounted was Tom Ladd, the girl's cousin, who'd +been my classmate at the Point, and he recognized me. He ran back and +told them to make every effort to capture the party, as its leader was +Captain Carruthers, of Stoneman's staff, and undoubtedly carried +despatches." + +"Oh!" I said. "I see. And where was Miss Ladd going, travelling your way +all day?" + +"To see her wounded father at Falmouth, don't you understand? She'd had +word from him the day before. She was escorted by a strong party of +Confederates, including her brother and cousin. She started out with +just the old negro, and it was arranged that she should meet the party +at the cabin where I found her writing. They were to go with her to +Kelly's Ford, where she was to pass over to the Union post on the other +bank--she had a safe-conduct." + +"Oh!" I assimilated this. "And she and her brother were Confederates, +and the father was a Northern general--how extraordinary!" + +"Not in the least," the General corrected me. "It happened so in a +number of cases. She was a power in that campaign. She did more work +than either father or brother. A Southern officer told me afterward that +the men half believed what she said--that she was a witch, and got news +of our movements by magic. Nothing escaped her--she had a wonderful +mind, and did not know what fear was. A wonderful woman!" + +He was smiling to himself again as he sat, with his great shoulders bent +forward and his scarred hand on his knee, looking into the fire. + +"General," I said tentatively, "aren't you going to tell me what she +said when she saw you come into her father's tent?" + +"Said?" asked the General, looking up and frowning. "What could she say? +Good-morning, I guess." + +I wasn't afraid of his frown or of his hammer-and-tongs manner. I'd got +behind both before now. I persisted. + +"But I mean--what did you say to each other, like the day before--how +did it all come out?" + +"Oh, we couldn't do any love-making, if that's what you mean," he +explained in a business-like way, "because the old man was on deck. And +I had to leave in about ten minutes to ride back to join my command. +That was all there was to it." + +I sighed with disappointment. Of course I knew it was just an idyll of +youth, a day long, and that the book was closed forty years before. But +I could not bear to have it closed with a bang. Somewhere in the +narrative had come to me the impression that the heroine of it had died +young in those exciting war-times of long ago. I had a picture in my +mind of the dancing eyes closed meekly in a last sleep; of the young +officer's hand laid sorrowing on the bright halo of hair. + +"Did you ever see the girl again?" I asked softly. + +The General turned on me a quick, queer look. Fun was in it, and memory +gave it gentleness; yet there was impatience, too, at my slowness, in +the boyish brown eyes. + +"Mrs. Carruthers has red hair," he said briefly. + + + + +THROUGH THE IVORY GATE + + +Breeze-filtered through shifting leafage, the June morning sunlight came +in at the open window by the boy's bed, under the green shades, across +the shadowy, white room, and danced a noiseless dance of youth and +freshness and springtime against the wall opposite. The boy's head +stirred on his pillow. He spoke a quick word from out of his dream. "The +key?" he said inquiringly, and the sound of his own voice awoke him. +Dark, drowsy eyes opened, and he stared half seeing, at the picture that +hung facing him. Was it the play of mischievous sunlight, was it the +dream that still held his brain? He knew the picture line by line, and +there was no such figure in it. It was a large photograph of Fairfield, +the Southern home of his mother's people, and the boy remembered it +always hanging there, opposite his bed, the first sight to meet his eyes +every morning since his babyhood. So he was certain there was no figure +in it, more than all one so remarkable as this strapping little chap in +his queer clothes; his dress of conspicuous plaid with large black +velvet squares sewed on it, who stood now in front of the old +manor-house. Could it be only a dream? Could it be that a little ghost, +wandering childlike in dim, heavenly fields, had joined the gay troop of +his boyish visions and shipped in with them through the ivory gate of +pleasant dreams? The boy put his fists to his eyes and rubbed them and +looked again. The little fellow was still there, standing with sturdy +legs wide apart as if owning the scene; he laughed as he held toward the +boy a key--a small key tied with a scarlet ribbon. There was no doubt in +the boy's mind that the key was for him, and out of the dim world of +sleep he stretched his young arm for it; to reach it he sat up in bed. +Then he was awake and knew himself alone in the peace of his own little +room, and laughed shamefacedly at the reality of the vision which had +followed him from dreamland into the very boundaries of consciousness, +which held him even now with gentle tenacity, which drew him back +through the day, from his studies, from his play, into the strong +current of its fascination. + +The first time Philip Beckwith had this dream he was only twelve years +old, and, withheld by the deep reserve of childhood, he told not even +his mother about it, though he lived in its atmosphere all day and +remembered it vividly days longer. A year after it came again; and again +it was a June morning, and as his eyes opened the little boy came once +more out of the picture toward him, laughing and holding out the key on +its scarlet string. The dream was a pleasant one, and Philip welcomed it +eagerly from his sleep as a friend. There seemed something sweet and +familiar in the child's presence beyond the one memory of him, as again +the boy, with eyes half open to every-day life, saw him standing, small +but masterful, in the garden of that old house where the Fairfields had +lived for more than a century. Half consciously he tried to prolong the +vision, tried not to wake entirely for fear of losing it; but the +picture faded surely from the curtain of his mind as the tangible world +painted there its heavier outlines. It was as if a happy little spirit +had tried to follow him, for love of him, from a country lying close, +yet separated; it was as if the common childhood of the two made it +almost possible for them to meet; as if a message that might not be +spoken, were yet almost delivered. + +The third time the dream came it was a December morning of the year when +Philip was fifteen, and falling snow made wavering light and shadow on +the wall where hung the picture. This time, with eyes wide open, yet +with the possession of the dream strongly on him, he lay sub-consciously +alert and gazed, as in the odd, unmistakable dress that Philip knew now +in detail, the bright-faced child swung toward him, always from the +garden of that old place, always trying with loving, merry efforts to +reach Philip from out of it--always holding to him the red-ribboned key. +Like a wary hunter the big boy lay--knowing it unreal, yet living it +keenly--and watched his chance. As the little figure glided close to him +he put out his hand suddenly, swiftly for the key--he was awake. As +always, the dream was gone; the little ghost was baffled again; the two +worlds might not meet. + +That day Mrs. Beckwith, putting in order an old mahogany secretary, +showed him a drawer full of photographs, daguerrotypes. The boy and his +gay young mother were the best of friends, for, only nineteen when he +was born, she had never let the distance widen between them; had held +the freshness of her youth sacred against the time when he should share +it. Year by year, living in his enthusiasms, drawing him to hers, she +had grown young in his childhood, which year by year came closer to her +maturity. Until now there was between the tall, athletic lad and the +still young and attractive woman, an equal friendship, a common youth, +which gave charm and elasticity to the natural tie between them. Yet +even to this comrade-mother the boy had not told his dream, for the +difficulty of putting into words the atmosphere, the compelling power of +it. So that when she opened one of the old-fashioned black cases which +held the early sun-pictures, and showed him the portrait within, he +startled her by a sudden exclamation. From the frame of red velvet and +tarnished gilt there laughed up at him the little boy of his dream. +There was no mistaking him, and if there were doubt about the face, +there was the peculiar dress--the black and white plaid with large +squares of black velvet sewed here and there as decoration. Philip +stared in astonishment at the sturdy figure, the childish face with its +wide forehead and level, strong brows; its dark eyes straight-gazing and +smiling. + +"Mother--who is he? Who is he?" he demanded. + +"Why, my lamb, don't you know? It's your little uncle Philip--my +brother, for whom you were named--Philip Fairfield the sixth. There was +always a Philip Fairfield at Fairfield since 1790. This one was the +last, poor baby! and he died when he was five. Unless you go back there +some day--that's my hope, but it's not likely to come true. You are a +Yankee, except for the big half of you that's me. That's Southern, every +inch." She laughed and kissed his fresh cheek impulsively. "But what +made you so excited over this picture, Phil?" + +Philip gazed down, serious, a little embarrassed, at the open case in +his hand. "Mother," he said after a moment, "you'll laugh at me, but +I've seen this chap in a dream three times now." + +"Oh!" She did laugh at him. "Oh, Philip! What have you been eating for +dinner, I'd like to know? I can't have you seeing visions of your +ancestors at fifteen--it's unhealthy." + +The boy, reddening, insisted. "But, mother, really, don't you think it +was queer? I saw him as plainly as I do now--and I've never seen this +picture before." + +"Oh, yes, you have--you must have seen it," his mother threw back +lightly. "You've forgotten, but the image of it was tucked away in some +dark corner of your mind, and when you were asleep it stole out and +played tricks on you. That's the way forgotten ideas do: they get even +with you in dreams for having forgotten them." + +"Mother, only listen--" But Mrs. Beckwith, her eyes lighting with a +swift turn of thought, interrupted him--laid her finger on his lips. + +"No--you listen, boy dear--quick, before I forget it! I've never told +you about this, and it's very interesting." + +And the youngster, used to these wilful ways of his sister-mother, +laughed and put his fair head against her shoulder and listened. + +"It's quite a romance," she began, "only there isn't any end to it; it's +all unfinished and disappointing. It's about this little Philip here, +whose name you have--my brother. He died when he was five, as I said, +but even then he had a bit of dramatic history in his life. He was born +just before war-time in 1859, and he was a beautiful and wonderful baby; +I can remember all about it, for I was six years older. He was incarnate +sunshine, the happiest child that ever lived, but far too quick and +clever for his years. The servants used to ask him, 'Who is you, Marse +Philip, sah?' to hear him answer, before he could speak it plainly, 'I'm +Philip Fairfield of Fairfield'; he seemed to realize that, and his +responsibility to them and to the place, as soon as he could breathe. He +wouldn't have a darky scolded in his presence, and every morning my +father put him in front of him in the saddle, and they rode together +about the plantation. My father adored him, and little Philip's sunshiny +way of taking possession of the slaves and the property pleased him more +deeply, I think, than anything in his life. But the war came before this +time, when the child was about a year old, and my father went off, of +course, as every Southern man went who could walk, and for a year we did +not see him. Then he was badly wounded at the battle of Malvern Hill; +and came home to get well. However, it was more serious than he knew, +and he did not get well. Twice he went off again to join our army, and +each time he was sent back within a month, too ill to be of any use. He +chafed constantly, of course, because he must stay at home and farm, +when his whole soul ached to be fighting for his flag; but finally in +December, 1863, he thought he was well enough at last for service. He +was to join General John Morgan, who had just made his wonderful escape +from prison at Columbus, and it was planned that my mother should take +little Philip and me to England to live there till the war was over and +we could all be together at Fairfield again. With that in view my +father drew all of his ready money--it was ten thousand dollars in +gold--from the banks in Lexington, for my mother's use in the years they +might be separated. When suddenly, the day before he was to have gone, +the old wound broke out again, and he was helplessly ill in bed at the +hour when he should have been on his horse riding toward Tennessee. We +were fifteen miles out from Lexington, yet it might be rumored that +father had drawn a large sum of money, and, of course, he was well known +as a Southern officer. Because of the Northern soldiers, who held the +city, he feared very much to have the money in the house, yet he hoped +still to join Morgan a little later, and then it would be needed as he +had planned. Christmas morning my father was so much better that my +mother went to church, taking me, and leaving little Philip, then four +years old, to amuse him. What happened that morning was the point of all +this rambling; so now listen hard, my precious thing." + +The boy, sitting erect now, caught his mother's hand silently, and his +eyes stared into hers as he drunk in every word: + +"Mammy, who was, of course, little Philip's nurse, told my mother +afterward that she was sent away before my father and the boy went into +the garden, but she saw them go and saw that my father had a tin box--a +box about twelve inches long, which seemed very heavy--in his arms, and +on his finger swung a long red ribbon with a little key strung on it. +Mother knew it as the key of the box, and she had tied the ribbon on it +herself. + +"It was a bright, crisp Christmas day, pleasant in the garden--the box +hedges were green and fragrant, aromatic in the sunshine. You don't even +know the smell of box in sunshine, you poor child! But I remember that +day, for I was ten years old, a right big girl, and it was a beautiful +morning for an invalid to take the air. Mammy said she was proud to see +how her 'handsome boy' kept step with his father, and she watched the +two until they got away down by the rose-garden, and then she couldn't +see little Philip behind the three-foot hedge, so she turned away. But +somewhere in that big garden, or under the trees beside it, my father +buried the box that held the money--ten thousand dollars. It shows how +he trusted that baby, that he took him with him, and you'll see how his +trust was only too well justified. For that evening, Christmas night, +very suddenly my father died--before he had time to tell my mother where +he had hidden the box. He tried; when consciousness came a few minutes +before the end he gasped out, 'I buried the money'--and then he choked. +Once again he whispered just two words: 'Philip knows.' And my mother +said, 'Yes, dearest--Philip and I will find it--don't worry, dearest,' +and that quieted him. She told me about it so many times. + +"After the funeral she took little Philip and explained to him as well +as she could that he must tell mother where he and father had put the +box, and--this is the point of it all, Philip--he wouldn't tell. She +went over and over it all, again and again, but it was no use. He had +given his word to my father never to tell, and he was too much of a baby +to understand how death had dissolved that promise. My mother tried +every way, of course, explanations and reasoning first, then pleading, +and finally severity; she even punished the poor little martyr, for it +was awfully important to us all. But the four-year-old baby was +absolutely incorruptible, he cried bitterly and sobbed out: + +"'Farver said I mustn't never tell anybody--never! Farver said Philip +Fairfield of Fairfield mustn't _never_ bweak his words,' and that was +all. + +"Nothing could induce him to give the least hint. Of course there was +great search for it, but it was well hidden and it was never found. +Finally, mother took her obdurate son and me and came to New York with +us, and we lived on the little income which she had of her own. Her hope +was that as soon as Philip was old enough she could make him understand, +and go back with him and get that large sum lying underground--lying +there yet, perhaps. But in less than a year the little boy was dead and +the secret was gone with him." + +Philip Beckwith's eyes were intense and wide. The Fairfield eyes, brown +and brilliant, their young fire was concentrated on his mother's face. + +"Do you mean that money is buried down there, yet, mother?" he asked +solemnly. + +Mrs. Beckwith caught at the big fellow's sleeve with slim fingers. +"Don't go to-day, Phil--wait till after lunch, anyway!" + +"Please don't make fun, mother--I want to know about it. Think of it +lying there in the ground!" + +"Greedy boy! We don't need money now, Phil. And the old place will be +yours when I am dead--" The lad's arm went about his mother's shoulders. +"Oh, but I'm not going to die for ages! Not till I'm a toothless old +person with side curls, hobbling along on a stick. Like this!"--she +sprang to her feet and the boy laughed a great peal at the hag-like +effect as his young mother threw herself into the part. She dropped on +the divan again at his side. + +"What I meant to tell you was that your father thinks it very unlikely +that the money is there yet, and almost impossible that we could find it +in any case. But some day when the place is yours you can have it put +through a sieve if you choose. I wish I could think you would ever live +there, Phil; but I can't imagine any chance by which you should. I +should hate to have you sell it--it has belonged to a Philip Fairfield +so many years." + +A week later the boy left his childhood by the side of his mother's +grave. His history for the next seven years may go in a few lines. +School days, vacations, the four years at college, outwardly the +commonplace of an even and prosperous development, inwardly the infinite +variety of experience by which each soul is a person; the result of the +two so wholesome a product of young manhood that no one realized under +the frank and open manner a deep reticence, an intensity, a +sensitiveness to impressions, a tendency toward mysticism which made the +fibre of his being as delicate as it was strong. + +Suddenly, in a turn of the wheel, all the externals of his life changed. +His rich father died penniless and he found himself on his own hands, +and within a month the boy who had owned five polo ponies was a +hard-working reporter on a great daily. The same quick-wittedness and +energy which had made him a good polo player made him a good reporter. +Promotion came fast and, as those who are busiest have most time to +spare, he fell to writing stories. When the editor of a large magazine +took one, Philip first lost respect for that dignified person, then felt +ashamed to have imposed on him, then rejoiced utterly over the check. +After that editors fell into the habit; the people he ran against knew +about his books; the checks grew better reading all the time; a point +came where it was more profitable to stay at home and imagine events +than to go out and report them. He had been too busy as the days +marched, to generalize, but suddenly he knew that he was a successful +writer; that if he kept his head and worked, a future was before him. So +he soberly put his own English by the side of that of a master or two +from his book-shelves, to keep his perspective clear, and then he worked +harder. And it came to be five years after his father's death. + +At the end of those years three things happened at once. The young man +suddenly was very tired and knew that he needed the vacation he had gone +without; a check came in large enough to make a vacation easy--and he +had his old dream. His fagged brain had found it but another worry to +decide where he should go to rest, but the dream settled the vexed +question off-hand--he would go to Kentucky. The very thought of it +brought rest to him, for like a memory of childhood, like a bit of his +own soul, he knew the country--the "God's Country" of its people--which +he had never seen. He caught his breath as he thought of warm, sweet air +that held no hurry or nerve strain; of lingering sunny days whose hours +are longer than in other places; of the soft speech, the serene and +kindly ways of the people; of the royal welcome waiting for him as for +every one, heartfelt and heart-warming; he knew it all from a daughter +of Kentucky--his mother. It was May now, and he remembered she had told +him that the land was filled with roses at the end of May--he would go +then. He owned the old place, Fairfield, and he had never seen it. +Perhaps it had fallen to pieces; perhaps his mother had painted it in +colors too bright; but it was his, the bit of the earth that belonged to +him. The Anglo-Saxon joy of land-owning stirred for the first time +within him--he would go to his own place. Buoyant with the new thought +he sat down and wrote a letter. A cousin of the family, of a younger +branch, a certain John Fairfield, lived yet upon the land. Not in the +great house, for that had been closed many years, but in a small house +almost as old, called Westerly. Philip had corresponded with him once or +twice about affairs of the estate, and each letter of the older man's +had brought a simple and urgent invitation to come South and visit him. +So, pleased as a child with the plan, he wrote that he was coming on a +certain Thursday, late in May. The letter sent, he went about in a dream +of the South, and when its answer, delighted and hospitable, came +simultaneously with one of those bleak and windy turns of weather which +make New York, even in May, a marvellously fitting place to leave, he +could not wait. Almost a week ahead of his time he packed his bag and +took the Southwestern Limited, and on a bright Sunday morning he awoke +in the old Phoenix Hotel in Lexington. He had arrived too late the night +before to make the fifteen miles to Fairfield, but he had looked over +the horses in the livery-stable and chosen the one he wanted, for he +meant to go on horseback, as a Southern gentleman should, to his domain. +That he meant to go alone, that no one, not even John Fairfield, knew of +his coming, was not the least of his satisfactions, for the sight of the +place of his forefathers, so long neglected, was becoming suddenly a +sacred thing to him. The old house and its young owner should meet each +other like sweethearts, with no eyes to watch their greeting, their slow +and sweet acquainting; with no living voices to drown the sound of the +ghostly voices that must greet his home-coming from those walls--voices +of his people who had lived there, voices gone long since into eternal +silence. + +A little crowd of loungers stared with frank admiration at the young +fellow who came out smiling from the door of the Phoenix Hotel, big and +handsome in his riding clothes, his eyes taking in the details of +girths and bits and straps with the keenness of a horseman. + +Philip laughed as he swung into the saddle and looked down at the +friendly faces, most of them black faces, below, "Good-by," he said. +"Wish me good luck, won't you?" and a willing chorus of "Good luck, +boss," came flying after him as the horse's hoofs clattered down the +street. + +Through the bright drowsiness of the little city he rode in the early +Sunday morning, and his heart sang for joy to feel himself again across +a horse, and for the love of the place that warmed him already. The sun +shone hotly, but he liked it; he felt his whole being slipping into +place, fitting to its environment; surely, in spite of birth and +breeding, he was Southern born and bred, for this felt like home more +than any home he had known! + +As he drew away from the city, every little while, through stately +woodlands, a dignified sturdy mansion peeped down its long vista of +trees at the passing cavalier, and, enchanted with its beautiful +setting, with its air of proud unconsciousness, he hoped each time that +Fairfield would look like that. If he might live here--and go to New +York, to be sure, two or three times a year to keep the edge of his +brain sharpened--but if he might live his life as these people lived, in +this unhurried atmosphere, in this perfect climate, with the best things +in his reach for every-day use; with horses and dogs, with out-of-doors +and a great, lovely country to breathe in; with--he smiled vaguely--with +sometime perhaps a wife who loved it as he did--he would ask from earth +no better life than that. He could write, he felt certain, better and +larger things in such surroundings. + +But he pulled himself up sharply as he thought how idle a day-dream it +was. As a fact, he was a struggling young author, he had come South for +two weeks' vacation, and on the first morning he was planning to live +here--he must be light-headed. With a touch of his heel and a word and a +quick pull on the curb, his good horse broke into a canter, and then, +under the loosened rein, into a rousing gallop, and Philip went dashing +down the country road, past the soft, rolling landscape, and under cool +caves of foliage, vivid with emerald greens of May, thoughts and dreams +all dissolved in exhilaration of the glorious movement, the nearest +thing to flying that the wingless animal, man, may achieve. + +He opened his coat as the blood rushed faster through him, and a paper +fluttered from his pocket. He caught it, and as he pulled the horse to a +trot, he saw that it was his cousin's letter. So, walking now along the +brown shadows and golden sunlight of the long white pike, he fell to +wondering about the family he was going to visit. He opened the folded +letter and read: + +"My dear Cousin," it said--the kinship was the first thought in John +Fairfield's mind--"I received your welcome letter on the 14th. I am +delighted that you are coming at last to Kentucky, and I consider that +it is high time you paid Fairfield, which has been the cradle of your +stock for many generations, the compliment of looking at it. We closed +our house in Lexington three weeks ago, and are settled out here now for +the summer, and find it lovelier than ever. My family consists only of +myself and Shelby, my one child, who is now twenty-two years of age. We +are both ready to give you an old-time Kentucky welcome, and Westerly is +ready to receive you at any moment you wish to come." + +The rest was merely arrangement for meeting the traveller, all of which +was done away with by his earlier arrival. + +"A prim old party, with an exalted idea of the family," commented Philip +mentally. "Well-to-do, apparently, or he wouldn't be having a winter +house in the city. I wonder what the boy Shelby is like. At twenty-two +he should be doing something more profitable than spending an entire +summer out here, I should say." + +The questions faded into the general content of his mind at the glimpse +of another stately old pillared homestead, white and deep down its +avenue of locusts. At length he stopped his horse to wait for a ragged +negro trudging cheerfully down the road. + +"Do you know a place around here called Fairfield?" he asked. + +"Yessah. I does that, sah. It's that ar' place right hyeh, sah, by yo' +hoss. That ar's Fahfiel'. Shall I open the gate fo' you, boss?" and +Philip turned to see a hingeless ruin of boards held together by the +persuasion of rusty wire. + +"The home of my fathers looks down in the mouth," he reflected aloud. + +The old negro's eyes, gleaming from under shaggy sheds of eyebrows, +watched him, and he caught the words. + +"Is you a Fahfiel', boss?" he asked eagerly. "Is you my young Marse?" He +jumped at the conclusion promptly. "You favors de fam'ly mightily, sah. +I heard you was comin'"; the rag of a hat went off and he bowed low. +"Hit's cert'nly good news fo' Fahfiel', Marse Philip, hit's mighty good +news fo' us niggers, sah. I'se b'longed to the Fahfiel' fam'ly a hund'ed +years, Marse--me and my folks, and I wishes yo' a welcome home, +sah--welcome home, Marse Philip." + +Philip bent with a quick movement from his horse, and gripped the +twisted old black hand, speechless. This humble welcome on the highway +caught at his heart deep down, and the appeal of the colored people to +Southerners, who know them, the thrilling appeal of a gentle, loyal +race, doomed to live forever behind a veil and hopeless without +bitterness, stirred for the first time his manhood. It touched him to be +taken for granted as the child of his people; it pleased him that he +should be "Marse Philip" as a matter of course, because there had always +been a Marse Philip at the place. It was bred deeper in the bone of him +than he knew, to understand the soul of the black man; the stuff he was +made of had been Southern two hundred years. + +The old man went off down the white limestone road singing to himself, +and Philip rode slowly under the locusts and beeches up the long drive, +grass-grown and lost in places, that wound through the woodland +three-quarters of a mile to his house. And as he moved through the park, +through sunlight and shadow of these great trees that were his, he felt +like a knight of King Arthur, like some young knight long exiled, at +last coming to his own. He longed with an unreasonable seizure of +desire to come here to live, to take care of it, beautify it, fill it +with life and prosperity as it had once been filled, surround it with +cheerful faces of colored people whom he might make happy and +comfortable. If only he had money to pay off the mortgage, to put the +place once in order, it would be the ideal setting for the life that +seemed marked out for him--the life of a writer. + +The horse turned a corner and broke into a canter up the slope, and as +the shoulder of the hill fell away there stood before him the picture of +his childhood come to life, smiling drowsily in the morning sunlight +with shuttered windows that were its sleeping eyes--the great white +house of Fairfield. Its high pillars reached to the roof; its big wings +stretched away at either side; the flicker of the shadow of the leaves +played over it tenderly and hid broken bits of woodwork, patches of +paint cracked away, window-panes gone here and there. It stood as if too +proud to apologize or to look sad for such small matters, as serene, as +stately as in its prime. And its master, looking at it for the first +time, loved it. + +He rode around to the side and tied his mount to an old horse-rack, and +then walked up the wide front steps as if each lift were an event. He +turned the handle of the big door without much hope that it would yield, +but it opened willingly, and he stood inside. A broom lay in a corner, +windows were open--his cousin had been making ready for him. There was +the huge mahogany sofa, horse-hair-covered, in the window under the +stairs, where his mother had read "Ivanhoe" and "The Talisman." Philip +stepped softly across the wide hall and laid his head where must have +rested the brown hair of the little girl who had come to be, first all +of his life, and then its dearest memory. Half an hour he spent in the +old house, and its walls echoed to his footsteps as if in ready homage, +and each empty room whose door he opened met him with a sweet half +familiarity. The whole place was filled with the presence of the child +who had loved it and left it, and for whom this tall man, her child, +longed now as if for a little sister who should be here, and whom he +missed. With her memory came the thought of the five-year-old uncle who +had made history for the family so disastrously. He must see the garden +where that other Philip had gone with his father to hide the money on +the fated Christmas morning. He closed the house door behind him +carefully, as if he would not disturb a little girl reading in the +window, a little boy sleeping perhaps in the nursery above. Then he +walked down the broad sweep of the driveway, the gravel crunching under +the grass, and across what had been a bit of velvet lawn, and stood for +a moment with his hand on a broken vase, weed-filled, which capped the +stone post of a gateway. + +All the garden was misty with memories. Where a tall golden flower +nodded alone, from out of the tangled thicket of an old flower-bed, a +bright-haired child might have laughed with just that air of startled, +gay naughtiness, from the forbidden centre of the blossoms. In the +moulded tan-bark of the path was a vague print, like the ghost of a +footprint that had passed down the way a lifetime ago. The box, half +dead, half sprouted into high unkept growth, still stood stiffly against +the riotous overflow of weeds as if it yet held loyally to its business +of guarding the borders, Philip shifted his gaze slowly, lingering over +the dim contours, the shadowy shape of what the garden had been. +Suddenly his eyes opened wide. How was this? There was a hedge as neat, +as clipped, as any of Southampton in mid-season, and over it a glory of +roses, red and white and pink and yellow, waved gay banners to him in +trim luxuriance. He swung toward them, and the breeze brought him for +the first time in his life the fragrance of box in sunshine. + +Four feet tall, shaven and thick and shining, the old hedge stood, and +the garnered sweetness of a hundred years' slow growth breathed +delicately from it toward the great-great-grandson of the man who +planted it. A box hedge takes as long in the making as a gentleman, and +when they are done the two are much of a sort. No plant in all the +garden has so subtle an air of breeding, so gentle a reserve, yet so +gracious a message of sweetness for all of the world who will stop to +learn it. It keeps a firm dignity under the stress of tempest when +lighter growths are tossed and torn; it shines bright through the snow; +it has a well-bred willingness to be background, with the well-bred gift +of presence, whether as background or foreground. The soul of the +box-tree is an aristocrat, and the sap that runs through it is the blue +blood of vegetation. + +Saluting him bravely in the hot sunshine with its myriad shining +sword-points, the old hedge sent out to Philip on the May breeze its +ancient welcome of aromatic fragrance, and the tall roses crowded gayly +to look over its edge at the new master. Slowly, a little dazed at this +oasis of shining order in the neglected garden, he walked to the opening +and stepped inside the hedge. The rose garden! The famous rose garden of +Fairfield, and as his mother had described it, in full splendor of +cared-for, orderly bloom. Across the paths he stepped swiftly till he +stood amid the roses, giant bushes of Jacqueminot and Marechal Niel; of +pink and white and red and yellow blooms in thick array. The glory of +them intoxicated him. That he should own all of this beauty seemed too +good to be true, and instantly he wanted to taste his ownership. The +thought came to him that he would enter into his heritage with strong +hands here in the rose garden; he caught a deep-red Jacqueminot almost +roughly by its gorgeous head and broke off the stem. He would gather a +bunch, a huge, unreasonable bunch of his own flowers. Hungrily he broke +one after another; his shoulders bent over them, he was deep in the +bushes. + +"I reckon I shall have to ask you not to pick any more of those roses," +a voice said. + +Philip threw up his head as if he had been shot; he turned sharply with +a great thrill, for he thought his mother spoke to him. Perhaps it was +only the Southern inflection so long unheard, perhaps the sunlight that +shone in his eyes dazzled him, but, as he stared, the white figure +before him seemed to him to look exactly as his mother had looked long +ago. Stumbling over his words, he caught at the first that came. + +"I--I think it's all right," he said. + +The girl smiled frankly, yet with a dignity in her puzzled air. "I'm +afraid I shall have to be right decided," she said. "These roses are +private property and I mustn't let you have them." + +"Oh!" Philip dropped the great bunch of gorgeous color guiltily by his +side, but still held tightly the prickly mass of stems, knowing his +right, yet half wondering if he could have made a mistake. He stammered: + +"I thought--to whom do they belong?" + +"They belong to my cousin, Mr. Philip Fairfield Beckwith"--the sound of +his own name was pleasant as the falling voice strayed through it. "He +is coming home in a few days, so I want them to look their prettiest for +him--for his first sight of them. I take care of this rose garden," she +said, and laid a motherly hand on the nearest flower. Then she smiled. +"It doesn't seem right hospitable to stop you, but if you will come over +to Westerly, to our house, father will be glad to see you, and I will +certainly give you all the flowers you want." The sweet and masterful +apparition looked with a gracious certainty of obedience straight into +Philip's bewildered eyes. + +[Illustration: "I reckon I shall have to ask you not pick any more of +those roses," a voice said.] + +"The boy Shelby!" Many a time in the months after Philip Beckwith +smiled to himself reminiscently, tenderly, as he thought of "the boy +Shelby" whom he had read into John Fairfield's letter; "the boy Shelby" +who was twenty-two years old and the only child; "the boy Shelby" whom +he had blamed with such easy severity for idling at Fairfield; "the boy +Shelby" who was no boy at all, but this white flower of girlhood, +called--after the quaint and reasonable Southern way--as a boy is +called, by the surname of her mother's people. + +Toward Westerly, out of the garden of the old time, out of the dimness +of a forgotten past, the two took their radiant youth and the brightness +of to-day. But a breeze blew across the tangle of weeds and flowers as +they wandered away, and whispered a hope, perhaps a promise; for as it +touched them each tall stalk nodded gayly and the box hedges rustled +delicately an answering undertone. And just at the edge of the woodland, +before they were out of sight, the girl turned and threw a kiss back to +the roses and the box. + +"I always do that," she said. "I love them so!" + +Two weeks later a great train rolled into the Grand Central Station of +New York at half-past six at night, and from it stepped a monstrosity--a +young man without a heart. He had left all of it, more than he had +thought he owned, in Kentucky. But he had brought back with him memories +which gave him more joy than ever the heart had done, to his best +knowledge, in all the years. They were memories of long and sunshiny +days; of afternoons spent in the saddle, rushing through grassy lanes +where trumpet-flowers flamed over gray farm fences, or trotting slowly +down white roads; of whole mornings only an hour long, passed in the +enchanted stillness of an old garden; of gay, desultory searches through +its length and breadth, and in the park that held it, for buried +treasure: of moonlit nights; of roses and June and Kentucky--and always, +through all the memories, the presence that made them what they were, +that of a girl he loved. + +No word of love had been spoken, but the two weeks had made over his +life; and he went back to his work with a definite object, a hope +stronger than ambition, and, set to it as music to words, came +insistently another hope, a dream that he did not let himself dwell +on--a longing to make enough money to pay off the mortgage and put +Fairfield in order, and live and work there all his life--with Shelby. +That was where the thrill of the thought came in, but the place was very +dear to him in itself. + +The months went, and the point of living now were the mails from the +South, and the feast days were the days that brought letters from +Fairfield. He had promised to go back for a week at Christmas, and he +worked and hoarded all the months between with a thought which he did +not formulate, but which ruled his down-sitting and his up-rising, the +thought that if he did well and his bank account grew enough to justify +it he might, when he saw her at Christmas, tell her what he hoped; ask +her--he finished the thought with a jump of his heart. He never worked +harder or better, and each check that came in meant a step toward the +promised land; and each seemed for the joy that was in it to quicken his +pace, to lengthen his stride, to strengthen his touch. Early in November +he found one night when he came to his rooms two letters waiting for +him with the welcome Kentucky postmark. They were in John Fairfield's +handwriting and in his daughter's, and "_place aux dames_" ruled rather +than respect to age, for he opened Shelby's first. His eyes smiling, he +read it. + +"I am knitting you a diamond necklace for Christmas," she wrote. "Will +you like that? Or be sure to write me if you'd rather have me hunt in +the garden and dig you up a box of money. I'll tell you--there ought to +be luck in the day, for it was hidden on Christmas and it should be +found on Christmas; so on Christmas morning we'll have another look, and +if you find it I'll catch you 'Christmas gif'' as the darkies do, and +you'll have to give it to me, and if I find it I'll give it to you; so +that's fair, isn't it? Anyway--" and Philip's eyes jumped from line to +line, devouring the clear, running writing. "So bring a little present +with you, please--just a tiny something for me," she ended, "for I'm +certainly going to catch you 'Christmas gif'.'" + +Philip folded the letter back into its envelope and put it in his +pocket, and his heart felt warmer for the scrap of paper over it. Then +he cut John Fairfield's open dreamily, his mind still on the words he +had read, on the threat--"I'm going to catch you 'Christmas gif'.'" What +was there good enough to give her? Himself, he thought humbly, very far +from it. With a sigh that was not sad he dismissed the question and +began to read the other letter. He stood reading it by the fading light +from the window, his hat thrown by him on a chair, his overcoat still +on, and, as he read, the smile died from his face. With drawn brows he +read on to the end, and then the letter dropped from his fingers to the +floor and he did not notice; his eyes stared widely at the high building +across the street, the endless rows of windows, the lights flashing into +them here and there. But he saw none of it. He saw a stretch of quiet +woodland, an old house with great white pillars, a silent, neglected +garden, with box hedges sweet and ragged, all waiting for him to come +and take care of them--the home of his fathers, the home he had meant, +had expected--he knew it now--would be some day his own, the home he +had lost! John Fairfield's letter was to tell him that the mortgage on +the place, running now so many years, was suddenly to be foreclosed; +that, property not being worth much in the neighborhood, no one would +take it up; that on January 2nd, Fairfield, the house and land, were to +be sold at auction. It was a hard blow to Philip Beckwith. With his +hands in his overcoat pockets he began to walk up and down the room, +trying to plan, to see if by any chance he might save this place he +loved. It would mean eight thousand dollars to pay the mortgage. One or +two thousand more would put the estate in order, but that might wait if +he could only tide over this danger, save the house and land. An hour he +walked so, forgetting dinner, forgetting the heavy coat which he still +wore, and then he gave it up. With all he had saved--and it was a fair +and promising beginning--he could not much more than half pay the +mortgage, and there was no way, which he would consider, by which he +could get the money. Fairfield would have to go, and he set his teeth +and clinched his fists as he thought how he wanted to keep it. A year +ago it had meant nothing to him, a year from now if things went his way +he could have paid the mortgage. That it should happen just this +year--just now! He could not go down at Christmas; it would break his +heart to see the place again as his own when it was just slipping from +his grasp. He would wait until it was all over, and go, perhaps, in the +spring. The great hope of his life was still his own, but Fairfield had +been the setting of that hope; he must readjust his world before he saw +Shelby again. So he wrote them that he would not come at present, and +then tried to dull the ache of his loss with hard work. + +But three days before Christmas, out of the unknown forces beyond his +reasoning swept a wave of desire to go South, which took him off his +feet. Trained to trust his brain and deny his impulse as he was, yet +there was a vein of sentiment, almost of superstition, in him which the +thought of the old place pricked sharply to life. This longing was +something beyond him--he must go--and he had thrown his decisions to the +winds and was feverish until he could get away. + +As before, he rode out from the Phoenix Hotel, and at ten o'clock in +the morning he turned into Fairfield. It was a still, bright Christmas +morning, crisp and cool, and the air like wine. The house stood bravely +in the sunlight, but the branches above it were bare and no softening +leafage hid the marks of time; it looked old and sad and deserted +to-day, and its master gazed at it with a pang in his heart. It was his, +and he could not save it. He turned away and walked slowly to the +garden, and stood a moment as he had stood last May, with his hand on +the stone gateway. It was very silent and lonely here, in the hush of +winter; nothing stirred; even the shadows of the interlaced branches +above lay almost motionless across the walks. + +Something moved to his left, down the pathway--he turned to look. Had +his heart stopped, that he felt this strange, cold feeling in his +breast? Were his eyes--could he be seeing? Was this insanity? Fifty feet +down the path, half in the weaving shadows, half in clear sunlight, +stood the little boy of his life-long vision, in the dress with the +black velvet squares, his little uncle, dead forty years ago. As he +gazed, his breath stopping, the child smiled and held up to him, as of +old, a key on a scarlet string, and turned and flitted as if a flower +had taken wing, away between the box hedges. Philip, his feet moving as +if without his will, followed him. Again the baby face turned its +smiling dark eyes toward him, and Philip knew that the child was calling +him, though there was no sound; and again without volition of his own +his feet took him where it led. He felt his breath coming difficultly, +and suddenly a gasp shook him--there was no footprint on the unfrozen +earth where the vision had passed. Yet there before him, moving through +the deep sunlit silence of the garden, was the familiar, sturdy little +form in its old-world dress. Philip's eyes were open; he was awake, +walking; he saw it. Across the neglected tangle it glided, and into the +trim order of Shelby's rose garden; in the opening between the box walls +it wheeled again, and the sun shone clear on the bronze hair and fresh +face, and the scarlet string flashed and the key glinted at the end of +it. Philip's fascinated eyes saw all of that. Then the apparition +slipped into the shadow of the beech trees and Philip quickened his step +breathlessly, for it seemed that life and death hung on the sight. In +and out through the trees it moved; once more the face turned toward +him; he caught the quick brightness of a smile. The little chap had +disappeared behind the broad tree-trunk, and Philip, catching his +breath, hurried to see him appear again. He was gone. The little spirit +that had strayed from over the border of a world--who can say how far, +how near?--unafraid in this earth-corner once its home, had slipped away +into eternity through the white gate of ghosts and dreams. + +Philip's heart was pumping painfully as he came, dazed and staring, to +the place where the apparition had vanished. It was a giant beech tree, +all of two hundred and fifty years old, and around its base ran a broken +wooden bench, where pretty girls of Fairfield had listened to their +sweethearts, where children destined to be generals and judges had +played with their black mammies, where gray-haired judges and generals +had come back to think over the fights that were fought out. There were +letters carved into the strong bark, the branches swung down +whisperingly, the green tent of the forest seemed filled with the memory +of those who had camped there and gone on. Philip's feet stumbled over +the roots as he circled the veteran; he peered this way and that, but +the woodland was hushed and empty; the birds whistled above, the grasses +rustled below, unconscious, casual, as if they knew nothing of a +child-soul that had wandered back on Christmas day with a Christmas +message, perhaps, of good-will to its own. + +As he stood on the farther side of the tree where the little ghost had +faded from him, at his feet lay, open and conspicuous, a fresh, deep +hole. He looked down absent-mindedly. Some animal--a dog, a rabbit--had +scratched far into the earth. A bar of sunlight struck a golden arm +through the branches above, and as he gazed at the upturned, brown dirt +the rays that were its fingers reached into the hollow and touched a +square corner, a rusty edge of tin. In a second the young fellow was +down on his knees digging as if for his life, and in less than five +minutes he had loosened the earth which had guarded it so many years, +and staggering with it to his feet had lifted to the bench a heavy tin +box. In its lock was the key, and dangling from it a long bit of +no-colored silk, that yet, as he untwisted it, showed a scarlet thread +in the crease. He opened the box with the little key; it turned +scrapingly, and the ribbon crumbled in his fingers, its long duty done. +Then, as he tilted the heavy weight, the double eagles, packed closely, +slipped against each other with a soft clink of sliding metal. The young +man stared at the mass of gold pieces as if he could not trust his +eyesight; he half thought even then that he dreamed it. With a quick +memory of the mortgage he began to count. It was all there--ten thousand +dollars in gold! He lifted his head and gazed at the quiet woodland, the +open shadow-work of the bare branches, the fields beyond lying in the +calm sunlit rest of a Southern winter. Then he put his hand deep into +the gold pieces, and drew a long breath. It was impossible to believe, +but it was true. The lost treasure was found. It meant to him Shelby +and home; as he realized what it meant his heart felt as if it would +break with the joy of it. He would give her this for his Christmas gift, +this legacy of his people and hers, and then he would give her himself. +It was all easy now--life seemed not to hold a difficulty. And the two +would keep tenderly, always, the thought of a child who had loved his +home and his people and who had tried so hard, so long, to bring them +together. He knew the dream-child would not visit him again--the little +ghost was laid that had followed him all his life. From over the border +whence it had come with so many loving efforts it would never come +again. Slowly, with the heavy weight in his arms, he walked back to the +garden sleeping in the sunshine, and the box hedges met him with a wave +of fragrance, the sweetness of a century ago; and as he passed through +their shining door, looking beyond, he saw Shelby. The girl's figure +stood by the stone column of the garden entrance, the light shone on her +bare head, and she had stopped, surprised, as she saw him. Philip's pace +quickened with his heart-throb as he looked at her and thought of the +little ghostly hands that had brought theirs together; and as he looked +the smile that meant his welcome and his happiness broke over her face, +and with the sound of her voice all the shades of this world and the +next dissolved in light. + +"'Christmas gif',' Marse Philip!" called Shelby. + + + + +THE WIFE OF THE GOVERNOR + + +The Governor sat at the head of the big black-oak table in his big +stately library. The large lamps on either end of the table stood in old +cloisonne vases of dull rich reds and bronzes, and their shades were of +thick yellow silk. The light they cast on the six anxious faces grouped +about them was like the light in Rembrandt's picture of The Clinic. + +It was a very important meeting indeed. A city official, who had for +months been rather too playfully skating on the thin ice of bare respect +for the law, had just now, in the opinion of many, broken through. He +had followed a general order of the Governor's by a special order of his +own, contradicting the first in words not at all, but in spirit from +beginning to end. And the Governor wished to make an example of +him--now, instantly, so promptly and so thoroughly that those who ran +might read, in large type, that the attempt was not a success. He was +young for a Governor--thirty-six years old--and it may be that care for +the dignity of his office was not his only feeling on the subject. + +"I won't be badgered, you know," he said to the senior Senator of the +State. "If the man wishes to see what I do when I'm ugly, I propose to +show him. Show me reason, if you can, why this chap shouldn't be +indicted." + +To which they answered various things; for while they sympathized, and +agreed in the main, yet several were for temporizing, and most of them +for going a bit slowly. But the Governor was impetuous and indignant. +And here the case stood when there came a knock at the library door. + +The Governor looked up in surprise, for it was against all orders that +he should be disturbed at a meeting. But he spoke a "Come in," and +Jackson, the stately colored butler, appeared, looking distressed and +alarmed. + +"Oh, Lord! Gov'ner, suh!" was all he got out for a moment, fear at his +own rashness seizing him in its grip at the sight of the six +distinguished faces turned toward him. + +"Jackson! What do you want?" asked the Governor, not so very gently. + +Jackson advanced, with conspicuous lack of his usual style and +sang-froid, a tray in his hand, and a quite second-class-looking +envelope upon it. "Beg pardon, suh. Shouldn't 'a' interrupted, Gov'nor; +please scuse me, suh; but they boys was so pussistent, and it comed fum +the deepo, and I was mos' feared the railways was done gone on a strike, +and I thought maybe you'd oughter know, suh--Gov'ner." + +And in the meantime, while the scared Jackson rambled on thus in an +undertone, the Governor had the cheap, bluish-white envelope in his +hand, and with a muttered "Excuse me" to his guests, had cut it across +and was reading, with a face of astonishment, the paper that was +enclosed. He crumpled it in his hand and threw it on the table. + +"Absurd!" he said, half aloud; and then, "No answer, Jackson," and the +man retired. + +"Now, then, gentlemen, as we were saying before this interruption"--and +in clear, eager sentences he returned to the charge. But a change had +come over him. The Attorney-General, elucidating a point of importance, +caught his chief's eye wandering, and followed it, surprised, to that +ball of paper on the table. The Secretary of State could not understand +why the Governor agreed in so half-hearted a way when he urged with +eloquence the victim's speedy sacrifice. Finally, the august master of +the house growing more and more distrait, he suddenly rose, and picking +up the crumpled paper-- + +"Gentlemen, will you have the goodness to excuse me for five minutes?" +he said. "It is most annoying, but I cannot give my mind to business +until I attend to the matter on which Jackson interrupted us. I beg a +thousand pardons--I shall only keep you a moment." + +The dignitaries left cooling their heels looked at each other blankly, +but the Lieutenant-Governor smiled cheerfully. + +"One of the reasons he is Governor at thirty-six is that he always does +attend to the matters that interrupt him." + +Meanwhile the Governor, rushing out with his usual impulsive energy, had +sent two or three servants flying over the house. "Where's Mrs. Mooney? +Send Mrs. Mooney to me here instantly--and be quick;" and he waited, +impatient, although it was for only three minutes, in a little room +across the hall, where appeared to him in that time a square-shaped, +gray-haired woman with a fresh face and blue eyes full of intelligence +and kindliness. + +"Mary, look here;" and the big Governor put his hand on the stout little +woman's arm and drew her to the light. Mary and his Excellency were +friends of very old standing indeed, their intimacy having begun +thirty-five years before, when the future great man was a rampant baby, +and Mary his nurse and his adorer, which last she was still. "I want to +read you this, and then I want you to telephone to Bristol at once." He +smoothed out the wrinkled single sheet of paper. + +"My dear Governor Rudd," he read,--"My friends the McNaughtons of +Bristol are friends of yours too, I think, and that is my reason for +troubling you with this note. I am on my way to visit them now, and +expected to take the train for Bristol at twenty minutes after eight +to-night, but when I reached here at eight o'clock I found the +time-table had been changed, and the train had gone out twenty minutes +before. And there is no other till to-morrow. I don't know what to do or +where to go, and you are the only person in the city whose name I know. +Would it trouble you to advise me where to go for the night--what hotel, +if it is right for me to go to a hotel? With regret that I should have +to ask this of you when you must be busy with great affairs all the +time, I am, + + "Very sincerely, + "LINDSAY LEE." + +Mary listened, attentive but dazed, and was about to burst out at once +with voluble exclamations and questions when the Governor stopped her. + +"Now, Mary, don't do a lot of talking. Just listen to me. I thought at +first this note was from a man, because it is signed by a man's name. +But it looks and sounds like a woman, and I think it should be attended +to. I want you to telephone to Mr. George McNaughton, at Bristol, and +ask if Mr. or Miss Lindsay Lee is a friend of theirs, and say that, if +so, he--or she--is all right, and is spending the night here. Then, in +that case, send Harper to the station with the brougham, and say that I +beg to have the honor of looking after Mrs. McNaughton's friend for the +night. And you'll see that whoever it is is made very comfortable." + +"Indeed I will, the poor young thing," said Mary, jumping at a +picturesque view of the case. "But, Mr. Jack, do you want me to +telephone to Mr. McNaughton's and ask if a friend of theirs--" + +The Governor cut her short. "Exactly. You know just what I said, Mary +Mooney; you only want to talk it over. I'm much too busy. Tell Jackson +not to come to the library again unless the State freezes over. +Good-night.--I don't think the McNaughtons can complain that I haven't +done their friend brown," said the Governor to himself as he went back +across the hall. + + * * * * * + +Down at the station, beneath the spirited illumination of one whistling +gas-jet, the station-master and Lindsay Lee waited wearily for an answer +from the Governor. It was long in coming, for the station-master's boys, +the Messrs. O'Milligan, seizing the occasion for foreign travel offered +by a sight of the Executive grounds, had made a detour by the Executive +stables, and held deep converse with the grooms. Just as the thought of +duty undone began to prick the leathery conscience of the older one, the +order came for Harper and the brougham. Half an hour later, at the +station, Harper drew up with a sonorous clatter of hoofs. The +station-master hurried forward to interview the coachman. In a moment he +turned with a beaming face. + +"It's good news for ye, miss. The Governor's sent his own kerridge for +ye, then. Blessed Mary, but it's him that's condescendin'. Get right +in, miss." + +Such a sudden safe harbor seemed almost too good to be true. Lindsay was +nearly asleep as the rubber-tired wheels rolled softly along through the +city. The carriage turned at length from the lights and swung up a long +avenue between trees, and then stopped. The door flew open, and Lindsay +looked up steps and into a wide, lighted doorway, where stood a stout +woman, who hastened to seize her bag and umbrella and take voluble +possession of her. The sleepy, dazed girl was vaguely conscious of large +halls and a wide stair and a kind voice by her side that flowed ever on +in a gentle river of words. Then she found herself in a big, pleasant +bed-room, and beyond was the open door of a tiled bath-room. + +"Oh--oh!" she said, and dropped down sideways on the whiteness of the +brass bed, and put her arms around the pillow and her head, hat and all, +on it. + +"Poor child!" said pink-checked, motherly Mrs. Mooney. "You're more than +tired, that I can see without trying, and no wonder, too! I shan't say +another word to you, but just leave you to get to bed and to sleep, and +I'm sure it's the best medicine ever made, is a good comfortable bed and +a night's rest. So I shan't stop to speak another word. But is there +anything at all you'd like, Miss Lee? And there, now, what am I thinking +about? I haven't asked if you wouldn't have a bit of supper! I'll bring +it up myself--just a bit of cold bird and a glass of wine? It will do +you good. But it will," as Lindsay shook her head, smiling. "There's +nothing so bad as going to sleep on an empty stomach when you're tired." + +"But I had dinner on the train, and I'm not hungry; sure enough, I'm +not; thank you a thousand times." + +Mrs. Mooney reluctantly took two steps toward the door, the room shaking +under her soft-footed, heavy tread. + +"You're sure you wouldn't like--" She stopped, embarrassed, and the blue +eyes shone like kindly sapphires above the always-blushing cheeks. "I'm +mortified to ask you for fear you'd laugh at me, but you seem like such +a child, and--would you let me bring you--just a slice of bread and +butter with some brown sugar on it?" + +Lindsay had a gracious way of knowing when people really wished to do +something for her. She flapped her hands, like the child she looked. +"Oh, how did you think of it? I used to have that for a treat at home. +Yes, I'd _love_ it!" And Mrs. Mooney beamed. + +"There! I thought you would! You see, Miss Lee, that's what I used +sometimes to give my boy--that's the Governor--when he was little and +got hungry at bedtime." + +Lindsay, left alone, took off her hat, and with a pull and screw at her +necktie and collar-button, dropped into a chair that seemed to hold its +fat arms up for her. She smiled sleepily and comfortably. "I'm having a +right good time," she said to herself, "but it's funny. I feel as if I +lived here, and I love that old housekeeper-nurse of the Governor's. I +wonder what the Governor is like? I wonder--" And at this point she +became aware, with only slight surprise, of a little boy with a crown +on his head who offered her a slice of bread and butter and sugar a yard +square, and told her he had kept it for her twenty-five years. She was +about to reason with him that it could not possibly be good to eat in +that case, when something jarred the brain that was slipping so easily +down into oblivion, and as her eyes opened again she saw Mrs. Mooney's +solid shape bending over the tub in the bath-room, and a noise of +running water sounded pleasant and refreshing. + +"Oh, did I go to sleep?" she asked, sitting up straight and blinking +wide-open eyes. + +"There! I knew it would wake you, and I couldn't a-bear to do it, my +dear, but it would never do for you to sleep like that in your clothes, +and I drew your bath warm, thinking it would rest you better, but I can +just change it hot or cold as it suits you. And here's the little lunch +for you, and I feel as if it was my own little boy I was taking care of +again; the year he was ten it was he ate so much at night. I saw him +just now, and he's that tired from his meeting--it's a shame how hard he +has to work for this State, time and time again. He said 'Good-night, +Mary,' he said, just the way he did years ago--such a little gentleman +he always was. The dearest and the handsomest thing he was; they used to +call him 'the young prince,' he was that handsome and full of spirit. He +told me to say he hoped for the pleasure of seeing Miss Lee at breakfast +to-morrow at nine; but if you should be tired, Miss Lee, or prefer your +breakfast up here, which you can have it just as well as not, you know. +And here I'm talking you to death again, and you ought to stop me, for +when I begin about the Governor I never know when to stop myself. Just +put up your foot, please, and I'll take your shoes off," And while she +unlaced Lindsay's small boots with capable fingers she apologized +profusely for talking--talking as much again. + +"There's nothing to excuse. It's mighty interesting to hear about him," +said Lindsay. "I shall enjoy meeting him that much more. Is there a +picture of him anywhere around?" looking about the room. + +That was a lucky stroke. Mary Mooney parted the black ribbon that was +tied beneath her neat white collar and turned her face up, all pleased +smiles, to the girl, who leaned down to examine an ivory miniature set +as a brooch. It was a sunny-faced little boy, with thick straight golden +hair and fearless brown eyes--a sweet childish face very easy to admire, +and Lindsay admired it enough to satisfy even Mrs. Mooney. + +"I had it for a Christmas gift the year he was nine," she said. Mary's +calendar ran from The Year of the Governor, 1. "He had whooping-cough +just after that, and was ill seven weeks. Dear me, what teeny little +feet you have!" as she put on them the dressing-slippers from the bag, +and struggled up to her own, heavily but cheerfully. + +Lindsay looked at her thoughtfully. "You haven't mentioned the +Governor's wife," she said. "Isn't she at home?" and she leaned over to +pull up the furry heel of the little slipper. So that she missed seeing +Mary Mooney's face. Expression chased expression over that smiling +landscape--astonishment, perplexity, anxiety, the gleam of a new-born +idea, hesitation, and at last a glow of unselfish kindliness which often +before had transfigured it. + +"No, Miss Lee," said Mary. "She's away from home just now." And then, +unblushingly, "But she's a lovely lady, and she'll be very disappointed +not to see you." + +Almost the next thing Lindsay knew she was watching dreamily spots of +sunlight that danced on a pale pink wall. Then a bird began to sing at +the edge of the window; there was a delicate rustle of skirts, and she +turned her head and saw a maid--not Mary Mooney this time--moving softly +about, opening part way the outside shutters, drawing lip the shades a +bit, letting the light and shadow from tossing trees outside and the air +and the morning in with gentle slowness. She dressed with deliberation, +and, lo! it was a quarter after nine o'clock. + +So that the Governor waited for his breakfast. For ten minutes, while +the paper lasted, waiting was unimportant; and then, being impatient by +nature, and not used to it, he suddenly was cross. + +"Confound the girl!" soliloquized the Governor. "I'll have her indicted +too! First she breaks up a meeting, then she gets the horses out at all +hours, and now, to cap it, she makes me wait for breakfast. Why should I +wait for my breakfast? Why the devil can't she--Now, Mary, what is it? I +warn you I'm cross, and I shan't listen well till I've had breakfast. +I'm waiting for that young lady you're coddling. Where's that young +lady? Why doesn't she--What?" + +For the flood-gates were open, and the soft verbal oceans of Mary were +upon him. He listened two minutes, mute with astonishment, and then he +rose up in his wrath and was verbal also. + +"What! You told her I was _married_? What the dev--And you're +actually asking _me_ to tell her so _too_? Mary, are you insane? +Embarrassed? What if she is embarrassed? And what do I care if--What? +Sweet and pretty? Mary, don't be an idiot. Am I to improvise a wife, in +my own house, because a stray girl may object to visiting a bachelor? +Not if I know it. Not much." The Governor bristled with indignation. +"Confound the girl, I'll--" At this point Mary, though portly, vanished +like a vision of the night, and there stood in the doorway a smiling +embodiment of the morning, crisp in a clean shirt-waist, and free from +consciousness of crime. + +"Is it Governor Rudd?" asked Lindsay; and the Governor was, somehow, +shaking hands like a kind and cordial host, and the bitterness was gone +from his soul. "I certainly don't know how to thank you," she said. +"You-all have been very good to me, and I've been awfully comfortable. I +was so lost and unhappy last night; I felt like a wandering Jewess. I +hope I haven't kept you waiting for breakfast?" + +"Not a moment," said the Governor, heartily, placing her chair, and it +was five minutes before he suddenly remembered that he was cross. Then +he made an effort to live up to his convictions. "This is a mistake," he +said to himself. "I had no intention of being particularly friendly with +this young person. Rudd, I can't allow you to be impulsive in this way. +You're irritated by the delay and by last night: you're bored to be +obliged to entertain a girl when you wish to read the paper; you're +anxious to get down to the Capitol to see those men; all you feel is a +perfunctory politeness for the McNaughtons' friend. Kindly remember +these facts, Rudd, and don't make a fool of yourself gambolling on the +green, instead of sustaining the high dignity of your office." So +reasoned the Governor secretly, and made futile attempts at high +dignity, while his heart became as wax, and he questioned of his soul at +intervals to see if it knew what was going on. + +So the Governor sat before Lindsay Lee at his own table, momentarily +more surprised and helpless. And Lindsay, eating her grape-fruit with +satisfaction, thought him delightful, and wondered what his wife was +like, and how many children he had, and where they all were. It was at +least safe to speak of the wife, for the old house-keeper-nurse had +given her an unqualified recommendation. So she spoke. + +"I'm sorry to hear that Mrs. Rudd is not at home," she began. "It must +be rather lonely in this big house without her." + +The Governor looked at her and laughed. "Not that I've noticed," he +said, and was suddenly seized with a sickness of pity that was the +inevitable effect of Lindsay Lee. She needed no pity, being healthy, +happy, and well-to-do, but she had, for the punishment of men's sins, +sad gray eyes and a mouth whose full lips curved sorrowfully down. Her +complexion was the colorless, magnolia-leaf sort that is typically +Southern; her dark hair lay in thick locks on her forehead as if always +damp with emotion; her swaying, slender figure seemed to appeal to +masculine strength; and the voice that drawled a syllable to twice its +length here, to slide over mouthfuls of words there, had an upward +inflection at the end of sentences that brought tears to one's eyes. +There was no pose about her, but the whole effect of her was +pathetic--illogically, for she caught the glint of humor from every side +light of life, which means pleasure that other people miss. The old +warning against vice says that we "first endure, then pity, then +embrace"; but Lindsay differed from vice so far that people never had to +endure her, but began with pity, finding it often a very short step to +the wish, at least, to embrace her. The Governor after fifteen minutes' +acquaintance had arrived at pitying her, intensely and with his whole +soul, as he did most things. He held another interview with himself. +"Lord! what an innocent face it is!" he said. "Mary said she would be +embarrassed--the brute that would embarrass her! Hanged if I'll do it! +If she would rather have me married, married I'll be." He raised candid +eyes to Lindsay's face. + +"I'm afraid I've shocked you. You mustn't think I shall not be glad +when--Mrs. Rudd--is here. But, you see, I've been very busy lately. I've +hardly had time to breathe--haven't had time to miss--her--at all, +really. All the same--" Now what was the queer feeling in his throat and +lungs--yes, it must be the lungs--as the Governor framed this sentence? +He went on: "All the same, I shall be a happy man when--my wife--comes +home." + +Lindsay's face cleared. This was satisfactory and proper; there was no +more to be said about it. She looked up with a smile to where the old +butler beamed upon her for her youth and beauty and her accent and her +name. + +A handful of busy men left the Capitol in some annoyance that morning +because the Governor had telephoned that he could not be there before +half past eleven. They would have been more annoyed, perhaps, if they +had seen him dashing about the station light-heartedly just before the +eleven-o'clock train for Bristol left. They said to each other: "It must +be a matter of importance that keeps him. Governor Rudd almost never +throws over an appointment. He has been working like the devil over that +street-railway franchise case; probably it's that." + +And the Governor stood by a chair in a parlor-car, his world cleared of +street railways and indictments and their class as if they had never +been, and in his hand was a small white oblong box tied with a tinsel +cord. + +"Good-by," he said, "but remember I'm to be asked down for the garden +party next week, and I'm coming." + +"I certainly won't forget. And I reckon I'd better not try to thank you +for--Oh, thank you! I thought that looked like candy. And bring Mrs. +Rudd with you next week. I want to see her. And--Oh, get off, please; +it's moving. Good-by, good-by." + +And to the mighty music of a slow-clanging bell and the treble of +escaping steam and the deep-rolling accompaniment of powerful wheels the +Governor escaped to the platform, and the capital city of that sovereign +State was empty--practically empty. He noticed it the moment he turned +his eyes from the disappearing train and moved toward Harper and the +brougham. He also noticed that he had never noticed it before. + +A solid citizen, catching a glimpse of the well-known, thoughtful face +through the window of the Executive carriage as it bowled across toward +the Capitol, shook his head. "He works too hard," he said to himself. "A +fine fellow, and young and strong, but the pace is telling. He looks +anxious to-day. I wonder what scheme is revolving in his brain at this +moment." + +And at that moment the Governor growled softly to himself. "I've +overdone it," he said. "She's sure to be offended. No one likes to be +taken in. I ought not to have showed her Mrs. Rudd's conservatory; that +was a mistake. She won't let them ask me down; I shan't see her. Hanged +if I won't telephone Mrs. McNaughton to keep the secret till I've been +down." And he did, before Lindsay could get there, amid much laughter at +both ends of the wire, and no small embarrassment at his own. + +And he was asked down, and having enjoyed himself, was asked again. And +again. So that during the three weeks of Lindsay's visit Bristol saw +more of the Chief Executive officer of the State than Bristol had seen +before, and everybody but Lindsay had an inkling of the reason. But the +time never came to tell her of the shadowy personality of Mrs. Rudd, and +between the McNaughton girls and the Governor, whom they forced into +unexpected statements, to their great though secret glee, Lindsay was +informed of many details in regard to the missing first lady of the +commonwealth. Such a dialogue as the following would occur at the lunch +table: + +_Alice McNaughton_ (speaking with ceremonious politeness from one end of +the table to the Governor at the other end). "When is Mrs. Rudd coming, +Governor?" + +_The Governor_ (with a certain restraint). "Before very long, I hope, +Miss Alice. Mrs. McNaughton, may I have more lobster? I've never in my +life had as much lobster as I wanted." + +_Alice_ (refusing to be side-tracked). "And when did you last hear from +her, Governor?" + +_Chuck McNaughton_ (ornament of the Sophomore class at Harvard. In love +with Lindsay, but more so with the joke. Gifted with a sledgehammer +style of wit). "I've been hoping for a letter from her myself, Governor, +but it doesn't come." + +_The Governor_ (with slight hauteur). "Ah, indeed!" + +_Lindsay_ (at whose first small peep the Governor's eyes turn to hers +and rest there shamelessly). "Why haven't you any pictures of Mrs. Rudd +in the house, Mrs. McNaughton? The Governor's is everywhere and you all +tell me how fascinating she is, and yet don't have her about. It looks +like you don't love her as much as the Governor." (At the mention of +being loved, in that voice, cold shivers seize the Executive nerves.) + +_Mrs. McNaughton_ (entranced with the airy persiflage, but knowing her +own to be no light hand at repartee). "Ask the others, my dear." + +_Alice_ (jumping at the chance). "Oh, the reason of that is very +interesting! Mrs. Rudd has never given even the Governor her picture. +She--she has principles against it. She belongs, you see, to an ancient +Hebrew family--in fact, she is a Jewess" ("A wandering Jewess," the +Governor interjected, _sotto voce_, his glance veering again to +Lindsay's face), "and you know that Jewish families have religious +scruples about portraits of any sort" (pauses, exhausted). + +_Chuck_ (with heavy artillery). "Alice, _taisez-vous_. You're doing +poorly. You can't converse. Your best parlor trick is your red hair. +Miss Lee, I'll show you a picture of Mrs. Rudd some day, and I'll tell +you now what she looks like. She has exquisite melancholy gray eyes, a +mouth like a ripe tomato" (shouts from the table _en masse_, but Chuck +ploughs along cheerily), "hair like the braided midnight" (cries of +"What's that?" and "Hear! Hear!"), "a figure slim and willowy as a +vaulting-pole" (a protest of "No track athletics at meals; that's +forbidden!"), "and a voice--well, if you ever tasted New Orleans +molasses on maple sugar, with 'that tired feeling' thrown in, perhaps +you'll have a glimpse, a mile off, of what that voice is like." (Eager +exclamations of "That's near enough," "Don't do it any more, Chuck," and +"For Heaven's sake, Charlie, stop." Lindsay looks hard with the gray +eyes at the Governor.) + +_Lindsay_, "Why don't you pull your bowie-knife out of your boot, +Governor? It looks like he's making fun of your wife, to me. Isn't +anybody going to fight anybody?" + +And then Mr. McNaughton would reprove her as a bloodthirsty Kentuckian, +and the whole laughing tableful would empty out on the broad porch. At +such a time the Governor, laughing too, amused, yet uncomfortable, and +feeling himself in a false and undignified position, would vow solemnly +that a stop must be put to all this. It would get about, into the papers +even, by horrid possibility; even now a few intimates of the McNaughton +family had been warned "not to kill the Governor's wife." He would +surely tell the girl the next time he could find her alone, and then the +absurdity would collapse. But the words would not come, or if he +carefully framed them beforehand, this bold, aggressive leader of men, +whose nickname was "Jack the Giant-killer," made a giant of Lindsay's +displeasure, and was afraid of it. He had never been afraid of anything +before. He would screw his courage up to the notch, and then, one look +at the childlike face, and down it would go, and he would ask her to go +rowing with him. They were such good friends; it was so dangerous to +change at a blow existing relations, to tell her that he had been +deceiving her all these weeks. These exquisite June weeks that had flown +past to music such us no June had made before; days snowed under with +roses, nights that seemed, as he remembered them, moonlit for a solid +month. The Governor sighed a lingering sigh, and quoted, + + "Oh what a tangled web we weave + When first we practise to deceive!" + +Yes, he must really wait--say two days longer. Then he might be sure +enough of her--regard--to tell her the truth. And then, a little later, +if he could control himself so long, another truth. Beyond that he did +not allow himself to think. + +"Governor Rudd," asked Lindsay suddenly as they walked their horses the +last mile home from a ride on which they had gotten separated--the +Governor knew how--from the rest of the party, "why do they bother you +so about your wife, and why do you let them?" + +"Can't help it, Miss Lindsay. They have no respect for me. I'm that sort +of man. Hard luck, isn't it?" + +Lindsay turned her sad, infantile gray eyes on him searchingly. "I +reckon you're not," she said. "I reckon you're the sort of man people +don't say things to unless they're right sure you will stand it. They +don't trifle with you." She nodded her head with conviction. "Oh, I've +heard them talk about you! I like that; that's like our men down South. +You're right Southern, anyhow, in some ways. You see, I can pay you +compliments because you're a safe old married man," and her eyes smiled +up at him: she rarely laughed or smiled except with those lovely eyes. +"There's some joke about your wife," she went on, "that you-all won't +tell me. There certainly is. I _know_ it, sure enough I do, Governor +Rudd." + +There is a common belief that the Southern accent can be faithfully +rendered in writing if only one spells badly enough. No amount of bad +spelling could tell how softly Lindsay Lee said those last two words. + +"I love to hear you say that--'Guv'na Rudd.' I do, 'sho 'nuff,'" mused +the Governor out loud and irrelevantly. "Would you say it again?" + +"I wouldn't," said Lindsay, with asperity. "Ridiculous! If you are a +Governor! But I was talking about your wife. Isn't she coming home +before I go? Sometimes I don't believe you have a wife." + +That was his chance, and he saw it. He must tell her now or never, and +he drew a long breath. "Suppose I told you that I had not," he said, +"that she was a myth, what would you say?" + +"Oh, I'd just never speak to you again," said Lindsay, carelessly. "I +wouldn't like to be fooled like that. Look, there are the others!" and +off she flew at a canter. + +It is easy to see that the Governor was not hurried headlong into +confession by that speech. But the crash came. It was the night before +Lindsay was to go back home to far-off Kentucky, and with infinite +expenditure of highly trained intellect, for which the State was paying +a generous salary, the Governor had managed to find himself floating on +a moonlit flood through the Forest of Arden with the Blessed Damozel. +That, at least, is the rendering of a walk in the McNaughtons' wood with +Lindsay Lee as it appeared that night to the intellect mentioned. But +the language of such thoughts is idiomatic and incapable of exact +translation. A flame of eagerness to speak, quenched every moment by a +shower-bath of fear, burned in his soul, when suddenly Lindsay tripped +on a root and fell, with an exclamation. Then fear dried beneath the +flames. It is unnecessary to tell what the Governor did, or what he +said. The language, as language, was unoriginal and of striking +monotony, and as to what happened, most people have had experience which +will obviate the necessity of going into brutal facts. But when, +trembling and shaken, he realized a material world again, Lindsay was +fighting him, pushing him away, her eyes blazing fiercely. + +"What do you mean? What _do_ you mean?" she was saying. + +"Mean--mean? That I love you--that I want you to love me, to be my +wife!" She stood up like a white ghost in the silver light and shadow of +the wood. + +"Governor Rudd, are you crazy?" she cried. "You have a wife already." + +The tall Governor threw back his head and laughed a laugh like a child. +The people away off on the porch heard him and smiled. "They are having +a good time, those two," Mrs. McNaughton said. + +"Lindsay--Lindsay," and he bent over and caught her hands and kissed +them. "There isn't any wife--there never will be any but you. It was all +a joke. It happened because--Oh, never mind! I can't tell you now; it's +a long story. But you must forgive that; that's all in the past now. The +question is, will you love me--will you love me, Lindsay? Tell me, +Lindsay!" He could not say her name often enough. But there came no +answering light in Lindsay's face. She looked at him as if he were a +striped convict. + +"I'll never forgive you," she said, slowly. "You've treated me like a +child; you've made a fool of me, all of you. It was insulting. All a +joke, you call it? And I was the joke; you've been laughing at me all +these weeks. Why was it funny, I'd like to know?" + +"Great heavens, Lindsay--you're not going to take it that way? I insult +you--laugh at you! I'd give my life; I'd shoot down any one--Lindsay!" +he broke out appealingly, and made a step toward her. + +"Don't touch me!" she cried. "Don't touch me! I hate you!" And as he +still came closer she turned and ran up the path, into the moonlight of +the driveway, and so, a dim white blotch on the fragrant night, +disappeared. + +When the Governor, walking with dignity, came up the steps of the porch, +three minutes later, he was greeted with questions. + +"What have you done to Lindsay Lee, I'd like to know?" asked Alice +McNaughton. "She said she had fallen and hurt her foot, but she wouldn't +let me go up with her, and she was dignified, which is awfully trying. +Why did you quarrel with her, this last night?" + +"Governor," said Chuck, with more discernment than delicacy, "if you +will accept the sympathies of one not unacquainted with grief--" But at +this point his voice faded away as he looked at the Governor. + +The Governor never remembered just how he got away from the friendly +hatefulness of that porchful. An early train the next morning was +inevitable, for there was a meeting of real importance this time, and at +all events everything looked about the same shade of gray to him; it +mattered very little what he did. Only he must be doing something every +moment. He devoured work as if it were bread and meat and he were +famished. People said all that autumn and winter that anything like the +Governor's energy had never been seen. He evidently wanted a second +term, and really he ought to have it. He was working hard enough to get +it. About New-Year's he went down to Bristol for the first time since +June, for a dinner at the McNaughtons'. Alice McNaughton's friendly +face, under its red-gold hair, beamed at him from far away down the +table, but after dinner, when the men came in from the dining-room, she +took possession of him boldly. + +"Governor, I want to tell you about Lindsay Lee. I know you'll be +interested, though you did have some mysterious fight before she left. +She's been awfully ill with pleurisy, a painful attack, and she's +getting well very slowly. They have just taken her to Paul Smith's. I'm +writing her to-morrow, and I want you to send a good message; it would +please her." + +It was hard to stand with eighteen people grouped about him, all more or +less with an eye on his motions, and be the Governor, calm and +dignified, while hot irons were being applied to his heart by this +smiling girl. + +"But, Miss Alice," he said, slowly, "I'm afraid you are wrong. I was +unfortunate enough to make Miss Lee very angry. I am afraid she would +think a message from me only an impertinence." + +"Sir," said Alice, with decision, "I'm right sometimes, if I'm not +Governor; and it's better to be right than to be Governor, I've +heard--or something. You trust me. Just try the effect of a message, and +see if it isn't a success. What shall I say?" + +The Governor was impetuous, and in spite of all the work he had done so +fiercely, the longing the work had been meant to quiet surged up as +strong as ever. "Miss Alice," he said, eagerly, "if you are right, +would it do--do you think I might deliver the message myself?" + +"Do I think? Well, if _I_ were a man! Faint heart, you know!" + +And the Governor, at that choppy eloquence, openly seized the friendly +young hand and wrung it till Alice begged, laughing but bruised, for +mercy. When he came up, later, to bid her good-night, his face was +bright, and, + +"Good-night, Angel of Peace," he said. + + * * * * * + +Mary Mooney, who through the dark days had watched with anxious though +uncomprehending eyes her boy's dejection and hard effort to live it +down, and had applied partridges and sweetbreads and other forms of +devotion steadily but unsuccessfully, saw at once and with, rapture the +change when the Governor greeted her the next morning. Light-heartedly +she packed his traps two days later--she had done it jealously for +thirty-five years, though almost over the dead body of the Governor's +man sometimes in these later days. And when he told her good-by she had +her reward. The man's boyish heart went out in a burst of gratitude to +the tireless love that had sought only his happiness all his life. He +put his arm around the stout little woman's neck. + +"Mary," he said, "I'm going to see Miss Lee." + +Mary's pink cheeks were scarlet as she patted with a work-worn palm the +strong hand on her shoulder. "Then I know what will happen," she said, +"and I'm glad. And if you don't bring her back with you, Mr. Jack, I +won't let you in." + +So the stately Governor went off like a schoolboy with his nurse's +blessing. And later like an arrow from a bow he swung around the corner +of the snowy piazza at Paul Smith's, where Mrs. Lee had told him he +would find her daughter. There was a bundle of fur in a big chair in the +sunlight, dark against the white hills beyond, with their black lines of +pine-trees. As the impetuous steps came nearer, it turned, and--the +Governor's methods were again such that words do them no justice. But +this time with happier result. Half an hour later, when some coherency +was established, he said: + +"You waited for me! You've been _waiting_ for me!" as if it were the +most astonishing fact in history. "And since when have you been waiting +for me, you--" + +Lindsay laughed, not only with her eyes, but with her soft voice. "Ever +since the morning after, your Excellency. Alice told me all about it +before I left, and made me see reason. And I--and I was right sorry I'd +been so cross. I thought you'd come some time--but you came right slow," +she said, and her eyes travelled over his face as if she were making +sure he was really there. + +"And I never dared to think you would see me!" he said. "But now!" + +And again there were circumstances that are best described by a hiatus. + +The day after, when Mary Mooney, discreetly letting her soul's idol get +into his library before greeting him, trotted into that stately chamber +with soft, heavy footsteps, she was met with a kiss and a bear's hug +that, as she told Mrs. Rudd later, "was like the year he was nine." + +"I didn't bring her, Mary," the Governor said, "but you'd better let me +stay, for she's coming." + + + + +THE LITTLE REVENGE + + +Suddenly a gust of fresh wind caught Sally's hat, and off it flew, a +wide-winged pink bird, over the old, old sea-wall of Clovelly, down +among the rocks of the rough beach, tumbling and jumping from one gray +stone to another, and getting so far away that, in the soft violet +twilight, it seemed as lost as any ship of the Spanish Armada wrecked +long ago on this wild Devonshire coast. + +"Oh!" cried Sally distractedly, and clapped her hands to her head with +the human instinct to shut the stable door after the horse is gone. +"Oh!" she cried again; "my pretty hat! And _oh_! it's in the water!" + +But suddenly, out of somewhere in the twilight, there was a man chasing +it. Sally leaned over the rugged, yellowish, grayish stone wall and +excitedly called to him. + +"Oh, thank you!" she cried, and "That's so good of you!" + +The hat had tacked and was sailing inshore now, one stiff pink taffeta +sail set to the breeze. And in a minute, with a reckless splash into the +dashing waves, the man had it, and an easy, athletic figure swung up the +causeway, holding it away from him, as if it might nip at him. He wore a +dark blue jersey, and loose, flapping trousers of a seaman. + +"He's only a sailor," Sally said under her breath; "I'd better tip him." +Her hand slipped into her pocket and I heard the click of her purse. + +He looked from one to the other of us in the dim light inquiringly, as +he came up, and then off went his cap, and his face broke into the +gentlest, most charming smile as he delivered the hat into Sally's +outstretched hands. + +"I'm afraid it's a bit damp," he said. + +All dark-eyed, stalwart young fellows are attractive to me for the sake +of one like that who died forty years ago, but this sailor had a charm +of manner that is a gift of the gods, let it fall to prince or peasant; +the pretty deference of his few words, and the quick, radiant smile, +were enough to win friendliness from me. More than that, something in +the set of his head, in the straight gaze of his eyes, held a likeness +that made my memory ache. I smiled back at him instantly. But Sally's +heart was on her hat; hats from good shops did not grow on trees for +Sally Meade. + +"I hope it isn't hurt," she said, anxiously, and shook it carefully, and +hardly glanced at the rescuer, who was watching with something that +looked like amusement in his face. Then her good manners came back. + +"Thank you a thousand times," she said, and turned to him brightly. "You +were so quick--but, oh! I'm afraid you're wet." She looked at him, and I +saw a little shock of surprise in her face. Beauty so striking will be +admired, even in a common sailor. + +"It's nothing," he said, looking down at his sopping, wide trousers; +"I'm used to it," and as Sally's hand went forward I caught the flash of +silver, and at the same moment another flash, from the man's eyes. + +It was enough to startle me for the fraction of a second, but, as I +looked again, his expression held only a serious respect, and I was sure +I had been mistaken. He took the money and touched his cap and said, +"Thank you, miss," with perfect dignity. Yet my imagination must have +been lively, for as he slipped it in his pocket, his look turned toward +me, and for another breath of time a gleam of mischief--certainly +mischief--flashed from his dark eyes to mine. + +Then Sally, quite unconscious of this, perhaps imaginary, by-play, had +an idea. "Are you a sailor?" she asked. + +The man looked at her. "Yes--miss," he answered, a little slowly. + +"We want to engage a boat and a man to take us out. Do you know of one? +Have you a boat?" + +The young fellow glanced down across the wall where a hull and mast +gleamed indistinctly through the falling night, swinging at the side of +the quay. "That's mine, yonder," he said, nodding toward it. And then, +with the graceful, engaging frankness that I already knew as his, "I +shall be very glad to take you out"--including us both in his glance. + +"Sally," I said, five minutes later, as we trudged up the one steep, +rocky street of Clovelly,--the picturesque old street that once led +English smugglers to their caves, and that is more of a staircase than a +street, with rows of stone steps across its narrow width--"Sally, you +are a very unexpected girl. You took my breath away, engaging that man +so suddenly to take us sailing to-morrow. How do you know he is +reliable? It would have been safer to try one of the men they +recommended from the Inn. And certainly it would have been more +dignified to let me make the arrangements. You seem to forget that I am +older than you." + +"You aren't," said Sully, giving a squeeze to my arm that she held in +the angle of hers, pushing me with her young strength up the hill. +"You're not as old, cousin Mary. I'm twenty-two, and you're only +eighteen, and I believe you will never be any older." + +I think perhaps I like flattery. I am a foolish old woman, and I have +noticed that it is not the young girls who treat me with great deference +and rise as soon as I come who seem to me the most charming, but the +ones who, with proper manners, of course, yet have a touch of +comradeship, as if they recognized in me something more than a fossil +exhibit. I like to have them go on talking about their beaux and their +work and play, and let me talk about it, too. Sally Meade makes me feel +always that there is in me an undying young girl who has outlived all of +my years and is her friend and equal. + +"I'm sorry if I was forward, cousin Mary, but the sailing is to be my +party, you know, and then I thought you liked him. He had a pretty +manner for a common sailor, didn't he? And his voice--these low-class +English people have wonderfully well-bred, soft voices. I suppose it's +particularly so here in the South. Cousin Mary, did you see the look he +gave you with those delicious dark eyes? It's always the way--gentleman +or hod-carrier--no one has a chance with men when you are about." + +It is pleasant to me, old woman as I am, to be told that people like +me--more pleasant, I think, every year. I never take it for truth, of +course, but I believe it means good feeling, and it makes an atmosphere +easy to breathe. I purred like a contented cat under Sally's talking, +yet, to save my dignity, kept up a protest. + +"Sally, my dear! Delicious dark eyes! I'm ashamed of you--a common +sailor!" + +"I didn't smile at him," said Sally, reflectively. + +So, struggling up the steep street of Clovelly, we went home to the "New +Inn," to cold broiled lobster, to strawberries and clotted Devonshire +cream, and dreamless sleep in the white beds of the quiet rooms whose +windows looked toward the woods and cliffs of Hobby Drive on one side, +and on the other toward the dark, sparkling jewel of the moon-lighted +ocean, and the shadowy line of Lundy Island far in the distance. + +That I, an inland woman, an old maid of sixty, should tell a story of +sailing and of love seems a little ridiculous. My nephews at college +beguile me to talk about boats, and then laugh to hear me, for I think +I get the names of things twisted. And as for what I know of the +other--the only love-making to which I ever listened was ended forty +years ago by one of the northern balls that fell in fiery rain on +Pickett's charge at Gettysburg. Yet, if I but tell the tale as it came +to me, others may feel as I did the thrill of the rushing of the keel +through dashing salt water, the swing of the great white sail above, the +flapping of the fresh wind in the slack of it, the exhilaration of +moving with power like the angels, with the great forces of nature for +muscles, the joy of it all expanding, pulsing through you, till it seems +as if the sky might crack if once you let your delight go free. And some +may catch, too, that other thrill, of the hidden feeling that glorified +those days. Few lives are so poor that the like of it has not brightened +them, and no one quite forgets. + +It is partly Sally Meade's Southern accent that has made me love her +above nearer cousins, from her babyhood. The modulations of her voice +seem always to bring me close to the sound of the voice that went into +silence when Geoffrey Meade, her father's young kinsman, was killed +long ago. + +The Meades, old-time planters in Virginia, have been very poor since the +distant war of the sixties, and it has been one of my luxuries to give +Sally a lift over hard places. Always with instant reward, for the +smallest bit of sunlight, going into her prismatic spirit, comes out a +magnificent rainbow of happiness. So when the idea came that they might +let me have the girl to take abroad that summer, her friend, the girl +spirit in me, jumped for joy. There was no difficulty made; it was one +of the rare good things too good to be true, that yet are true. She did +more for me than I for her, for I simply spent some superfluous idle +money, while she filled every day with a new enjoyment, the reflection +of her own fresh pleasure in every day as it came. + +So here we were prowling about the south of England with "Westward Ho!" +for a guide-book; coaching through deep, tawny Devonshire lanes from +Bideford to Clovelly; searching for the old tombstone of Will Cary's +grave in the churchyard on top of the hill; gathering tales of +Salvation Yeo and of Amyas Leigh; listening to echoes of the +three-hundred-year-old time when the great sea-battle was fought in the +channel and many ships of the Armada wrecked along this Devonshire +coast. And always coming back to sleep in the fascinating little "New +Inn," as old as the hills, built on both sides of the one rocky ladder +street of Clovelly, the street so steep that no horses can go in it, and +at the bottom of whose breezy tunnel one sees the rolling floor of the +sea. In so careless a way does the Inn ramble about the cliff that when +I first went to my room, two flights up from the front, I caught my +breath at a blaze of scarlet and yellow nasturtiums that faced me +through a white-painted doorway opening on the hillside and on a tiny +garden at the back. + +The irresponsible pleasure of our first sail the next afternoon was +never quite repeated. The boat shot from the landing like a high-strung +horse given his head, out across the unbordered road of silver water, +and in a moment, as we raced toward the low white clouds, we turned and +saw the cliffs of the coast and the tiny village, a gay little pile of +white, green-latticed houses steeped in foliage lying up a crack in the +precipice. Above was the long stretch of the woods of Hobby Drive. +Clovelly is so old that its name is in Domesday Book; so old, some say, +that it was a Roman station, and its name was Clausa Vaillis. But it is +a nearer ancientness that haunts it now. Every wave that dashes on the +rocky shore carries a legend of the ships of the Invincible Armada. As +we asked question after question of our sailor, handsomer than ever +to-day with a red silk handkerchief knotted sailor-fashion about his +strong neck, story after story flashed out, clear and dramatic, from his +answers. The bunch of houses there on the shore? Yes, that had a +history. The people living there were a dark-featured, reticent lot, +different from other people hereabouts. It was said that one of the +Spanish galleons went ashore there, and the men had been saved and had +settled on the spot and married Devonshire women, but their descendants +had never lost the tradition of their blood. Certainly their speech and +their customs were peculiar, unlike those of the villages near. He had +been there and had seen them, had heard them talk. Yes, they were +distinct. He laughed a little to acknowledge it, with an Englishman's +distrust of anything theatrical. A steep cliff started out into the +waves, towering three hundred feet in almost perpendicular lines. Had +that a name? Yes, that was called "Gallantry Bower." No; it was not a +sentimental story--it was the old sea-fight again. It was said that an +English sailor threw a rope from the height and saved life after life of +the crew of a Spaniard wrecked under the point. + +"You know the history of your place very well," said Sally. The young +man kept his eyes on his steering apparatus and a slow half-smile +troubled his face and was gone. + +"I've had a bit of an education for a seaman--Miss," he said. And then, +after apparently reflecting a moment, "My people live near the Leighs of +Burrough Court, and I was playmate to the young gentlemen and was given +a chance to learn with them, with their tutors, more than a common man +is likely to get always." + +At that Sally's enthusiasm broke through her reserve, and I was only a +little less eager. + +"The Leighs! The real, old Leighs of Burrough? Amyas Leigh's +descendants? Was that story true? Oh!--" And here manners and +curiosity met and the first had the second by the throat. She stopped. +But our sailor looked up with a boyish laugh that illumined his dark +face. + +"Is it so picturesque? I have been brought up so close that it seems +commonplace to me. Every one must be descended from somebody, you know." + +"Yes, but Amyas Leigh!" went on Sally, flushed and excited, forgetting +the man in his story. "Why, he's my hero of all fiction! Think of it, +Cousin Mary--there are men near here who are his great--half-a-dozen +greats--grandchildren! Cousin Mary," she stopped and looked at me +impressively, oblivious of the man so near her, "if I could lay my hands +on one of those young Leighs of Burrough I'd marry him in spite of his +struggles, just to be called by that name. I believe I would." + +"Sally!" I exclaimed, and glanced at the man; Sally's cheeks colored as +she followed my look. His mouth was twitching, and his eyes smouldered +with fun. But he behaved well. On some excuse of steering he turned his +back instantly and squarely toward us. But Sally's interest was +irrepressible. + +"Would you mind telling me their names, Cary?" she asked. He had told us +to call him Cary. "The names of the Mr. Leighs of Burrough." + +"No, Cary," I said. "I think Miss Meade doesn't notice that she is +asking you personal questions about your friends." + +Cary turned on me a look full of gentleness and chivalry. "Miss Meade +doesn't ask anything that I cannot answer perfectly well," he said. +"There are two sons of the Leighs, Richard Grenville, the older, and +Amyas Francis, the younger. They keep the old names you see. +Richard--Sir Richard, I should say--is the head of the family, his +father being dead." + +"Sir Richard Grenville Leigh!" said Sally, quite carried away by that +historic combination. "That's better than Amyas," she went on, +reflectively. "Is he decent? But never mind. I'll marry _him_, Cousin +Mary." + +At that our sailor-man shook with laughter, and as I met his eyes +appealing for permission, I laughed as hard as he. Only Sally was +apparently quite serious. + +"He would he very lucky--Miss," he said, restraining his mirth with a +respect that I thought remarkable, and turned again to his rudder. + +Sally, for the first time having felt the fascination of breathing +historic air, was no longer to be held. The sweeping, free motion, the +rush of water under the bow as we cut across the waves, the wide sky and +the air that has made sailors and soldiers and heroes of Devonshire men +for centuries on end, the exhilaration of it all had gone to the girl's +head. She was as unconscious of Cary as if he had been part of his boat. +I had seen her act so when she was six, and wild with the joy of an +autumn morning, intoxicated with oxygen. We had been put for safety into +the hollow part of the boat where the seats are--I forget what they call +it--the scupper, I think. But I am apt to be wrong on the nomenclature. +At all events, there we were, standing up half the time to look at the +water, the shore, the distant sails, and because life was too intense to +sit down. But when Sally, for all her gentle ways, took the bit in her +teeth, it was too restricted for her there. + +"Is there any law against my going up and holding on to the mast?" she +asked Cary. + +"Not if you won't fall overboard, Miss," he answered. + +The girl, with a strong, self-reliant jump, a jump that had an echo of +tennis and golf and horseback, scrambled up and forward, Cary taking his +alert eyes a moment from his sailing, to watch her to safety, I thought +her pretty as a picture as she stood swaying with one arm around the +mast, in her white shirt-waist and dark dress, her head bare, and brown, +untidy hair blowing across the fresh color of her face, and into her +clear hazel eyes. + +"What is the name of this boat?" she demanded, and Cary's deep, gentle +voice lifted the two words of his answer across the twenty feet between +them. + +"The Revenge" he said. + +Then there was indeed joy. "The Revenge! The Revenge! I am sailing on +the Revenge, with a man who knows Sir Richard Grenville and Amyas Leigh! +Cousin Mary, listen to that--this is the Revenge we're on--this!" She +hugged the mast, "And there are Spanish galleons, great three-deckers, +with yawning tiers of guns, all around us! You may not see them, but +they are here! They are ghosts, but they are here! There is the great +San Philip, hanging over us like a cloud, and we are--we are--Oh, I +don't know who we are, but we're in the fight, the most beautiful fight +in history!" She began to quote: + + And half of their fleet to the right, and half to the left were seen, + And the little Revenge ran on through the long sea-lane between. + +And then: + + Thousands of their sailors looked down from the decks and laughed; + Thousands of their soldiers made mock at the mad little craft + Running on and on till delayed + By the mountain-like San Philip that, of fifteen hundred tons, + And towering high above us with her yawning tiers of guns, + Took the breath from our sails, and we stayed. + +The soft, lingering voice threw the words at us with a thrill and a leap +forward, just us the Revenge was carrying us with long bounds, over the +shining sea. We were spinning easily now, under a steady light wind, and +Cary, his hand on the rudder, was opposite me. He turned with a start as +the girl began Tennyson's lines, and his shining dark eyes stared up at +her. + +"Do you know that?" he said, forgetting the civil "Miss" in his +earnestness. + +"Do I know it? Indeed I do!" cried Sally from her swinging rostrum. "Do +you know it, too? I love it--I love every word of it--listen," And I, +who knew her good memory, and the spell that the music of a noble poem +cast over her, settled myself with resignation. I was quite sure that, +short of throwing her overboard, she would recite that poem from +beginning to end. And she did. Her skirts and her hair blowing, her eyes +full of the glory of that old "forlorn hope," gazing out past us to the +seas that had borne the hero, she said it. + + At Flores in the Azores, Sir Richard Grenville lay, + And a pinnace, like a frightened bird, came flying from far away; + Spanish ships of war at sea, we have sighted fifty-three! + Then up spake Sir Thomas Howard + "'Fore God, I am no coward"-- + +She went on and on with the brave, beautiful story. How Sir Thomas would +not throw away his six ships of the line in a hopeless fight against +fifty-three; how yet Sir Richard, in the Revenge, would not leave behind +his "ninety men and more, who were lying sick ashore"; how at last Sir +Thomas + + sailed away + With five ships of war that day + Till they melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven, + But Sir Richard bore in hand + All his sick men from the land, + Very carefully and slow, + Men of Bideford in Devon-- + And he laid them on the ballast down below; + And they blessed him in their pain + That they were not left to Spain, + To the thumbscrew and the stake, for the glory of the Lord. + +The boat sailed softly, steadily now, as if it would not jar the rhythm +of the voice telling, with soft inflections, with long, rushing meter, +the story of that other Revenge, of the men who had gone from these +shores, under the great Sir Richard, to that glorious death. + + And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer + sea, + And not one moment ceased the fight of the one and the fifty-three. + Ship after ship, the whole night long, their high-built galleons + came; + Ship after ship, the whole night long, with their battle thunder and + flame; + Ship after ship, the whole night long, drew back with her dead and + her shame; + For some they sunk, and many they shattered so they could fight no + more. + God of battles! Was ever a battle like this in the world before? + +As I listened, though I knew the words almost, by heart too, my eyes +filled with tears and my soul with the desire to have been there, to +have fought as they did, on the little Revenge one after another of the +great Spanish ships, till at last the Revenge was riddled and helpless, +and Sir Richard called to the master-gunner to sink the ship for him, +but the men rebelled, and the Spaniards took what was left of ship and +fighters. And Sir Richard, mortally wounded, was carried on board the +flagship of his enemies, and died there, in his glory, while the +captains + + --praised him to his face. + With their courtly Spanish grace. + +So died, never man more greatly, Sir Richard Grenville, of Stow in +Devon. + +The crimson and gold of sunset were streaming across the water as she +ended, and we sat silent. The sailor's face was grim, as men's faces are +when they are deeply stirred, but in his dark eyes burned an intensity +that reserve could not bold back, and as he still stared at the girl a +look shot from them that startled me like speech. She did not notice. +She was shaken with the passion of the words she had repeated, and +suddenly, through the sunlit, rippling silence, she spoke again. + +"It's a great thing to be a Devonshire sailor," she said, solemnly. "A +wonderful inheritance--it ought never to be forgotten. And as for that +man--that Sir Richard Grenville Leigh--he ought to carry his name so +high that nothing low or small could ever touch it. He ought never to +think a thought that is not brave and fine and generous." + +There was a moment's stillness and then I said, "Sally, my child, it +seems to me you are laying down the law a little freely for Devonshire. +You have only been here four days." And in a second she was on her usual +gay terms with the world again. + +"A great preacher was wasted in me," she said. "How I could have +thundered at everybody else about their sins! Cousin Mary, I'm coming +down--I'm all battered, knocking against the must, and the little +trimmings hurt my hands." + +Cary did not smile. His face was repressed and expressionless and in it +was a look that I did not understand. He turned soberly to his rudder +and across the broken gold and silver of the water the boat drew in to +shadowy Clovelly. + +It was a shock, after we had landed and I had walked down the quay a few +yards to inspect the old Red Lion Inn, the house of Salvation Yeo, to +come back and find Sally dickering with Cary. I had agreed that this +sail should be her "party," because it pleased the girl's proud spirit +to open her small purse sometimes for my amusement. But I did not mean +to let her pay for all our sailing, and I was horrified to find her +trying to get Cary cheaper by the quantity. When I arrived, Sally, a +little flustered and very dignified and quite evidently at the end of a +discussion as to terms, was concluding an engagement, and there was a +gleam in the man's wonderful eyes, which did much of his talking for +him. + +"You see the boat is very new and clean, Miss," he was saying, "and I +hope you were satisfied with me?" + +I upset Sally's business affairs at once, engaged Cary, and told him he +must take out no one else without knowing our plans. My handkerchief +fell as I talked to him and he picked it up and presented it with as +much ease and grace as if he had done such things all his life. It was a +remarkable sailor we had happened on. A smile came like sunshine over +his face--the smile that made him look as Geoffrey Meade looked, half a +century ago. + +"I'll promise not to take any one else, ma'am," he said. And then, with +the pretty, engaging frankness that won my heart over again each time, +"And I hope you'll want to go often--not so much for the money, but +because it is a pleasure to me to take you--both." + +There was mail for us waiting at the Inn. "Listen, Sally," I said, as I +read mine in my room after dinner. "This is from Anne Ford. She wants to +join us here the 6th of next month, to fill in a week between visits at +country-houses." + +[Illustration: "You see, the boat is very new and clean, Miss," he was +saying.] + +Sally, sitting on the floor before the fire, her dark hair loose and her +letters lying about her, looked up attentively, and discreetly answered +nothing. Anne Ford was my cousin, but not hers, and I knew without +discussing it, that Sally cared for her no more than I. She was made of +showy fibre, woven in a brilliant pattern, but the fibre was a little +coarse, and the pattern had no shading. She was rich and a beauty and so +used to being the centre of things, and largely the circumference too, +that I, who am a spoiled old woman, and like a little place and a little +consideration, find it difficult to be comfortable as spoke upon her +wheel. + +"It's too bad," I went on regretfully. "Anne will not appreciate +Clovelly, and she will spoil it for us. She is not a girl I care for. I +don't see why I should he made a convenience for Anne Ford," I argued in +my selfish way. "I think I shall write her not to come." + +Sally laughed cheerfully. "She won't bother us, Cousin Mary. It would be +too bad to refuse her, wouldn't it? She can't spoil Clovelly--it's been +here too long. Anne is rather overpowering," Sally went on, a bit +wistfully. "She's such a beauty, and she has such stunning clothes." + +The firelight played on the girl's flushed, always-changing face, full +of warm light and shadow; it touched daintily the white muslin and pink +ribbons of the pretty negligee she wore, Sally was one of the poor girls +whose simple things are always fresh and right. I leaned over and patted +her rough hair affectionately. + +"Your clothes are just as pretty," I said, "and Anne doesn't compare +with you in my eyes." I lifted the unfinished letter and glanced over +it. "All about her visit to Lady Fisher," I said aloud, giving a resume +as I read. "What gowns she wore to what functions; what men were devoted +to her--their names--titles--incomes too." I smiled. "And--what is +this?" I stopped talking, for a name had caught my eye. I glanced over +the page. "Isn't this curious! Listen, my dear," I said. "This will +interest you!" I read aloud from Anne's letter. + +"'But the man who can have me if he wants me is Sir Richard Leigh. He is +the very best that ever happened, and moreover, quite the catch of the +season. His title is old, and he has a yacht and an ancestral place or +two, and is very rich, they say--but that isn't it. My heart is his +without his decorations--well, perhaps not quite that, but it's +certainly his with the decorations. He is such a beauty, Cousin Mary! +Even you would admire him. It gives you quite a shock when he comes into +a room, yet he is so unconscious and modest, and has the most graceful, +fascinatingly quiet manners and wonderful brown eyes that seem to talk +for him. He does everything well, and everything hard, is a dare-devil +on horseback, a reckless sailor, and a lot besides. If you could see the +way those eyes look at me, and the smile that breaks over his face as if +the sun had come out suddenly! But alas! the sun has gone under now, for +he went this morning, and it's not clear if he's coming back or not. +They say his yacht is near Bideford, where his home is, and Clovelly is +not far from that, is it?'" + +I stopped and looked at Sally, listening, on the floor. She was staring +into the fire. + +"What do you think of that?" I asked. Sally was slow at answering; she +stared on at the burning logs that seemed whispering answers to the +blaze. + +"Some girls have everything," she said at length. "Look at Anne. She's +beautiful and rich and everybody admires her, and she goes about to big +country-houses and meets famous and interesting people. And now this Sir +Richard Leigh comes like the prince into the story, and I dare say he +will fall in love with her and if she finds no one that suits her better +she will marry him and have that grand old historic name." + +"Sally, dear," I said, "you're not envying Anne, are you?" + +A quick blush rushed to her face. "Cousin Mary! What foolishness I've +been talking! How could I! What must you think of me! I didn't mean +it--please believe I didn't. I'm the luckiest girl on earth, and I'm +having the most perfect time, and you are a fairy godmother to me, +except that you're more like a younger sister. I was thinking aloud. +Anne is such a brilliant being compared to me, that the thought of her +discourages me sometimes. It was just Cinderella admiring the princess, +you know." + +"Cinderella got the prince," I said, smiling. + +"I don't want the prince," said Sally, "even if I could get him. I +wouldn't marry an Englishman. I don't care about a title. To be a +Virginian is enough title for me. It was just his name, magnificent Sir +Richard Grenville's name and the Revenge-Armada atmosphere that took my +fancy. I don't know if Anne would care for that part," she added, +doubtfully. + +"I'm sure Anne would know nothing about it," I answered decidedly, and +Sally went on cheerfully. + +"She's very welcome to the modern Sir Richard, yacht and title and all. +I don't believe he's as attractive as your sailor, Cousin Mary. +Something the same style, I should say from the description. If you +hadn't owned him from the start, I'd rather like that man to be my +sailor, Cousin Mary--he's so everything that a gentleman is supposed to +be. How did he learn that manner--why, it would flatter you if he let +the boom whack you on the head. Too bad he's only a common sailor--such +a prince gone wrong!" + +I looked at her talking along softly, leaning back on one hand and +gazing at the fire, a small white Turkish slipper--Southern girls always +have little feet--stuck out to the blaze, and something in the leisurely +attitude and low, unhurried voice, something, too, in the reminiscent +crackle of the burning wood, invited me to confidence. I went to my +dressing-table, and when I came back, dropped, as if I were another +girl, on the rug beside her. "I want to show you this," I said, and +opened a case that travels always with me. From the narrow gold rim of +frame inside, my lover smiled gayly up at her brown hair and my gray, +bending over it together. + +None of the triumphs of modern photographers seem to my eyes so +delicately charming as the daguerrotypes of the sixties. As we tipped +the old picture this way and that, to catch the right light on the image +under the glass, the very uncertainty of effect seemed to give it an +elusive fascination. To my mind the birds in the bush have always +brighter plumage than any in the hand, and one of these early +photographs leaves ever, no matter from what angle you look upon it, +much to the imagination. So Geoff in his gray Southern uniform, young +and soldierly, laughed up at Sally and me from the shadowy lines beneath +the glass, more like a vision of youth than like actual flesh and blood +that had once been close and real. His brown hair, parted far to one +side, swept across his forehead in a smooth wave, as was the +old-fashioned way; his collar was of a big, queer sort unknown to-day; +the cut of his soldier's coat was antique; but the beauty of the boyish +face, the straight glance of his eyes, and ease of the broad shoulders +that military drill could not stiffen, these were untouched, were +idealized even by the old-time atmosphere that floated up from the +picture like fragrance of rose-leaves. As I gazed down at the boy, it +came to me with a pang that he was very young and I growing very old, +and I wondered would he care for me still. Then I remembered that where +he lived it was the unworn soul and not the worn-out body that counted, +and I knew that the spirit within me would meet his when the day came, +with as fresh a joy as forty years ago. And as I still looked, happy in +the thought, I felt all at once as if I had seen his face, heard his +voice, felt the touch of his young hand that day--could almost feel it +yet. Perhaps my eyes were a little dim, perhaps the uncertainty of the +old daguerrotype helped the illusion, but the smile of the master of the +Revenge seemed to shine up at me from my Geoff's likeness, and then +Sally's slow voice broke the pause. + +"It's Cousin Geoffrey, isn't it?" she asked. Her father was Geoffrey +Meade's cousin--a little boy when Geoff died, "Was he as beautiful as +that?" she said, gently, putting her hand over mine that held the velvet +case. And then, after another pause, she went on, hesitatingly; "Cousin +Mary, I wonder if you would mind if I told you whom he looks like to +me?" + +"No, my dear," I answered easily, and like an echo to my thought her +words came. + +"It is your sailor. Do you see it? He is only a common seaman, of +course, but I think he must have a wonderful face, for with all his +dare-devil ways I always think of 'Blessed are the pure in spirit' when +I see him. And the eyes in the picture have the same expression--do you +mind my saying it, Cousin Mary?" + +"I saw it myself the first time I looked at him," I said. And then, as +people do when they are on the verge of crying, I laughed. "Anne Ford +would think me ridiculous, wouldn't she?" and I held Geoff's picture in +both my hands. "He is much better suited to her or to you. A splendid +young fellow of twenty-four to belong to an old woman like me--it is +absurd, isn't it?" + +"He is suited to no one but you, dear, and you are just his age and +always will be," and as Sally's arms caught me tight I felt tears that +were not my own on my cheek. + +It was ten days yet before Anne was due to arrive, and almost every day +of the ten we sailed. The picturesque coast of North Devon, its deep +bays, its stretches of high, tree-topped cliffs, grew to be home-like to +us. We said nothing of Cary and his boat at the Inn, for we soon saw +that both were far-and-away better than common, and we were selfish. +Nor did the man himself seem to care for more patronage. He was always +ready when we wished to go, and jumped from his spick-and-span deck to +meet us with a smile that started us off in sunshine, no matter what the +weather. And with my affection for the lovely, uneven coast and the seas +that held it in their flashing fingers, grew my interest in the winning +personality that seemed to combine something of the strength of the +hills and the charm of the seas of Devonshire. + +One day after another he loosed the ropes with practised touch, and the +wind taught the sail with a gay rattle and the little Revenge flung off +the steep street and the old sea-wall and the green cliffs of Clovelly, +and first yards and then miles of rippling ocean lay between us and +land, and we sailed away, we did not need to know or care where, with +our fate for the afternoon in his reliable hands. Little by little we +forgot artificial distinctions in the out-of-doors, natural atmosphere, +or that the man was anything but himself--a self always simple, always +right. Looking back, I see how deeply I was to blame, to have been so +blind, at my age, but the figure by the rudder, swinging to the boat's +motion, grew to be so familiar and pleasant a sight, that I did not +think of being on guard against him. Little as he talked, his moods were +varied, grave or gay or with a gleam of daring in his eyes that made +him, I think, a little more attractive than any other way. Yet when a +wind of seriousness lifted the still or impetuous surface, I caught a +glimpse, sometimes, of a character of self-reliance, of decision as +solid as the depths under the shifting water of his ocean. There was +never a false note in his gentle manner, and I grew to trust serenely to +his tact and self-respect, and talked to him freely as I chose. Which of +course I should not have done. But there was a temptation to which I +yielded in watching for the likeness in his face, and in listening for a +tone or two of his voice that caught my heart with the echo of a voice +long silent. + +One morning to our astonishment Cary sent up to break our engagement for +the afternoon. Something had happened so that he could not possibly get +away. But it was moonlight and warm--would we not go out in the evening? +The idea seemed to me a little improper, yet very attractive, and +Sally's eyes danced. + +"Let's be bold and bad and go, Cousin Mary," she pleaded, and we went. + +A shower of moonlight fell across the sea and on the dark masses of the +shore; it lay in sharp patches against the black shadows of the sail; it +turned Sally's bare, dark head golden, and tipped each splashing wave +with a quick-vanishing electric light. It was not earth or ocean, but +fairyland. We were sailing over the forgotten, sea-buried land of +Lyonesse; forests where Tristram and Iseult had ridden, lay under our +rushing keel; castles and towers and churches were there--hark! could I +not hear the faint bells in the steeples ringing up through the waves? +The old legend, half true, half fable, was all real to me as I sat in +the shadow of the sail and stared, only half seeing them, at Sally +standing with her hands on the rudder and Cary leaning over her, +teaching her to sail the Revenge. Their voices came to me clear and +musical, yet carrying no impression of what they were saying. Then I saw +Sally's little fingers slip suddenly, and Cary's firm hand close over +them, pushing the rudder strongly to one side. His face was toward me, +and I saw the look that went over it as his hand held hers. It startled +me to life again, and I sat up straight, but he spoke at once with quiet +self-possession. + +"I beg your pardon, Miss Meade. She was heading off a bit dangerously." + +And he went on with directions, laughing at her a little, scolding her a +little, yet all with a manner that could not be criticised. I still +wonder how he could have poised so delicately and so long on that +slender line of possible behavior. + +As the boat slipped over the shimmering ocean, back into the harbor +again, most of the houses up the sharp ascent of Clovelly street were +dark, but out on the water lay a mass of brilliant lights, rocking +slowly on the tide. Sally was first to notice it. + +"There is a ship lying out there. Is it a ship or is it an enchantment? +She is lighted all over. What is it--do you know?" + +Cary was working at the sail and he did not look at us or at it as he +answered. + +"Yes, Miss--I know her. She is Sir Richard Leigh's yacht the Rose. She +was there as we went out, but she was dark and you did not notice her." + +I exclaimed, full of interest, at this, but Sally, standing ghost-like +in her white dress against the sinking sail, said nothing, but stared at +the lights that outlined the yacht against the deep distance of the sky, +and that seemed, as the shadowy hull swung dark on the water, to start +out from nowhere in pin-pricks of diamonds set in opal moonlight. + +Lundy Island lies away from Clovelly to the northwest seventeen miles +off on the edge of the world. Each morning as I opened my window at the +Inn, and looked out for the new day's version of the ocean, it lifted a +vague line of invitation and of challenge. Since we had been in +Devonshire the atmosphere of adventure that hung over Lundy had haunted +me with the wish to go there. It was the "Shutter," the tall pinnacle of +rock at its southern end, that Amyas Leigh saw for his last sight of +earth, when the lightning blinded him, in the historic storm that +strewed ships of the Armada along the shore. I am not a rash person, yet +I was so saturated with the story of "Westward Ho!" that I could not go +away satisfied unless I had set foot on Lundy. But it had the worst of +reputations, and landing was said to be hazardous. + +"It isn't that I can't get you there," said Cary when I talked to him, +"but I might not be able to get you away." + +Then he explained in a wise way that I did not entirely follow, how the +passage through the rocks was intricate, and could only be done with a +right wind, and how, if the wind changed suddenly, it was impossible to +work out until the right wind came again. And that might not be for +days, if one was unlucky. It had been known to happen so. Yet I lingered +over the thought, and the more I realized that it was unreasonable, the +more I wanted to go. The spirit of the Devonshire seas seemed, to my +fancy, to live on the guarded, dangerous rocks, and I must pay tribute +before I left his kingdom. Cary laughed a little at my one bit of +adventurous spirit so out of keeping with my gray hairs, but it was easy +to see that he too wanted to go, and that only fear for our safety and +comfort made him hesitate. The day before Anne Ford was due we went. It +was the day, too, after our sail in the moonlight that I half believed, +remembering its lovely unreality, had been a dream. But as we sailed +out, there lay Sir Richard Leigh's yacht to prove it, smart and +impressive, shining and solid in the sunlight as it had been ethereal +the night before. I gazed at her with some curiosity. + +"Have you been on board?" I asked our sailor. "Is Sir Richard there?" + +Cary glanced at Sally, who had turned a cold shoulder to the yacht and +was looking back at Clovelly village, crawling up its deep crack in the +cliff. "Yes," he said; "I've been on her twice. Sir Richard is living on +her." + +"I suppose he's some queer little rat of a man," Sally brought out in +her soft voice, to nobody in particular. + +I was surprised at the girl's incivility, but Cary answered promptly, +"Yes, Miss!" with such cheerful alacrity that I turned to look at him, +more astonished. I met eyes gleaming with a hardly suppressed amusement +which, if I had stopped to reason about it, was much out of place. But +yet, as I looked at him with calm dignity and seriousness, I felt myself +sorely tempted to laugh back. I am a bad old woman sometimes. + +The Revenge careered along over the water as if mad to get to Lundy, +under a strong west wind. In about two hours the pile of fantastic rocks +lay stretched in plain view before us. We were a mile or more away--I am +a very uncertain judge of distance--but we could see distinctly the +clouds of birds, glittering white sea-gulls, blowing hither and thither +above the wild little continent where were their nests. There are +thousands and thousands of gulls on Lundy. We had sailed out from +Clovelly at two in bright afternoon sunshine, but now, at nearly four, +the blue was covering with gray, and I saw Cary look earnestly at the +quick-moving sky. + +"Is it going to rain?" I asked. + +He stood at the rudder, feet apart and shoulders full of muscle and full +of grace, the handkerchief around his neck a line of flame between blue +clothes and olive face. A lock of bronze hair blew boyishly across his +forehead. + +"Worse than that," he said, and his eyes were keen as he stared at the +uneven water in front of us. A basin of smoother water and the yellow +tongue of a sand-beach lay beyond it at the foot of a line of high +rocks. "The passage is there"--he nodded. "If I can make it before the +squall catches us"--he glanced up again and then turned to Sally. "Could +you sail her a moment while I see to the sheet? Keep her just so." His +hand placed Sally's with a sort of roughness on the rudder. "Are you +afraid?" He paused a second to ask it. + +"Not a bit," said the girl, smiling up at him cheerfully, and then he +was working away, and the little Revenge was flying, ripping the waves, +every breath nearer by yards to that tumbling patch of wolf-gray water. + +As I said, I know less about a boat than a boy of five. I can never +remember what the parts of it are called and it is a wonder to me how +they can make it go more than one way. So I cannot tell in any +intelligent manner what happened. But, as it seemed, suddenly, while I +watched Sally standing steadily with both her little hands holding the +rudder, there was a crack as if the earth had split, then, with a +confused rushing and tearing, a mass of something fell with a long-drawn +crash, and as I stared, paralyzed, I saw the mast strike against the +girl as she stood, her hands still firmly on the rudder, and saw her go +down without a sound. There were two or three minutes of which I +remember nothing but the roaring of water. I think I must have been +caught under the sail, for the next I knew I was struggling from beneath +its stiff whiteness, and as I looked about, dazed, behold! we had passed +the reefs and lay rocking quietly. I saw that first, and then I saw +Cary's head as it bent over something he held in his arms--and it was +Sally! I tried to call, I tried to reach them, but the breath must have +been battered out of me, for I could not, and Cary did not notice me. I +think he forgot I was on earth. As I gazed at them speechless, +breathless, Sally's eyes opened and smiled up at him, and she turned her +face against his shoulder like a child. Cary's dark cheek went down +against hers, and through the sudden quiet I heard him whisper. + +"Sweetheart! sweetheart!" he said. + +Both heads, close against each other, were still for a long moment, and +then my gasping, rasping voice came back to me. + +"Cary!" I cried, "for mercy's sake, come and take me out of this jib!" + +I have the most confused recollection of the rest of that afternoon. +Cary hammered and sawed and worked like a beaver with the help of two +men who lived on Lundy, fishermen by the curious name of Heaven. Sally +and I helped, too, whenever we could, but all in a heavy silence. Sally +was wrapped in dignity as in a mantle, and her words were few and +practical. Cary, quite as practical, had no thought apparently for +anything but his boat. As for me, I was like a naughty old cat. I fussed +and complained till I must have been unendurable, for the emotions +within me were all at cross-purposes. I was frightened to death when I +thought of General Meade; I was horrified at the picture stamped on my +memory of his daughter, trusted to my care, smiling up with that +unmistakable expression into the eyes of a common sailor. Horrified! My +blood froze at the thought. Yet--it was unpardonable of me--yet I felt a +thrill as I saw again those two young heads together, and heard the +whispered words that were not meant for me to hear. + +Somehow or other, after much difficulty, and under much mental strain, +we got home. Sally hardly spoke as we toiled up the stony hill in the +dark beneath a pouring rain, and I, too, felt my tongue tied in an +embarrassed silence. At some time, soon, we must talk, but we both felt +strongly that it was well to wait till we could change our clothes. + +At last we reached the friendly brightness of the New Inn windows; we +trudged past them to the steps, we mounted them, and as the front door +opened, the radiant vision burst upon us of Anne Ford, come a day before +her time, fresh and charming and voluble--voluble! It seemed the last +straw to our tired and over-taxed nerves, yet no one could have been +more concerned and sympathetic, and that we were inclined not to be +explicit as to details suited her exactly. All the sooner could she get +to her own affairs. Sir Richard Leigh's yacht was the burden of her lay, +and that it was here and we had seen it added lustre to our adventures. +That we had not been on board and did not know him, was satisfactory +too, and neither of us had the heart to speak of Cary. We listened +wearily, feeling colorless and invertebrate beside this brilliant +creature, while Anne planned to send her card to him to-morrow, and +conjectured gayeties for all of us, beyond. Sir Richard Leigh and his +yacht did not fill a very large arc on our horizon to-night. Sally came +into my room to tell me good-night, when we went up-stairs, and she +looked so wistful and tired that I gave her two kisses instead of one. + +"Thank you," she said, smiling mistily. "We won't talk to-night, will +we, Cousin Mary?" So without words, we separated. + +Next morning as I opened my tired eyes on a world well started for the +day, there came a tap at the door and in floated Anne Ford, a fine bird +in fine feathers, wide-awake and brisk. + +"Never saw such lazy people!" she exclaimed. "I've just been in to see +Sally and she refuses to notice me. I suppose it's exhaustion from +shipwreck. But I wasn't shipwrecked, and I've had my breakfast, and it's +too glorious a morning to stay indoors, so I'm going to walk down to the +water and look at Sir Richard's boat, and send off my card to him by a +sailor or something. Then, if he's a good boy, he will turn up to-day, +and then--!" The end of Anne's sentence was wordless ecstasy. + +But the mention of the sailor had opened the flood-gates for me, and in +rushed all my responsibilities. What should I do with this situation +into which I had so easily slipped, and let Sally slip? Should I +instantly drag her off to France like a proper chaperone? Then how could +I explain to Anne--Anne would be heavy dragging with that lodestone of a +yacht in the harbor. Or could we stay here as we had planned and not see +Cary again? The unformed shapes of different questions and answers came +dancing at me like a legion of imps as I lay with my head on the pillow +and looked at Anne's confident, handsome face, and admired the freshness +and cut of her pale blue linen gown. + +"Well, Cousin Mary," she said at last, "you and Sally seem both to be +struck dumb from your troubles. I'm going off to leave you till you can +be a little nicer to me. I may come back with Sir Richard--who knows! +Wish me good luck, please!" and she swept off on a wave of good-humor +and good looks. + +I lay and thought. Then, with a pleasant leisure that soothed my nerves +a little, I dressed, and went down to breakfast in the quaint +dining-room hung from floor to ceiling with china brought years ago from +the far East by a Clovelly sailor. As I sat over my egg and toast Sally +came in, pale, but sweet and crisp in the white that Southern girls wear +most. There was a constraint over us for the reckoning that we knew was +coming. Each felt guilty toward the other and the result was a formal +politeness. So it was a relief when, just at the last bit of toast, Anne +burst in, all staccato notes of suppressed excitement. + +"Cousin Mary! Sally! Sir Richard Leigh is here! He's there!" nodding +over her shoulder. "He walked up with me--he wants to see you both. +But"--her voice dropped to an intense whisper--"he has asked to see Miss +Walton first--wants to speak to her alone! What does he mean?" Anne was +in a tremendous flutter, and it was plain that wild ideas were coursing +through her. "You are my chaperone, of course, but what can he want to +see you for alone--Cousin Mary?" + +I could not imagine, either, yet it seemed quite possible that this +beautiful creature had taken a susceptible man by storm, even so +suddenly. I laid my napkin on the table and stood up. + +"The chaperone is ready to meet the fairy prince," I said, and we went +across together to the little drawing-room. + +It was a bit dark as Anne opened the door and I saw first only a man's +figure against the window opposite, but as he turned quickly and came +toward us, I caught my breath, and stared, and gasped and stared again. +Then the words came tumbling over each other before Anne could speak. + +"Cary!" I cried. "What are you doing here--in those clothes?" + +Poor Anne! She thought I had made some horrid mistake, and had disgraced +her. But I forgot Anne entirely for the familiar brown eyes that were +smiling, pleading into mine, and in a second he had taken my hand and +bending over, with a pretty touch of stateliness, had kissed it, and the +charm that no one could resist had me fast in its net. + +"Miss Walton! You will forgive me? You were always good to me--you won't +lay it up against me that I'm Richard Leigh and not a picturesque +Devonshire sailor! You won't be angry because I deceived you! The devil +tempted me suddenly and I yielded, and I'm glad. Dear devil! I never +should have known either of you if I had not." + +There were more of the impetuous sentences that I cannot remember, and +somewhere among them Anne gathered that she was not the point of them, +and left the room like a slighted but still reigning princess. It was +too bad that any one should feel slighted, but if it had to be, it was +best that it should be Anne. + +Then my sailor told me his side of the story; how Sally's tip for the +rescue of her hat had showed him what we took him to be; how her +question about a boat had suggested playing the part; how he had begun +it half for the fun of it and half, even then, for the interest the girl +had roused in him--and he put in a pretty speech for the chaperone just +there, the clever young man! He told me how his yacht had come sooner +than he had expected, and that he had to give up one afternoon with her +was so severe a trial that he knew then how much Sally meant to him. + +"That moonlight sail was very close sailing indeed," he said, his face +full of a feeling that he did not try to hide. "There was nearly a +shipwreck, when--when she steered wrong." And I remembered. + +Then, with no great confidence in her mood, I went in search of my girl. +She is always unexpected, and a dead silence, when I had anxiously told +my tale, was what I had not planned for. After a minute, + +"Well?" I asked. + +And "Well?" answered Sally, with scarlet cheeks, but calmly. + +"He is waiting for you down-stairs," I said. + +Then she acted in the foolish way that seemed natural. She dropped on +her knees and put her face against my shoulder. + +"Cousin Mary! I can't! It's a strange man--it isn't our sailor any more. +I hate it. I don't like Englishmen." + +"He's very much the same as yesterday," I said. "You needn't like him if +you don't want to, but you must go and tell him so yourself." I think +that was rather clever of me. + +So, holding my hand and trembling, she went down. When I saw Richard +Leigh's look as he stood waiting, I tried to loosen that clutching hand +and leave them, but Sally, always different from any one else, held me +tight. + +"Cousin Mary, I won't stay unless you stay," she said, firmly. + +I looked at the young man and he laughed. + +"I don't care. I don't care if all the world hears me," he said, and he +took a step forward and caught her hands. + +Sally looked up at him. "You're a horrid lord or something," she said. + +He laughed softly. "Do you mind? I can't help it. It's hard, but I want +you to help me try to forget it. I'd gladly he a sailor again if you'd +like me better." + +"I did like you--before you deceived me. You pretended you were that." + +"But I have grievances too--you said I was a queer little rat of a man." + +Sally's laugh was gay but trembling. "I did say that, didn't I?" + +"Yes, and you tried to underpay me, too." + +"Oh, I didn't! You charged a lot more than the others." + +Sir Richard shook his head firmly. "Not nearly as much as the Revenge +was worth. I kept gangs of men scrubbing that boat till I nearly went +into bankruptcy. And, what's more, you ought to keep your word, you +know. You said you were going to marry Richard Leigh--Richard Grenville +Cary Leigh is his whole name, you know. Will you keep your word?" + +"But I--but you--but I didn't know," stammered Sally, feebly. + +He went on eagerly. "You told me how he should wear his name--high +and--and all that." He had no time for abstractions. "He can never do it +alone--will you come and help him?" + +Sally was palpably starching about for weapons to aid her losing fight. +"Why do you like me? I'm not beautiful like Anne Ford." He laughed. "I'm +not rich, you know, like lots of American girls. We're very poor"--she +looked at him earnestly. + +[Illustration: I felt myself pulled by two pairs of hands.] + +"I don't care if you're rich or poor," he said. "I don't know if +you're beautiful--I only know you're you. It's all I want." + +She shook a little at his vehemence, but she was a long fighter. "You +don't know me very much," she went on, her soft voice breaking. "Maybe +it's only a fancy--the moonlight and the sailing and all--maybe you only +imagine you like me." + +"Imagine I like you!" + +And then, at the sight of his quick movement and of Sally's face I +managed to get behind a curtain and put my fingers in my ears. No woman +has a right to more than one woman's love-making. And as I stood there, +a few minutes later, I felt myself pulled by two pairs of hands, and +Sally and her lover were laughing at me. + +"May I have her? I want her very much," he said, and I wondered if ever +any one could say no to anything he asked. So, with a word about Sally's +far-away mother and father, I told him, as an old woman might, that I +had loved him from the first, and then I said a little of what Sally was +to me. + +"I like her very much," I said, in a shaky voice that tried to be +casual. "Are you sure that you like her enough?" For all of his answer, +he turned, not even touching her hands, and looked at her. + +It was as if I caught again the fragrance of the box hedges in the +southern sunshine of a garden where I had walked on a spring morning +long ago. Love is as old-fashioned as the ocean, and us little changed +in all the centuries. Its always yielding, never retreating arms lie +about the lands that are built and carved and covered with men's +progress; it keeps the air sweet and fresh above them, and from +generation to generation its look and its depths are the same. That it +is stronger than death does not say it all. I know that it is stronger +than life. Death, with its crystal touch, may make a weak love strong; +life, with its every-day wear and tear, must make any but a strong love +weak. + +I like to think that the look I saw in Richard Leigh's eyes as he turned +toward my girl was the same look I shall see, not so very many years +from now, when I close mine on this dear old world, and open them, by +the shore of the ocean of eternity, on the face of Geoffrey Meade. + + + + + * * * * * + +ADVERTISEMENTS + + * * * * * + +BOB AND THE GUIDES + +_By_ + +MARY RAYMOND SHIPMAN ANDREWS + +Illustrated by F.C. YOHN + +12mo. $1.50 + + +"The sketches are breezy, with a freshness nothing short of alluring. +They would make a sportsman of a monk. The characters of Walter, Bob, +the Bishop, the Judge and his Guide are drawn in a fashion that attracts +both sympathy and emulation, while the rollicking but delicate humor has +rarely been excelled in fiction."--Louisville _Courier-Journal_. + + +"A keen sense of humor runs through them all. Exceedingly interesting +and entertaining."--Baltimore _News_. + + +"A book of hunting stories which can be read aloud and out of doors, two +severe tests for a book."--_Independent_. + + +"It is difficult to recall any book that contains in it more of the +out-door spirit mingled with a really charming story-telling +capacity."--_Recreation_. + + * * * * * + +Books by Mary R.S. Andrews + +VIVE L'EMPEREUR + +Illustrated by F.C. YOHN + +12mo. $1.00 + + +"A very well-written story and one that the reader will be bound to +like."--New York _Sun_. + + +"The humor is good, the love motive sweet, and the background +picturesque. As history, 'Vive L'Empereur' is unique; as romance, it is +charming."--_The Reader_. + + * * * * * + +The Great Lincoln Story + +THE PERFECT TRIBUTE + +50 cents net; postpaid, 53 cents + + +"One of the best of recent short stories,"--Philadelphia _Inquirer_. + + +"An exquisitely tender, pathetic, and patriotic story."--Chicago _Daily +News_. + + +"It is the best sort of history for it reproduces the spirit of the time +and of the man."--New York _Christian Advocate_. + + +"Dramatically conceived and strongly written."--Los Angeles _Times_. + + * * * * * + +CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, NEW YORK + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Militants, by Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MILITANTS *** + +***** This file should be named 15496.txt or 15496.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/4/9/15496/ + +Produced by Kentuckiana Digital Library, David Garcia, Martin Pettit +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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